If They Could See You Now

Beth Leavel as the Drowsy Chaperone. Laura Benanti as Julia Sullivan. Sutton Foster as Eponine. Simone as Aida. Three significant characters in The Color Purple last August.

Yeah, I’ve got my fair share of those pesty little slips of paper saved in my Playbills to remember who I really saw in the role as opposed to who was originally listed. Sometimes it’s not a big deal. Like when you don’t know who Renee Elise Goldsberry is from Wilhema Van Butternose. Other times, it is a big deal—it’s someone you’ve seen before, read about, or has won a Tony—and you want to see that person in that role.

Truth be told, only a few times have I been sorely disappointed in seeing the understudies. At two different occasions, for example, I saw understudies for either of the Thenardiers, and they lacked either the vocal chops or the comedic skills to do justice to the roles; that was quite disappointing. But other times . . . You know, you can’t complain when you see Kenita R. Miller as Nettie or JoAnn M. Hunter as Lois Lane. And I still remember, quite vividly, how understudy Leslie Hendrix turned Eulalie Mackecknie Shinn into a comedic tour de force that made me howl in the Susan Stroman revival of The Music Man.

This understudy thing has become quite the issue of discussion. There are certain stars whom you hear repeatedly missing shows, either for known causes, such as illnesses, or for reasons up for gossip.

I love seeing Kaye Ballard discuss this shift in the times in Rick McKay’s Broadway: The Golden Age, saying that when she was in The Pirates of Penzance in 1982, “it was a joke! Every night it sounded like Nurse Ratched. ‘This one will be out, that one will be out, this one will be out. Someone’s breaking in a new pair of shoes; they’re not coming in tonight’ . . . I never saw anything like it.” In her sixteen months in Carnival!, she missed one performance when she had a temp of 104. Similarly, Carol Channing has been infamous for missing only one performance as Dolly Levi in her entire career, a result of food poisoning, but still going on to perform through cancer treatments, broken bones, and all sorts of illnesses. Ethel Merman was another star known for never missing performances.

While we should look back to see the examples set for us, it’s also important to note that there is a shift and that there are also several other factors going on.

First of all, times are different. The older generation in general valued work above all. I grew up in the generation of day care, latchkey kids, and two parents working. Quality family time was replaced with quality family purchases. It was the norm to put family first by putting work before family time.

I don’t think we can criticize people for choosing some things, like their children, over a performance. Twenty years from now, the applause will be history, but those children will live on, better people for having their parents there when they were needed. Those kids will fondly look back on vacation times taken with their parents and Thanksgiving dinners spent together, with an understudy going on for dad. I think, as a culture, we learned from the mistakes of our parents, and we’ve reacted to that. You hear about how people in general are working fewer hours and are sacrificing job for family in other professions—why not on Broadway? Who knows what mysterious reason people are out of shows—How do we know that there’s not a child going through rehab or a friend going through cancer who needs help?

And sometimes you hear of people taking time off to see a spouse’s concert or to take advantage of another opportunity. Ideally for their fans, their priorities would be the show, but . . . even Broadway stars are people. How can we criticize the value-based personal choices people make in such a situation? You shouldn’t have to sacrifice your marriage to be on Broadway. People did it in the good old days, but that doesn’t mean it was the right decision.

The requirements of roles have changed considerably as well. In the bonus features on the Rick McKay film, Ruthie Henshall jokes about the vocal ranges that stars are expected to have these days. Yes, stars back in the days didn’t have amplification, so they were still working hard, but I have a feeling that Sally Adams in Call Me Madam, for example, is half as vocally demanding as Brooklyn, Jekyll and Hyde, or Elphaba. You never heard Mary Martin mention almost passing out after singing “Do-Re-Mi” in The Sound of Music like Heather Headley talked about in Aida. The roles have changed, and the requirements to do those roles have changed as well.

This past winter, I, who never get sick, managed to catch every germ in circulation. I remember thinking, “What if I was on Broadway . . . Could I really get myself on stage to play even Corny Collins?” Once or twice, the answer would have been no.

But, a-ha, there’s also a flip side to all this. One of the big complaints of people interviewed in Broadway: The Golden Age and David Wienir and Jodie Langel’s book Making It on Broadway is the lack of Broadway star status on Broadway today. In the old days, people knew who Mary Martin, Janis Paige, John Raitt, and Alfred Drake were. Stunt casting consisted of Carol Channing as Ruth Sherwood in Wonderful Town, and a lesser name like Gretchen Wyler could be Lola once Gwen Verdon exited Damn Yankees.

