Midway through The Wedding Singer, my thought was “This would be such a fun show to do in a high school. Too bad it can’t be done.”
It’s a myth that old Broadway shows were purely wholesome entertainments. I once saw a great regional production of Oklahoma! with a group of teachers who had grown up loving the movie. They were more than slightly surprised by some of the lyrics in the stage version. In the old days, though, when schools did shows like Oklahoma! or The Pajama Game, they could easily look to the film adaptations for guidance on how to incorporate alterations to make the show appropriate for their students. The lyrics were already changed by the original creators for the movies, so there was no danger is adapting those changes.
My college directing teacher told us that you could get away with taking out the swear words, but really, anything other than that, you were legally out of bounds. She taught us to respect the work of the playwright, to honor their intentions, and that if a show in its entirety wasn’t right for your actors or your audience, then it was best to pick another show.
When I saw The Wedding Singer, I knew there was no way for a high school to do the show without severely damaging the integrity of the piece. Here was a show with instant name recognition for the audience, with really catchy songs, and loads of laughs. Plus, kids would love the retro 80s factor. The Wedding Singer really would be a blast for high school students to tackle.
But from beginning to end, there’s too much material not appropriate for high school actors. Songs incorporate the f-bomb, strippers, drugs, and sexual practices. A major plot element involves a character waking up to wonder if he’s had sex with a woman he doesn’t love, not to mention her seduction of him the night before. And what would a high school do with a gay character like George (who, in song lyrics, dances in women’s underwear and professes not to like women at all).
I’ve also wondered what high schools will do with Hairspray. There’s not much inappropriate in the stage version, but there are lines about kids with condoms, a lesbian phy ed teacher taking advantage of her students, plus a few other devious lines here and there that would give administrators cause to wince. If you can easily leave a line out, that’s not so bad for a high school director to do, but to take on rewriting dialogue or lyrics is crossing the line. Hopefully, when it is licensed, the writers will provide equitable solutions for high school directors to use.
With the exception of a big, challenging show like Les Miserables, I don’t think most high school directors would opt for a “School Edition” or “Jr.” production of a show. High school directors generally do aspire to make a great show, and while “Jr.” productions are great for middle schools, to do a The Wedding Singer Jr. at a high school would be beneath most students and directors (though, there is an audience for high schools doing High School Musical, so what do I know?). The creators could re-write a PG-rated The Wedding Singer, but that would just be cheap. There’d have to be too many major changes (as opposed to changing a line of dialogue or a lyrics here or there).
Dirty Rotten Scoundrels is another show that has the potential to be a heap of fun at a high school that would simply not work for a high school to produce.
Maybe that’s why the most common new shows to make it to high school are Seussical and Beauty and the Beast. They can actually be done at a high school.
the Broadway Mouth
September 18, 2008
Showing posts with label Les Miserables. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Les Miserables. Show all posts
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
High School Musicals, Part 2: Hey Mom, I’m a Hooker in the School Play!
I never knew how I could send my drama kids home to tell their parents they were hookers in the school play. When I was directing high school plays, my kids wanted me to do Les Miserables (and it wasn’t even being licensed yet), I just could just imagine the following scene:
Virginia: Mom, mom, I got a part in the school play!
Mom: How exciting, honey. I’m so proud of you. What’s your character?
Virginia: I’m a hooker!
Mom: A hooker . . . ?
Virginia: And I don’t even need a costume. My director said everything you bought for me to wear to school this fall will work just fine.
Mom: I find that very offensive. We were going for Pussycat Dolls.
Okay, so the conversation I imagined didn’t exactly go like that (and I always had the “True Love Waits” kids auditioning for my plays, so this really was fictionalized), but I am curious how parents react to their kids being in Les Miserables. I tried to see a high school production just to see the cuts that were made, but it was sold out. Still, a prostitute is a prostitute, and that’s an odd thing to tell your mother you’re playing in the school play.
Yes, times have changed. When my mom was in high school in the 1960s, they did a musical revue where “’Cause no one wants a fella with a social disease” in “Gee, Officer Krupke” from West Side Story got changed to “’Cause no one wants a fella who doesn’t say please” (my mom never addressed why this song, of all songs from that show, would be selected for inclusion in a high school musical revue, but I say no judgments). How different is that from the current era, where kids get heckled on MTV for not having sex. Now that lyric is so outdated because we’re getting more inclusive than in the 1960s; too many kids have social diseases not to be. Take that, Stephen Sondheim.
I have an acting copy of My Sister Eileen (which was the source material for Wonderful Town). There are 4.25 pages printed in tiny print, titled “My Sister Eileen for High Schools.” It’s the authors’ suggestions for making the play acceptable for high school productions.
Some highlights:
Before
1st Man: (Delightedly.) Another dame! Look, Pete! There’s two broads—one for you too!
After
1st Man: (Delightedly.) Another dame! Look, Pete! There’s two dames—one for you too!
