Category: Uncategorized

What a Good Day is Saturday

(10 points if you can name the musical referenced in the post’s title).

Prologue:

I awoke bright eyed and bushy-tailed in anticipation for the day. Last month, I received a quick IM from Sarah about meeting up with some of the blog crew who were going to be in town. Though I sadly missed the last gathering back in August (I think…? or was it July? Ugh. These decades…) there was nothing stopping me from going in for some unbelievably genial conversation with a little alcohol on the side. Two days earlier, I had also received a message from a friend from college, Russ, who as a member of TDF said that he was going to the matinee of [title of show] and would I care to join him. In my euphoria, I said “Yes.”

Anyway, now I had the opportunity to take in the first new musical of the Broadway season, the little show that could, trekking from the New York Musical Theatre Festival, climbing up the mountain to the Lyceum on 45th Street and Broadway.

Act I:

I arrived in NY around quarter after one in the afternoon. I generally take the Metro North into the city – it’s efficient and I can connect with the shuttle to Times Square to blaze a trail through maps and cameras and the stodgy awestruck tourists who instantaneously make me feel like a territorial native. Met up with Russ, who I haven’t seen in a couple of years, and we headed on over to the Lyceum.

Confessional: I had listened to the cast album when it first came out. I appreciated the cleverness, but it didn’t stick with me as I thought it would. This was when it had closed off-Broadway. There were grumblings of Broadway happenings, but the cynic-who-has-seen-it-all side of me said “Naah, it’ll never happen.” Well, and Dewey defeats Truman to you too. End confessional.

Anyway, I started to get really excited to see the show. Several people told me that they didn’t think I would enjoy it, which is why I was apprehensive of dropping what little funds I have on the show. Then Russ came through with his TDF offer. Well at these prices, I’ll be your ecdysiast, press agent and prophet. The excitement was made more palpable with the numerous people volunteering to promote the show around Times Square, handing out flyers promoting the show to passersby. When one gave me one, Russ said we were already seeing the show. The kid looked like he won the lottery. That sort of grassroots-guerrilla optimism makes me feel, I don’t know what exactly the word I would use here. Happy? Too genial. Content? Not enough chutzpah. Rhapsodic? Well not yet. But getting there. But I digress…

Well, my enthusiasm grew tenfold when we reached the mezzanine. Our usher, a diminutive middle aged mom, immediately asked us with great fervor if this was our first time seeing the show. We said yes. And she let out a sigh “Ohhhhhh, I wish I could sit and watch your reactions!!” She then proceeded to tell us that we would love it, with the passion usually reserved for a proud stage mother. Deciding that at 90 minutes without an intermission, I should use the facilities just for good measure, I happened into a second conversation with the usher. This time we discussed Souvenir and espoused the virtues of its dynamo star Judy Kaye (and that they should have cut back on the Cosme McMoon solos). It was upon the entrance of an enthused [tos]ser (as they’re called, not being a crass Brit here) who was seeing the show that I learned of the true extension of the grassroots campaign. The mezzanine was filled with many patrons who had been convinced by the eager volunteers to come see the show. Then I took my seat as maestro (and fifth cast member) Larry Pressgrove took his spot at the keyboard onstage.

How does one go about describing [title of show]? It’s not that easy I guess. I’ve heard it called a musical about people writing a musical about writing a musical. The show’s charms lie in its simplicity, quirky charm and personality, and most importantly, its heart. I could on and on about the things that make the show so engaging for an audience. Written by Hunter Bell (book) and Jeff Bowen (score), the show stars these two gentlemen and their friends Heidi Blickenstaff and Susan Blackwell, all playing themselves. The ninety minute show, which zips along at a most enjoyable pace (kudos to Michael Berresse’s nimble direction and choreography), follows the creation of the musical we are seeing, a meta-musical and one of the most original of all original musicals. It starts with the simple idea of writing about what they know (which includes horribly tacky television and the occasional cult flop musical) through the opening on Broadway. The musical, small in its scope and its size (four chairs and an onstage piano are all they need. Well… that and a turkey burger), is a continuation of the back-stage musical.

