It’s a love/hate relationship. Yes, I love reading Steven Suskin’s three Broadway Yearbook volumes (for seasons 1999-2000, 2000-2001, and 2001-2002) and soaking in all I can. The first two are particular favorites because I was actually in New York to see some of those productions with the casts that he writes about in such detail.
I love the books because Suskin is well-spoken, entertaining, and his analyses are always thoughtful and written with a clear knowledge of the subject at hand. At the same time, as I read the individual entries, I can’t help but feel that I am also witnessing some pretty standard crimes against my beloved Broadway.
Perhaps I’m also afraid of how my own work will stand under such scrutiny. Second-guessing what you do can be pretty crippling.
I honestly don’t get to read many New York reviews—I don’t have tons of time to locate and read them online—though I do follow the general leaning of reviews via the various Broadway message boards (I do miss the days when Broadway.com would publish a survey of the reviews).
Yet, I’ve read enough of them to feel like Suskin’s writings in the Broadway Yearbook series are a good representation of the beast, though Suskin also takes the added step of including a vast amount of background and historical detail related to each production.
As a model for analysis, I use his Thou Shalt Not review from Broadway Yearbook 2001-2002. Thou Shalt Not was the 2001 Harry Connick, Jr./Susan Stroman musical that starred Craig Bierko, Kate Levering, Norbert Leo Butz, and Debra Monk. Coming off the highs of Contact and The Producers, Thou Shalt Not was another Stroman baby; however, unlike so many of her other children, this one received a harsh critical backlash and was brutally expelled, as is typical of anything that aims high and thuds hard.
I did not see Thou Shalt Not, so I cannot speak to its quality. My only experience with the work has been through the bonus CD included with the revival recording of The Pajama Game starring Connick, Jr. Despite the considerable talents of the songwriter and Kelli O’Hara, who perform several songs from the show on the CD, nothing on the disc ever registers. As earnest an effort as it is, the recording never rises above in-one-ear-and-out-the-other status.
1. Experiencing the Source Material is Not a Necessity
It would seem reading the book, reading the play, or renting the movie would be a good first step in reviewing a big new Broadway production. It certainly is an honorable thing to do (a tradition that I’m sure could come to an abrupt end if anyone ever writes Portrait of a Lady: The Musical!).
The problem is that “the movie is never as good as the book.” And even if the adaptation is better than the book, no one who’s read the book can recognize that. Nothing ever beats mom’s sugar cookies because you ate them first. The definition of sugar cookie was defined by mom’s recipe. The only place to go from there is down.
As an example, I offer Pat Conroy’s huge novel The Lords of Discipline, his fictionalized account of his years at the Citadel. While the book was not a favorite by any means, I enjoyed much of the narrative and characters and so rented the movie. It’s a somewhat okay movie, but the characters are an abbreviated version of the novel’s characters, the plotting is summarized, and the conflicts are reduced. While The Lords of Discipline as a novel could amble its way through some 500 pages or so, it didn’t warrant a five hour epic on the big screen. Someone had to make some cuts somewhere, and they just happened to make a lot of the wrong ones.
But the problem is that I couldn’t honestly evaluate the movie of The Lords of Discipline as a movie because I was evaluating it as a novel. Whether it succeeds or fails as a movie independent of the novel, I’ll never know. Millions of Americans have not read the novel and will encounter the movie version in an entirely different way. As an aspiring-to-be-produced writer, it’s an important educational exercise to evaluate and learn from the adaptation, but in purely determining its quality as an independent work, experiencing the source material doesn’t allow one to speak to that.
In his review of Thou Shalt Not, Suskin compares it significantly with its source material, the Emile Zola novel Thérèse Raquin, highlighting the differences between what made the novel work and how the adaptation offset the delicate balance Zola created, thereby making for a crappy evening of theatre.
Not surprisingly, Zola’s Thérèse Raquin was far superior to Stroman’s Thérèse Raquin. And I should certainly hope so.
What makes for an effective adaptation is a topic in itself, but in short, the successful adapter needs to decide between faithfully adapting the work for a new medium (think Jane Eyre), revising the work (think Thoroughly Modern Millie), or interpreting the work (think Marie Christine). And to borrow a phrase, it is indeed brain surgery. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t. The problem is that if you are bathing yourself in the source material immediately before reviewing the show (and the source material is of high enough quality to have survived generations), there is a statistically higher chance that it is not going to work in the show’s favor. And since most people aren’t out to adapt You Don’t Mess With the Zohan or Zoolander, this is typically a reviewing recipe for disaster. It’s the Mom’s Sugar Cookies effect.
The most annoying example of this was with the comparisons between Judy Holliday’s Ella Peterson in the Bells are Ringing movie and Faith Prince’s Ella Peterson in the revival. As far as film musicals go, Bells are Ringing is a pretty minor work. It’s enjoyable, but I can’t imagine it ever rivaling one’s affection for, say, Meet Me in St. Louis, The Sound of Music, or State Fair. I can’t for once believe that most of the critics dancing the “She’s Not Judy Holliday” ballet were basing the evaluation based upon their Comden and Greene period back in ’89. As much as I love the show, the movie hasn’t particularly stuck to my ribs. So by watching the video—and how else would Holliday’s performance be so fresh (it’s not, by any means, a remarkable film performance, though it probably was so on stage)—people were bringing on the Mom’s Sugar Cookies effect.
the Broadway Mouth
February 5, 2009
Showing posts with label Bells are Ringing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bells are Ringing. Show all posts
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Modernizing Movie Musicals: Chapter 2 (Giving the Actors an Audience)
One of the worst moments in musical film—or at least the one that comes to mind for the sake of illustration—is in the bad adaptation of Kiss Me, Kate, when the two gangsters, out of nowhere, turn to the camera and start singing “Brush Up Your Shakespeare.”
It’s a movie. There is no audience to whom you have to cheat front.
The musical numbers of a movie musical must be filmed as if there is no Broadway audience, which means that the performers cannot randomly turn to an audience. An entire movie can’t exist within four walls, then for short bursts acknowledge the fourth wall. For modern moviegoers, that changes the rules created by the conventions of film and is awkward. That's when people say musicals are not sophisticated enough for modern audiences.
You see this handled well in many of the recent musicals. When Jack Kelly sings “Sante Fe” in Newsies, he’s not singing it to the audience. It is a reflection of his own state in life, and it is sung back to himself. It is photographed from a variety of directions, so that he is not always facing the camera. When he is filmed facing forward, his expression reverts his attention to his own contemplations. When he dances, he is not performing a number for the audience; it is the physical expression of his emotions. Because of this, “Sante Fe” is not awkward at all.
You see this done beautifully and often by Adam Shankman in Hairspray. During “Big, Blonde, and Beautiful,” the dancing is photographed facing toward Maybelle and Edna. The audience still experiences that wonderful choreography, but it is given an audience within the movie. It feels natural, rather than having it all faced out, acknowledging the existence of a fourth wall audience.
Even when Shankman uses the traditional forward-facing style, as he does in the ending of “Welcome to the 60’s,” he places the camera at an angle, so that the characters aren’t performing to the fourth wall. This gives the choreography a sense that these characters all happen to be dancing in the same direction, as opposed to performing for an audience.
A good example of how this might have changed classic musicals is “I’m Going Back” in Bells are Ringing. In the show (and movie), it is the moment when Ella has finally exhausted herself with all of her own antics and secret identities. She feels she has lost the man she loves because of her antics, and she’s ready to give up being an operator. In the movie, as in the stage show, Ella sings the song facing the fourth wall, doing her choreography, including the Jolson bit, to the audience.