Before
Wreck: “I’m a rambling wreck from Georgia Tech
And a helluva engineer—
A helluva, helluva, helluva,
Helluva engineer—“
After
Wreck: “I’m a rambling wreck from Georgia Tech
(Follow with indistinct humming).”
And there are, indeed, some lines that get omitted for sexual overtones. In the high school version, it seems like Violet really is a rumba teacher (as opposed to being a prostitute), Wreck and Helen were actually married secretly (instead of just living together), and there are cuts like:
Before
Lonigan: I found him in the alley, with all these bed-clothes. I think he’s some kind of sex nut!
After
Lonigan: I found him in the alley, with all these bed-clothes. I think he’s some kind of nut!
But maybe kids in the high school version of My Sister Eileen took matters in their own hands like my kids did during the final performance of The Pajama Game.
There’s a comedy bit at the picnic where womanizing Prez tells Brenda that he’s taking her to get another beer. She protests that the refreshments are opposite from where he’s pulling her. They disappear off stage left, then after some dialogue between Babe and Sid, Brenda walks back on stage straightening her clothes, saying to Babe, “Stay out in the open, honey, don’t get down in them woods.”
In that final performance, I almost died when I saw my Brenda re-enter the stage buttoning up her top, followed by my Prez zipping up his pants. And my Prez came from a very conservative family. It was hilarious because they actually did it, but at the same time, I was mortified that it looked like I had directed them to do it.
the Broadway Mouth
September 16, 2008
Virginia: Mom, mom, I got a part in the school play!
Mom: How exciting, honey. I’m so proud of you. What’s your character?
Virginia: I’m a hooker!
Mom: A hooker . . . ?
Virginia: And I don’t even need a costume. My director said everything you bought for me to wear to school this fall will work just fine.
Mom: I find that very offensive. We were going for Pussycat Dolls.
Okay, so the conversation I imagined didn’t exactly go like that (and I always had the “True Love Waits” kids auditioning for my plays, so this really was fictionalized), but I am curious how parents react to their kids being in Les Miserables. I tried to see a high school production just to see the cuts that were made, but it was sold out. Still, a prostitute is a prostitute, and that’s an odd thing to tell your mother you’re playing in the school play.
Yes, times have changed. When my mom was in high school in the 1960s, they did a musical revue where “’Cause no one wants a fella with a social disease” in “Gee, Officer Krupke” from West Side Story got changed to “’Cause no one wants a fella who doesn’t say please” (my mom never addressed why this song, of all songs from that show, would be selected for inclusion in a high school musical revue, but I say no judgments). How different is that from the current era, where kids get heckled on MTV for not having sex. Now that lyric is so outdated because we’re getting more inclusive than in the 1960s; too many kids have social diseases not to be. Take that, Stephen Sondheim.
I have an acting copy of My Sister Eileen (which was the source material for Wonderful Town). There are 4.25 pages printed in tiny print, titled “My Sister Eileen for High Schools.” It’s the authors’ suggestions for making the play acceptable for high school productions.
Some highlights:
Before
1st Man: (Delightedly.) Another dame! Look, Pete! There’s two broads—one for you too!
After
1st Man: (Delightedly.) Another dame! Look, Pete! There’s two dames—one for you too!
Before
Wreck: “I’m a rambling wreck from Georgia Tech
And a helluva engineer—
A helluva, helluva, helluva,
Helluva engineer—“
After
Wreck: “I’m a rambling wreck from Georgia Tech
(Follow with indistinct humming).”
And there are, indeed, some lines that get omitted for sexual overtones. In the high school version, it seems like Violet really is a rumba teacher (as opposed to being a prostitute), Wreck and Helen were actually married secretly (instead of just living together), and there are cuts like:
Before
Lonigan: I found him in the alley, with all these bed-clothes. I think he’s some kind of sex nut!
After
Lonigan: I found him in the alley, with all these bed-clothes. I think he’s some kind of nut!
But maybe kids in the high school version of My Sister Eileen took matters in their own hands like my kids did during the final performance of The Pajama Game.
There’s a comedy bit at the picnic where womanizing Prez tells Brenda that he’s taking her to get another beer. She protests that the refreshments are opposite from where he’s pulling her. They disappear off stage left, then after some dialogue between Babe and Sid, Brenda walks back on stage straightening her clothes, saying to Babe, “Stay out in the open, honey, don’t get down in them woods.”
In that final performance, I almost died when I saw my Brenda re-enter the stage buttoning up her top, followed by my Prez zipping up his pants. And my Prez came from a very conservative family. It was hilarious because they actually did it, but at the same time, I was mortified that it looked like I had directed them to do it.
the Broadway Mouth
September 16, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
From the Mouth of Harvey Fierstein
I love being a genius. It’s hard going undiscovered for so long and all, but I’ll take that over never having been a genius any day.