The multiple-absence problem plays a hand in this. Actors become well-known when masses of people see them shining. It’s pretty hard for that to happen when you miss every other Saturday performance. Your producers can’t afford to have the audience too excited to see you in a show when, four months into the run, you’re gone for a week of vacation. When you acknowledge your own insignificance in the show by being gone often, then why should anyone else lift you up?

If you want to make a name for yourself, then you have to make choices. Even if you’re an un-famous Belle in Beauty and the Beast, that’s a chance to make a name for yourself. And though 98% of the audience will leave the theatre not knowing you, even if a few theatre people and those little girls waiting at the stage door walk out with your name permanently imprinted on their minds, you’re a step closer to being a star. I don’t know who was supposed to be Mayor Shinn’s wife in The Music Man that night, but I walked out knowing the great talent that is Leslie Hendrix. Honestly, if the sitcom I wrote had been produced, Leslie Hendrix would have been on my mind.

Being in show business is like being in any other business—you have to be scrappy and you can’t be successful unless you are going after every last dime. McDonald’s, for example, advertises its coffee. Coffee! The same thing you can buy anywhere for cheap, and McDonald’s spends millions to remind people that they have it. Eddie Bauer trains its employees to ask customers if they want socks or belts when they check out. Success comes in not missing a single opportunity, and on Broadway, one of the biggest opportunities is gaining fans.

I would have been sorely disappointed if I had gone to Tarzan and Merle Dandridge had been out. This is a business where you can’t afford to disappoint fans. It’s not movies where people can watch you do your thing a million times; you may have only a few chances to win that fan. If they come to see you in your show and you are gone, there’s a good chance they won’t have the money or chance to see you again. The bond will be broken.

Every missed performance is a missed opportunity, and a Broadway performer needs to weigh what’s important. If we don’t have more Broadway stars, that is partially because we don’t have enough people demanding that they be. I can’t imagine Gwen Verdon being in a show that lasts two months and having given her understudy a chance to steal that spotlight.

And really, maybe we should thank God we don’t have as many of those stars. I must admit that there are some shows where, if the audience were there for names, there’d be big refund lines every night.

Again, if people don’t see you, they’re not going to remember you. If you don’t value your own star presence, nobody else will acknowledge it either.

I still wish I had seen Beth Leavel. And I’m awful glad I got to see Marin Mazzie before she went on vacation. And how thankful I am that the night I saw Wicked Stephanie J. Block didn’t have the flu.

Still, I don’t know if we can ever judge people for the career choices they make. Why should making it to three performances in a Broadway show be any more important than being there for your children or supporting your spouse? How can I say whether someone’s flu or ankle pain or headache isn’t a good enough excuse? For me, what it comes down to is that Broadway stars are people, and their personal needs are no more or less important than mine.

Broadway Mouth
June 22, 2007

Confessions of a (Former) Stage Door Johnny

After she went on as the title character in the tour production of Aida, I wanted to meet Merle Dandridge at the stage door. While it’s been a strong temptation, I no longer do the stage door Johnny thing, but at the time, I was still daring enough to go for it. As I was standing beside Ms. Dandridge outside the stage door, my friend accidentally snapped a picture of me with her before we were ready. In the picture, you can literally see the awe in my eyes, like I can hardly believe I’m standing within touching distance of someone so great.

And, indeed, I am completely in awe of stage people. If I could have a chance encounter with Sherie Rene Scott or Norm Lewis, I would prefer it a million times more than a chance encounter with the likes of Tom Hanks or Julia Stiles. Though I certainly have enjoyed their movies, they don’t make me excited like stage people. Give me Amy Spanger anytime!

I’m so bad that when I go to shows on tour, I try to get my theatre-going friends to eat out after the show at one of the restaurants touring actors are known to frequent when in my city. Unless there was a chance encounter, I’d never work up the guts to approach one of them, but I can’t help being in awe.

And no, I’m not a stalker. Remember, I was a teacher, so I’ve passed every background check imaginable.

I know the stage life isn’t nearly as glamorous as the movies would suggest it is—read Making it on Broadway if you want it to happen to you too. But I’m still every bit as envious of their talent and ability as I’ve ever been. The moment Marin Mazzie entered the stage in Kiss Me, Kate, it was love at first sight. Can anyone be more beautiful than Marin Mazzie? Can anyone be more talented than Marin Mazzie? Okay, so she ties with Rebecca Luker, Lea Salonga, Audra McDonald, Emily Skinner, Sutton Foster, Rachel York, Carolee Carmello, Heather Headley, and a bunch of others, but you can’t blame me for falling for her. She’s not only beautiful, but she’s talented. She’s a Broadway star.

