Try to Remember

Why I was ever so damn happy in the first place. I thought this website would be a "positive affirmation." From now on, I should no longer use it as a forum to complain. About how I'm not getting work. About how sometimes I feel ridiculously unqualified for said work. Maybe it's the weather. Maybe it's Constantine. But, for some odd reason, this week, I was unhappy.

Well, wouldn't you be? Sweeney Todd gets slapped with an early closing notice and Hott Feet manages to stay alive and running. The Beadle goes on to steal a loaf of bread we didn't give a shit about for the last two decades, and neither Martin Short nor Duncan Sheik can save us from the fucking theme park Broadway has become.

Well, at least something positive came out of this week...that is...

The Fantasticks! Welcome back, peeps. It's been too damn long.

Just try to forget that it's playing at some place called the (gulp) "Snapple(TM) Theatre Center."

And, for one of the best homages to an Off-Broadway chestnut ever, watch this quite touching episode of "Cakey, the Cake from Outer Space!"

Then hop on over to the Lortel Archives and see just how many replacements they've had throughout the Famous Original Run.

I hear all the Luisas plan bimonthly get-togethers where they eat pizza and go bowling.

Leaf Coneybear Has Cast

I got this scary ad in my inbox, and even I can't come up with a clever and/or funny caption to describe it, or the new guy's look of hilarious, quasi-retarded disbelief.


It's nice to finally know what happened to Donkey Lips Gelfand, though.

All About Ruprecht

This is by far the funniest thread ever.

I don’t know why I ever developed an addiction to the Broadway World dotcom message boards. Maybe it was a morbid fascination with the “Manoel Felciano Love Thread” with its unintentional references to the hilariously and embarrassingly bygone People’s Republic of Clay. Maybe it was the high school students who have petulant, punctuation-filled tantrums over the shows their Church theatre groups didn’t get the rights to. Maybe it’s the names like “WickedRentQ,” which aren’t nearly as enjoyable as the ones used by the awesomely, anachronistically Man In Chair-like old-school theatre queen posters on All That Chat (like allineedisthegirl…who is probably situated in Tul-sa!) that can only be totally redeemed by avatars of Rock Hudson, Stephen Sondheim, and Donna Lynne Champlin. But a post like this one by a user with the handle “RuprechtJr.” made me believe again.

Well, I'm only 15 and Wicked bugs the heck out of me because I actually took the time to listen to something else, like Herman or Sondheim. I hate the people who say: It'll introduce kids to theater. Bull. The only way Wicked fans get introduced to theater is if they loose the Rush or lotto, etc. and are forced to see something else, in which they will sit through unhappily because they don't get to see a person being lifted up by a cherry picker or someone who doesn't know how to sing scream their lungs out and sing pop songs. The only way to get kids introduced to theater is to show them real theater. Start them with Hello Dolly or something simple (no offense) like that. Nothing as complicated as Sondheim in the begining, just real theater. They are lied to by thinking that "Getcha Head in the Game" is a musical style song since it's in a musical. Listen to "I Am What I Am" or anything that is a true musical. That is the ONLY way you can get kids introduced to theater. *Just my opinion*

Smart kids, man. Smart kids.

Makes me glad I didn’t have the Internet when I was fifteen.

D'Lovely

Petra lives!!! And she's at the New York International Fringe Festival!

Well, that's one more name to cross off of the "Whatever Happened to...?" list. Now, if I could just find Mark Lambert, everything would be peachy keen.

Bless Your Beautiful Hide

We now have the advanced technology to find out what is on the Midget from The Pajama Game's Ipod.

Damn it, I love that little girl! I should YouTube her episode of "Makeover Story" again where we find out that she can't wear normal-sized jeans unless she cuts off the legs to make them fit.

So cute. She's teeny-tiny!

And, while you're on the website, check out how Jeepers Creepers: Semi-Star from "Mr. Show with Bob and David" has finally come full-circle.