How can you tell if you’re a genius? If smart people say things you have been holding firmly to for some time or have put into words that which you’ve already written, then you are a certifiable genius without ever having to take an IQ test. Trust me. Being an undiscovered genius, I’m an expert on these things.
Barbara Hoffman’s interview with Harvey Fierstein in The New York Post contains just one of those genius-inducing quotes:
Why turn a creaky flick like A Catered Affair into a musical?
That's why. I don't believe that you take something incredibly great and finished and then make something else out of it. I'm always asked to write a new version of Stage Door. But that film is genius. You can't do better than that cast—Katharine Hepburn, Lucille Ball, Ginger Rogers, Ann Miller. Leave it alone! I saw Catered Affair and I loved how human it was. Paddy Chayefsky's like that. Think of Marty. But Marty is perfect - a dance number isn't going to make it better. A Catered Affair had all this humanity and didn't quite go as far. I thought I could take it to the next level. Debbie Reynolds [one of the film's stars] came to our opening in San Diego and said, "Honey, it's a much better musical than it ever was a movie!"
To steal Hal Prince’s phrasing, there are some exceptions—big ones, like Mame and Les Miserables—but Fierstein has spoken something I have felt for a long time. It’s difficult for me to pull many concrete examples from big musicals simply because I don’t usually bother with the source material, which is often hard-to-find or just not of interest, but I have often contemplated this when thinking of source material to adapt. If you’re just going to plug in songs, then it’s kind of a why-bother proposition. If the adaptation is super faithful, I earnestly wonder where’s the fun in it for the writer, though I’m sure cashing big royalty checks is delightful.
A case in point: I loved The Wedding Singer, but even though I had never seen the film, the second act didn’t feel much like a stage musical. It felt like an after-school special plotted on a stage. I then acquired a copy of the movie and was surprised how literal the musical’s book was, including the whole “Julia thinks Robbie’s slept with Linda” drama which, in part, prevented the second act from lifting from the stage.
Of course, you don’t want to take a beloved work and screw it up either. Mame, Les Miserables, and Jane Eyre are all examples of shows that remained faithful to their source works that not only worked well but would have been doomed had any other direction been taken. I admired the creators of Little Women for attempting some of their own touches, but with a work so beloved, you risk the “Jo never took Beth to the sea!” reaction or the “I want to see Beth die on stage in song!” cliché they worked so hard to avoid but for which the audience, at least I, was craving.
Perhaps it’s like on American Idol. You have to not only follow what the judges tell you but also understand how to apply it. Many a singer has taken a risk at the behest of the judges, only to fail because they took the wrong risk or didn’t have enough of a mastery of their talents to fully grasp how to change. You have to be able to inherently know when and when not to change.
Let’s also address the idea of change. Changes should not be made for the sake of making changes. I always admired Thoroughly Modern Millie for not simply duplicating the movie, but the changes from it are, at times, perfunctory. The fact that Dorothy doesn’t choose Trevor Graydon in the end or that Jimmy starts out a rude jerk isn’t necessary, but giving Mrs. Meers a clear motivation for her dirty deeds or Graydon’s delightful typing test for Millie are. There are changes that are required for the sake of structure, to adjust for the medium of the stage, to flesh out the work, to incorporate musical moments, or to develop or change theme—those are the important ones. Tacking on alterations for the sake of making an interpretation your own isn’t enough.
Even in a strong source work, I would say that it’s important to have some sort of interpretation, something to focus on or add. I recently wrote about this in an entry quoting Arthur Miller.
So, in the end, I guess the best that can be said is that musical theatre is an art, not a formula. Master your art, and you have a better chance of making the choices that lead you to success. Master your art, and you also know when to break the “rules.” Perhaps that the best kind of genius of all.
the Broadway Mouth
March 26, 2008
(Note: Interestingly and contradictorily enough, I think film versions of books and plays must fight to be faithful in order to be great. I won’t go into detail on theories why except to say that the best movie adaptations of books and plays are almost always the ones that are the most faithful.)
How can you tell if you’re a genius? If smart people say things you have been holding firmly to for some time or have put into words that which you’ve already written, then you are a certifiable genius without ever having to take an IQ test. Trust me. Being an undiscovered genius, I’m an expert on these things.
Barbara Hoffman’s interview with Harvey Fierstein in The New York Post contains just one of those genius-inducing quotes:
Why turn a creaky flick like A Catered Affair into a musical?
That's why. I don't believe that you take something incredibly great and finished and then make something else out of it. I'm always asked to write a new version of Stage Door. But that film is genius. You can't do better than that cast—Katharine Hepburn, Lucille Ball, Ginger Rogers, Ann Miller. Leave it alone! I saw Catered Affair and I loved how human it was. Paddy Chayefsky's like that. Think of Marty. But Marty is perfect - a dance number isn't going to make it better. A Catered Affair had all this humanity and didn't quite go as far. I thought I could take it to the next level. Debbie Reynolds [one of the film's stars] came to our opening in San Diego and said, "Honey, it's a much better musical than it ever was a movie!"