I’ve often said it. If I was rich and it was the 1920s, I’d be one of those guys with flowers and an engagement ring outside the New Amsterdam Theatre, waiting to ask the most talented Follies girl to marry me.

My stage door Johnny pictures have actually been very important to me. I don’t think I could even fully put into words how much I have cherished my photos with all these wonderful people, even though I always end up embarrassing myself by burbling on and on and sounding extra stupid. I don’t get nervous at job interviews. I don’t get nervous speaking in front of groups. As a teacher, I never even got nervous on the first day of school. But boy do I get nervous around a talented stage person.

More importantly, I have formed an unspoken bond with the people I’ve met. Having met them in person, I feel like I owe it to them to support their work. That’s why I bought Adam Pascal’s first album (which is awesome), for example. That’s why I would make a point of seeing Michael Berresse—who was so incredibly nice beyond belief times fifty outside Kiss Me, Kate—in A Chorus Line if I make it to NYC while he’s still in the show. I keep my eye open for what Coleen Sexton is in, cheering her however I can when she gets another role. I perk my eyes up when I read that Mary Testa has been cast in something new.

I can’t wait until one day, when I have my own shows on the boards, I’ll remember some of the folks who were so kind to me as I stood in awe beside their talent. They had just done marathon dancing and singing on stage, sometimes twice in one day, but they didn’t exit through a secret door to escape notice, though they were tired. When they are cast in one of my shows, I’ll happily show them a picture of me with them, and they’ll see how excited I was to even be near them. And hopefully they’ll be happy they took the time.

Broadway Mouth
June 19, 2007

Announced for Next Season: The Second Golden Age

When I saw Jane Eyre, I saw next to a woman who cried throughout the whole show. She had seen it seventeen times, if I recall correctly, and she was overcome with emotion because of how wonderful it was and how the show made her feel. I have a friend who made it to New York to see Aida starring Simone, and she told me how she cried at the end. I have another friend who balled at The Color Purple.

I, on the other end, almost lost it during The Wedding Singer. I’m not kidding. I had flown in on a moment’s notice to interview for a job. One day, I was sitting at home hoping for the next phase of my life to jump start, and two days later, I’m sitting in seat D115 in the Al Hirschfeld Theatre watching my first Broadway show on Broadway since my second visit to The Music Man in 2001.

I’m not even a crier. Honestly. But to be sitting there watching an awesome number like “It’s Your Wedding Day” in person on Broadway after watching it over and over from the Tony Awards, I was overcome with emotion. Even though I had seen every show that was even decent on tour, I told myself, “No matter what happens, I have to make it back here again soon. It’s been too long.”

I had a great time seeing lots of fun shows on that trip, The Wedding Singer, Tarzan, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, The Drowsy Chaperone, Hairspray (which I had seen once on tour), and The Color Purple.

I thoroughly enjoyed my time at every single one of those shows except one. However, when all was said and done, I realized that as strong as these shows were, the only one that could really hold a candle to the great shows of the past was Hairspray. Don’t get me wrong; I really enjoyed myself at all of these shows except one. I laughed heartily at Spelling Bee and felt so bad for Celia Keenan-Bolger’s poor Olive Olstrovsky. I cheered at the turn of events in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. I was glued to Sutton Foster in The Drowsy Chaperone, and so on.

On my life game of Broadway Star Bingo, I finally got to check off a number of amazing performances from people I had always wanted to see or to see again—Jose Llana, Amy Spanger, Merle Dandridge, Schuler Hensley, Sutton Foster, LaChanze, to name just a very few.

At the same time, I wouldn’t say that as a whole, the shows I saw were as good as shows from previous trips which consisted equally of revivals and new works. I don’t want to join in on the chorus of people proclaiming the death of Broadway or lamenting how it’s not like in “the good old days.” Like I said, I thoroughly enjoyed my time at almost all of those shows, and I think that is all that we can ask of a Broadway musical, to be entertained thoroughly. The rest is, as Sherie Rene Scott said, too wonderful to be true.

I don’t find this disheartening, however. I really don’t. I do think it is important to acknowledge that I didn’t see anything as hilarious and poignant as Kiss Me, Kate or as enrapturing as The Music Man or as moving as Les Miserables, but I don’t find it disheartening.

Again, I saw performances as great as any on the Broadway stage ever—look at the original casts and replacement casts in that list. As far as I’m concerned, Sutton Foster is the next Marilyn Miller but with more talent, Felicia P. Fields as sweet as Gwen Verdon, and Stephen Flaherty as charming as Robert Morse. I couldn’t have paid big bucks to see better talents.