Sondheim's Blues

Friday Quote for the Ages:

"There had been progress in the music department on the day off. The song Steve had delivered to Mathilde was for Buddy in Loveland. I was handed a copy from which I was to extract the lyrics for the script. By this time I had learned how particular Steve was about how he wanted lyrics typed. In the script, they were to be in capitals with all punctuation in place - lines ending in commas, semicolons, periods, question marks if the line is a question, quotation marks if the line is a quote, and no punctuation only if the next line is a continuation. All slang was to be kept as written but vowels would be restored to words if they were removed in the piano/vocal sheet to indicate how specific syllables were to be sung (For example, 'EVERY' would go in the script, while 'Ev'ry' would go with the two corresponding notes in the score.) Spoken lines were to be written with normal usage of lower- and uppercase letters. The new song was entitled 'The God-Why-Don't-You-Love-Me Blues.' It included internal dialogue, quotes, hyphens, and slang - the whole bit. As always, the stage managers were anxious that I get the lyrics typed out as quickly as possible. On the typewriter, the hyphen was a lowercase key, the capital letters, of course, uppercase, which meant constant shifting. The following was typical: 'I'VE GOT THOSE 'GO-AWAY-I-NEED-YOU,' 'COME-TO-ME-I'LL-KILL-YOU,' 'DARLING-I'LL-DO-ANYTHING-TO-KEEP-YOU-WITH-ME-TILL-YOU-TELL-ME-THAT-YOU-LOVE-ME-OH-YOU-DO-NOW-BEAT-IT-WILL-YOU? BLUES.' The song was written for two men in drag to represent Sally (Buddy's wife) and Margie (his mistress). From this moment on, it was alternately titled 'Buddy's Blues.'"

-Ted Chapin in Everything Was Possible: The Birth of the Musical Follies; New York, Alfred A. Knopf, 2003

Stop the Show!

Insert your own "Usher"/"Broadway Usher" joke here.


It must be a slow news day if they published this in the Times. On the other hand, I never truly realized how many guys actually played Billy Flynn.

I have to hand it to them. Those Weisslers must be doing something right. But then, I think, "These are the people who put Cheryl Ladd in a musical." I know Ben Vereen. And, Usher, you are no Ben Vereen. But thanks for putting "Yeaaaah!" in my vernacular all of one summer ago. Well, actually, that was 'Lil Jon. Come to think of it, why isn't he in this?

"Yeaaah!"

Sorry-Grateful

How interesting it is that a ranting blog entry and my menstrual cycle being off coincide with the revealing of this fugly poster for the upcoming Broadway revival of Company.



Here's my ATC-ready bitchy comment on the ugliness of it:

It's like a Tinker Toy version of Level 6 from Super Mario Bros. 2!

Fug-lay.

Patterns

Holy Goddamn Fucking Shit.

I was at an audition yesterday, and the girls I was in front of and behind had these gigantic binders full of sheet music. I mean, I can understand if you're a professional and you've played so many roles in your lifetime that it's okay to show people what you've been capable of within that time frame. But these kids are still in high school, and they don't even know where they're going in live. Their parents spend money for them to study voice and dance, and what they get in return are Ridiculously Oversized Binders and even so much as this prepared arsenal for when they start moving out of the family house...

And nearly every musical theatre person I know, regardless of age or professional cred, is "unhappy" with their "book."

I think I speak for myself when I say, "You what?!"

Full disclosure: I did not even know what a "book" was until I moved to New York City. I just figured, I'd sing my one (cruddily photocopied) song at every audition that required me to. What I pretty much came to realize is that the logical path my mom just assumed one should take on the audition circuit is as simple and concrete as it should be. I actually asked my mom last night about why I don't have one of these elusive...books. You know, I really don't like that terminology. Why is it a book? Did you write it? Does anyone read it? It doesn't make any sense. I'd prefer to call it a R.O.B.

Every time I see a R.O.B at an audition, I have to think, "Who are you people? Do you have lives?" Ninety percent of the time, I will have to follow some cranky elderly Equity woman who will go through hers, with yellowing sheet music that's poorly organized, who will then ask the monitor (the monitor!) which choice out of about fifteen songs, out of about sixty in the book, will be "appropriate" for the audition. It's always about what the casting director wants to hear, as opposed to what the auditioner thinks they should see, which should be the defining choice regardless of what the audition is for. My theory is, and this is just one person's opinion, if you're right for the part, you're right for the part: Don't try to be something that you are not. Or, you either have it or you don't. So, she will sing some obscure song from some obscure musical version of The Grass Harp. Not sixteen bars. The whole song. And, clearly, these women, being elderly, will have had their entire lives to work on the song, as opposed to the five days before I even heard about this open call and asked maybe two people if the same sixteen bars of the same one song I know and already have memorized is appropriate. Subsequently, no one will cut them off, and, because they're running short on time, when it's my turn, the people behind the table who have already put up with a Crazy Cat Lady in the last four minutes, will give me the axe before I even so much as utter one note of the same old song. And I feel like I have more of a reason to be in that room, because it is a non-Equity open call, and, um, I am non-Equity.

