You know the drill. The replacement and tour casts look and perform as much like the original cast as possible. If you need a replacement Beast, you always look to the guys who played Javert. If you need Javert, you look to the guys who played the Beast. If you need a Belle, she needs to look and sound a certain way unless you cast Toni Braxton. If you need a star name, you cast whoever is least likely to be an embarrassment but still be big enough to get butts in seats.
But last week, we were given the exciting news—Faith Prince as Ursula!
It’s not remarkable that Disney cast Faith Prince. They’ve used big Broadway names many times before—Andrea McArdle, Idina Menzel, Norm Lewis, to name a few. What’s remarkable is that they went in the entire opposite direction of the original casting. Sherie Rene Scott is a pop powerhouse, sexy and young, and they should have cast a Kelly Fournier or a Sara Gettelfinger. Instead, we get the very versatile and cute Faith Prince.
Faith Prince is perfect casting, utterly perfect. She can do character roles with great zest, but she’s also proven her ability to handle more subtle roles, earning strong reviews in The King and I and James Joyce’s The Dead. Her Ursula will be entirely different from Sherie Rene Scott’s—I don’t know how it could be anything except different—but it will also be utterly satisfying and genius in her own way.
Faith Prince is genius casting in anything, but as Ursula, it’s unexpected genius. Theatre fans will be willing to go a second time just to see her interpretation of the role, and general audiences will walk away having witnessed a great performance.
Personally, when I heard about the original cast members trickling away, it made The Little Mermaid less of a draw if I make it to NYC this summer. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the less-known performers out there, but it’s extraordinarily nice to over-pay to see someone you love or have wanted to see perform for a long time. Faith Prince as Ursula is exciting.
Way to go, Disney! You turned stunt casting into stunning casting.
the Broadway Mouth
February 25, 2009
Showing posts with label Faith Prince. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Faith Prince. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Monday, June 2, 2008
A Year of Living Anonymously: Stepping Out (a Little)
No one knows who I am.
No, I’m not quoting a song from Jekyll and Hyde; literally no one knows who I am. It’s been exactly one year (and over 34,000 hits ago) that I started writing as the Broadway Mouth with a column entitled “Hello and Faux,” an introduction to myself and a few thoughts concerning the very talented Michael John LaChiusa’s coining of the phrase faux musical.
I owe a big thank you to everyone who has been checking in this past year, be it daily or occasionally to see what the Broadway Mouth has to say. When you start something like this, you never know what to expect, and I have been very blessed to have received so many repeat visits.
But writing in anonymity has been an important part of all of this. I have fought to remain intentionally anonymous to protect me when my loud mouth gets the best of me. I’ve been critical of a few shows (hopefully for the sake of education, not to be nasty or out of a mean spirit), and let’s face it, it’d stink big-time to someday have it thrown in my face that I wasn’t a big fan of someone’s show and to lose out on some great opportunity because of it.
That said, I’m going to withdraw the veil of secrecy for a select few, a few who just might remember me (or just have been annoyed). You have to remember this when I finally do get a show on Broadway because I’ll probably remind you of it if I get the chance to meet you, and I’d appreciate it if you acted like you didn’t remember (or were grateful, whichever the case may be).
Russell Warfield, I owe you an apology and an explanation. In August of 2000, I saw Jekyll and Hyde (which was my first show on Broadway). While waiting in a deluge to meet the cast as they exited the stage door, my Playbill managed to soak up buckets of water. Since I’m a saver, I returned to the theatre the next day to get another. The woman at the ticket office said to go to the stage door. When I did, you were eating McDonald’s and chatting with the man who guarded the door.
As I’ve written before, I get horribly star struck around Broadway people. Long story short, you didn’t believe I had actually seen the show because I didn’t recognize you, but let’s face it, you were wearing much more clothing than you did in the show. I was both embarrassed because your part in the show was very sexual and because I wasn’t used to seeing that sort of thing on stage. Then, in my state of star-struckness-embarassedness-feelinglikeanidiotness, I asked to have my picture taken with you even though you were eating McDonald’s. No wonder you look like you want to ax me in the picture. I apologize.