When I say, I loved it, part of it is that I felt as if I was watching a musical that had been written by people I know. I am fortunate to know many creative people like the four actors onstage, personalities both eccentric and endearing. (I also know the other kind; the ones that suck your soul dry with their solipsism, thankfully they stayed home). The talent, the humor, the warmth, the insecurities; all of these elements can be identified with anyone who’s ever taken a theatre course. In an era where it’s in vogue to have tongue-in-cheek musicals that make fun of the genre, it was really refreshing to find a tongue-in-cheek musical that celebrates it. There is a lot of heart onstage at the Lyceum and it is reason to rejoice.

Watching [tos], there are many things to love. Jeff collects playbills of shows that run 50 performances or less. Susan is the witty, self-deprecating, self-proclaimed “corporate whore,” Heidi is the one with established Broadway street cred and is the strongest singer of the quartet. And Hunter is Hunter, quite possibly the bravest individual onstage (with poor grammar). Two of the best running gags in this musical comedy: the drag queen names (Lady Footlockah, Tulita Pepsi, Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, etc.) and the answering machine messages. The latter is especially amusing as it provides cameos for many of the great contemporary divas, with each message getting successively funnier and funnier. Favorites included Vicki Clark’s breathless ramble about her son’s schedule, Patti LuPone’s strident request that the gentlemen stop bothering her and quite possibly the best of them all, Christine Ebersole – and you have to see the show in order to find out what she says…

Then there is the score. They have had fun musicalizing the text book moments, the opening number, the want/am song, etc. However there are three numbers that stood out above the rest. “Die, Vampire, Die” a treatise on the varying insecurities and voices in our lives that stop us dead in our tracks when we try to be anything creative. Whether it be a rival, a family member or friend, or more significantly, ourselves. I think we’ve all been plagued by such things that set us back from doing. We live in our heads and suffer as a result. “A Way Back to Then” examines those moments in our childhood when the seed was planted; the moment where a person realizes what they want to do more than anything (also before the harsher realities of life and specifically the entertainment industry can darken the sunniest of dispositions). For Heidi it involves her Kool-Aid stained lip and Andrea McArdle belting on the wi-fi. Touching, nostalgic and incredibly spot on and beautifully sung.

Then came the eleven o’clock number. “Nine People’s Favorite Thing.” In much of the press, message boards and blog posts about the show, this is the phrase that I see most. The gist of the number is that they would rather be nine people’s favorite thing than a hundred people’s ninth favorite thing. (a quote, I might add). Roxie attended the opening night of the show back in July and told me almost immediately about the response the show received, including a full-out Routledge (to help the uninformed: our word for a mid-show standing ovation, named for Pat R). You can read her report on the festivities here. The song expresses emotionally what many of us in our early creative minds like to think – and I for one say about myself, my blog and anything else I may do: let it be the Rice Krispie treat.

The show, in spite of its incredibly obscure and remote references to various shows and individuals, (If you haven’t enjoyed Mary Stout on “Remember WENN,” you have no idea what you’re missing. Non sequitur, that isn’t really a non-sequitur: Rupert Holmes. AMC. Somebody! Release that show on DVD!) does manage to have some mainstream appeal in its underlying ideas regarding art, the creative process and the idealistic dreams vs. the darker realities of venturing into a career in show business. Sadly though, in spite of positive reviews and a cult following to die for, the show has been struggling. The box office numbers have been grim, as they’ve barely filled a third of a Lyceum Theatre each week. The show is set to close on October 12, though the cast and fans aren’t going down without a fight. There is a grassroots campaign to bring people into the theatre, get the [tos] crowd on Ellen and help rescind the closing notice. (Truth be told, the show probably could have had a decent run at an off-Broadway house or at one of the smaller Broadway venues like the Helen Hayes or Circle in the Square). I wish them well and hope I can get back one more time.

Act II

After the show, I ventured around Times Square for a bit, stopping in at the lame duck Virgin Megastore for a quick browse before heading to a preplanned dinner at Sardi’s with fellow bloggers. As Doug put it at the dinner table, it was my virgin experience at the famed restaurant. Truth be told, and this may surprise many of you, I never really felt the need to go in. A pilgrimage to the defunct Mark Hellinger Theater is a necessity, but Sardi’s no? Yes, I have bizarre priorities. But don’t we all?

