I one time counseled someone in a Broadway chat room not to write off Hello, Dolly! after they had seen a community theatre production of it and thought it was only okay. Hello, Dolly! with Carol Channing was my first big Broadway show (on tour), and I can’t imagine anyone seeing the show for the first time with such talent and not loving it. It’s such an amazing show and a model of musical theatre perfection.
I wouldn’t myself understand the power of community theatre to destroy a perfectly good musical had I not experienced it on a few occasions. The first time I experienced The Music Man was in a so-so production where the director fixed Meredith Willson’s original book by removing “Rock Island.” In this production, Harold Hill was old enough to be Marian Paroo’s father.
When I saw the thrilling 2000 revival of The Music Man starring Craig Bierko and Rebecca Luker, I got the message loud and clear. Any Broadway masterpiece can become a casualty of love in the world of community theatre (which, in my findings, tends to be far weaker than high school theatre).
A Chrous Line is a particularly difficult show to do unprofessionally. You have to have triple threats, and you can’t easily rely on a bunch of clumsy hockey moms to carry you through, like you can with The Pajama Game or Annie. A show that communicates so much with dance simply must have people who can actually dance (not to mention a choreographer up to the challenge of creating impressive steps).
It also doesn’t help that the libretto of A Chorus Line is fragile in areas. I probably wouldn’t have noticed this except I witnessed a community theatre production in which A Chorus Line became a casualty of love. Without skillful directing, the plotless nature of the show becomes a burden on the audience, with the “What will you do when you can’t dance” section collapsing under the weight of its own annexation, feeling more like a Michael Bennett soap box than an extension of the narrative. Furthermore, without careful direction, the conceit of the show gets off to a rough start as actors struggle to make establishing dialogue function as subtext-rich, naturalistic dialogue.
Plus, it doesn’t help when the Cassie really can’t act.
The true test of A Chorus Line came when the Broadway tour came into town. But more on that next time.
After my first trip to Broadway in 2000, I remember sitting in the audience of the Parade tour, talking with a woman who was planning a trip to New York. She was asking me what I liked, and I was telling her about Kiss Me, Kate. “Oh,” she said dismissively, “I’ve seen that.”
Now, I might have the guts to say, “Yes, you’ve seen a production, but I don’t think you’ve really seen Kiss Me, Kate.”
the Broadway Mouth
June 22, 2009
Showing posts with label libretti. Show all posts
Showing posts with label libretti. Show all posts
Monday, June 22, 2009
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Legally Blonde: Omigod, That Libretto!
Legally Blonde librettist Heather Hach has an almost annoying history. She was accepted into the Walt Disney Screenwriting Fellowship, parlayed that (courtesy of some sweat and talent, I’m sure) into nabbing the task of writing the Freaky Friday remake (which has the very rare distinction of matching the original movie in charm and humor), and somehow got the drool-worthy task of writing the libretto to a Broadway show.
Talk about stunt casting. Where’s her time at BMI? Her long history of longing to create the next Guys and Dolls? Her years of studying the art form? Her Stephen Sondheim CD collection? Does she even know the difference between Ethel Merman and Ethel Waters?
While I wouldn’t call Legally Blonde the next Hello, Dolly!, I would call it an immensely enjoyable show and a job well done for Hach. And you know what, a few droolers like me can even learn a few things from her work (as well as that of songwriters Laurence O’Keefe and Nell Benjamin).
The Romance
Hach herself has acknowledged that she pumped up the romantic quotient of the show. In the movie, Elle and Emmett fall in love perfunctorily. That is, they join together at the end of the movie because, as a romantic comedy, that’s what’s supposed to happen. Here, Emmett is not only a major character, his and Elle’s relationship is developed gradually and believable throughout the story. They do not set out to be in love—Emmett mocks Elle even though he is helping her. Elle drools over Warner, even into “So Much Better.” Yet, by the time they are abandoned in the prison, they have clearly spent much time together and are clearly good friends. They are so close, in fact, that Emmett’s pressuring Elle to give up Brooke’s alibi despite her promise is a sign of his stress. It’s a betrayal of his friendship with her; Elle’s surprise at it is our surprise.
Because of this relationship, “Take It Like a Man” is a truly romantic song. It’s such a beautiful moment (sold so beautifully on tour by Becky Gulsvig and D.B. Bonds). The song references love as a subtext for humor, but the characters are never singing about being in love. In it, Emmett is acknowledging that he is realizing his feelings for Elle; however, Elle’s actions only read love; she never expresses it directly (nor do I think she realizes it).