To give Ella an audience within the movie, a modern director might have Ella perform the song to her switchboard. It would be a natural outlet, since all of her problems stemmed from her job at the switchboard. In essence, she would be letting out her frustration on herself because of the people whom she tried to help, represented in her mind by the switchboard where she met them all. Ella might turn away, singing to herself in a manner similar to Jack in Newsies, but the focus is still on something within the movie—herself.
Modern audiences don’t buy musicals when they push the boundaries of reality too far. We know audiences have a high tolerance for creativity and artificiality in movies—the plethora of horror, torture, action, super-hero, and romantic comedies more than proves this. But it’s the random performance to a fourth-wall audience that pops up out of nowhere that creates awkward moments in movie musicals. To resolve this, be it in singing or choreography, it is key to give the performer an audience within the movie, be it himself or herself, another character, or another object. This keeps a consistent tone and focus throughout the whole piece, just as is done in every other movie genre.
the Broadway Mouth
October 2, 2008
It’s a movie. There is no audience to whom you have to cheat front.
The musical numbers of a movie musical must be filmed as if there is no Broadway audience, which means that the performers cannot randomly turn to an audience. An entire movie can’t exist within four walls, then for short bursts acknowledge the fourth wall. For modern moviegoers, that changes the rules created by the conventions of film and is awkward. That's when people say musicals are not sophisticated enough for modern audiences.
You see this handled well in many of the recent musicals. When Jack Kelly sings “Sante Fe” in Newsies, he’s not singing it to the audience. It is a reflection of his own state in life, and it is sung back to himself. It is photographed from a variety of directions, so that he is not always facing the camera. When he is filmed facing forward, his expression reverts his attention to his own contemplations. When he dances, he is not performing a number for the audience; it is the physical expression of his emotions. Because of this, “Sante Fe” is not awkward at all.
You see this done beautifully and often by Adam Shankman in Hairspray. During “Big, Blonde, and Beautiful,” the dancing is photographed facing toward Maybelle and Edna. The audience still experiences that wonderful choreography, but it is given an audience within the movie. It feels natural, rather than having it all faced out, acknowledging the existence of a fourth wall audience.
Even when Shankman uses the traditional forward-facing style, as he does in the ending of “Welcome to the 60’s,” he places the camera at an angle, so that the characters aren’t performing to the fourth wall. This gives the choreography a sense that these characters all happen to be dancing in the same direction, as opposed to performing for an audience.
A good example of how this might have changed classic musicals is “I’m Going Back” in Bells are Ringing. In the show (and movie), it is the moment when Ella has finally exhausted herself with all of her own antics and secret identities. She feels she has lost the man she loves because of her antics, and she’s ready to give up being an operator. In the movie, as in the stage show, Ella sings the song facing the fourth wall, doing her choreography, including the Jolson bit, to the audience.
To give Ella an audience within the movie, a modern director might have Ella perform the song to her switchboard. It would be a natural outlet, since all of her problems stemmed from her job at the switchboard. In essence, she would be letting out her frustration on herself because of the people whom she tried to help, represented in her mind by the switchboard where she met them all. Ella might turn away, singing to herself in a manner similar to Jack in Newsies, but the focus is still on something within the movie—herself.
Modern audiences don’t buy musicals when they push the boundaries of reality too far. We know audiences have a high tolerance for creativity and artificiality in movies—the plethora of horror, torture, action, super-hero, and romantic comedies more than proves this. But it’s the random performance to a fourth-wall audience that pops up out of nowhere that creates awkward moments in movie musicals. To resolve this, be it in singing or choreography, it is key to give the performer an audience within the movie, be it himself or herself, another character, or another object. This keeps a consistent tone and focus throughout the whole piece, just as is done in every other movie genre.
the Broadway Mouth
October 2, 2008
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Every Story is a Love Story: The Great Romantic Musicals (Part 2 of 2)
And now I present Broadway Mouth’s Top Ten Most Romantic Broadway Musicals.
10. Parade—Even though they are married, Leo and Lucille’s journey forces their awkward relationship to change. She can no longer be a weak Southern Belle, and he can no longer be completely self-sufficient. Through their incredible life circumstances, they both come to love each other passionately. Because of this “All the Wasted Time” is a beautiful expression of their newly re-discovered love.
9. Bells are Ringing—There’s something irresistible about Ella Peterson. She’s extremely cute in how she wants to help everyone and manages win over everyone no matter what she does. While Jeff Moss is falling madly in love with her, it’s hard for us not to as well.
There is also a firm foundation in their relationship. They both need each other. Jeff needs her to help him write his plays, and Ella needs him to have someone to love.
Bells are Ringing has what is probably the most romantic line in any musical, when Jeff says to Ella, “You’re a girl with a lot of love to give. Instead of spreading it around all over the place, give it to me. I need it. I want it.”
That’s like “You complete me” long before Tom Cruise.
8. The Sound of Music—The film adaptation is the quintessential romantic story (and my favorite movie since childhood), and it is also the only case where the movie actually improved upon the Broadway show. But just because the film improves upon the romantic factor by adding location scenes (as well as additional material and re-organizing the songs) which helps create a stronger bond between the children and Maria as well as strengthening the bond between Maria and the Georg, it doesn’t mean that the original stage version doesn’t succeed independently.
There is something incredibly romantic about a love story that includes incredible children. It’s probably part of the happily ever after factor (or in love forever factor) which is so important for a romantic story because here we have one giant happy family when all is said and done. It’s beautiful.
7. Fiddler on the Roof—In our society, we value the concept of love and romance, and yet, we have a huge percentage of love-based relationships ending in divorce. I love in Fiddler on the Roof when Tevye presses Golda to answer, “Do you love me?”
Her response sums it up quite well. She sings, “Do I love him? / For twenty-five years I’ve lived with him, / Fought with him, starved with him. / Twenty-five years my bed is his. / If that’s not love, what is?” Despite my postulations on what makes for a great romantic story, Golda has pretty much summed it up—It’s the daily expressions and motions, the shared experiences, and the drawing closer together that is really what love is about.
The romantic story is also augmented by the experiences of the three daughters. While they are young, they each make severe choices in following their loves, choices rooted in cause and purpose, rather than emotion and whims. You can safely assume that each of these daughters will live with a measure of struggle but also with a life companion to share her pains.
6. The Music Man—You have a conman wanting to take advantage of a seemingly simple small-town woman, even going so far as to praise Hester Prynne for her scarlet letter. However in attempting to woo her in order to deceive her, he falls head-over-heels for her Irish imagination, her Iowa stubbornness, and her library full of books.
Marion is no foolish small town chickie, so when she accepts him for what he’s done for the community in spite of his con, she’s making a conscious decision and not one rooted in romantic notions. It is only when he changes that she really falls for him.
Above all, we love Harold Hill despite his con, and we love Marion for her stubbornness. You can help but cheer for them in the end.
5. Kiss Me, Kate—Here are two titanic personalities who clearly love each other deeply but can’t risk the gamble to admit it. Because of their mutual hard-headedness (or maybe their mutual insecurities), they almost miss out on their chance to have each other forever. Their song “Wunderbar” is beautiful for what it develops, their relationship when they have their guard down. “So In Love” then becomes icing on the cake.
4. Aida—Opposites attract, and when those opposites become not-very-opposite and fall deeply in love, it’s romantic.
Like many great love stories, it starts with the characters. Aida is a wonderful character, and her strength and determination is sexier than however the woman may look who is playing her. Though Radames starts out a jerk, his change is heart makes him a respectable guy (also, we need to remember his kindness to a young Mereb which attests to his inner nice-guys beginnings).