The proliferation of these R.O.B.s baffles me. It's unwarranted when professional actors complain about their existence, because, if you love what you do, if you are so good at what you do, and your repetoire is literally so thick and so complete, what is there to complain about? I should be the one complaining! It's not that I am any less talented or hardworking than these Unemployed Equity All-Stars, but I don't even know how to go about building a..."book." I didn't have the advantage of a musical theatre department or an agent showcase. I have never played one of these roles, and no one has really told me what would make a good comic contemporary uptempo or legit seriocomic ballad for me, because my parents were very smart and organized. Nevertheless, they don't understand the meticulous preparation and unnecessary categorization that warrants a career in the musical theatre.

I remember when we were looking at colleges. My mom and dad strictly forbade me to look at any school with a musical theatre department. Who needs it? You can't get a job with a major like that. Because we were in the area visiting family, we looked at NYU, and it was by far my favorite - me being a highly uninformed, hugely impressionable high school kid who really didn't know any better and really liked musical theatre. But my parents dropped the bomb before the tour finished - "You shouldn't have to audition to go to college." - and yanked me away from the campus to go straight to the Sturgeon King for lunch.

My mom, though, is justifiably stupefied as to why any sane person would bring a gigantic three-ring Staples snap binder to any open call (well, clearly not everyone who goes to an open call is sane...if you're in Equity, you have an agent, and you're a jerk to people, and you can't get work, I can't vouch for the former two bearing some hindrance), or even a comically huge wheeled suitcase or backpack with them unless they're going on a corporate retreat to Boca to walk on hot coals with some very important investors after the audition. I tried to explain it to her in the simplest terms possible. This is not 1962. Now, there are more skills wanted from and associated with today's musical theatre actors. Ergo, they have to master more styles: Pop, rock, contemporary, operatic tragedy. I mean, there has to be some pattern within this evil imposition. The only roles I can imagine myself playing have some pattern between them in that they are all wildly against my type. Honestly, my dream roles are all men: Nathan Detroit, Malcolm MacGregor, Max Bialystock...Paul ("Todayyy is for Amyyyy...").

The other day, a friend of mine stopped me to tell me that I would be perfect as April in Company or Dot in Sunday in the Park with George. Thus leading me to believe that the "asshole" monologue should heretofore replace my old standby from Hurrah at Last by Richard Greenberg, and "Everybody Loves Louis" should go after my "Sondheim" divider and I should just give up on my three-weeks-long-and-counting quest to master "The Miller's Son" from A Little Night Music and just forget everything I've worked so hard on in my many years of training and hands-on experience for no apparent reason. Still, how weird is it that Sondheim represents his own R.O.B. divider category? Shouldn't he be an added incentive if you can at least memorize sixteen bars of an uptempo and a ballad? Shouldn't who you are be a much bigger and more important factor than what you can do? Aren't these things best representative of yourself because you already have them memorized? Doesn't that old song from Chorus Line say, "Who am I, anyway, am I my resume? That is a picture of a person I don't know..." Do you really want to sacrifice your own individual substance in the name of a gigantic book?

I mean, why would a R.O.B. exist if you're just going to constantly be worried about refining it? Obviously, you're smart enough to know what you shouldn't sing at an audition ("I Hate Men," "Your Daddy's Son," "Lion Tamer," or anything from The Last Five Years), but even the good people should be smart enough to realize how stupid this is. And, again, I'm underestimating just how stupid musical theatre people are even though it has nothing to do with education. Even though I'm not in Equity, I have a college degree that isn't from Carnegie Mellon, and I seriously think this is bullshit. Again, one woman's opinion.