Anyway, I got to visit with Lady Iris, whose mother had come into Texas for a spell, Steve on Broadway and his partner Doug. I met two bloggers for the first time: Chris from Everything I Know I Learned from Musicals and Alicia from Things You’ll Learn to Love About Me. And the good times rang out like freedom. After ordering my requisite White Russian, I opened the menu at which I stared at for about 10 minutes before realizing I had to order. The ancient waiter hovered over me until I picked something. What I wanted they didn’t have, so I ended up picking something at random. It’s always fun getting together with the blog crew catching up on what people have seen, their thoughts on current shows and the generally genial nature of the experience. Plans to see Wicked in Amsterdam? Only if the mind is altered kids…

The blog crew dispersed, most going to see evening shows. However, the night didn’t end there for me. I didn’t plan on seeing an evening show, but met up with my friend Matt who was down to meet friends. We trekked up to White Plains to meet other mutual friends, where I got to discuss title of show with a couple of people who were friends of friends and theatre lovers as well. (Got it?) The night ended with Tina Fey – as Sarah Palin on SNL (it’s sad that she is the only reason to tune in) and then a couple episodes of 30 Rock. If only every day could be as perfect, no?

And then I woke up…

Craig Ferguson: "If You Don’t Vote, You’re a Moron"

It has been fascinating to watch Craig Ferguson on The Late, Late Show this year (or well, any year, the man is brilliant). I’ve been a fan of his ever since I first saw him play Nigel Wick on The Drew Carey Show. He is also the author of one of my all-time favorite books, Between the Bridge and the River, which may very well be the most impressive debut novel I’ve read (which I highly recommend to all of you). This year, the native Scot took the US citizenship test and passed with a perfect score. He became an American citizen on February 4 and ever since has taken an active interest in the upcoming presidential election.

What sets Ferguson apart from the other late night hosts is that he foregoes a scripted monologue and just speaks off the cuff. He has been known to use the platform to excoriate the media’s coverage of Britney Spears, defend Rosie O’Donnell during her feud with Donald Trump and upon the death of his father, gave his dad a touching eulogy. His conversational style puts most of his interviewees at considerable ease and provides his audience with an amusing hour on TV.

Last Wednesday, Ferguson gave this open and honest monologue about the upcoming presidential election with equal opportunity observations about the candidates. It’s quite refreshing to see someone, especially a new citizen voting for the very first time, take such a vested interested in one of our elections – and be hilarious about it. Enjoy.

Quote of the Day: The Theatre Blogger’s Creed

The Theatre Blogger’s Creed
From Sister SarahB, with Father Kevin:

I believe in Rodgers & Hammerstein, the almighty, creator of musical theatre heaven. I believe in Stephen Sondheim, their only Son, our Lord. He was conceived by the power of the composer and born of the Divas. He suffered under the critics, was crucified, died, and was buried. At the Tony Awards he rose again. He ascended into theatre heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Fathers. He will come again with a revival and will judge the living and the dead ticket buyers. I believe in the original cast recording, the holy revival cast recording, the Tony Award, the forgiveness of critics, the proliferation of the Divas, and the eleven o’clock number. As it was at the overture and shall be at the exit music, bliss without end. Amen.

(Where, Where, Where, Where) Where Is She?

This interview isn’t new (it took place in 2002), but it’s a fascinating read about one of the most unique and most enigmatic Broadway stars. She had quite a string of successes on both stage and screen, making a name for herself as a quirky comedienne who could act and sing. She earned several Tony nominations (one win – The Apple Tree) and an Oscar nomination. However, Barbara Harris virtually disappeared from the public eye, becoming disinterested in acting and taking refuge in Phoenix, Arizona – far from the lights of either Hollywood or Broadway (and likely to never return to either). Harris spoke with Robert Pela of the Phoenix New Sun in an interesting and candid interview, in which she provides interesting comments about Mike Nichols, Alfred Hitchcock, musical comedy, acting and as you will learn from the interview’s title, politics.

Though Harris’ Broadway musical career was rather short-lived (two starring roles back to back in 1965 and 1966), her contribution is enormous. The role of Daisy Gamble in the poorly conceived On a Clear Day You Can See Forever (Lerner & Lane) is probably to be forever eclipsed by the leaden film adaptation made in 1970 starring Barbra Streisand. While Harris doesn’t have the voice Streisand has, her charm, quirkiness and warmth make the Clear Day cast album definitive. (She had me at the lead-in to “Hurry! It’s Lovely Up Here!” – her first song in the show). Her inspired star turn in The Apple Tree, three linked one-act musicals by Bock & Harnick, carried the show. As she played a feisty, spirited but loving Eve to Alan Alda’s Adam in act one (her “What Makes Me Love Him?” will never topped) to the raunchy, half-crazed seductress in the second act adaptation of “The Lady and the Tiger, to the third act fairy-tale-turned-on-its-ear “Passionella.” Interestingly enough, both shows were built around the uniqueness of Harris, whose comic persona and look, especially in Freaky Friday, is reminiscent of Madeline Kahn. Both shows received revivals at the City Center Encores!, with Kristin Chenoweth taking the reigns both times. All due respect, she’s got nothing on the one of a kind Barbara Harris.