I love the lines in the song where Emmett says, “It’s just me,” and Elle responds, “That’s the best part / The inside is old / The outside is new / Now it reflects what’s already in you / Couldn’t change that if I wanted to. / And I do not.” It’s touching, and it’s romantic. I hope I someday get to be involved in a show with a moment like “Take It Like a Man.”
The Character Development
The romance in the musical works because of the changes Hach (and probably Laura Bell Bundy and Becky Gulsvig) makes to the character Elle Woods. In the movie, Elle is still pretty clueless by the end. She wins the trial only because of her knowledge about hair care, not because of her skills as a lawyer. The viewer never totally buys into the fact that Elle could have won the trial if the false testimony had been about baseball, reading Jane Austen, or power tools.
Hach, O’Keefe, and Benjamin are careful to create an intelligent Elle from the start. She’s has “a high IQ,” a 4.0 average (not an easy thing in any major, even if it is fashion merchandising), and the scholastic ability to get a 175 on the LSATs. Broadway Elle is just simply focused on Warner, fashion, and partying. Intelligent but focused on ditzy things. It’s not that she can’t read the law book and comprehend; it’s just that she doesn’t get that she’s supposed to.
As she studies and grows from her experiences at Harvard, Elle’s intelligent side takes over. Whereas Movie Elle maintains her ditzy air throughout the movie, Broadway Elle is never really ditzy, just mis-focused. By Act II, you not only believe that an intelligent, hard-working guy like Emmett could fall for Elle Woods but also that she could pull off winning the trial, even if the deciding evidence hadn’t been hair care. In an odd turn of events, Movie Elle is more cartoon-like, and Broadway Elle is more human.
Beauteous Moments
Throughout Legally Blonde, there are some really nice character moments. My favorite is probably the scene in the prison where the legal team is trying to follow Callahan’s instructions to “speak MTV” to get Brooke’s alibi. Each character responds exactly how they should—there’s clueless Emmett trying to pass off “anywho” as a relatable and hip word, Warner and Vivienne trying to reason with her without their brains (or their hearts), and Enid trying way too hard to be cool. Elle, being the intelligent one of the mix, is purposeful in earning Brooke’s trust and nabs the alibi. The ensuing scene, when Emmett tries to pressure Elle into giving up the information, is also beautifully handled, with Elle calling him on the real reason why he wants her to betray Brooke’s trust. It’s one of those moments where you watch and wish, wish you had the chance and the ability to write it.
the Broadway Mouth
June 3, 2009
Talk about stunt casting. Where’s her time at BMI? Her long history of longing to create the next Guys and Dolls? Her years of studying the art form? Her Stephen Sondheim CD collection? Does she even know the difference between Ethel Merman and Ethel Waters?
While I wouldn’t call Legally Blonde the next Hello, Dolly!, I would call it an immensely enjoyable show and a job well done for Hach. And you know what, a few droolers like me can even learn a few things from her work (as well as that of songwriters Laurence O’Keefe and Nell Benjamin).
The Romance
Hach herself has acknowledged that she pumped up the romantic quotient of the show. In the movie, Elle and Emmett fall in love perfunctorily. That is, they join together at the end of the movie because, as a romantic comedy, that’s what’s supposed to happen. Here, Emmett is not only a major character, his and Elle’s relationship is developed gradually and believable throughout the story. They do not set out to be in love—Emmett mocks Elle even though he is helping her. Elle drools over Warner, even into “So Much Better.” Yet, by the time they are abandoned in the prison, they have clearly spent much time together and are clearly good friends. They are so close, in fact, that Emmett’s pressuring Elle to give up Brooke’s alibi despite her promise is a sign of his stress. It’s a betrayal of his friendship with her; Elle’s surprise at it is our surprise.
Because of this relationship, “Take It Like a Man” is a truly romantic song. It’s such a beautiful moment (sold so beautifully on tour by Becky Gulsvig and D.B. Bonds). The song references love as a subtext for humor, but the characters are never singing about being in love. In it, Emmett is acknowledging that he is realizing his feelings for Elle; however, Elle’s actions only read love; she never expresses it directly (nor do I think she realizes it).