Because we are presented with these two characters we inherently like, we root for their love. It begins as something physical, but it becomes a union of similar personalities, a one-in-a-kind sort of love. Their love is deep, which is defined through several songs, most powerfully “Written in the Stars,” which is passionate even though it is about parting forever.
And yes, I can hardly resist the ending in which they die in each others’ arms.
3. 1776—Here we have a peripheral love story of a married couple separated by many miles, and yet, Edwards and Stone give us several very romantic moments.
John and Abigail Adams have a relationship firmly founded on mutual love and respect, which is always sexy. He huffs and fumes, and she picks on him; it’s a relationship that can only be formed through years of marriage and love. And theirs is a love that has survived separation and strife, only to grow stronger. It’s beautiful when Abigail asks John about the women in Virginia, obviously troubled by the months apart, and, knowing his wife so well, he basically says, “Don’t worry. These women can’t hold a candle to you.” Similarly, when he is in his moment of desperation and everything seems to be caving in, she is there to build him up as well. When she ends the reprise of “Yours, Yours, Yours” with the sending of saltpetre, the subtext of the action is “I love you and believe in you.” That’s more romantic than a kiss or a touch.
If most stories with romance portray the much-desired search for love, then 1776 gives us the love we hope to have forever.
2. Guys and Dolls—While it’s not written as a love song, “Luck Be a Lady” is probably one of the most romantic songs ever to appear on a Broadway stage.
First of all, there’s a romance that develops from dishonorable circumstances which could forever split apart the lovers (and almost does). Sarah Brown is a very sweet and passionate woman who sincerely intends to go great things. I would argue that she is a very modern character. Sky Masterson, while a gambler, is a respectable and honorable fellow. He does take Miss Sarah to Havana and even gets her drunk (unintentionally I believe), but he never intends for it to be harmful. After he realizes that she has downed too many drinks, he takes care of her and keeps her from harm or embarrassment.
When Sarah thinks that Sky has used her and leaves him once they’ve both fallen in love, the audience’s heart aches for these two who people who earnestly love each other but could be forever parted because of a misunderstanding.
That’s why “Luck Be a Lady” is such a romantic song, because of the desperation in which it is sung. Sky realizes he has screwed things up (with Nathan’s help), and this is his one chance to fix things up and get her back.
1. Jane Eyre—I know this’ll be controversial, but I can’t think of a more romantic story ever (and I saw the stage version before I ever picked up the novel, so I didn’t enter the Brooks Atkinson with any novel-based expectations).
It starts with two strong characters. Jane may be ugly, but she is one of the most beautiful women in all literature. I love how strong Jane is. I admire greatly how she refuses to give in to her passions because she realizes that it would betray her conscience and her sense of self-worth. I stand in awe of how she refuses the Rochester family jewels as a sign of her independence and her refusal to lose herself in the signs of wealth. I also adore Jane for her love of knowledge and learning and how that has shaped her view of the world.
Rochester, while certainly flawed, is also a very endearing character in how he treats his women. This complex topic could be discussed in a multi-page analysis, which I’ll forgo, but the fact that he has done his best to take care of Bertha Mason and to honor his wedding vows despite the difficult circumstances in a time when the insane were discarded and locked up under cruel circumstances is very honorable. And while he does attempt the dishonorable by wedding two women, his intentions are pure in his desire to keep both respectable (in a “what you don’t know won’t hurt you” way) and in violating only his own soul.
There’s also romance at the heart of how they meet and live. They both deeply love each other but cannot express it out of fear—Jane’s fear for her appearance and lowly position and Rochester’s fear of his dark secret and Jane’s youth. Then when they finally cross that hurdle, they are almost torn apart forever—each still singularly attached to the other—until a Providential intercession unites them forever. Their love for each other is rich and rooted. Even when circumstances change—Rochester is disfigured and Jane inherits great wealth—their love survives because it springs from their equality in spirit and intellect, their enjoyment of the company of the other.
It doesn’t get much better than this. It really doesn’t.
the Broadway Mouth
October 10, 2007
10. Parade—Even though they are married, Leo and Lucille’s journey forces their awkward relationship to change. She can no longer be a weak Southern Belle, and he can no longer be completely self-sufficient. Through their incredible life circumstances, they both come to love each other passionately. Because of this “All the Wasted Time” is a beautiful expression of their newly re-discovered love.
9. Bells are Ringing—There’s something irresistible about Ella Peterson. She’s extremely cute in how she wants to help everyone and manages win over everyone no matter what she does. While Jeff Moss is falling madly in love with her, it’s hard for us not to as well.
There is also a firm foundation in their relationship. They both need each other. Jeff needs her to help him write his plays, and Ella needs him to have someone to love.
Bells are Ringing has what is probably the most romantic line in any musical, when Jeff says to Ella, “You’re a girl with a lot of love to give. Instead of spreading it around all over the place, give it to me. I need it. I want it.”
That’s like “You complete me” long before Tom Cruise.
8. The Sound of Music—The film adaptation is the quintessential romantic story (and my favorite movie since childhood), and it is also the only case where the movie actually improved upon the Broadway show. But just because the film improves upon the romantic factor by adding location scenes (as well as additional material and re-organizing the songs) which helps create a stronger bond between the children and Maria as well as strengthening the bond between Maria and the Georg, it doesn’t mean that the original stage version doesn’t succeed independently.
There is something incredibly romantic about a love story that includes incredible children. It’s probably part of the happily ever after factor (or in love forever factor) which is so important for a romantic story because here we have one giant happy family when all is said and done. It’s beautiful.
7. Fiddler on the Roof—In our society, we value the concept of love and romance, and yet, we have a huge percentage of love-based relationships ending in divorce. I love in Fiddler on the Roof when Tevye presses Golda to answer, “Do you love me?”
Her response sums it up quite well. She sings, “Do I love him? / For twenty-five years I’ve lived with him, / Fought with him, starved with him. / Twenty-five years my bed is his. / If that’s not love, what is?” Despite my postulations on what makes for a great romantic story, Golda has pretty much summed it up—It’s the daily expressions and motions, the shared experiences, and the drawing closer together that is really what love is about.
The romantic story is also augmented by the experiences of the three daughters. While they are young, they each make severe choices in following their loves, choices rooted in cause and purpose, rather than emotion and whims. You can safely assume that each of these daughters will live with a measure of struggle but also with a life companion to share her pains.
6. The Music Man—You have a conman wanting to take advantage of a seemingly simple small-town woman, even going so far as to praise Hester Prynne for her scarlet letter. However in attempting to woo her in order to deceive her, he falls head-over-heels for her Irish imagination, her Iowa stubbornness, and her library full of books.
Marion is no foolish small town chickie, so when she accepts him for what he’s done for the community in spite of his con, she’s making a conscious decision and not one rooted in romantic notions. It is only when he changes that she really falls for him.
Above all, we love Harold Hill despite his con, and we love Marion for her stubbornness. You can help but cheer for them in the end.
5. Kiss Me, Kate—Here are two titanic personalities who clearly love each other deeply but can’t risk the gamble to admit it. Because of their mutual hard-headedness (or maybe their mutual insecurities), they almost miss out on their chance to have each other forever. Their song “Wunderbar” is beautiful for what it develops, their relationship when they have their guard down. “So In Love” then becomes icing on the cake.
4. Aida—Opposites attract, and when those opposites become not-very-opposite and fall deeply in love, it’s romantic.
Like many great love stories, it starts with the characters. Aida is a wonderful character, and her strength and determination is sexier than however the woman may look who is playing her. Though Radames starts out a jerk, his change is heart makes him a respectable guy (also, we need to remember his kindness to a young Mereb which attests to his inner nice-guys beginnings).