One note to the author of the piece: Walter Kerr labeled Miss Harris “the square root of noisy sex” for her star turn in The Apple Tree. Sandy Dennis portrayed Barbara Markowitz for the entire original run of A Thousand Clowns; Barbara played the role on screen.

Barbara Harris Knew That Bill Clinton Was White Trash
Robert L. Pela

Thespians, take note: Barbara Harris has moved to town, and she’s hung up her teaching shingle. Local acting students could do worse; Harris’ brief but notable Broadway career snagged her a Tony Award for The Apple Tree in 1967, and she was nominated for her role in On a Clear Day You Can See Forever. Her more memorable films include Robert Altman’s Nashville (1975), Alfred Hitchcock’s Family Plot (1976), and a turn as Jodie Foster’s mom in Freaky Friday (1977) — all three performances nominated for a Golden Globe — and her Oscar-nominated spin in Who Is Harry Kellerman and Why Is He Saying Those Terrible Things About Me? (1971).
We met for drinks at Mancuso’s at the Borgata, where our sniffy waiter served Miss Harris a whisper of white wine and a whole lot of attitude, and where I tried and failed to convince her that she is some kind of a legend.

New Times: So, what’s a famous actress doing in Scottsdale?

Barbara Harris: I knew you’d ask that. I’m teaching acting classes. I had been based in New York, and maybe I should have stayed. I mean, I like it here, but it’s very conservative, isn’t it? I was talking to this man the other night, and he was ranting about people who come here from the East and wreck the state by voting Democrat. Hey, how would you vote on Prop 202?

NT: That’s the Indian gaming prop.

Harris: The commercials are hysterical! All that carrying on about how Indians are being greedy, but the commercials never once tell you anything about the proposition itself. So you end up having to read the Republic or some other piece of nonsense. But since I’m one of those nasty Easterners, I’ll probably vote straight Democrat. It’s just how it goes. I didn’t want to vote for Clinton, but I had to — even though I figured he was white trash.

NT: You have a pretty distinctive voice and personality. Do you get recognized in the grocery?

Harris: No, thank goodness. I don’t usually mention that I have been in movies, because I’m afraid people will say, “Well, I don’t watch black-and-white films.” Most people don’t know who I am.

NT: Come on. You’ve starred in some pretty well-regarded movies.

Harris: I used to try to get through one film a year, but I always chose movies that I thought would fail, so that I wouldn’t have to deal with the fame thing. I turned down Alfred Hitchcock when he first asked me to be in one of his movies.

NT: But you eventually appeared in Hitchcock’s Family Plot.

Harris: Yes. Mr. Hitchcock was a wonderful man. He always wanted emotionless people in his movies. There was a scene in our film, where Karen Black was acting, acting, acting — all that Lee Strasberg human-struggle stuff. And it took her so long to get those tears going, and Mr. Hitchcock turned to the cameraman and said, “We will just photograph the actors’ feet in this scene.” He wanted a beautiful woman who wasn’t showing her life’s history in a scene.

NT: In his review of A Thousand Clowns, theater critic Walter Kerr described you as “the square root of noisy sex.”

Harris: He did? My goodness, mathematicians are going to be furious! By the way, I called a friend of mine in New York and had him read me some of your reviews. Why did you write that A Thousand Clowns is dated?

NT: Well, a story that condemns socialism was more relevant in the early ’60s. And the notion of a single-parent household isn’t all that shocking today.

Harris: I wish you’d written that.

NT: So, now you’re teaching acting. But I thought all actors wanted to be directors.

Harris: I’m much more interested in what’s behind acting, which is the inquiry into the human condition. Everyone gets acting mixed up with the desire to be famous, but some of us really just stumbled into the fame part, while we were really just interested in the process of acting.

