On the hunt for crown jewels, corgis and two very regal chairs — a theater prop designer's shopping list
Cassy Schillo will beg — not steal, of course — or borrow to get what she must have.
She's also not above a little innocent deception if her haggling falls short because she unintentionally irked the seller.
"If that is the perfect piece — and I need that piece — then I will have my fiancé or assistant reach out as a completely separate [person] and offer the asking price,” says Schillo. “They’re getting their money and I’m not trying to offend anyone.”
The “perfect piece” could be anything from a 1950s Polaroid camera to a box of fake cigarette lighters to a full-size replica Egyptian sarcophagus.
Such is the unique and exacting work of a theater props designer.
Schillo, who works for Drury Lane Theatre in Oakbrook Terrace, describes herself as part detective, mechanic, artist and, yes, artful haggler.
A perfectionist, too.
"If something is inaccurate, I couldn't even imagine being more embarrassed," she said.
Like many props artists, Schillo often begins her hunt in a warehouse. Little about Drury Lane’s drab brick building in Villa Park hints at what’s inside — except perhaps the faux Venus de Milo statue or the pair of female mannequins spray-painted gold that can be seen through dusty windows.
On a muggy day in early July, Schillo was on a royal scavenger hunt. She was trying to flesh out the setting for “The Audience,” a play that opens Aug. 28 at Drury Lane and tells the story of Queen Elizabeth II and the private meetings she held with her prime ministers at Buckingham Palace and Balmoral Castle, the royal family’s Scottish home.
“I feel like I’m living and breathing Queen Elizabeth right now,” Schillo said.
Peter Morgan, the playwright, also created the wildly popular TV series “The Crown.”
Schillo’s task feels Herculean. The script calls for, among many other things, two early 18th century chairs, each with an oval back and upholstered in yellow Dupioni silk. Some of the items in the rooms get updated during the show because the play takes place over a span of several decades. And one more wrinkle: Many in the audience will have watched "The Crown" and already know the exact rooms Schillo is trying to recreate. So they have expectations.
"You want to scratch that itch for the audience," Schillo says.
A thin layer of sawdust covers almost everything inside the cavernous warehouse. There are dummies in suits dangling from a second-floor balcony, a huge net filled with dozens of faux pumpkins — but no suitable chairs.
Schillo will also scour the internet for deals (she has a total budget of about $8,000 for this show). For another show, Schillo needed a 1960s manual vacuum. She found one online and called the seller. Schillo explained that she was a props designer. The seller immediately upped the price.
"You can't get this little vacuum unless you give me another $50 because I need new back teeth," the woman told Schillo.
Schillo needed the vacuum. So she paid up.
Sometimes, a theater will acquire a family heirloom.
Sally Zack, the props designer at Marriott Theatre in Lincolnshire, found a hand-carved rocking chair for a recent production of "The Music Man." The seller told Zack it had belonged to her grandmother. As is her way, Zack didn't want to pry about why it was being sold. But she wanted the chair.
"This was three generations in a family ... and now it's going to be part of our show," Zack remembered telling the cast of "The Music Man." "It's going to live in our stock forever."
Antique shops are also on Schillo's list. In mid-July, she was still on the lookout for the chairs, as well as some tchotchkes of the Queen's beloved corgis.
Plenty of other dog breeds —and cats with demon eyes — but no corgis inside Broadway Antique Market's labyrinthine, two-story shop on the North Side.
"That's fantastic! That's fantastic, too!" she says, peering into a glass cabinet at two Parker fountain pens that just might, she says, work for the show. The tiniest details matter. Even if no one in the audience can actually see the item.
Finally, on the second floor, she spies a pair of chairs in the shape and style she needs. But, oh, the color, which Schillo describes as "molten olive."
"It's heinously vinyl," she says. "That's the closest we've come. I'll take a picture, but I really don't want to. I hope I come across something else."
The trip isn't a total loss. She finds three tiny trinket boxes, one of which will serve as the buzzer the Queen used to summon the help.
No need to panic yet. Rehearsals don't start for another month.
What, you wonder, will Schillo do for perhaps the best-known, most gaudy piece of royal paraphernalia: the crown?
She's already got that one figured out. The basic shape will come to life on a 3-D printer. Then it's a matter of gluing on hundreds of faux jewels, both individually and in strips.
"I think I'll be spending the rest of my life bedazzling every inch of that plastic crown with rhinestones," she jokes.