To steal Hal Prince’s phrasing, there are some exceptions—big ones, like Mame and Les Miserables—but Fierstein has spoken something I have felt for a long time. It’s difficult for me to pull many concrete examples from big musicals simply because I don’t usually bother with the source material, which is often hard-to-find or just not of interest, but I have often contemplated this when thinking of source material to adapt. If you’re just going to plug in songs, then it’s kind of a why-bother proposition. If the adaptation is super faithful, I earnestly wonder where’s the fun in it for the writer, though I’m sure cashing big royalty checks is delightful.
A case in point: I loved The Wedding Singer, but even though I had never seen the film, the second act didn’t feel much like a stage musical. It felt like an after-school special plotted on a stage. I then acquired a copy of the movie and was surprised how literal the musical’s book was, including the whole “Julia thinks Robbie’s slept with Linda” drama which, in part, prevented the second act from lifting from the stage.
Of course, you don’t want to take a beloved work and screw it up either. Mame, Les Miserables, and Jane Eyre are all examples of shows that remained faithful to their source works that not only worked well but would have been doomed had any other direction been taken. I admired the creators of Little Women for attempting some of their own touches, but with a work so beloved, you risk the “Jo never took Beth to the sea!” reaction or the “I want to see Beth die on stage in song!” cliché they worked so hard to avoid but for which the audience, at least I, was craving.
Perhaps it’s like on American Idol. You have to not only follow what the judges tell you but also understand how to apply it. Many a singer has taken a risk at the behest of the judges, only to fail because they took the wrong risk or didn’t have enough of a mastery of their talents to fully grasp how to change. You have to be able to inherently know when and when not to change.
Let’s also address the idea of change. Changes should not be made for the sake of making changes. I always admired Thoroughly Modern Millie for not simply duplicating the movie, but the changes from it are, at times, perfunctory. The fact that Dorothy doesn’t choose Trevor Graydon in the end or that Jimmy starts out a rude jerk isn’t necessary, but giving Mrs. Meers a clear motivation for her dirty deeds or Graydon’s delightful typing test for Millie are. There are changes that are required for the sake of structure, to adjust for the medium of the stage, to flesh out the work, to incorporate musical moments, or to develop or change theme—those are the important ones. Tacking on alterations for the sake of making an interpretation your own isn’t enough.
Even in a strong source work, I would say that it’s important to have some sort of interpretation, something to focus on or add. I recently wrote about this in an entry quoting Arthur Miller.
So, in the end, I guess the best that can be said is that musical theatre is an art, not a formula. Master your art, and you have a better chance of making the choices that lead you to success. Master your art, and you also know when to break the “rules.” Perhaps that the best kind of genius of all.
the Broadway Mouth
March 26, 2008
(Note: Interestingly and contradictorily enough, I think film versions of books and plays must fight to be faithful in order to be great. I won’t go into detail on theories why except to say that the best movie adaptations of books and plays are almost always the ones that are the most faithful.)
Monday, March 3, 2008
Broadway Star Bingo VI (Honoring Actors Who’ve Appeared in Les Miserables)
Welcome to the sixth edition of Broadway Star Bingo, honoring the Broadway runs of Les Miserables and the myriad of performers Cameron Mackintosh has employed for many years, giving extremely talented people a chance to play roles that they might not otherwise have gotten had the show not been the big-name draw.
Rules for Bingo: As in regular Bingo, try to get five boxes in a row up, down, or diagonal. Mark off the boxes of Broadway stars you’ve seen perform live.
What counts: Broadway, off-Broadway, regional, or any other venue for live theatre. You must have seen them in a musical or play (not concert, benefit, etc.) and must have seen them live (DVDs, videos, and bootlegs don’t count).
Rules for Bango: For a Bango, you must form the letter B on the Broadway Star Bingo card. To do this, you get the entire B row, the entire top and bottom row, plus the top two and bottom two names under the O. To complete the B-shape, you get the first four names in the very middle row going across (in other words, excluding the name in the O column). This is a little confusing, but it forms a B on the card.
Rules for Bongo: This is the coveted coverall.
Winning: When you hit a bingo, bango, bongo, call it out on the comment space below. You do NOT need to be a registered Blogger user to post. You may be as anonymous as you’d like.
When you have a bingo or a bango, call off the squares in which you won, listing at least one show you saw each performer in. If you have a bongo, you may call off as many as you wish.
Prize: The prize is pride and bragging rights, plus the chance to share your beloved theatrical memories.
the Broadway Mouth
March 3, 2008
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Rules for Bingo: As in regular Bingo, try to get five boxes in a row up, down, or diagonal. Mark off the boxes of Broadway stars you’ve seen perform live.