NT: I can see the joy of appearing on Broadway or in a big Hollywood film, but where’s the joy in teaching people how to cry?

Harris: Who wants to be up on the stage all the time? It isn’t easy. You have to be awfully invested in the fame aspect, and I really never was. What I cared about was the discipline of acting, whether I did well or not.

NT: Still, you did pretty well.

Harris: Well, sometimes. People always want to talk about the ones that won you awards, but I have a better memory of my first part, which was Puck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The critic for the Chicago Tribune wrote, “Will someone please get rid of Peter Rabbit?” I was crushed, and after that I had to be pushed out on stage. Of course, I had made my own costume. That may have been a mistake. But anyway, we weren’t up there on that stage for any reason other than the process of acting. We certainly weren’t making any money back then, my friends and I. Elaine May was eating grapefruit rinds.

NT: Your friends were a rare group.

Harris: Yes. Mike Nichols was a toughie. He could be very kind, but if you weren’t first-rate, watch out. He’d let you know. Elaine May read Molière night and day.

NT: You seem completely unimpressed with your own celebrity.

Harris: I’m a has-been!

NT: Does that mean you’ve left acting?

Harris: Well, if someone handed me something fantastic for 10 million dollars, I’d work again. But I haven’t worked in a long time as an actor. I don’t miss it. I think the only thing that drew me to acting in the first place was the group of people I was working with: Ed Asner, Paul Sills, Mike Nichols, Elaine May. And all I really wanted to do back then was rehearsal. I was in it for the process, and I really resented having to go out and do a performance for an audience, because the process stopped; it had to freeze and be the same every night. It wasn’t as interesting.

NT: You were also in the Compass Players, the first improvisational theater troupe in America. You’re acknowledged as one of the pioneering women in the field of improv, and scenes you created with the Second City and Compass companies are still studied as masterpieces of the form.

Harris: Boy, you really did your homework. Uh, yes. We were the first to do improv, and it was hard, because improv was new and no one had come before us.

NT: You starred in Oh Dad, Poor Dad, Mama’s Hung You in the Closet and I’m Feeling So Sad and Who Is Harry Kellerman and Why Is He Saying Those Terrible Things About Me?. Do you enjoy selecting films with long-winded titles?

Harris: That’s a very silly question. Well, you writers do like words, don’t you? And so those titles must have been written by writers. No, there wasn’t a great deal of design to the path of my career. I was a small-town, middle-class girl who wore a cashmere sweater very nicely and ended up on Broadway because that’s the way the wind was blowing. I didn’t have my sights set there. When I was at Second City, there was a vote about whether we should take our show to Broadway or not. Andrew Duncan and I voted no. I stayed in New York, but only because Richard Rodgers and Alan Jay Lerner came and said, “We want to write a musical for you!” Well, I wasn’t big on musical theater. I had seen part of South Pacific in Chicago and I walked out. But it was Richard Rodgers calling!

NT: You stayed, and you ended up with a Tony. Speaking of theater awards, I heard you’re a Zonis judge. Say it isn’t so!

Harris: I am now. They rejected me, at first. I filled out the application, and they just never called. (Arizona Jewish Theatre artistic director) Janet Arnold, who’s a real sweetheart, called and told them, “Hey, it’s Barbara Harris! Call her back!”

NT: You’re a famous actress living in Scottsdale, so you’re probably hanging out with Marshall Mason and Dale Wasserman, our other resident theater legends.

Harris: I wish I knew Marshall Mason. I didn’t know Dale Wasserman lives here, too. So, you see? Famous theater people are everywhere in this town. You just don’t see us because we’re hiding under things.

Addendum: Harris briefly resurfaced on XM Satellite radio in a guest appearance for the Radio Repertory Company of America’s broadcast of Anne Manx on Amazonia in 2005. She is still living in a delicious reclusivity, enjoying every minute of it and hasn’t taken on any other acting work since (most definitely our loss).