Something we all need to remember is that rarely did the great writing talents of the previous Golden Age hit a homerun their first times at bat. For example, we are all looking forward to the revival of Guys and Dolls, but I’ve never even heard of a contemporary production of Frank Loesser’s Where’s Charley. We all love Oklahoma!, but how many of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s older shows do we see today? Other than Show Boat and Pal Joey, not many. Stephen Sondheim had Anyone Can Whistle before Company. For Kander and Ebb there was Flora, the Red Menace. Cole Porter had written a number of duds, and he was written off until Kiss Me, Kate. If I were to take a look on ibdb.com, I’m sure I could find similar early flops (or even popular hits that by modern standards aren’t very good) for librettists.

We live in a time when artists get very little chance to develop their craft before their works hit the big time. When I went through a mini-Tennessee Williams kick this past spring, I was surprised to learn that he had actually written an early shorter play that became A Streetcar Named Desire. He had had many opportunities to write and have his work seen before The Glass Menagerie, his first big hit. Composers and lyricists might have had songs here and there in revues, where they could earn money to support themselves as they developed their crafts. As a result, these people learned by doing and failing.

Today, it’s harder to break in. People have to learn by doing in college or in programs like BMI instead of in front of authentic audiences. They have to work tirelessly to get their music into anyone’s hands then pray fervently that someone will pop the CD in and actually listen. All the while, living costs in New York City have skyrocketed, and they must balance living with developing their craft. Very few people write their first produced songs in the early 20s anymore. To be produced at 22, for example, allows you a lot of time learning from your audience and learning from a creative team. These days, people are getting produced when?—often their 30s and 40s.

It is my belief that we are on the cusp of a second Golden Age. When the time comes, I doubt anyone will acknowledge it because to some, nothing will ever be as grand as the past, but our time today shares a number of key similarities with Broadway prior to the Golden Age.

We have many young talents cutting their teeth on their first shows. Listen to the scores of The Wedding Singer and The Color Purple—there’s real talent there! Look at the ingenuity of The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee—that’s hilarious and so fresh. Admire the boldness of Tarzan’s concept and visuals. How clever was the conceit of The Drowsy Chaperone. If Lisa Lambert and Greg Morrison can write the score to The Drowsy Chaperone now, think of how great their fifth Broadway show will be. If Winnie Holzman—new to Broadway if not to writing—can produce Wicked her first time around, how great will her fifth show be? That’s real promise.

Right now, everything is in place for not only thoroughly enjoyable shows, but shows that are practically perfect in every sense—like Oklahoma!, Guys and Dolls, The Pajama Game, Wonderful Town. They may be dramatic like The Color Purple, they may be rock like Spring Awakening, or they may be full of spectacle like The Pirate Queen, but if we can get these people venues for writing, support them in their success and in their learning experiences (also known as failures), Broadway won’t just post record revenue but record attendance as well.

Broadway Mouth
June 14, 2007

Give Them What They Want / Za Ba Zoovee

My favorite entry in The TheaterMania Guide to Musical Theater Recordings has to be David Barbour’s summary of the plot of Aida.

After subduing the nation of Nubia, Radames brings back the Princess Aida (Heather Headley), with whom he promptly falls in love. The three of them proceed to scream their heads off for two acts—lamenting cruel fate, etc., etc.

Perhaps Al Hirschfeld, who was alive to see so much of American theatre in the past century, said it best in the great PBS documentary Broadway: The American Musical when he observed that the “form changes, and that’s difficult for a lot of people to accept. They’re stuck on one period, and they think that’s the period that’s important . . . It changes, and you have to roll with the punches, I think.”

What led to Broadway’s need for life support, as Elaine Stritch called it in the Rick McKay film Broadway: The Golden Age, was not because America fell out of step with the Broadway musical. Instead, as Frank Rich states in the PBS documentary, “Broadway was basically trying to ignore the 60s . . . [and the] Broadway musical [fell] out of sync with pop culture.”

Yes, we need to remind ourselves, Broadway used to be part of pop culture. Broadway albums would be purchased by people all over the country and hit high on the sales charts, much like if the Grey Gardens CD was right up there with Rihanna’s latest success in today’s terms.

Not only was it popular, but some songs were often written to be pop hits. For example, “Hey, There” was intended to be heard outside of The Pajama Game. Its lyrics were made specific to the character but general enough to reach a wide audience to promote the show, and it was skillfully reprised in the second act to reinforce its sell-ability. “If I Ever I Would Leave You” was played on the radio.

Broadway was also talked about and written about. Shows and their stars made the covers of major magazines. It was not uncommon to see performances on variety shows such as The Ed Sullivan Show. And even a mildly successful show, like The Unsinkable Molly Brown or Silk Stockings, made it to Hollywood.