Because we are presented with these two characters we inherently like, we root for their love. It begins as something physical, but it becomes a union of similar personalities, a one-in-a-kind sort of love. Their love is deep, which is defined through several songs, most powerfully “Written in the Stars,” which is passionate even though it is about parting forever.
And yes, I can hardly resist the ending in which they die in each others’ arms.
3. 1776—Here we have a peripheral love story of a married couple separated by many miles, and yet, Edwards and Stone give us several very romantic moments.
John and Abigail Adams have a relationship firmly founded on mutual love and respect, which is always sexy. He huffs and fumes, and she picks on him; it’s a relationship that can only be formed through years of marriage and love. And theirs is a love that has survived separation and strife, only to grow stronger. It’s beautiful when Abigail asks John about the women in Virginia, obviously troubled by the months apart, and, knowing his wife so well, he basically says, “Don’t worry. These women can’t hold a candle to you.” Similarly, when he is in his moment of desperation and everything seems to be caving in, she is there to build him up as well. When she ends the reprise of “Yours, Yours, Yours” with the sending of saltpetre, the subtext of the action is “I love you and believe in you.” That’s more romantic than a kiss or a touch.
If most stories with romance portray the much-desired search for love, then 1776 gives us the love we hope to have forever.
2. Guys and Dolls—While it’s not written as a love song, “Luck Be a Lady” is probably one of the most romantic songs ever to appear on a Broadway stage.
First of all, there’s a romance that develops from dishonorable circumstances which could forever split apart the lovers (and almost does). Sarah Brown is a very sweet and passionate woman who sincerely intends to go great things. I would argue that she is a very modern character. Sky Masterson, while a gambler, is a respectable and honorable fellow. He does take Miss Sarah to Havana and even gets her drunk (unintentionally I believe), but he never intends for it to be harmful. After he realizes that she has downed too many drinks, he takes care of her and keeps her from harm or embarrassment.
When Sarah thinks that Sky has used her and leaves him once they’ve both fallen in love, the audience’s heart aches for these two who people who earnestly love each other but could be forever parted because of a misunderstanding.
That’s why “Luck Be a Lady” is such a romantic song, because of the desperation in which it is sung. Sky realizes he has screwed things up (with Nathan’s help), and this is his one chance to fix things up and get her back.
1. Jane Eyre—I know this’ll be controversial, but I can’t think of a more romantic story ever (and I saw the stage version before I ever picked up the novel, so I didn’t enter the Brooks Atkinson with any novel-based expectations).
It starts with two strong characters. Jane may be ugly, but she is one of the most beautiful women in all literature. I love how strong Jane is. I admire greatly how she refuses to give in to her passions because she realizes that it would betray her conscience and her sense of self-worth. I stand in awe of how she refuses the Rochester family jewels as a sign of her independence and her refusal to lose herself in the signs of wealth. I also adore Jane for her love of knowledge and learning and how that has shaped her view of the world.
Rochester, while certainly flawed, is also a very endearing character in how he treats his women. This complex topic could be discussed in a multi-page analysis, which I’ll forgo, but the fact that he has done his best to take care of Bertha Mason and to honor his wedding vows despite the difficult circumstances in a time when the insane were discarded and locked up under cruel circumstances is very honorable. And while he does attempt the dishonorable by wedding two women, his intentions are pure in his desire to keep both respectable (in a “what you don’t know won’t hurt you” way) and in violating only his own soul.
There’s also romance at the heart of how they meet and live. They both deeply love each other but cannot express it out of fear—Jane’s fear for her appearance and lowly position and Rochester’s fear of his dark secret and Jane’s youth. Then when they finally cross that hurdle, they are almost torn apart forever—each still singularly attached to the other—until a Providential intercession unites them forever. Their love for each other is rich and rooted. Even when circumstances change—Rochester is disfigured and Jane inherits great wealth—their love survives because it springs from their equality in spirit and intellect, their enjoyment of the company of the other.
It doesn’t get much better than this. It really doesn’t.
the Broadway Mouth
October 10, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Get with the (Souvenir) Program
I never leave for a show without the money to buy a souvenir program. To me, the CD and the program are essential elements of the experience. You pay $80+ for the show, and not only do you want to remember every minute of that awesome/expensive experience, you want pictures to help you remember and the music to relive it again and again.
When I come home from New York on the plane, the care of my souvenir programs is of utmost concern. I don’t want smashed corners or bent pages. That means they never go in my suitcases or in overhead compartments. I make sure one of my carry-ons is a nice plastic shopping bag that is small enough to keep my programs close together, and I slide it carefully under the seat before me. I then don’t move my legs (which are quite long, since I am 6’ 5”) for the entire flight unless I can do so without stepping on my programs.
Thankfully, they all still look as good as new.
Lately I’ve seen a few programs popping up at used bookstores in my area, which is how I got my Ragtime program (a souvenir of my Lincoln Center Theatre archive viewing). I often pick them up and am surprised at how vapid a number of them have been, more filler and fluff than actual substance. Now, I know not every theatre-goer out there is as obsessive as I, but on some of these, I can see why they’d have no problem selling them for a quarter to a used bookstore.
If you’re paying $10 (or $20 at Tarzan with a cheap bag), you want something to help you preserve the memory. No wonder people were selling of these Rent tour and various other programs. They gave no real clue about what they had seen on stage. Obviously at one point they wanted to preserve the memory, so the show must have been dear them enough to pay for the program in the first place.
I love my programs. When I want to remember how great Jane Eyre was, I just page through the beautiful photographs. When I want to remember how much I laughed during Kiss Me, Kate, I’ll pick up the Broadway or the tour cast program. If I want to remember how great Jayne Patterson was as Fantine, I pull out one of my Les Miserables programs.
And I know I’m not the only one.
Sometimes, though, I do think the producers’ perspective of what we want to remember and what the audience really wants to get are two different things.
So, dear producers, here are some guidelines to help you as you assemble the program you want to sell to aid your bottom line and to aid us in remembering a (hopefully) magical experience.
1. We want pictures. Lots of them that we can easily see.
On this front, The Color Purple program had to be about the most disappointing program I’ve ever gotten. Many of the pages consisted only of one large picture spread out across two pages. There’s one beautiful picture of LaChanze when Celie finds Nettie’s letters, where the crease comes in at her shoulder, which damages the effect. And since the picture is basically LaChanze (lit beautifully) surrounded by pitch black stage, I’m not sure show two pages were needed for that picture, particularly considering the program as a whole.
In addition to the overall shortage of pictures, there are a good number of pictures printed in the program which are so small, they might as well not be included. Seriously. God forbid you should want to remember any of the supporting characters. For such a beautiful show, you’d think they could include something to better help you remember it.
There is, however, a nice picture of Oprah, as if we don’t get a chance to see her often. She looks great, of course, but she wasn’t in the show.
2. Fewer words. There can be one page dedicated to words about the show, but that’s really about it.
In The Color Purple, we get one page dedicated to Oprah telling about how the book changed her life (she already gets a whole monthly magazine and a daily television show to tell us about herself and her experiences). There’s also a page dedicated to Alice Walker and the various incarnations of The Color Purple (with two very small shots from the show at the bottom, relegating Krisha Marcano’s beloved Squeak to a size smaller than my thumb). There’s also two pages about the creation of the show, and another page dedicated to the composer/lyricists and choreographer. There’s also one page (two bottom halfs) detailing the history of juke joints, and one page and a quarter (roughly ¾ of two pages) dedicated to a timeline of African-American history. Then writer Marsha Norman—oddly enough, almost the least-winded of them all—get her say in less than a page of writing (spread out into two pages). I’m surprised the stage hands don’t have a page to share their thoughts, though perhaps that’s one thing that’ll be negotiated for soon.