What counts: Broadway, off-Broadway, regional, or any other venue for live theatre. You must have seen them in a musical or play (not concert, benefit, etc.) and must have seen them live (DVDs, videos, and bootlegs don’t count).
Rules for Bango: For a Bango, you must form the letter B on the Broadway Star Bingo card. To do this, you get the entire B row, the entire top and bottom row, plus the top two and bottom two names under the O. To complete the B-shape, you get the first four names in the very middle row going across (in other words, excluding the name in the O column). This is a little confusing, but it forms a B on the card.
Rules for Bongo: This is the coveted coverall.
Winning: When you hit a bingo, bango, bongo, call it out on the comment space below. You do NOT need to be a registered Blogger user to post. You may be as anonymous as you’d like.
When you have a bingo or a bango, call off the squares in which you won, listing at least one show you saw each performer in. If you have a bongo, you may call off as many as you wish.
Prize: The prize is pride and bragging rights, plus the chance to share your beloved theatrical memories.
the Broadway Mouth
March 3, 2008
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Wednesday, August 15, 2007
If You Don’t Like the Way I Look
The great thing about Hairspray is how it empowers the audience to step beyond expectations and to do great things.
The sad thing about Hairspray is that you have to walk into the real world when it’s over.
Case in point: One of the best things about Miss Saigon was that it gave a plethora of very talented Asian-American performers a chance to shine in roles of a lifetime. One of the tragedies, however, is that so few of those performers have gone on to appear in other shows on Broadway.
For African-American performers, there is an increasing amount of casting in “white shows” (i.e. The Drowsy Chaperone, Wicked, The Music Man), plus there have recently been a number of significant shows with large African-American casts—The Color Purple; Caroline, or Change; Aida, Jelly’s Last Jam; The Lion King. But it seems like there’s still a large barrier for other performers. I never saw Bombay Dreams, but in an interview I saw with Ayesha Dharker, she seemed so funny and charming, and she can definitely move. But it’s doubtful we’ll ever see Ayesha Dharker on Broadway again. And where’s Sandra Allen been with her follow-up to Flower Drum Song? In the performance of “Fan Tan Fannie” I saw on The Today Show, she seemed like the complete package to me.
We’re even seeing it with Hairspray. In the bonus features on Rick McKay’s Broadway: The Golden Age, Marissa Jaret Winokur sings from Annie Get Your Gun then says, “I’ll never play that role.” You know she’s right. Honestly I’m not sure how well Winokur would handle the songs in her character singing voice, but that’s not why she won’t ever get that part. Annie Oakley can’t be ugly, but Winokur certainly is not. Winokur is sexy and very talented, and she’s got a Tony to prove it. But she won’t get the part.
I am proud to say as I’ve contemplated the shows I’ve been writing/wanting to write, I’ve always been very open in terms of casting. For example, in the show I always said would be my third show, I always figured that one large part would be played by an African-American actor (provided he wasn’t too old to play it by the time I ever got anywhere with it) even though historically, it might not be an accurate casting choice. If you’re dealing with a major historical time period where the look of the characters matter—like in Cabaret—you can’t really be too creative in casting, but if you’re dealing with something less specific, then it’s not a big deal. Okay, so maybe Belle wouldn’t have been African-French. But it’s not particularly historically accurate that someone would express emotions through song and dance either. I think Cameron Macintosh should be applauded for the diversity he’s promoted in Les Miserables over the years. Once again, he showed us how it should be done.
So I dedicate this blog entry to Melinda Chua, Luoyong Wang, Margaret Ann Gates, Carly Jibson, Marissa Jaret Winokur, Ayesha Dharker, DeeDee Magno, Sandra Allen, Shannon Durig, and a host of other wonderful performers. May your talent take you far.
the Broadway Mouth
August 15, 2007
The sad thing about Hairspray is that you have to walk into the real world when it’s over.
Case in point: One of the best things about Miss Saigon was that it gave a plethora of very talented Asian-American performers a chance to shine in roles of a lifetime. One of the tragedies, however, is that so few of those performers have gone on to appear in other shows on Broadway.
For African-American performers, there is an increasing amount of casting in “white shows” (i.e. The Drowsy Chaperone, Wicked, The Music Man), plus there have recently been a number of significant shows with large African-American casts—The Color Purple; Caroline, or Change; Aida, Jelly’s Last Jam; The Lion King. But it seems like there’s still a large barrier for other performers. I never saw Bombay Dreams, but in an interview I saw with Ayesha Dharker, she seemed so funny and charming, and she can definitely move. But it’s doubtful we’ll ever see Ayesha Dharker on Broadway again. And where’s Sandra Allen been with her follow-up to Flower Drum Song? In the performance of “Fan Tan Fannie” I saw on The Today Show, she seemed like the complete package to me.