So what’s wrong with Broadway catching up with the times?

Let me state that I agree that there is room for all sorts of different musicals—musical comedies, musical plays, pop operas, rock musicals, deconstructed musicals, linear musicals, and whatever else may arrive on the scene. Of my first three shows I’d like to see on a Broadway stage, none of them are pop or rock or anything threatening like that. But I don’t know why Broadway critics act as if shows like The Pirate Queen can’t coincide with shows like The Drowsy Chaperone. That really annoys me.

Part of the problem is that the average theatre-goer and critic is out of touch with the times. If you grew up with A Chorus Line being the ideal musical and that musical style defining what Broadway music should be, then how can you possibly connect with other styles of music that are currently on the scene or will come on the scene in years to come?

For example, if I listen to rap music, I can probably identify 1/19 of the words; however, if I bought several rap CDs, before long I’d be in the 18/19 range. My lack of understanding or appreciation of rap music doesn’t negate its nuances any more than a rap artist’s lack of understanding or appreciation of a Broadway ballad from the 1950s doesn’t negate its nuances. It’s more to do with the listener than the artist.

In his thought-provoking book The Happiest Corpse I’ve Ever Seen, Ethan Mordden laments the popification of Broadway with shows like Jekyll and Hyde, The Scarlet Pimpernel, and Hairspray (see: Note), arguing that pop music cannot be character specific. Perhaps it’s just that some critics don’t have an ear for the sound.

Several years ago, I heard a rock band at a free concert, and I immediately fell in love with their music. I have since expanded my listening to a variety of other bands, and what was once noise to me is now music. There are rock songs of all sorts and of all emotions. Rock didn’t all of a sudden become high quality—I just caught up with that boat. Now I could appreciate a rock show much more than I could have ten years ago.

Broadway is essentially a pop art, so why it doesn’t welcome pop music forms strikes me as a discordant note. If a show like Spring Awakening could get a song on the radio—either performed by one of its stars or covered by a hot act—it wouldn’t have needed eight Tonys to stay afloat. Even a show like The Wedding Singer, if the song were made into a contemporary pop song with some more generalized lyric alterations, could get “Right in Front of Your Eyes” or “If I Told You” on the radio. Not only would the show probably still be running, but it would attract a wider audience to Broadway shows in general and to tours. Get them once, and you’ll hook them for life.

That is not to say pop forms of music shouldn’t be held to the same standards. Yes, it should be character specific. Yes, the lyrics should have exact rhymes and be poetic. Yes, it should service story, character, and plot.

When Brooklyn came on tour, I took my godson to see it. Even though it was not a great show in terms of plot, he loved it. He’s a very intelligent young man; it’s just that the music spoke to him. It sounded something like the stuff on his iPod. To David Barbour, Diana DeGarmo might have been screaming, but to my godson and to me, it was awesome, power belting much like contemporary music stars do. It’s different than Rebecca Luker stepping out and hitting high notes at the end of “My White Knight,” but that doesn’t mean it’s not as good. It’s just different.

Jekyll and Hyde is one of the few shows in the past decade with original scores that have found life beyond its stage origins. Perhaps the lyrics aren’t Cole Porter, but it seems like most people criticize the show’s music for its pop aspirations. Well, shame on Frank Wildhorn for trying to reach a contemporary audience. How dare he! Memo to me: Put an end to that ASAP.

Let’s get on to more important shows like The Drowsy Chaperone, with its admittedly well-deserved Tony for Best Score. I can’t wait until I see kids singing “Fancy Dress” at their school’s variety show.

A lot of people like power belting. That’s what made Kelly Clarkson a favorite, put Whitney Houston on the map, and allowed Celine Dion to sell album after album after album until she was a gazillionaire. Perhaps Michael John LaChiusa (from his Opera News article) doesn’t care for power belting, but listen to an audience cheer after an actress “hollers an incomprehensible” rendition of “Defying Gravity” at the end of Act I in Wicked. That speaks for itself.

Broadway musicals are in such a vulnerable position. A film or television show can survive disastrous reviews. If movies survived like Broadway shows, National Treasure would have been a huge disaster. But sadly, the costs of attending shows on Broadway or on tour are such that audiences have to observe the reviews. The average theatre-goer isn’t attuned to any potential bias against non-Sondheim types of music, so when they read that a show like The Scarlet Pimpernel or Jane Eyre or Side Show is bad, they don’t risk their hard-earned money to see it.

Aida survived because it was Elton John and Disney. I love Aida. For the record, between Broadway and the tour, I saw it three times, and when I took a group of students and teachers to go, they all loved every minute of it. Watch an average person talk about their fondness for Les Miserables. Ask some theatre kids in Chugwater, Texas, and they’ll sing to you five or six songs from Wicked. Too bad none of them know how incomprehensible it is.