Maybe I feel like musical theatre people are more sensitive than most, because they tend to obsess over and analyze the dumbest factors and details of the process. They cry a lot more than normal people. They complain even more than they cry. I feel like, if anything, that should make them more endearing and less scary to be around. The books, the size and scope and ridiculous width of them, actually make them more scary.

Meanwhile, I'm writing a freaking blog entry about a post on a message board that features such presumptuous threads as "It hurts to belt!" "Who Else Is Feeling Withdrawals?" and "A prof. I was supposed to have is in the paper..."

Anyway, my mom asked me, "Shouldn't you just have a classical monologue, a contemporary monologue, a happy song, and a sad song?" And, my mom, who does not have a degree in musical theatre, and who is violently against the thought, even though she's supporting this love because she supposes it to be a quarter-life-crisis in my life, actually accepted and understood how actors should truly approach auditions. By logic and common sense. Actually, she pretty much hit the nail on the head: Shouldn't this be a lot easier than it really is? The real talent will rise to the top regardless of how many styles and personae they can probably do. Really, I told a casting director about this new game plan, and she agreed: Every actor should just keep the simplest perspective possible. Showing the people behind the table that you can handled Latina rock and go-go operetta is for the callback, not the preliminary rounds.

Or maybe I'm just upset because my new dividers didn't come in the mail yet.

And my binder is only an inch wide. An inch. That's barely even enough to hold five whole songs.

::Sniff::

Discuss.

The Magic Show

Just returned from Forbidden Planet, where I snapped up the Harry Houdini Action Figure.



And he's flying hiiiiiigh....on the wheels of a dreeeeeeeam!

Glitter and be Gay

Finally, somebody gets it right. Patti LuPone is Mama Rose.



"Have an eggroll, Mr. Goldstone!"

I was talking to my mom today and started singing the theme song from Dreamgirls. I don't know why: Christ, I'm a straight white woman and this isn't 1982...

But the gay community's had a pretty awesome year. I mean, there's a freaking Broadway musical of Grey Gardens. And I'm already saving up my movie money for tickets to the Dreamgirls movie at Chelsea Clearview. Leading me to believe that maybe my crazy good-cop-bad-cop Women's Studies professors might've been on to something.

Something vaguely like Christine Ebersole brandishing a comically oversized piece of bread at the Pride Parade, surrounded by leathermen in babushkas. And that's actually kinda hot.



Forget 1974. It's great to be a lesbian in 2006!

Life is Like a Train

If you are lucky enough to live in New York City, and unlucky enough to have no social life, then, like me, you probably spent some time at the Fringe before crashing at home and catching the rebroadcast of On the Line on WLNY.

What?

Honestly, there couldn’t be a better time to rerun this movie than now. Especially since the guy who conceived, produced, and starred in this very openly heterosexual romantic comedy and spent tons of money to convince the world that he wasn’t gay, just came out of the closet.

My older sister always had a morbid fascination with this movie, and I couldn’t understand why.

Then I actually watched it.

8:00 Cheap opening credits with an orange paper airplane flying over the panoramic landscape. We see a very bad, low-budget, predictable flashback of the lead character and his goofy best friend air-playing and lip-synching to a Spin Doctors song (Hey, remember them? This movie’s sense of humor will probably appeal to you, then) very, very badly. The other members of their “band” are a guy with bangs and some Kevin Cahoon-looking dude.

8:03 “Fat one.” Hee!

8:05 Fat One: “Pick the fruit, spit the wad. Know what I’m sayin’?” He knows!

Just how formulaic is this romantic comedy? It takes place in Chicago (but it was probably filmed in Canada regardless), and the lead character works at a PR firm.

Then he meets E’s girlfriend from “Entourage” (Not after that ménage a trois episode, though. Hoo boy, that obnoxious Leprechaun’s in deep shit now!). And that’s the whole story.

A bunch of contrived plot points involving Dave Foley, Reebok, Koosh Balls (Product placement!), Jerry Stiller’s bladder, ‘tween girls (You expected this fine film’s target audience to be Jerry Stiller fans?), a CD player(?), the U.S. Presidents, Al Green, the El train, and that damn paper airplane come up over the course of the next ten minutes.

8:17 Just as the girl leaves, and we get a very brief glimpse of Lance looking longingly at the camera like a sad puppy dog, we find out that this presentation of On the Line is sponsored by Centrum. Huh. I guess I was wrong about this film’s target audience after all.