We’re even seeing it with Hairspray. In the bonus features on Rick McKay’s Broadway: The Golden Age, Marissa Jaret Winokur sings from Annie Get Your Gun then says, “I’ll never play that role.” You know she’s right. Honestly I’m not sure how well Winokur would handle the songs in her character singing voice, but that’s not why she won’t ever get that part. Annie Oakley can’t be ugly, but Winokur certainly is not. Winokur is sexy and very talented, and she’s got a Tony to prove it. But she won’t get the part.
I am proud to say as I’ve contemplated the shows I’ve been writing/wanting to write, I’ve always been very open in terms of casting. For example, in the show I always said would be my third show, I always figured that one large part would be played by an African-American actor (provided he wasn’t too old to play it by the time I ever got anywhere with it) even though historically, it might not be an accurate casting choice. If you’re dealing with a major historical time period where the look of the characters matter—like in Cabaret—you can’t really be too creative in casting, but if you’re dealing with something less specific, then it’s not a big deal. Okay, so maybe Belle wouldn’t have been African-French. But it’s not particularly historically accurate that someone would express emotions through song and dance either. I think Cameron Macintosh should be applauded for the diversity he’s promoted in Les Miserables over the years. Once again, he showed us how it should be done.
So I dedicate this blog entry to Melinda Chua, Luoyong Wang, Margaret Ann Gates, Carly Jibson, Marissa Jaret Winokur, Ayesha Dharker, DeeDee Magno, Sandra Allen, Shannon Durig, and a host of other wonderful performers. May your talent take you far.
the Broadway Mouth
August 15, 2007
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Miss Saigon: Sixteen Years Later
It had been some time since I opened up my Miss Saigon OBCR for a listen. I was honestly never a huge fan of the show (though I did enjoy it). I saw it when I came to New York for the first time in 2000 because it was closing, and I felt like I should see it before it closed so I wouldn’t forever live in regret (after all, I was a huge Les Miserables fan).
One of my biggest memories of the evening (and this is where writing an anonymous blog comes in handy) was being horribly uncomfortable at the amount of female flesh constantly on display. As a naturally reserved person, I don’t seek out such entertainments, so it was awkward, to say the least. And the thing is, I would finally breathe a sigh of relief when the women were dressed again . . . then we’d get Stripper Kim . . . then we’d get the Engineer’s chorus girls . . . That was the only show I didn’t stage door that trip simply because I would have felt embarrassed to meet the women in the show. Okay, so I am still wet behind the ears. Anyway, moving on . . .
After the last few years of listening to lots of The Wedding Singer, The Drowsy Chaperone, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, Wicked, Hairspray, and so on, when I popped in Miss Saigon for the first time in a long while, I got a very fresh perspective on the piece.
First of all, it (and by it I mean all the "pop operas" of that time) really does feel like music from another era. The tone, content, and style couldn’t be farther removed from today.
Part of this comes from the lyrics in the show, which really do seem to range from traditional musical lyrics (like “Sun and Moon”) to the sung-dialogue (“The Fall of Saigon”). Honestly, sung dialogue rarely works for me. I would never hate a show for it, but I don’t think it is the best way to communicate in a musical. In comparison to the lyrics of Les Miserables, which are poetic in nature and less sung-dialogue-y, Miss Saigon’s lyrics often feel more like rhymes than poetic expression.
I love the candid reviews in The TheaterMania Guide to Musical Theater Recordings, but as with many theatre reviews (even casual ones on the message boards), you can’t read them without first taking into consideration the bias. Michael Portantiere clearly has an axe to grind in his review of Miss Saigon’s music, which is “Not Recommended” (preceded in the alphabet by his review of that dud Les Miserables, on which he bestows an uber-generous Two Stars . . . like anyone is going to remember that show in ten years).
I would agree that there are some pretty rough lyrics (and this became much more apparent as I’ve bought many other CDs in the past years)—take “Let Me See His Western Nose,” for example. But I think when we start dismissing such phenomenally popular shows, we’re missing the forest through the trees. After all, someone must have liked Miss Saigon for some reason.
And I think it’s important to acknowledge that whatever faults individual parts may have—however more “enlightened” I might be now after hearing much more Sondheim—I still found myself enthralled with Kim and Chris’s situation. There’s a lot of passion and agony in those lyrics, and I still love hearing Ellen’s “Now That I’ve Seen Her.” In fact, after listening to the CD once, I replayed all of Act II’s songs with Kim, Chris, John, and Ellen, which I always used to do before as well.
If forced to do a comparison, I would say that Les Miserables is a far superior show, but hearing Miss Saigon again (and afterwards, I popped in Les Miserables again as well), it made me miss those epic shows with epic themes and emotions. Why we can’t have room on Broadway for everything, I’ll never know.
I do also want to take a moment to acknowledge the important role those British shows played in the lives on American actors. In Making it on Broadway, many of the actors interviewed said that they were disappointed to realize that their significant roles in those large British shows didn’t equate into more jobs despite the challenge those characters were. Another big impression was the frustration that there are no more stars on Broadway, that it is increasingly difficult to become the next Mary Martin or John Raitt.