I love the lines in the song where Emmett says, “It’s just me,” and Elle responds, “That’s the best part / The inside is old / The outside is new / Now it reflects what’s already in you / Couldn’t change that if I wanted to. / And I do not.” It’s touching, and it’s romantic. I hope I someday get to be involved in a show with a moment like “Take It Like a Man.”
The Character Development
The romance in the musical works because of the changes Hach (and probably Laura Bell Bundy and Becky Gulsvig) makes to the character Elle Woods. In the movie, Elle is still pretty clueless by the end. She wins the trial only because of her knowledge about hair care, not because of her skills as a lawyer. The viewer never totally buys into the fact that Elle could have won the trial if the false testimony had been about baseball, reading Jane Austen, or power tools.
Hach, O’Keefe, and Benjamin are careful to create an intelligent Elle from the start. She’s has “a high IQ,” a 4.0 average (not an easy thing in any major, even if it is fashion merchandising), and the scholastic ability to get a 175 on the LSATs. Broadway Elle is just simply focused on Warner, fashion, and partying. Intelligent but focused on ditzy things. It’s not that she can’t read the law book and comprehend; it’s just that she doesn’t get that she’s supposed to.
As she studies and grows from her experiences at Harvard, Elle’s intelligent side takes over. Whereas Movie Elle maintains her ditzy air throughout the movie, Broadway Elle is never really ditzy, just mis-focused. By Act II, you not only believe that an intelligent, hard-working guy like Emmett could fall for Elle Woods but also that she could pull off winning the trial, even if the deciding evidence hadn’t been hair care. In an odd turn of events, Movie Elle is more cartoon-like, and Broadway Elle is more human.
Beauteous Moments
Throughout Legally Blonde, there are some really nice character moments. My favorite is probably the scene in the prison where the legal team is trying to follow Callahan’s instructions to “speak MTV” to get Brooke’s alibi. Each character responds exactly how they should—there’s clueless Emmett trying to pass off “anywho” as a relatable and hip word, Warner and Vivienne trying to reason with her without their brains (or their hearts), and Enid trying way too hard to be cool. Elle, being the intelligent one of the mix, is purposeful in earning Brooke’s trust and nabs the alibi. The ensuing scene, when Emmett tries to pressure Elle into giving up the information, is also beautifully handled, with Elle calling him on the real reason why he wants her to betray Brooke’s trust. It’s one of those moments where you watch and wish, wish you had the chance and the ability to write it.
the Broadway Mouth
June 3, 2009
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Wanted: Published Libretti
Painters go to museums to look at Rembrandt’s work. Filmmakers pop in their Gone with the Wind DVDs. Songwriters buy the latest hip hop album from Target. Librettists, however, have to scramble to get their hands on whatever they can.
This summer I was reading the Keith Garberian book The Making of Guys and Dolls, and it brought to mind a great frustration, which is that it is difficult/impossible to get your hands on the libretti of so many musicals. If you are a producing organization, you can just request perusal copies of whatever shows you want, and if the show is available through Samuel French or is a Sondheim show, you can easily buy a copy.
Unfortunately, many of the great libretti from the past aren’t that easy to find. When it comes to finding out-of-print libretti, I’ve managed to be very scrappy, finding classics like The King and I, The Sound of Music, Camelot, 1776, and Of Thee I Sing and lesser-known older shows like A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Fanny, Flower Drum Song, and Me and Juliet at used bookstores in small cities. But it is hard to find some of the best ones—Oklahoma!, Carousel, Guys and Dolls, Damn Yankees, The Music Man, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, and others—and when you do find them, they tend to be very expensive.
Furthermore, even in a Broadway revival, rarely do you see the original libretto. In most of the revivals from the past decade, you are getting interpolated songs and altered books. The movies, most will agree, are not the same thing either. In the very few successful film adaptations there are, it’s a different medium and changes have had to be made if only for that sake. So, attempting to experience the libretto through the movie version is just not the same, not only for the prerequisite new songs and cut old ones, but because the stage is different altogether.
As an aspiring-to-be-produced librettist, I long for the ability to get my hands on these, to read them, re-read them, to mark them up. If you want to study the masters, you need to have access to their unabridged work. As Garebian was discussing the process of writing Guys and Dolls, I so much wanted to read the libretto to better understand its construction and use of humor. I wanted to study it and learn from the best.