"I do not do anything ‘merely’…"

Maggie Smith and Margaret Tyzack took home Tony awards for their work in Peter Shaffer’s comedy Lettice & Lovage. The play, about the friendship between two unlikely ladies working for a historical society in England, was written specifically for Smith and proved a successful vehicle for her at the Globe Theatre in London in 1987 and the Ethel Barrymore in NY in 1990 (with direction by the esteemed Michael Blakemore). Smith was Lettice Duffet, an extravagantly and flamboyantly extroverted woman with an active imagination who, while giving tours of one of the dullest of British houses, starts making incredulous embellishments to amuse herself and her tourists. This leads to a conflict with Lotte, the representative of the trust who is a rather dour realist and is not at all pleased with Lettice’s antics. While the play itself received mixed reviews, there was nothing but raves for Smith’s bravura performance and also for Tyzack as her stern foil.

Here is a scene as performed on the 1990 Tony awards where the two ladies have it out. How I wish I could have been there to see this play. Enjoy.

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And here is Maggie Smith’s Tony acceptance speech:

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"To This We’ve Come"

Gian-Carlo Menotti’s The Consul, one of the rare operas composed specifically for production on Broadway, was a statement by the composer about the state of revolutionary idealists and refugees, mainly those suffering under the dictatorship of Soviet control in Eastern Europe and the Balkans. Menotti (with whom, incidentally, I share a birthday) is probably best known for his TV opera Amahl and the Night Visitor, the first opera ever written specifically for television and The Medium.

The Consul, his first attempt at a full opera, opened at the Ethel Barrymore Theatre on March 15, 1950 ran for 269 performances and was the recipient of the Pulitzer Prize for Music as well as the New York Drama Critics Award as Best Musical and the long-defunct Tony award for Best Conductor (Lehman Engel). The score contains considerable stretches of recitative rather than aria, with a jauntiness and dissonance that reflects the uneasiness and danger of the political climate of the onstage environment. Soprano Patricia Neway, best known for her Tony-winning turn as the Mother Abbess in the original Broadway cast of The Sound of Music, played the tragic heroine Magda Sorel.

During the run of The Sound of Music, Neway reprised her role of Magda for a paying television audience (in an early unsuccessful attempt at pay-per-view programming in 1960). The television production was discovered and released on DVD a few years ago and provides us with the extraordinary opportunity to see a performer recreating the role of a lifetime. (While we have the DVD and its accompanying soundtrack, the Decca original cast album remains unavailable on CD).

The three-act opera follows the tragic story (it’s an opera about the horrors of dictatorship, this cannot possibly end well) of Magda, a young wife and mother in a deliberately unnamed totalitarian nation. Her husband is a rebel wanted by the secret police. After he is wounded, her husband makes a run to the border to hide while Magda is left to make arrangements to transport the family out of the country safely. Magda’s troubles multiply as her mother-in-law and child become seriously ill and she finds herself constantly followed and interrogated by the secret police. Much to her growing frustration she discovers that the bureaucracy at the consulate is unstoppable, leaving herself and many others stranded vis-a-vis a sea of red tape and paperwork. When her child dies, she makes another imploring visit to the consulate and when rejected once again by the callous secretary, her emotions and anger explode in the show-stopping aria “To This We’ve Come,” which brings the second act – and the opera itself – to a climax with one of the few moments of musical assonance heard in the score.

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Life Lessons from the Merm

All the following quotes have been credited to Ethel Merman. Some of them quite choice. I can’t say for certain whether or not she actually said all of them, but I wouldn’t be surprised… I offer them for your enjoyment. 

– Always give them the old fire, even when you feel like a squashed cake of ice.

– Any audience that gets a laugh out of me gets it while I’m facing them.

– As far as dramas are concerned, it’s considered passe for playwrights to turn out anything the average person can understand.

– At a flea market I always head for the junk jewelry table first.

– At one time I smoked, but in 1959 I couldn’t think of anything else to give up for Lent so I stopped – and I haven’t had a cigarette since.

– Broadway has been very good to me. But then, I’ve been very good to Broadway.

– Christmas carols always brought tears to my eyes. I also cry at weddings. I should have cried at a couple of my own.

– Cole Porter had a worldwide reputation as a sophisticate and hedonist.

– Cole Porter wrote Anything Goes and four more hits for me.

– Eisenhower was my war hero and the President I admire and respect most.

– I am known to be able to take care of myself when I become angry. I don’t mince words.

– I attend surprisingly few shows. The type of theater that is popular today just doesn’t appeal to me.

– I can never remember being afraid of an audience. If the audience could do better, they’d be up here on stage and I’d be out there watching them.

– I don’t like to read. The only things I read are gossip columns. If someone gives me a book, it had better have lots of pictures.