Marin Mazzie, I apologize for snapping a picture of you outside of Kiss Me, Kate when you weren’t expecting it. You probably thought it was rude. I wasn’t trying to be rude, but I was in such awe, and you are so beautiful, I didn’t think I’d ever get a chance for a picture with you. It took me several years to realize how that could have been a violation of your personal space, but at least you look great in the picture. I’m sorry.
Jason Robert Brown, after one performance of Parade on tour, a young man came up to you and said that he taught your song “Stars and the Moon.” That was I. I actually taught it many times since, and it was always a big, big hit with kids. In fact, it was a favorite of the kids when I taught summer school at the juvenile detention center, and they even wanted me to play it again several weeks after I had originally taught it to them. I’ll add, too, that I always showed the scene of Parade from the Tony Awards whenever I did my drama unit.
Merle Dandridge, not even a month into the first stop of the Aida tour, you went on for Simone a second time. As you exited the theatre, a tall young man with a female friend greeted you and told you how wonderful you were, but I don’t think you quite believed them. It was I who saw was there, and your performance is still a favorite of mine. I’m a fan forever.
Faith Prince, I saw you in Bells are Ringing on the Saturday night before its closing Sunday. I was still waiting at the stage door in those days, and I was so sad when you didn’t come out that, the next day, I left a card for you at the stage door. You were so fantastic in that show (mid-way though, I remember thinking, “I want to marry Ella Peterson. Where’s my Ella Peterson!”) that I wanted you to know how much I loved your performance. Your recording of the show is one of my most-listened-to CDs, by the way, and I have many vivid memories of that wonderful production and your performance.
Jayne Patterson, I’ve been a big fan of yours since Jane Eyre, and I was elated to discover that you were playing Fantine on tour a few years afterward, which I didn’t know until I got my program in the theatre. I even bought a third (or was that fourth?) Les Miserables souvenir program just to have a keepsake of your performance. I’ve seen many very fine Fantines on tour, but you’re my favorite. I was the one who wrote you a fan letter about it.
Sherie Rene Scott, it doesn’t really matter because no one will ever see it, but I was writing a pilot for a sitcom for kids (think Hannah Montana but funny) and always envisioned you as a regular character, the rock star mother who was a Madonna on the outside but a Britney Spears on the inside. I guess it’s kind of pointless to even bring it up, but I just wanted you to know someone thought of you, even if he was never even minutely close to having anyone of any importance seeing. It would have been fun, though.
The guy who came on to me in the Broadway shop under the Marriot Marquis in August 2006, I was in there several times in one day simply because I love shopping there (and had to return to find a card to send to someone). When you came on to me, I tried to act disinterested in a way that was respectful and polite. Please don’t take it personally . . . I’m straight. Really, all I wanted to know was if you knew where I could find a 42nd Street souvenir program. I didn’t mean anything by it.
the Broadway Mouth
June 2, 2008
No, I’m not quoting a song from Jekyll and Hyde; literally no one knows who I am. It’s been exactly one year (and over 34,000 hits ago) that I started writing as the Broadway Mouth with a column entitled “Hello and Faux,” an introduction to myself and a few thoughts concerning the very talented Michael John LaChiusa’s coining of the phrase faux musical.
I owe a big thank you to everyone who has been checking in this past year, be it daily or occasionally to see what the Broadway Mouth has to say. When you start something like this, you never know what to expect, and I have been very blessed to have received so many repeat visits.
But writing in anonymity has been an important part of all of this. I have fought to remain intentionally anonymous to protect me when my loud mouth gets the best of me. I’ve been critical of a few shows (hopefully for the sake of education, not to be nasty or out of a mean spirit), and let’s face it, it’d stink big-time to someday have it thrown in my face that I wasn’t a big fan of someone’s show and to lose out on some great opportunity because of it.