Having access to libretti also allows you to experience shows in the original form. I’ll probably never get to see Me and Juliet, but by reading it, I was able to enjoy it. God only knows if and when there will ever be another production of On the Twentieth Century, but by reading the libretto, I could relive the Broadway production I never saw. There are a host of older shows that will never see production, but being able to read their libretti (like Wildcat, Allegro, Do Re Mi) gives you the chance to learn from others’ mistakes (and often, there is still a level of pleasure in reading them).
The number of recent publications, while not expansive by any means, suggests that there must be some market for them. Among the recently published libretti include Hwang’s Flower Drum Song; Urinetown; Hairspray; Caroline, or Change; and The Light in the Piazza. Some of these have been a real blessing because for those of us not in New York, this has been the only way to experience these shows when they didn’t tour. I’m particularly thankful for Willy Hausman’s collection The New American Musical in which he gathered Floyd Collins, Rent, Parade, and The Wild Party. I’m hoping he produces a sequel collection soon.
And for all the great libretti published, there are still many which would be great to have—Marie Christine, Ragtime, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, Wicked, and The Color Purple, to name a few. This out leaves out the vast majority of classic musicals that aren’t available. It would be great to have easy access to the original books to Oklahoma!; Carousel; Brigadoon; Bloomer Girl; Hello, Dolly! and all those other great shows from the Golden Era.
In a June blog entry entitled “Announced for Next Season: The Second Golden Age,” I stated my belief that we are on the cusp of another golden age. One key element for that to happen is the need for strong musical book-writers, people who are not just great film writers who can be tapped for Broadway but people who know and understand and love the art form. Yes, we need great songs, but a great score can hardly rise above a mediocre book. We tend to nurture songwriters and value their contribution above the book-writers, but there needs to be educational opportunity and support for them as well.
One group that could lead the pack on this is the Rodgers and Hammerstein organization. Their shows are some of the best-known in the world, and I can’t believe there wouldn’t be interest in individual or collected publications of the Masters’ original libretti. Perhaps if they did, others would follow suit.
Speaking as a wanna-be-produced librettist, I want access to these libretti to learn and study. When I’m wondering what kind of humor Abe Burrows used in Guys and Dolls, I want to look it up and see. When I want to understand why Walter Bobby felt the need to improve on Sweet Charity, I need to read the original libretto to get it. When I want to see how Oscar Hammerstein developed Billy without getting us to hate him, I can only do that by reading the libretto.
the Broadway Mouth
October 13, 2007
This summer I was reading the Keith Garberian book The Making of Guys and Dolls, and it brought to mind a great frustration, which is that it is difficult/impossible to get your hands on the libretti of so many musicals. If you are a producing organization, you can just request perusal copies of whatever shows you want, and if the show is available through Samuel French or is a Sondheim show, you can easily buy a copy.
Unfortunately, many of the great libretti from the past aren’t that easy to find. When it comes to finding out-of-print libretti, I’ve managed to be very scrappy, finding classics like The King and I, The Sound of Music, Camelot, 1776, and Of Thee I Sing and lesser-known older shows like A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Fanny, Flower Drum Song, and Me and Juliet at used bookstores in small cities. But it is hard to find some of the best ones—Oklahoma!, Carousel, Guys and Dolls, Damn Yankees, The Music Man, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, and others—and when you do find them, they tend to be very expensive.
Furthermore, even in a Broadway revival, rarely do you see the original libretto. In most of the revivals from the past decade, you are getting interpolated songs and altered books. The movies, most will agree, are not the same thing either. In the very few successful film adaptations there are, it’s a different medium and changes have had to be made if only for that sake. So, attempting to experience the libretto through the movie version is just not the same, not only for the prerequisite new songs and cut old ones, but because the stage is different altogether.
As an aspiring-to-be-produced librettist, I long for the ability to get my hands on these, to read them, re-read them, to mark them up. If you want to study the masters, you need to have access to their unabridged work. As Garebian was discussing the process of writing Guys and Dolls, I so much wanted to read the libretto to better understand its construction and use of humor. I wanted to study it and learn from the best.
Having access to libretti also allows you to experience shows in the original form. I’ll probably never get to see Me and Juliet, but by reading it, I was able to enjoy it. God only knows if and when there will ever be another production of On the Twentieth Century, but by reading the libretto, I could relive the Broadway production I never saw. There are a host of older shows that will never see production, but being able to read their libretti (like Wildcat, Allegro, Do Re Mi) gives you the chance to learn from others’ mistakes (and often, there is still a level of pleasure in reading them).