– I have plenty of invitations to go places, lots to do. If I’m not working, I go to have my hair taken care of and work at needlepoint.

– I preferred delivering my performance in person. I liked to be in control. You couldn’t be in films.

– I take a breath when I have to.

– I was born in my parents’ bedroom on January 16. The World Almanac says it was 1909. I say it was 1912. But what difference does it make as long as I feel 33?

– I was lucky enough to have the songs in my first show written by George and Ira Gershwin. Then Cole Porter wrote five shows for me.

– I wasn’t straining at the bit to become a movie star any more than I had plotted to get out of vaudeville and into Broadway musicals.

– I work as often as I want and yet I’m free as a bird.

– People who retire fall apart. As long as you’ve still got it, use it.

– I wouldn’t change one thing about my professional life, and I make it a point not to dwell on my mistakes.

– I wouldn’t trust any man as far as you can throw a piano.

– I’ll pat myself on the back and admit I have talent. Beyond that, I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

– I’ve made a wonderful living playing that theatrical character – the professional brassy dame.

– I’ve never cooked. I can’t do much more in the kitchen than make a cup of tea and some toast.

– I’ve never suffered stage fright. That fascinates people.

– If I feel in need of sleep, I just open a book or turn on the television. Both are better than any sleeping pill.

– In my case, things have pretty much been handed to me.

– Legend has it that when God created me, he gave me a big distinctive voice, a lot of boldness and no heart.

– Mom and Pop were proud of my popularity, but from their point of view, show business was no way to make a living.

– Mom claimed that I could carry a tune at 2 or 3 years of age. Maybe she was a little prejudiced.

– Music, in the past few years… anything singable or understandable is square.

– My beloved Mom and Pop always rated tops with each other, and that’s the way it will always be.

– My career at Warner Brothers consisted of one musical short subject. I was running around in a bear skin. Very chic.

– My father taught me to read music and play the piano-but not well, even though people have said that I’m a natural musician.

– Of my four marriages, the one to Bob Levitt is the only one I don’t regret.

– Once I had all the attention, all I had to do was deliver.

– The slapdash way producers used to assemble a show seems a little unbelievable when we talk about them now.

– There have been people who have tried to take advantage of me. They want to be linked to me just because I’m Ethel Merman.

– There’s such a thing as theater discipline. One player doesn’t appropriate another’s inventions.

– When I’m asked how to succeed in show business, I always say I haven’t the foggiest.

– When you are in deep conflict about something, sometimes the most trivial thing can tip the scales.

– There are lots of show tunes left to do.

– You can’t buck a nun. (Losing the Tony for her Rose to Mary Martin’s Maria von Trapp)

– Call Miss Bird’s Eye 1950, this show is frozen! (being presented new lyrics for Call Me Madam)

"Don’t Touch the Coat…"

Pacific Overtures is one of the most fascinating of Stephen Sondheim’s musicals. A concept musical about the westernization of imperial Japan in the 19th century, and its impact on Japanese culture and traditions is not your typical musical. Sondheim studied Eastern music for months, director Hal Prince adapted the styles of Kabuki theatre for the production in its design and staging. The results are mesmerizing. The show featured an almost all-male cast that included Mako, Yuki Shimodo (the original Ito in Auntie Mame!), Sab Shimino, Alvin Ing (who reprised his role for Roundabout) and Gedde Watanabe (later part of Sixteen Candles? Anyone?). The show opened in 1976 at the Winter Garden, where it ran for 193 performances. I saw the Roundabout revival, starring B.D. Wong. While I didn’t particularly care for that production on the whole, I was able to look past what I disliked to admire the brilliance in the writing of Sondheim and librettist John Weidman.

While the show boasts the ever-brilliant favorite of Sondheim, “Someone in a Tree,” I would have to admit that “Please, Hello” is my personal favorite song in the entire score. It’s mammoth 9 minute act two opener in which America, Britain, Holland, France and Russia are vying for detente with Japan. It’s a marvel of sophistication, historical accuracy, pastiche (each country is represented by a native musical style of the period) and vocal arrangement. The number was the highlight of the revival, bringing the show to a halt.

The original production was taped for broadcast on Japanese television, but has never been aired in the US. (Calling PBS!! Or Image Home Entertainment!)

Here is the original cast performing “Please, Hello.” Enjoy.