So, did I buy this program to remember the $120 I spent on The Color Purple or to get a textbook on African-American history?
My Wicked program is an example of an exceptional program in this regards. There is one page dedicated to Gregory Maguire (spread out over two half-pages), and the rest is pretty much pictures that don’t require a magnifying glass to identify.
And even though the cast pictured is the Broadway cast and not the original tour cast that I saw, the pictures are of significant scenes and costumes so that I can vividly recall the images I experienced that wonderful night.
3. Don’t get too cutesy. Stylish design is good, but you don’t want it to overpower the content. A board game in the Urinetown program, for example, is great fun . . . until you realize how much space it’s taking from other content.
Similarly, my program for The Drowsy Chaperone has ten pages of fun fluff. The pictures in the rest of the program are spectacular, but when I find myself looking I through it again, the two pages dedicated to Gable and Stein’s stable aren’t very interesting. The ten pages of Man in Chair’s scrapbook don’t help me remember the show.
4. Remember your audience. Why do people buy souvenir programs? To help them remember the wonderful experience they just had. As flattering as it surely is, an entire page dedicated to snapshots of the producers at the end of my Hairspray program is not why I bought the program. Don’t get me wrong, I am very thankful for all nineteen people and organizations shown there, but . . . They weren’t in the show, so why are they in the program?
Similarly, the Hairspray souvenir program—which has lots of beautiful pictures of the Original Broadway Cast—sprinkles throughout pictures and bios of the entire creative team. The bios come in the insert in the program (which, by the way, was cleverly printed on a fold-out poster). Not only is it redundant to take up space with them in the program, it’s a repeat of information.
When I see the programs that wind up sold to used bookstores, often, there’s so much information not related to the specific experience that I look at the programs myself and can’t get a feel for what they experienced.
5. Use updated pictures as much as possible. I think, as happens so many times, Cameron Mackintosh leads the way on this one. Towards the end of its tour, Les Miserables would hit my city almost yearly. And with every pass through, the souvenir program would be updated with the cast changes. It was a smart move on Mackintosh’s part because I bet I’m not the only one who didn’t mind double-dipping, particularly when it came to getting photos of favorite performances (for me, it was the amazing Jayne Patterson as Fantine).
It seems to be happening less now, but on tour, it often seems like we just get the New York cast in our photos. That’s still nice, but since it is supposed to be a souvenir of what we just saw, updated photos would be ideal.
And I know late in runs, the New York programs tend to be an amalgam of photos from various casts. I bet most theatre-goers would prefer to see photos of their cast rather than a mix of great casts of the past.
6. Make sure that there is a souvenir program!
Probably the strangest purchase I ever made was a program I got at the Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat tour with Patrick Cassidy and Deborah Gibson, which not only didn’t feature the cast I saw, but it wasn’t even the production. I think it was a program of photos from perhaps the original Broadway production. Strange.
I figure if the non-Equity tour of Godspell can come to town with not only a program of the cast but a CD as well, a Broadway tour could at least manage a souvenir program.
I’ve been fortunate that for several tours, I was able to get missing programs on a trip to New York, but it is annoying to see a show and to discover that the program isn’t available. Sometimes it’s a matter of printing times, such as when The Music Man was so new in New York, the programs just weren’t made yet. However, on a tour like Annie Get Your Gun or The King and I, which had been playing in New York for some time, some form of souvenir program should have been possible until new ones were printed.
Two exemplary souvenir programs that I remember are the programs for Bells are Ringing and Tarzan. For Bells are Ringing, there were a ton of pictures throughout (literally from cover to cover), of varying sizes but all large enough to easily see what was going on. The design includes lines on each page, I think to represent telephone lines, but they don’t obscure any pictures. There is writing (a piece from Betty Comden on the inspiration for the show, two historical sections on prices in 1956 and the history of communication, and a few paragraphs from the producer, and about a page from the director), but the best part is that these writings seem secondary to the photographs. They are beside the pictures, in corners of the actual photograph, and above them. A little less writing would have been nice (who cares about a history of communication—what’s the audience for this program?), but the great and many pictures make up for it. This program, by the way, was designed by Dewynters.
It’s almost unfair to use the Tarzan program as a model because it was for a Disney show and is about twice as long as other souvenir programs, no doubt because of the history of Disney’s success on Broadway (and the additional $10 I paid). The program, however, was filled with so many beautiful photos that the amount of writing doesn’t matter. There are many photos from the show itself, plus many others from photo shoots. There is an essay on Edgar Rice Burroughs, three paragraphs from producer Thomas Schumacher, and a few snippets here and there on the creative team for the show. But it is essentially a luscious book loaded with pictures printed on very high quality paper (even the insert of the actors’ bios is printed on thicker paper).
My love for Broadway and the excitement for seeing a show runs incredibly deep. There are times that I pick up a brochure or catalogue and I am immediately taken back to great memories when the printing smell is that of a Broadway program. That smell—no, aroma— takes me back to so many great experiences in the theatre that it makes me wish I could go run and see Show Boat again or Urinetown.
Souvenir programs not only help the bottom line for the producers, they are an essential part in recalling the experience for many people in the audience. When well-created, it becomes a permanent memory when the shows are long-gone and the casts have moved on. When not well-created, you can buy them for $3 at your local used bookstore.
the Broadway Mouth
September 18, 2007
When I come home from New York on the plane, the care of my souvenir programs is of utmost concern. I don’t want smashed corners or bent pages. That means they never go in my suitcases or in overhead compartments. I make sure one of my carry-ons is a nice plastic shopping bag that is small enough to keep my programs close together, and I slide it carefully under the seat before me. I then don’t move my legs (which are quite long, since I am 6’ 5”) for the entire flight unless I can do so without stepping on my programs.
Thankfully, they all still look as good as new.
Lately I’ve seen a few programs popping up at used bookstores in my area, which is how I got my Ragtime program (a souvenir of my Lincoln Center Theatre archive viewing). I often pick them up and am surprised at how vapid a number of them have been, more filler and fluff than actual substance. Now, I know not every theatre-goer out there is as obsessive as I, but on some of these, I can see why they’d have no problem selling them for a quarter to a used bookstore.
If you’re paying $10 (or $20 at Tarzan with a cheap bag), you want something to help you preserve the memory. No wonder people were selling of these Rent tour and various other programs. They gave no real clue about what they had seen on stage. Obviously at one point they wanted to preserve the memory, so the show must have been dear them enough to pay for the program in the first place.
I love my programs. When I want to remember how great Jane Eyre was, I just page through the beautiful photographs. When I want to remember how much I laughed during Kiss Me, Kate, I’ll pick up the Broadway or the tour cast program. If I want to remember how great Jayne Patterson was as Fantine, I pull out one of my Les Miserables programs.
And I know I’m not the only one.
Sometimes, though, I do think the producers’ perspective of what we want to remember and what the audience really wants to get are two different things.
So, dear producers, here are some guidelines to help you as you assemble the program you want to sell to aid your bottom line and to aid us in remembering a (hopefully) magical experience.
1. We want pictures. Lots of them that we can easily see.
On this front, The Color Purple program had to be about the most disappointing program I’ve ever gotten. Many of the pages consisted only of one large picture spread out across two pages. There’s one beautiful picture of LaChanze when Celie finds Nettie’s letters, where the crease comes in at her shoulder, which damages the effect. And since the picture is basically LaChanze (lit beautifully) surrounded by pitch black stage, I’m not sure show two pages were needed for that picture, particularly considering the program as a whole.