The number of recent publications, while not expansive by any means, suggests that there must be some market for them. Among the recently published libretti include Hwang’s Flower Drum Song; Urinetown; Hairspray; Caroline, or Change; and The Light in the Piazza. Some of these have been a real blessing because for those of us not in New York, this has been the only way to experience these shows when they didn’t tour. I’m particularly thankful for Willy Hausman’s collection The New American Musical in which he gathered Floyd Collins, Rent, Parade, and The Wild Party. I’m hoping he produces a sequel collection soon.
And for all the great libretti published, there are still many which would be great to have—Marie Christine, Ragtime, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, Wicked, and The Color Purple, to name a few. This out leaves out the vast majority of classic musicals that aren’t available. It would be great to have easy access to the original books to Oklahoma!; Carousel; Brigadoon; Bloomer Girl; Hello, Dolly! and all those other great shows from the Golden Era.
In a June blog entry entitled “Announced for Next Season: The Second Golden Age,” I stated my belief that we are on the cusp of another golden age. One key element for that to happen is the need for strong musical book-writers, people who are not just great film writers who can be tapped for Broadway but people who know and understand and love the art form. Yes, we need great songs, but a great score can hardly rise above a mediocre book. We tend to nurture songwriters and value their contribution above the book-writers, but there needs to be educational opportunity and support for them as well.
One group that could lead the pack on this is the Rodgers and Hammerstein organization. Their shows are some of the best-known in the world, and I can’t believe there wouldn’t be interest in individual or collected publications of the Masters’ original libretti. Perhaps if they did, others would follow suit.
Speaking as a wanna-be-produced librettist, I want access to these libretti to learn and study. When I’m wondering what kind of humor Abe Burrows used in Guys and Dolls, I want to look it up and see. When I want to understand why Walter Bobby felt the need to improve on Sweet Charity, I need to read the original libretto to get it. When I want to see how Oscar Hammerstein developed Billy without getting us to hate him, I can only do that by reading the libretto.
the Broadway Mouth
October 13, 2007
Thursday, October 11, 2007
You Simply Cannot Do It Alone or, How I Became a Theatre Expert in Three Easy Steps
Step 1
In student teaching 7th graders, I decided to create a unit on William Gibson’s The Miracle Worker. I entered the experience unsure of what I would be teaching, and as I was paging through a literature book from the early 80s, I spotted the play. Instantly I knew it’d be just the thing.
I created a fantastic unit centered on the play which focused on theatre appreciation and the theme of overcoming challenges/disabilities. I began by giving the kids notes on what makes a play—why live theatre is unique from movies sort of things—and pumped them up for enjoying the play. As part of this, I showed them clips from shows on The Tony Awards, including The Lion King and The King and I, to illustrate those points. So, for example, when we watched “Shall We Dance,” we learned how the imagination helps create the set.
I also created a bulletin board complete with photos of Broadway shows, pamphlets from local theatres, pictures of myself doing improv and the few shows I had done in college. I will admit it was a great unit. The kids were excited, loved the play, wanted to read it, and we all had a blast doing it.
My co-operating teacher was very inexperienced when it came to drama, so to him, my use of all this background and knowledge combined with my enthusiasm and the success of the unit made him impressed.
In my letter of recommendation, he wrote, “He has an extensive drama background.” I was 22. By this point in life, I had certainly developed an interest and had seen a respectable number of plays, but my actual formal education was three theatre classes in college and two literature classes focused on plays (Drama Literature and Shakespeare). I had only acted in two plays, done stage crew for one, but had been heavily involved in improv for 2 ½ years. That was it.
I now had an “extensive drama background.”
Step 2
When I interviewed for a one-year English teaching position at a prestigious arts school three years later, I advertised my artistic talent. Admittedly, by this point, I had developed considerably more in my learning and experience. I had directed high school plays, had written a ton of skits and one longer play (which was basically a gathering of long skits into one cohesive story, but nothing grand by any means), plus I had been working on my first musical (and was in fact preparing it for a local workshop reading). I had even received some encouragement from a local musical development program (headed by a respected Broadway producer) when my work (at the age of 22, pat myself on the back) remained into the second round of selection for development . . . up against some people who had had professional credits on both coasts. I had also studied musical theatre considerably to learn more and to grow as an artist.
As part of that interview, I shared all my letters of recommendation and, to my surprise, was hired.