However, a ton of actors owe Cameron Macintosh big time for the experiences they got. Yes, no one in a replacement or tour cast became a star playing Ellen or Cossette or Christine; however, those shows, with their huge casts, gave many folks a chance to shine in great roles from great shows that they never would have gotten had a “star” name been required. And let’s be frank. The most talented people rarely become the biggest stars. Fifty years ago, how many of those Fantines would have become the next Kristin Chenoweth or Idina Menzel anyway. Statistically, not many. But because Cats, Les Miserables, Phantom of the Opera, and Miss Saigon were the star attractions instead of a star name, those talented lesser-known actors got a chance to shine. When I saw Melinda Chua as Kim, she was doing a role like Ethel Merman or Julie Andrews or Florence Henderson. If they had needed a star name for Miss Saigon, Melinda Chua wouldn’t have gotten that opportunity. Thank God she did!
One of my biggest memories of the evening (and this is where writing an anonymous blog comes in handy) was being horribly uncomfortable at the amount of female flesh constantly on display. As a naturally reserved person, I don’t seek out such entertainments, so it was awkward, to say the least. And the thing is, I would finally breathe a sigh of relief when the women were dressed again . . . then we’d get Stripper Kim . . . then we’d get the Engineer’s chorus girls . . . That was the only show I didn’t stage door that trip simply because I would have felt embarrassed to meet the women in the show. Okay, so I am still wet behind the ears. Anyway, moving on . . .
After the last few years of listening to lots of The Wedding Singer, The Drowsy Chaperone, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, Wicked, Hairspray, and so on, when I popped in Miss Saigon for the first time in a long while, I got a very fresh perspective on the piece.
First of all, it (and by it I mean all the "pop operas" of that time) really does feel like music from another era. The tone, content, and style couldn’t be farther removed from today.
Part of this comes from the lyrics in the show, which really do seem to range from traditional musical lyrics (like “Sun and Moon”) to the sung-dialogue (“The Fall of Saigon”). Honestly, sung dialogue rarely works for me. I would never hate a show for it, but I don’t think it is the best way to communicate in a musical. In comparison to the lyrics of Les Miserables, which are poetic in nature and less sung-dialogue-y, Miss Saigon’s lyrics often feel more like rhymes than poetic expression.
I love the candid reviews in The TheaterMania Guide to Musical Theater Recordings, but as with many theatre reviews (even casual ones on the message boards), you can’t read them without first taking into consideration the bias. Michael Portantiere clearly has an axe to grind in his review of Miss Saigon’s music, which is “Not Recommended” (preceded in the alphabet by his review of that dud Les Miserables, on which he bestows an uber-generous Two Stars . . . like anyone is going to remember that show in ten years).
I would agree that there are some pretty rough lyrics (and this became much more apparent as I’ve bought many other CDs in the past years)—take “Let Me See His Western Nose,” for example. But I think when we start dismissing such phenomenally popular shows, we’re missing the forest through the trees. After all, someone must have liked Miss Saigon for some reason.
And I think it’s important to acknowledge that whatever faults individual parts may have—however more “enlightened” I might be now after hearing much more Sondheim—I still found myself enthralled with Kim and Chris’s situation. There’s a lot of passion and agony in those lyrics, and I still love hearing Ellen’s “Now That I’ve Seen Her.” In fact, after listening to the CD once, I replayed all of Act II’s songs with Kim, Chris, John, and Ellen, which I always used to do before as well.
If forced to do a comparison, I would say that Les Miserables is a far superior show, but hearing Miss Saigon again (and afterwards, I popped in Les Miserables again as well), it made me miss those epic shows with epic themes and emotions. Why we can’t have room on Broadway for everything, I’ll never know.
I do also want to take a moment to acknowledge the important role those British shows played in the lives on American actors. In Making it on Broadway, many of the actors interviewed said that they were disappointed to realize that their significant roles in those large British shows didn’t equate into more jobs despite the challenge those characters were. Another big impression was the frustration that there are no more stars on Broadway, that it is increasingly difficult to become the next Mary Martin or John Raitt.
However, a ton of actors owe Cameron Macintosh big time for the experiences they got. Yes, no one in a replacement or tour cast became a star playing Ellen or Cossette or Christine; however, those shows, with their huge casts, gave many folks a chance to shine in great roles from great shows that they never would have gotten had a “star” name been required. And let’s be frank. The most talented people rarely become the biggest stars. Fifty years ago, how many of those Fantines would have become the next Kristin Chenoweth or Idina Menzel anyway. Statistically, not many. But because Cats, Les Miserables, Phantom of the Opera, and Miss Saigon were the star attractions instead of a star name, those talented lesser-known actors got a chance to shine. When I saw Melinda Chua as Kim, she was doing a role like Ethel Merman or Julie Andrews or Florence Henderson. If they had needed a star name for Miss Saigon, Melinda Chua wouldn’t have gotten that opportunity. Thank God she did!