According to Steven Suskin in his awesome book Broadway Yearbook 1999-2000, six out of ten of the major critics panned Aida. Suskin himself states that “[n]othing in Aida was quite enough to impel you toward the Palace—Amneris’s or the Nederlanders’.” Perhaps if there had been something to impel you toward the Palace—obviously the Tony-award winning score, Henry David Hwang’s revised book, Heather Headley, Adam Pascal, Sherie Rene Scott, Matt Bogart, Simone, Will Chase, Merle Dandridge for one performance, Idina Menzel, Mandy Gonzalez, Maya Days, Wayne Cilento’s choreography, Bob Crowley’s sets and costumes, and Natasha Katz’s lighting simply weren’t enough—it might actually have run, right?

Broadway Mouth
June 12, 2007

Note: For the record, I vote that a show containing pop music over forty years old should officially be labeled pastiche because nothing like “You Can’t Stop the Beat” has been popular since Johnny Angel got Peggy Sue pregnant after prom. I know Mordden would probably call me stupid for saying this (or perhaps a purveyor of stupid shows), but I don’t see how much different this is from the music of Thoroughly Modern Millie, a show he generally enjoyed, which utilizes pop music from 77+ years ago.

Drop That Name!

The Good News

Sorry for the cliché, but it’s not what you know, it’s who you know. How else would the TV show Life on a Stick have ever made it on television?

There are people born knowing people. If your dad was Jay Leno’s garbage man, and you want to make it in Hollywood, you have a much better chance of making it than the writer with the next I Love Lucy up his sleeve and no connections.

I don’t know where I fall into the big picture of talent—I know I have lots, perhaps less than some, more than others. But what I don’t have is connections. And I hate networking! I picked the wrong business to get into for someone who hates networking. I can’t bring myself to impose on another person or to use another person to get my work noticed.

Thank God, however, that even non-networkers get their breaks! I may be getting mine soon.

I really wanted to focus this blog on my thoughts concerning ideas in theatre—and that still is the focus—but I figured that if I didn’t blog about exciting things potentially happening in my career, then what good is a blog anyway?

So let me set the scene. Bear with me. I think it’ll be worth it in the end. I think.

Scene 1

It is a grocery store. Broadway Mouth’s Sister enters the stage, pushing a cart with an adorable niece who is, literally, the cutest little girl ever, both in physical attributes and outgoing personality and endearing personality traits.

Sister, looking about at the merchandise along the cash registers, makes her way to a checkout lane where a Woman is cashiering.

Woman: Oh my gosh, she is the cutest little girl ever!

Sister: Aw shucks. I get that a lot.

Woman: Honey, if you make babies that cute, it’s your American duty to have a few more.

Sister: Um, this one was 11.6 pounds, and the drugs wore off after ten minutes of pushing. Sorry but my body signed a petition . . .



Scene 2
It is now over a year later. Broadway Mouth’s Sister’s friends—Deanna, Jen, and Woman—are seated around a table, snacking and chatting while Niece wanders about the house chattering in toddler gibberish and being really cute in every way possible. It is June 7, 2007.

Sister: And you guys should have seen the Easter basket Woman gave my daughter! It was huge and filled with the coolest things.

Deanna: (in awe) Wow . . .

Woman: Well, she’s just such a sweetheart. And I always wanted to have more kids of my own, but it wasn’t possible. By the way, forgive the lack of transition, but someone I know someone involved in a show that’s up for a Tony this Sunday.

Sister: You’re kidding.

Woman: Yeah, she’s a producer on _______________. She’s almost like a daughter to me.

Sister: No way! My brother is the most talented writer I’ve ever met in my life!!!! Of the three I’ve known, he’s the best hands down. And he writes un-produced musicals that are waiting to earn billions! I’ve never seen a Broadway show, but trust me, I know!

Deanna: (in awe) Wow . . .

Woman: I’m going to be seeing her in October when I fly out for a wedding. If he wants me to, I’d bring her a copy of his work.

Jen: Um, by the way, did I mention I play the banjo in five different languages?


Let’s pause for a moment of reflection. The word producer means any number of things these days—from creative participant to someone with money to gamble. It is my hunch, based on billing, that it is possible that this is one of those people with money to gamble. BUT that’s pretty darn good in my world. Whatever the case, if this producer isn’t a creative producer herself, certainly she knows SOMEONE who initiates projects. My two libretti could get be on a pile for three months, but something is better than nothing. Getting your work seen by someone other than your college buddies is better than nothing. If it never goes further, that’s fine. But to at least get your work read is an amazing opportunity.