Step 3
This was a wonderful school, and it was filled with top-notch teachers of the core academic subjects (the group of which I was a part) as well as teachers who were experts in teaching performing, visual, and written arts, including two drama teachers who were very experienced and passionate in the way you would imagine arts school teachers to be.
After I was hired, the school’s wonderful program director mailed out a “welcome back” letter to all the teachers in the building. In that letter, he introduced the new faculty.
I was introduced as the new English teacher who had “an extensive drama background.”
Gee, that was easy.
The Reality
Unfortunately, actually getting an extensive drama background under any other criteria is pretty hard. In watching the Rent 2-disc special edition DVD this past weekend, I was astounded by the fascinating documentary on the making of Rent (both stage and film), which included an extensive look at the life of Jonathan Larson and his dream of writing musicals.
Jonathan Larson labored unceasingly toward his goal. Obviously he was talented beyond belief—just look at the longevity of his show—but he still had to develop his talent. Even as his show was courting Broadway producers, the producers were acknowledging that there needed to be work done on the show. It was rough. Even today when you read analyses of Rent, it is clear people think it is a great show. But I’ve never read an analysis that points to the show as perfect, possibly a result of Larson dying before the show could be frozen to his perfection.
It appears as if Larson was learning the difficult art of collaboration. According to friends on the documentary, Larson resisted collaboration. One even suggests that his resistance to collaboration may have been why his Suburbia never got produced, that it wasn’t because he was a new talent but because it was flawed.
In my journey as a wanna-be-produced librettist, I have learned many important lessons about the art of musicals. Some of these are lessons I learned the hard way, and others I learned by reading from people more experienced than myself. However, I bring them up because in my search for collaborators in the past, I have seen many people making the same mistakes I used to make and those that even the great Jonathan Larson was prone to making as well.
Allow me to be transparent for a few paragraphs. When I started on this journey, I had a musical play I began writing. I was only twenty-three when I started it, and as I mentioned above, I did receive some encouragement on the project.
But my vision for how I would hit the Broadway scene was that I would be an all-knowing creator. I just needed to find a composer and lyricist who could take all the songs I wanted them to write (because the libretto was genius, naturally) in the style my superior judgment understood they should be. I knew exactly where the dance was to be, how I wanted it performed, and that was that.
Then I met Hattie. Hattie is not her real name, but Hattie is a very talented composer-lyricist who has a great concept for a project.
She posted online wanting a collaborator for a project, so I emailed her several samples of my work. She immediately read it, sent back a bruising email in which she strongly critiqued my work point-blank. After catching my breath, I was actually extremely thankful for her harshness because that is the only way you learn. I grew from her comments. A few of them were dead-on, a few of them not. Despite her critique, she was interested in meeting to discuss the project. Over the phone she made it clear, “I don’t suffer fools.”
As I was to learn over our next two meetings, the only fool Hattie suffered was herself. First of all, she had some great songs, but they were tripped up by forced meter and a few off rhymes, though I will say that of all the composers with whom I’ve communicated that claim to be influenced by Sondheim, she’s the first of which I said, “Yes, I can see it,” though her work has a more easily identifiable and instantly pleasing melody than the Master's.
But Hattie was much like I was. She wanted me to come in and write the libretto the way she wanted. She wanted two comedic characters much like those in another show (which, if I had ever done that, everyone would have thought it was ripping off, her idea was so blatant). She had specific plot points in mind. It was all laid out. I just needed to follow her lead.
The problem is that very few artists work alone. A novelist has an editor who gives feedback, and a playwright gets help from a director. A musical requires the typical writer/songwriter to stretch so far beyond their natural talents. I have come to learn that I need a songwriter because I can’t do what a songwriter does. I need a choreographer because he or she better knows how to make a show dance. If I am dependent upon myself to do all the roles in a musical, then there’s going to be a great book and everything else will stink. Collaboration is about individual people bringing their best talents to make the show better than any one person could do it. Michael Bennett, Bob Fosse, Oscar Hammerstein, Stephen Schwartz, and every other successful Broadway creator has needed collaborators. No one else is going to top these people on their own.
The problem with Hattie’s idea was that it was an awesome concept with no conflict or plot structure. It was a series of events in a man’s life—interesting events, no doubt—but there was no dramatic tension. As I tried to propose a plot that would give the story a spine and a sense of direction, she balked at the idea. And she should have balked because I was very far off from her original concept (she wanted me to incorporate all her songs but never handed me her lyrics); however, the idea as she envisioned wouldn’t work.