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Amazing Broadway Performer: Lea Salonga
Here’s another one of those great Broadway performers I’m dying to see. Like many others, I was introduced to her work singing in the Disney movies Aladdin and Mulan. My first Broadway encounter with Lea Salonga was on the Original Broadway Cast recording of Miss Saigon, which I didn’t buy until after I saw on the show in 2000. On that CD, she’s so passionate and really gives a powerful performance. I can see why she won the Tony. When watching the video documentary The Making of Miss Saigon, it’s hard to grasp that she gave that performance at such an incredibly young age. I wish she would be given more opportunities for a greater variety of roles. If she could do that then, what could she do now?
There are many performers out there with stronger belts or even more versatility in their voices, but what makes Lea Salonga’s voice such a standout is its beauty, depth, and innocence. It has a very beautiful quality to it, which is one of the reasons why she was so perfect for “A Whole New World,” but then when you hear her work on stage, that beauty is coupled with emotional depth.
I am so incredibly thankful that Salonga’s Eponine was recorded in the 10th Anniversary concert of Les Miserables. I hadn’t even seen the show when I first saw that concert, and her deathbed scene affected me in a way no other Eponine’s has, despite that fact that I’ve seen several extraordinary Eponines live. I would also call her “On My Own” definitive.
I am a big fan of the Flower Drum Song CD, which I’ve listened to hundreds of times. There are many gems on that CD, but I think one of the shiniest is Salonga’s rendition of “Love, Look Away,” which is so excruciatingly painful to listen to when you really experience it as a character’s song.
I was ecstatic to hear that Salonga was now Fantine in Les Miserables. It’s a performance I won’t get to see, but I know she’s amazing in it.
Website: www.leasalonga.com
the Broadway Mouth
August 7, 2007
There are many performers out there with stronger belts or even more versatility in their voices, but what makes Lea Salonga’s voice such a standout is its beauty, depth, and innocence. It has a very beautiful quality to it, which is one of the reasons why she was so perfect for “A Whole New World,” but then when you hear her work on stage, that beauty is coupled with emotional depth.
I am so incredibly thankful that Salonga’s Eponine was recorded in the 10th Anniversary concert of Les Miserables. I hadn’t even seen the show when I first saw that concert, and her deathbed scene affected me in a way no other Eponine’s has, despite that fact that I’ve seen several extraordinary Eponines live. I would also call her “On My Own” definitive.
I am a big fan of the Flower Drum Song CD, which I’ve listened to hundreds of times. There are many gems on that CD, but I think one of the shiniest is Salonga’s rendition of “Love, Look Away,” which is so excruciatingly painful to listen to when you really experience it as a character’s song.
I was ecstatic to hear that Salonga was now Fantine in Les Miserables. It’s a performance I won’t get to see, but I know she’s amazing in it.
Website: www.leasalonga.com
the Broadway Mouth
August 7, 2007
Friday, August 3, 2007
Amazing Broadway Performer: Randal Keith
I think the hardest thing for anyone playing Jean Valjean in Les Miserables has got to be competing with Colm Wilkinson. The typical audience doesn’t know who the original performers were, but with Les Miserables, the many people who kept that show open on Broadway and on tour owned the recordings (4/5 of which feature Wilkinson) or even the concert DVD.
And yet on tour, I’ve seen Randal Keith do the part at least three times (perhaps four), and he never failed to astound me and to erase from my mind Wilkinson’s significant interpretation. Randal Keith was doing that part for years, and every single performance I saw in that time exuded freshness, vitality, and the experience of seeing a character do something for the first time. And this isn’t just any part, this is Jean Valjean, requiring such a broad range of grand emotions, physicality, and vocal range. It was no surprise to me why Cameron Mackintosh chose Randal Keith to close out the show in its original New York run.
If the new Broadway mounting should tour, like every other time it came in the past, I will excitedly await, hoping to see that Randal Keith will be Jean Valjean.
website: www.randal-keith.com
the Broadway Mouth
August 3, 2007
And yet on tour, I’ve seen Randal Keith do the part at least three times (perhaps four), and he never failed to astound me and to erase from my mind Wilkinson’s significant interpretation. Randal Keith was doing that part for years, and every single performance I saw in that time exuded freshness, vitality, and the experience of seeing a character do something for the first time. And this isn’t just any part, this is Jean Valjean, requiring such a broad range of grand emotions, physicality, and vocal range. It was no surprise to me why Cameron Mackintosh chose Randal Keith to close out the show in its original New York run.
If the new Broadway mounting should tour, like every other time it came in the past, I will excitedly await, hoping to see that Randal Keith will be Jean Valjean.
website: www.randal-keith.com
the Broadway Mouth
August 3, 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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