The Other News

If you’ve read my “About Me” write-up to your right, you’ll notice how I talk about interviewing for two jobs, one of which I was on the road to being offered but passed on, the other which I wasn’t offered but wanted.

Well . . . one of my nanny agencies called, and the first family is looking again. This is such a bummer because I really, really want to move to New York City or Los Angeles to be closer to something creative, and I simply must have a high-paying job to do it.

The problem is that this job sounds horrible. I can’t say too much because of signed disclosures and stuff, but it’s a very wealthy family with incredible nanny turnaround for some pretty obvious reasons. Think of every Ovitz-inspired cliché you can think of, and you’ll see why I don’t want it . . . but I also don’t want to be sitting here for another year waiting. Mannies are somewhat in demand, but because I don’t live in NYC, I get passed up for consideration a lot even though the agencies tell me I have a great resume.

The other twist is that if I were to actually take this job (which I’m not really planning on at this moment), I don’t even know if I would have enough time to fix up my libretti for October, the job is that time-consuming.

So . . . excitement and upsetment (yes, I made that word up) all in less than twenty-four hours.

On Thursday, I walked out of the library (before getting the call from my sister about the above events), and I saw a brilliant double-rainbow arching over the eastern sky. You see, I was on the verge of being offered a long-term job locally that I really didn’t want and was in distress about making the right decision (a lot like I am right now). I can’t remember the last time I saw a rainbow or took the time to really see one, but as I looked at it from one end to the other, the lyrics of a song came to mind.

I end with the lyrics to the song “The Last Day” by Sandi Patty that has greatly inspired me during this crazy journey.

If today were the last of all days
Would it change how you feel,
Who you are
Would you rise for a moment above all your fears
Become one with the moon and the stars

Would you like what you see looking down
Did you give everything that you could
Have you done all the things that you wanted to do
Is there still so much more that you would

Follow your dreams to the end of the rainbow
Way beyond one pot of gold
Open your eyes to the colors around you
And find the true beauty life holds

Would you live in the moment like when you were young
When time didn’t travel so fast
Being free in the present enjoying the now
Not tied to a future or a past

Follow your dreams to the end of the rainbow
Way beyond one pot of gold
Open your eyes to the colors around you
And find the true beauty life holds

You’d probably say all you wanted to say
But doesn’t it strike you as strange
That we’d only begin to start living our lives
If today were the last of all days
If today were the last of all days


Broadway Mouth
June 9, 2007

Only One Night Only

Wow. First of all, let me thank all of you have been book-marking this blog, reading it, telling others to check it out, or whatever it is that’s drawing people here. Considering my blog isn’t quite a week old, I have a relatively surprising number of profile views (60). I know a few of them are mine from editing and updating info, but they’re not ALL me. So, thank you so much! I hope you keep checking back. After all, a writer is only as good as his readers!

Now on with the show . . .

The Tony Awards present a real problem for me, namely in that I don’t have cable, and my CBS reception is really crappy. I always end up pawning myself off on someone who will let me watch and record the awards. Right now, I still don’t have anyplace lined up to go . . . Gulp!

Like a lot of people, I like to record the show because I love watching those performances over and over and over and over and a hundred times more. As a teacher, I used them a lot in teaching theater, but I really record them for myself.

Since everyone rants about the Tony Awards after the fact, I think I’ll do my ranting (soul-searching reflection, really) now.

In short, Broadway is home to some of the most incredibly talented people in the entire universe—Susan Stroman, Bob Crowley, Kathleen Marshall, Hal Prince, Stephen Sondheim, Stephanie J. Block, Jerry Mitchell, Jason Robert Brown, Stephen Schwartz, Robin Wagner, Sam Mendes, Tina Landau, and a ton of other people. Yet somehow, the Tony Awards always seem like an afterthought, like someone was so busy doing their taxes, they forgot to leave time for those annoying old Tonys. You know, it’s sad when the MTV Movie Awards are more creatively produced than Broadway’s biggest night.

For example, when Hal Prince was given his lifetime achievement award, the best thing people could come up with was a funky tableau representing his significant work?

Sometimes we get a smashing opening number, such as Hugh Jackman and everyone on Broadway singing “One Night Only,” and other times just a solo song.

Sometimes we get a host and sometimes not.

Considering all the potential, the Tony Awards should be a little more creative. If I was producing, I would gather together a committee of the most amazingly talented people working in the theatre and let them have at it. Let them know to be uber-creative, that nothing is too outlandish.

If I was part of that committee, here are some things I would propose.