She said she wanted a collaborator, but when I stepped in to suggest improvements (or at least changes) as a collaborator would do, I realized that’s not what she wanted. She wanted someone who would be a puppet, someone who realized her ideas were as genius as she did.
And honestly, having been there/done that, I can say I have seen much of that in people trying to find collaborators online. They want a clone of themselves who writes the book instead of just the music or writes the music instead of just the book.
But I’m thankful for Hattie because I figured it out before it was too late. I realized that I was just like her, wanting to do everything myself to the detriment of my beloved projects.
As for Hattie, after our second meeting when she rightly rejected my ideas for the plot, she emailed me to say, “Thanks but no thanks” (which, for the record, is a really tacky/chicken/unprofessional means of turning someone down unless you’ve only been communicating through email). Her project still has not come to fruition despite her having a big-time connection to Broadway. And it won’t until she learns what I had to learn.
You simply cannot do it alone.
the Broadway Mouth
October 11, 2007
In student teaching 7th graders, I decided to create a unit on William Gibson’s The Miracle Worker. I entered the experience unsure of what I would be teaching, and as I was paging through a literature book from the early 80s, I spotted the play. Instantly I knew it’d be just the thing.
I created a fantastic unit centered on the play which focused on theatre appreciation and the theme of overcoming challenges/disabilities. I began by giving the kids notes on what makes a play—why live theatre is unique from movies sort of things—and pumped them up for enjoying the play. As part of this, I showed them clips from shows on The Tony Awards, including The Lion King and The King and I, to illustrate those points. So, for example, when we watched “Shall We Dance,” we learned how the imagination helps create the set.
I also created a bulletin board complete with photos of Broadway shows, pamphlets from local theatres, pictures of myself doing improv and the few shows I had done in college. I will admit it was a great unit. The kids were excited, loved the play, wanted to read it, and we all had a blast doing it.
My co-operating teacher was very inexperienced when it came to drama, so to him, my use of all this background and knowledge combined with my enthusiasm and the success of the unit made him impressed.
In my letter of recommendation, he wrote, “He has an extensive drama background.” I was 22. By this point in life, I had certainly developed an interest and had seen a respectable number of plays, but my actual formal education was three theatre classes in college and two literature classes focused on plays (Drama Literature and Shakespeare). I had only acted in two plays, done stage crew for one, but had been heavily involved in improv for 2 ½ years. That was it.
I now had an “extensive drama background.”
Step 2
When I interviewed for a one-year English teaching position at a prestigious arts school three years later, I advertised my artistic talent. Admittedly, by this point, I had developed considerably more in my learning and experience. I had directed high school plays, had written a ton of skits and one longer play (which was basically a gathering of long skits into one cohesive story, but nothing grand by any means), plus I had been working on my first musical (and was in fact preparing it for a local workshop reading). I had even received some encouragement from a local musical development program (headed by a respected Broadway producer) when my work (at the age of 22, pat myself on the back) remained into the second round of selection for development . . . up against some people who had had professional credits on both coasts. I had also studied musical theatre considerably to learn more and to grow as an artist.
As part of that interview, I shared all my letters of recommendation and, to my surprise, was hired.
Step 3
This was a wonderful school, and it was filled with top-notch teachers of the core academic subjects (the group of which I was a part) as well as teachers who were experts in teaching performing, visual, and written arts, including two drama teachers who were very experienced and passionate in the way you would imagine arts school teachers to be.
After I was hired, the school’s wonderful program director mailed out a “welcome back” letter to all the teachers in the building. In that letter, he introduced the new faculty.
I was introduced as the new English teacher who had “an extensive drama background.”
Gee, that was easy.
The Reality
Unfortunately, actually getting an extensive drama background under any other criteria is pretty hard. In watching the Rent 2-disc special edition DVD this past weekend, I was astounded by the fascinating documentary on the making of Rent (both stage and film), which included an extensive look at the life of Jonathan Larson and his dream of writing musicals.
Jonathan Larson labored unceasingly toward his goal. Obviously he was talented beyond belief—just look at the longevity of his show—but he still had to develop his talent. Even as his show was courting Broadway producers, the producers were acknowledging that there needed to be work done on the show. It was rough. Even today when you read analyses of Rent, it is clear people think it is a great show. But I’ve never read an analysis that points to the show as perfect, possibly a result of Larson dying before the show could be frozen to his perfection.