In addition to the overall shortage of pictures, there are a good number of pictures printed in the program which are so small, they might as well not be included. Seriously. God forbid you should want to remember any of the supporting characters. For such a beautiful show, you’d think they could include something to better help you remember it.
There is, however, a nice picture of Oprah, as if we don’t get a chance to see her often. She looks great, of course, but she wasn’t in the show.
2. Fewer words. There can be one page dedicated to words about the show, but that’s really about it.
In The Color Purple, we get one page dedicated to Oprah telling about how the book changed her life (she already gets a whole monthly magazine and a daily television show to tell us about herself and her experiences). There’s also a page dedicated to Alice Walker and the various incarnations of The Color Purple (with two very small shots from the show at the bottom, relegating Krisha Marcano’s beloved Squeak to a size smaller than my thumb). There’s also two pages about the creation of the show, and another page dedicated to the composer/lyricists and choreographer. There’s also one page (two bottom halfs) detailing the history of juke joints, and one page and a quarter (roughly ¾ of two pages) dedicated to a timeline of African-American history. Then writer Marsha Norman—oddly enough, almost the least-winded of them all—get her say in less than a page of writing (spread out into two pages). I’m surprised the stage hands don’t have a page to share their thoughts, though perhaps that’s one thing that’ll be negotiated for soon.
So, did I buy this program to remember the $120 I spent on The Color Purple or to get a textbook on African-American history?
My Wicked program is an example of an exceptional program in this regards. There is one page dedicated to Gregory Maguire (spread out over two half-pages), and the rest is pretty much pictures that don’t require a magnifying glass to identify.
And even though the cast pictured is the Broadway cast and not the original tour cast that I saw, the pictures are of significant scenes and costumes so that I can vividly recall the images I experienced that wonderful night.
3. Don’t get too cutesy. Stylish design is good, but you don’t want it to overpower the content. A board game in the Urinetown program, for example, is great fun . . . until you realize how much space it’s taking from other content.
Similarly, my program for The Drowsy Chaperone has ten pages of fun fluff. The pictures in the rest of the program are spectacular, but when I find myself looking I through it again, the two pages dedicated to Gable and Stein’s stable aren’t very interesting. The ten pages of Man in Chair’s scrapbook don’t help me remember the show.
4. Remember your audience. Why do people buy souvenir programs? To help them remember the wonderful experience they just had. As flattering as it surely is, an entire page dedicated to snapshots of the producers at the end of my Hairspray program is not why I bought the program. Don’t get me wrong, I am very thankful for all nineteen people and organizations shown there, but . . . They weren’t in the show, so why are they in the program?
Similarly, the Hairspray souvenir program—which has lots of beautiful pictures of the Original Broadway Cast—sprinkles throughout pictures and bios of the entire creative team. The bios come in the insert in the program (which, by the way, was cleverly printed on a fold-out poster). Not only is it redundant to take up space with them in the program, it’s a repeat of information.
When I see the programs that wind up sold to used bookstores, often, there’s so much information not related to the specific experience that I look at the programs myself and can’t get a feel for what they experienced.
5. Use updated pictures as much as possible. I think, as happens so many times, Cameron Mackintosh leads the way on this one. Towards the end of its tour, Les Miserables would hit my city almost yearly. And with every pass through, the souvenir program would be updated with the cast changes. It was a smart move on Mackintosh’s part because I bet I’m not the only one who didn’t mind double-dipping, particularly when it came to getting photos of favorite performances (for me, it was the amazing Jayne Patterson as Fantine).
It seems to be happening less now, but on tour, it often seems like we just get the New York cast in our photos. That’s still nice, but since it is supposed to be a souvenir of what we just saw, updated photos would be ideal.
And I know late in runs, the New York programs tend to be an amalgam of photos from various casts. I bet most theatre-goers would prefer to see photos of their cast rather than a mix of great casts of the past.
6. Make sure that there is a souvenir program!
Probably the strangest purchase I ever made was a program I got at the Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat tour with Patrick Cassidy and Deborah Gibson, which not only didn’t feature the cast I saw, but it wasn’t even the production. I think it was a program of photos from perhaps the original Broadway production. Strange.
I figure if the non-Equity tour of Godspell can come to town with not only a program of the cast but a CD as well, a Broadway tour could at least manage a souvenir program.
I’ve been fortunate that for several tours, I was able to get missing programs on a trip to New York, but it is annoying to see a show and to discover that the program isn’t available. Sometimes it’s a matter of printing times, such as when The Music Man was so new in New York, the programs just weren’t made yet. However, on a tour like Annie Get Your Gun or The King and I, which had been playing in New York for some time, some form of souvenir program should have been possible until new ones were printed.
Two exemplary souvenir programs that I remember are the programs for Bells are Ringing and Tarzan. For Bells are Ringing, there were a ton of pictures throughout (literally from cover to cover), of varying sizes but all large enough to easily see what was going on. The design includes lines on each page, I think to represent telephone lines, but they don’t obscure any pictures. There is writing (a piece from Betty Comden on the inspiration for the show, two historical sections on prices in 1956 and the history of communication, and a few paragraphs from the producer, and about a page from the director), but the best part is that these writings seem secondary to the photographs. They are beside the pictures, in corners of the actual photograph, and above them. A little less writing would have been nice (who cares about a history of communication—what’s the audience for this program?), but the great and many pictures make up for it. This program, by the way, was designed by Dewynters.
It’s almost unfair to use the Tarzan program as a model because it was for a Disney show and is about twice as long as other souvenir programs, no doubt because of the history of Disney’s success on Broadway (and the additional $10 I paid). The program, however, was filled with so many beautiful photos that the amount of writing doesn’t matter. There are many photos from the show itself, plus many others from photo shoots. There is an essay on Edgar Rice Burroughs, three paragraphs from producer Thomas Schumacher, and a few snippets here and there on the creative team for the show. But it is essentially a luscious book loaded with pictures printed on very high quality paper (even the insert of the actors’ bios is printed on thicker paper).
My love for Broadway and the excitement for seeing a show runs incredibly deep. There are times that I pick up a brochure or catalogue and I am immediately taken back to great memories when the printing smell is that of a Broadway program. That smell—no, aroma— takes me back to so many great experiences in the theatre that it makes me wish I could go run and see Show Boat again or Urinetown.
Souvenir programs not only help the bottom line for the producers, they are an essential part in recalling the experience for many people in the audience. When well-created, it becomes a permanent memory when the shows are long-gone and the casts have moved on. When not well-created, you can buy them for $3 at your local used bookstore.
the Broadway Mouth
September 18, 2007
Friday, July 27, 2007
Amazing Broadway Performer: Faith Prince
I’ve said it before. Count me in as a big, big fan of Bells are Ringing. I saw it late in the show’s run, and I fell head-over-heels in love with Ella Peterson and, by association, Faith Prince.
Faith Prince made Ella so charming, so endearing that I kept wishing there could really be a woman out there in real life as wonderful and spunky. This was another one of those shows where so many distinct images remain with me because it was such a remarkable evening of theatre, and it was all anchored in Faith Prince. The cast recording has become one of my most-listened-to CDs, not only because of the great Comden-Green-Styne music but because of the charm Prince exudes. From the innocent manipulation of “Is It a Crime?” to her irresistible giggles in “Drop That Name,” I can’t get enough.