That said, I’m going to withdraw the veil of secrecy for a select few, a few who just might remember me (or just have been annoyed). You have to remember this when I finally do get a show on Broadway because I’ll probably remind you of it if I get the chance to meet you, and I’d appreciate it if you acted like you didn’t remember (or were grateful, whichever the case may be).
Russell Warfield, I owe you an apology and an explanation. In August of 2000, I saw Jekyll and Hyde (which was my first show on Broadway). While waiting in a deluge to meet the cast as they exited the stage door, my Playbill managed to soak up buckets of water. Since I’m a saver, I returned to the theatre the next day to get another. The woman at the ticket office said to go to the stage door. When I did, you were eating McDonald’s and chatting with the man who guarded the door.
As I’ve written before, I get horribly star struck around Broadway people. Long story short, you didn’t believe I had actually seen the show because I didn’t recognize you, but let’s face it, you were wearing much more clothing than you did in the show. I was both embarrassed because your part in the show was very sexual and because I wasn’t used to seeing that sort of thing on stage. Then, in my state of star-struckness-embarassedness-feelinglikeanidiotness, I asked to have my picture taken with you even though you were eating McDonald’s. No wonder you look like you want to ax me in the picture. I apologize.
Marin Mazzie, I apologize for snapping a picture of you outside of Kiss Me, Kate when you weren’t expecting it. You probably thought it was rude. I wasn’t trying to be rude, but I was in such awe, and you are so beautiful, I didn’t think I’d ever get a chance for a picture with you. It took me several years to realize how that could have been a violation of your personal space, but at least you look great in the picture. I’m sorry.
Jason Robert Brown, after one performance of Parade on tour, a young man came up to you and said that he taught your song “Stars and the Moon.” That was I. I actually taught it many times since, and it was always a big, big hit with kids. In fact, it was a favorite of the kids when I taught summer school at the juvenile detention center, and they even wanted me to play it again several weeks after I had originally taught it to them. I’ll add, too, that I always showed the scene of Parade from the Tony Awards whenever I did my drama unit.
Merle Dandridge, not even a month into the first stop of the Aida tour, you went on for Simone a second time. As you exited the theatre, a tall young man with a female friend greeted you and told you how wonderful you were, but I don’t think you quite believed them. It was I who saw was there, and your performance is still a favorite of mine. I’m a fan forever.
Faith Prince, I saw you in Bells are Ringing on the Saturday night before its closing Sunday. I was still waiting at the stage door in those days, and I was so sad when you didn’t come out that, the next day, I left a card for you at the stage door. You were so fantastic in that show (mid-way though, I remember thinking, “I want to marry Ella Peterson. Where’s my Ella Peterson!”) that I wanted you to know how much I loved your performance. Your recording of the show is one of my most-listened-to CDs, by the way, and I have many vivid memories of that wonderful production and your performance.
Jayne Patterson, I’ve been a big fan of yours since Jane Eyre, and I was elated to discover that you were playing Fantine on tour a few years afterward, which I didn’t know until I got my program in the theatre. I even bought a third (or was that fourth?) Les Miserables souvenir program just to have a keepsake of your performance. I’ve seen many very fine Fantines on tour, but you’re my favorite. I was the one who wrote you a fan letter about it.
Sherie Rene Scott, it doesn’t really matter because no one will ever see it, but I was writing a pilot for a sitcom for kids (think Hannah Montana but funny) and always envisioned you as a regular character, the rock star mother who was a Madonna on the outside but a Britney Spears on the inside. I guess it’s kind of pointless to even bring it up, but I just wanted you to know someone thought of you, even if he was never even minutely close to having anyone of any importance seeing. It would have been fun, though.
The guy who came on to me in the Broadway shop under the Marriot Marquis in August 2006, I was in there several times in one day simply because I love shopping there (and had to return to find a card to send to someone). When you came on to me, I tried to act disinterested in a way that was respectful and polite. Please don’t take it personally . . . I’m straight. Really, all I wanted to know was if you knew where I could find a 42nd Street souvenir program. I didn’t mean anything by it.
the Broadway Mouth
June 2, 2008
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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