It appears as if Larson was learning the difficult art of collaboration. According to friends on the documentary, Larson resisted collaboration. One even suggests that his resistance to collaboration may have been why his Suburbia never got produced, that it wasn’t because he was a new talent but because it was flawed.
In my journey as a wanna-be-produced librettist, I have learned many important lessons about the art of musicals. Some of these are lessons I learned the hard way, and others I learned by reading from people more experienced than myself. However, I bring them up because in my search for collaborators in the past, I have seen many people making the same mistakes I used to make and those that even the great Jonathan Larson was prone to making as well.
Allow me to be transparent for a few paragraphs. When I started on this journey, I had a musical play I began writing. I was only twenty-three when I started it, and as I mentioned above, I did receive some encouragement on the project.
But my vision for how I would hit the Broadway scene was that I would be an all-knowing creator. I just needed to find a composer and lyricist who could take all the songs I wanted them to write (because the libretto was genius, naturally) in the style my superior judgment understood they should be. I knew exactly where the dance was to be, how I wanted it performed, and that was that.
Then I met Hattie. Hattie is not her real name, but Hattie is a very talented composer-lyricist who has a great concept for a project.
She posted online wanting a collaborator for a project, so I emailed her several samples of my work. She immediately read it, sent back a bruising email in which she strongly critiqued my work point-blank. After catching my breath, I was actually extremely thankful for her harshness because that is the only way you learn. I grew from her comments. A few of them were dead-on, a few of them not. Despite her critique, she was interested in meeting to discuss the project. Over the phone she made it clear, “I don’t suffer fools.”
As I was to learn over our next two meetings, the only fool Hattie suffered was herself. First of all, she had some great songs, but they were tripped up by forced meter and a few off rhymes, though I will say that of all the composers with whom I’ve communicated that claim to be influenced by Sondheim, she’s the first of which I said, “Yes, I can see it,” though her work has a more easily identifiable and instantly pleasing melody than the Master's.
But Hattie was much like I was. She wanted me to come in and write the libretto the way she wanted. She wanted two comedic characters much like those in another show (which, if I had ever done that, everyone would have thought it was ripping off, her idea was so blatant). She had specific plot points in mind. It was all laid out. I just needed to follow her lead.
The problem is that very few artists work alone. A novelist has an editor who gives feedback, and a playwright gets help from a director. A musical requires the typical writer/songwriter to stretch so far beyond their natural talents. I have come to learn that I need a songwriter because I can’t do what a songwriter does. I need a choreographer because he or she better knows how to make a show dance. If I am dependent upon myself to do all the roles in a musical, then there’s going to be a great book and everything else will stink. Collaboration is about individual people bringing their best talents to make the show better than any one person could do it. Michael Bennett, Bob Fosse, Oscar Hammerstein, Stephen Schwartz, and every other successful Broadway creator has needed collaborators. No one else is going to top these people on their own.
The problem with Hattie’s idea was that it was an awesome concept with no conflict or plot structure. It was a series of events in a man’s life—interesting events, no doubt—but there was no dramatic tension. As I tried to propose a plot that would give the story a spine and a sense of direction, she balked at the idea. And she should have balked because I was very far off from her original concept (she wanted me to incorporate all her songs but never handed me her lyrics); however, the idea as she envisioned wouldn’t work.
She said she wanted a collaborator, but when I stepped in to suggest improvements (or at least changes) as a collaborator would do, I realized that’s not what she wanted. She wanted someone who would be a puppet, someone who realized her ideas were as genius as she did.
And honestly, having been there/done that, I can say I have seen much of that in people trying to find collaborators online. They want a clone of themselves who writes the book instead of just the music or writes the music instead of just the book.
But I’m thankful for Hattie because I figured it out before it was too late. I realized that I was just like her, wanting to do everything myself to the detriment of my beloved projects.
As for Hattie, after our second meeting when she rightly rejected my ideas for the plot, she emailed me to say, “Thanks but no thanks” (which, for the record, is a really tacky/chicken/unprofessional means of turning someone down unless you’ve only been communicating through email). Her project still has not come to fruition despite her having a big-time connection to Broadway. And it won’t until she learns what I had to learn.
You simply cannot do it alone.
the Broadway Mouth
October 11, 2007
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