And I am already having empathy pings for whoever gets the role of Miss Adelaide in the 2008 revival of Guys and Dolls. Just by listening to the CD, you can tell Faith Prince gave one of the greatest performances of the decade, and since it is still so recent, how can anyone compete in a world where “not as good as” has become a key phrase.
The CD of Guys and Dolls and seeing the Broadway production of Bells are Ringing was a one-two punch. For snappiness sake, I’d like to say that she had me at “Hello, Hello There,” but the truth is that when the light first came up on Ella Peterson, I could already hear the bells ringing for Faith Prince.
Website: http://www.faithprince.com/
the Broadway Mouth
July 27, 2007
Faith Prince made Ella so charming, so endearing that I kept wishing there could really be a woman out there in real life as wonderful and spunky. This was another one of those shows where so many distinct images remain with me because it was such a remarkable evening of theatre, and it was all anchored in Faith Prince. The cast recording has become one of my most-listened-to CDs, not only because of the great Comden-Green-Styne music but because of the charm Prince exudes. From the innocent manipulation of “Is It a Crime?” to her irresistible giggles in “Drop That Name,” I can’t get enough.
And I am already having empathy pings for whoever gets the role of Miss Adelaide in the 2008 revival of Guys and Dolls. Just by listening to the CD, you can tell Faith Prince gave one of the greatest performances of the decade, and since it is still so recent, how can anyone compete in a world where “not as good as” has become a key phrase.
The CD of Guys and Dolls and seeing the Broadway production of Bells are Ringing was a one-two punch. For snappiness sake, I’d like to say that she had me at “Hello, Hello There,” but the truth is that when the light first came up on Ella Peterson, I could already hear the bells ringing for Faith Prince.
Website: http://www.faithprince.com/
the Broadway Mouth
July 27, 2007
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
No One Else but the Singular, Remarkable, Unique, or . . . the Jane Eyre Altercation
In 2001, I ended up making last-second plans to get to New York to see Jane Eyre before it closed. Let me tell you, I had bought the CD, and immediately, I was won over. I can still remember the stop light where my car was stopped, and I was listening to “Children of God” and thinking, “Wow, this is amazing!”
I’ll always be indebted to Alanis Morissette for saving the show that one week because it allowed the producers to keep the show open long enough for me to see it. I was finishing up my second year of teaching then, and the last day of school was the Friday after the Tony Awards. Jane Eyre announced its closing date the next day, and I realized that I needed to move my NYC travel plans ASAP. On Saturday morning, I was flying out to NYC. I saw Bells are Ringing before it closed on Saturday night, and I saved the Sunday matinee time slot to see the final performance of Jane Eyre.
At Jane Eyre I was sitting next to a woman who had seen the show seventeen times, if I recall correctly, and she was crying through the whole thing. It was an amazing show. I wanted to do the Stage Door Johnny thing (I’ve since stopped, though it’s been a temptation many a time), so I ran out of the theatre once the lights went up to line up at the stage door. I got there right away, and as a mob of people encircled the door, I was right in front.
Shortly after the mob formed, a woman with two kids pushed her way to the front of the group and planted herself right in front of me. Oh was I mad. But at that time I was a little less assertive than I’ve learned to become in the years since, so I didn’t say anything to stand up for myself.
Across from me there was a couple, perhaps in their early thirties, maybe younger. She was dowdy, her straight brown hair pushed out of her eyes, no make-up to cover up her blemished skin. He was just a dopey-looking guy, hair parted down the middle. Both were wearing solid-colored t-shirts and shorts. They had a stack of Jane Eyre Playbills they were waiting to get signed.
The dowdy woman was clearly annoyed on my behalf. With contempt she stared at the mother and said something to the effect of, “That’s rude.”
“Would you mind your own business,” the mother said dismissively, looking away.
“Thank you,” I mouthed to my dowdy benefactress.
“He was here first, and you just cut in front of him,” she continued.
“You know what, I’m here and I’m not leaving, so you should just be quiet.” She had a curt tone, with that New Yawk accent that gave her the perfect amount of “You talkin’ to me” attitude.
It went from being a little tiff to becoming noticeable to people standing behind us in the mob.
“We’ve all been waiting in line, and you just cut in line in front of everyone, and that’s not fair. You should wait in line at that back. You’re rude.” Pause. “And you’re ugly.”
Now them’s fightin’ words, and Mamma Hen pulled out the big guns.
Loudly she said, being sure to cast her eyes over the crowd of patiently waiting fans, “I don’t know what your problem is. I’m just here with my son and his friend who are in Les Miz waiting for their friend who’s in this show to come down with a poster she was having signed for them.”
After a few moments of silence, her little Gavroche stepped out and said—and yes, tears were in his eyes—“My mom is not ugly!”
By the way, for the record, he was right.
Anyway, the moment she mentioned Les Miz, you could feel the crowd shifting from general discomfort to awe that two Broadway actors were in our midst. One tween-aged girl ventured through her awe to talk to the boys, and Stage Mamma Hen even stepped in to offer her a backstage tour.
The point of all this was (kinda) that the dowdy couple had arrived at the Brooks-Atkinson after having left early from Bells are Ringing, which explains how they had gotten to the front of the mob even before I did. When I heard that they had been to see the show, I said something like, “Oh, I loved it! What did you think?”
“Well . . .,” my dowdy benefactress said with some hesitation, “she wasn’t Judy Holliday.”
I remember hearing that before I went to the show and after, such as in Ken Mendelbaum’s review of the CD.
Lately I’ve read about how Laura Bell Bundy isn’t Reese Witherspoon.
Let me tell you how much I hate that. And it is precisely the Bells are Ringing notices that got me started. I do need to let you know that I adored every second of Bells are Ringing, and the CD is actually probably one of my most-listened to Broadway albums.
Now, it’s entirely possible that when Faith Prince began the run perhaps she wasn’t communicating the charm that is so critical to the success of the show, but that’s also part of the magic of the theatre—that doing a part for weeks or months allows the performer to grow in the character. By the time I saw the show, Faith Prince was every bit as adorable and charming as Ella Peterson must be. I had fallen head-over-heels in love with Ella by the third scene.
I’ve since seen the movie, and Judy Holliday is wonderful and charming and all that jazz, but she doesn’t have the trademark on cute. In fact, I would venture to say that what I’ve heard of the Original Broadway Cast recording with Holliday, she seems lacking in that charm on that recording.
Judy Holliday is dead. There’s not going to be any more chances for Judy Holliday’s name to shine up in lights. She’s dead. Gone. So long, dearie, and heaven hopping.
And Marlon Brando is gone. And Kim Stanley. And Gwen Verdon. And Ethel Waters. And a whole heck of a lot of other talented people. But the scripts lives on. The music lives on. Yes, Ella Peterson was written for Judy Holliday, but . . . Juliet Capulet was written for a teenage boy. And yet talented people are still committing suicide on stages all over the world.
So, if we ever want to see this gem of a show again, it’s going to have to be starring someone other than Judy Holliday. I know that sounds obvious, but there were those who didn’t realize that in 2001.
Faith Prince will never be Judy Holliday. I’ll repeat that. Faith Prince will never be Judy Holliday. So what? Judy Holliday could never be Faith Prince. Bernadette Peters will never be Ethel Merman. Ethel Merman could never be Bernadette Peters. I will never be Oscar Hammerstein. Oscar Hammerstein could never be me.
If that is to be our fate—that our creativity and success is measured by those we are not—then I think we’d all best roll over and die.
I agree that it is entirely appropriate to say, for example, “Actress Jane Smith is lacking the sweetness to creating an entirely sympathetic Sally Jones,” but to say, “Well, she’s not as good as Wilhema Van Butternose” is futile.