1. For the latest trend, the unavoidable pop music performance, I’d make the pairing one of an audience-grabbing pop music star with a true Broadway star—Kelly Clarkson singing “Written in the Stars” with Adam Pascal, Katherine McPhee singing “Foor Good” with Eden Espinosa, or Michael Bublé and Donna Murphy singing “Better Than a Dream.” That would allow the world-wide big-name talent to bring in viewers and the phenomenal Broadway talent to keep focused on Broadway.

2. Get a host. Talent should trump name. Yes, it would be nice if some hilarious television personality would do it, but if they’re going to just have a gaggle of “All-Star Presenters,” it would be better to pass it on to someone who can keep it lively and full of spark and spunk—Leslie Kritzer, Stephen Lynch, Douglas Sills, or someone else. Then instruct that person to be inclusive rather than exclusive. Wink wink jokes about gay dancers or Jewish producers or puppets ogling Hugh Jackman’s butt only serve to create an exclusive atmosphere and unwelcoming to anyone watching who isn’t “in the know” or part of that world. Why join the party if you’re never going to be able to take part?

3. If you advertise that people should watch the Tonys for performances from “Broadway’s Brightest,” then give them performances (and don’t be bullied out of it). Allow every nominated musical to do their thing, then provide a way for other current shows to perform, at least in a medley combining them all or something. It was great in the Rosie/PBS days when you got to see a significant representation from many of the shows on the boards because of the PBS education segments.

4. Bring back the PBS portion and their educational segments. Gosh, I loved those.

5. Make it bold, different, and classy in every way. When Carol Channing presented with L.L. Cool J, that was different and fun. Seeing Elaine Stritch praise librettists from the heart was engaging. Watching Jane TV Star (or even Jane Broadway Star) flatly reading something flat off a teleprompter is not too exciting.

6. Require Broadway show producers to provide interesting scenes from their shows. Watching an incomprehensible, LSD-inspired medley from Into the Woods, for example, is not interesting. Seeing a stand-alone scene from Thoroughly Modern Mille is.

We do need to acknowledge that the Tony Awards are in a difficult position. You have an event that is very narrow in its appeal. It’s the only televised award show where the majority of Americans have no clue about the nominees. CBS wants to carry the show because it appeals to higher class viewers, but I’m sure they are conscious of the ratings as well.

It’s also important that the show remains available for all the country to see because it educates people. I have been greatly influenced by what I’ve seen. Like a great many people, not only have I gone to shows because of what I’ve seen, but I’ve supported shows and artists based solely on what I’ve been introduced to. A few examples:

Impressed by the performance from Side Show, I bought the CD. Because I loved the CD, I bought the libretto from Samuel French. If I would have had an African-American male in my theatre program, I would have directed the show when I taught. Even then, I attended a local production of the show with a friend, and I bought one of Emily Skinner and Alice Ripley’s CDs. Because of all this, I was ecstatic to see Emily Skinner in the tour of On the Record. Even though she wasn’t on the CD, I bought the On the Record CD. I also fell in love with Norm Lewis’s voice and would love to someday write a role for him (and I just plain old fell in love with Emily Skinner). Additionally, I showed this scene to several of my classes of students as an example of the standard of Broadway performers (and they were impressed). And all this came about because of a Tony Awards performance.

I fell in love with Parade because of its performance. I made sure to see the show on tour, made a point of meeting Jason Robert Brown after the show, and bought the CD. Because I am in love with the show, I keep an eye open for whatever Jason Robert Brown is doing and plan on buying The Last 5 Years hopefully soon. I also bought the American Theatre issue that published the libretto, then bought Wiley Hausam’s collection The New American Musical to get a more permanent copy. I’ve also used the clip numerous times in teaching about plays in my classes. Lastly, I bought a copy of the CD as a gift for an actress friend of mine. Now she loves the show and has talked about using one of the songs as an audition song.

Honestly, I could go on about any number of shows and people I’ve come to know and financially support because of the Tonys—among them Sutton Foster; Follies; Bells are Ringing; Hunter Foster; Kiss Me, Kate; Ragtime and its stars; and the list goes on. While people as fanatic as I are in the minority, the Tony Awards is the only chance for Broadway theatre and our theatre folk to get a prime-time nationwide audience. A small nationwide audience is better than no nationwide audience.

The televised Tony Awards are very important to the theatre community. In reality, there are probably a half-dozen things that could be done to ensure a more interesting presentation, something that will inject the show with spunk. My specific solutions may not be the solutions, but we can’t risk losing the chance for these to be televised.

I just don’t get why the awards show representing such an exciting craft needs to be so standard.

Broadway MouthJune 7, 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