And a work that is good—and Bells are Ringing is excellent—will survive for a very long time. Yes, the right person needs to be cast, but if you want Judy Holliday and only Judy Holliday, you’re going to miss out on so much. Sadly, when it came to Bells are Ringing, many people did.
So Charlotte d’Amboise isn’t Donna McKechnie. Donna McKechnie hasn’t cornered the market on extreme talent. I have a feeling that there a hundred people out there who could be a smashing Cassie. Charlotte d’Amboise is one of them. Good for her. I’m happy a true Broadway talent got the part.
Please note: If you were a potentially dowdy person who got in an altercation while waiting in line for autographs at the final performance of Jane Eyre, please understand that I was not talking about the dowdy person you are thinking or even the same final performance of Jane Eyre. If you refuse to believe that, then please understand for those other dowdy people who I was really writing about, I didn’t mean to offend or hurt them in any way by writing this. I just felt it added to the character development. In fact, I still am very thankful that they said something when I wouldn’t stand up for myself.
Broadway Mouth
June 5, 2007
I’ll always be indebted to Alanis Morissette for saving the show that one week because it allowed the producers to keep the show open long enough for me to see it. I was finishing up my second year of teaching then, and the last day of school was the Friday after the Tony Awards. Jane Eyre announced its closing date the next day, and I realized that I needed to move my NYC travel plans ASAP. On Saturday morning, I was flying out to NYC. I saw Bells are Ringing before it closed on Saturday night, and I saved the Sunday matinee time slot to see the final performance of Jane Eyre.
At Jane Eyre I was sitting next to a woman who had seen the show seventeen times, if I recall correctly, and she was crying through the whole thing. It was an amazing show. I wanted to do the Stage Door Johnny thing (I’ve since stopped, though it’s been a temptation many a time), so I ran out of the theatre once the lights went up to line up at the stage door. I got there right away, and as a mob of people encircled the door, I was right in front.
Shortly after the mob formed, a woman with two kids pushed her way to the front of the group and planted herself right in front of me. Oh was I mad. But at that time I was a little less assertive than I’ve learned to become in the years since, so I didn’t say anything to stand up for myself.
Across from me there was a couple, perhaps in their early thirties, maybe younger. She was dowdy, her straight brown hair pushed out of her eyes, no make-up to cover up her blemished skin. He was just a dopey-looking guy, hair parted down the middle. Both were wearing solid-colored t-shirts and shorts. They had a stack of Jane Eyre Playbills they were waiting to get signed.
The dowdy woman was clearly annoyed on my behalf. With contempt she stared at the mother and said something to the effect of, “That’s rude.”
“Would you mind your own business,” the mother said dismissively, looking away.
“Thank you,” I mouthed to my dowdy benefactress.
“He was here first, and you just cut in front of him,” she continued.
“You know what, I’m here and I’m not leaving, so you should just be quiet.” She had a curt tone, with that New Yawk accent that gave her the perfect amount of “You talkin’ to me” attitude.
It went from being a little tiff to becoming noticeable to people standing behind us in the mob.
“We’ve all been waiting in line, and you just cut in line in front of everyone, and that’s not fair. You should wait in line at that back. You’re rude.” Pause. “And you’re ugly.”
Now them’s fightin’ words, and Mamma Hen pulled out the big guns.
Loudly she said, being sure to cast her eyes over the crowd of patiently waiting fans, “I don’t know what your problem is. I’m just here with my son and his friend who are in Les Miz waiting for their friend who’s in this show to come down with a poster she was having signed for them.”
After a few moments of silence, her little Gavroche stepped out and said—and yes, tears were in his eyes—“My mom is not ugly!”
By the way, for the record, he was right.
Anyway, the moment she mentioned Les Miz, you could feel the crowd shifting from general discomfort to awe that two Broadway actors were in our midst. One tween-aged girl ventured through her awe to talk to the boys, and Stage Mamma Hen even stepped in to offer her a backstage tour.
The point of all this was (kinda) that the dowdy couple had arrived at the Brooks-Atkinson after having left early from Bells are Ringing, which explains how they had gotten to the front of the mob even before I did. When I heard that they had been to see the show, I said something like, “Oh, I loved it! What did you think?”
“Well . . .,” my dowdy benefactress said with some hesitation, “she wasn’t Judy Holliday.”
I remember hearing that before I went to the show and after, such as in Ken Mendelbaum’s review of the CD.
Lately I’ve read about how Laura Bell Bundy isn’t Reese Witherspoon.
Let me tell you how much I hate that. And it is precisely the Bells are Ringing notices that got me started. I do need to let you know that I adored every second of Bells are Ringing, and the CD is actually probably one of my most-listened to Broadway albums.
Now, it’s entirely possible that when Faith Prince began the run perhaps she wasn’t communicating the charm that is so critical to the success of the show, but that’s also part of the magic of the theatre—that doing a part for weeks or months allows the performer to grow in the character. By the time I saw the show, Faith Prince was every bit as adorable and charming as Ella Peterson must be. I had fallen head-over-heels in love with Ella by the third scene.
I’ve since seen the movie, and Judy Holliday is wonderful and charming and all that jazz, but she doesn’t have the trademark on cute. In fact, I would venture to say that what I’ve heard of the Original Broadway Cast recording with Holliday, she seems lacking in that charm on that recording.
Judy Holliday is dead. There’s not going to be any more chances for Judy Holliday’s name to shine up in lights. She’s dead. Gone. So long, dearie, and heaven hopping.
And Marlon Brando is gone. And Kim Stanley. And Gwen Verdon. And Ethel Waters. And a whole heck of a lot of other talented people. But the scripts lives on. The music lives on. Yes, Ella Peterson was written for Judy Holliday, but . . . Juliet Capulet was written for a teenage boy. And yet talented people are still committing suicide on stages all over the world.
So, if we ever want to see this gem of a show again, it’s going to have to be starring someone other than Judy Holliday. I know that sounds obvious, but there were those who didn’t realize that in 2001.
Faith Prince will never be Judy Holliday. I’ll repeat that. Faith Prince will never be Judy Holliday. So what? Judy Holliday could never be Faith Prince. Bernadette Peters will never be Ethel Merman. Ethel Merman could never be Bernadette Peters. I will never be Oscar Hammerstein. Oscar Hammerstein could never be me.
If that is to be our fate—that our creativity and success is measured by those we are not—then I think we’d all best roll over and die.
I agree that it is entirely appropriate to say, for example, “Actress Jane Smith is lacking the sweetness to creating an entirely sympathetic Sally Jones,” but to say, “Well, she’s not as good as Wilhema Van Butternose” is futile.
And a work that is good—and Bells are Ringing is excellent—will survive for a very long time. Yes, the right person needs to be cast, but if you want Judy Holliday and only Judy Holliday, you’re going to miss out on so much. Sadly, when it came to Bells are Ringing, many people did.
So Charlotte d’Amboise isn’t Donna McKechnie. Donna McKechnie hasn’t cornered the market on extreme talent. I have a feeling that there a hundred people out there who could be a smashing Cassie. Charlotte d’Amboise is one of them. Good for her. I’m happy a true Broadway talent got the part.
Please note: If you were a potentially dowdy person who got in an altercation while waiting in line for autographs at the final performance of Jane Eyre, please understand that I was not talking about the dowdy person you are thinking or even the same final performance of Jane Eyre. If you refuse to believe that, then please understand for those other dowdy people who I was really writing about, I didn’t mean to offend or hurt them in any way by writing this. I just felt it added to the character development. In fact, I still am very thankful that they said something when I wouldn’t stand up for myself.
Broadway Mouth
June 5, 2007
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