8:20 Fat One tries to convince us he’s the talented one by singing and air-playing “Pour Some Sugar on Me.” There are a million bad-ass things he could do right now to develop his supposedly bad-ass character. Especially since he’s in a bar…well, albeit one that looks increasingly like a T.G.I. Friday’s. So, the local hangout for their circle of friends here is a family theme restaurant. But, instead of shoving something into the audience or gorging down beers, what does Fat One do onstage? He pours sugar on himself. Literally. Geez. Some people will do anything for a laugh. Which should be the tagline for this movie.

Oh shit. Case in point? One of their best friends is a Wigger. Complete with the backwards baseball cap. No wonder this movie couldn’t find its following.

Joey, who I forgot to mention has a totally hellacious hairdo, sings “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” with altered lyrics to comment about how much of an antisocial sad sack Lancelot is. So, you know he’s the bad-ass and not the wuss in this one. Wait.

8:24 The token “ancillary character describes a major plot point in a single, poorly-structured run-on sentence.” See also: Pretty much any adaptation of the Little Women books.

8:28 Some strange Fight Club-style edits of Lance talking to himself, sadly, do not lead to a bloody self-mutilation scene: Just a crappy, formulaic theme song about being “On the Line” for your love. He’s dancing to the song. This should be our first clue. That and the fact that he has absolutely zero chemistry with E’s girlfriend.

You know, the reason I find Eric so abnormally annoying is probably on account of either the fact that he’s an inassertive little twat, or the fact that he’s an inassertive little twat who just happens to bear a quite eerie resemblance to Chad Kimball.

Yet another cheap flashback. I can’t even keep track of them anymore.

See? Even those CapitalOne Vikings do a better job of air-playing than these delusional tools.

I mean, would you expect anything less than low-rent production values from a vanity project starring the two lesser members of N*Sync? I know Lance and Joey aren’t exactly the breadwinners in this family. Joey will be lucky if he doesn’t totally get reamed on Broadway – or if he hasn’t already. Lance, though…I can’t help but feel like coming out will be his life’s peak.

Notice how I didn’t mention Chris in all of this. Probably because he is the lessest member of them all. Whereas Joey is the fattest and Lance is the gayest, Chris was, and always has been the token member of N*Sync who looks forty. At least, since Lance officially came out and certifiably stole the “Queenliest” crown from the rest of the group – thus relieving Justin and JC of a whole lot of whore-humping just to make up for the whole “collectively gay public image” thing. Of course, Chris always had the gayest hairstyle. Not that it matters. See also: FuManSkeeTo.

8:33 Ah. Here we finally get a villain to compete with Lance for the girl’s affections. Is he anything less than corporate scum?

8:38 Lance finally meets up with his dream girl after placing a series of poorly-photocopied, handmade stalker notes all over the Chicagoland area (Well, maybe just Comiskey Park)? Nah, we’re just treated to a series of stereotypically unfunny “bad dates” straight out of Jewtopia.

Let’s see, there’s the granola hippie. All that’s missing is a cross-dresser or a trannie, because making fun of men who choose that lifestyle is always funny. Throw in a fat suit and a comically oversized fried chicken leg, and you’ve got Big Momma’s House 3. That is, if they’re not already making the straight-to-video version of that with Flex Alexander and Corey Holcomb.

Richie Sambora and Idalis de Leon have cameos here. Because, like Phat Beach before it, that’s exactly the sort of D-list “celebrity” benediction this movie deserves.

Holy, gum. They’ve finally made edible Ipods. Is that what the kids are listening to these days?

8:53 “It hit him in the…” Balls? Ass? Man-tits? We never hear what the hell was bleeped out of Fat One’s mouth.

8:55 Pointless montage set to a lesser N*Sync song that sounds suspiciously like “Bye, Bye, Bye”…but mercilessly isn’t. We see Lance predictably following through on his personal and professional goals, dating various comically androgynous women, and, facial expression-wise, entering various states of perpetual befuddlement.

8:56 Big Verizon plug!

Oh, right. The two doofy best friends were in their band in the flashback. That’s how little I care.

9:01 Oh, Al Green, not you, too. He’s apparently caved into the pressure to lip-synch.

9:03 Lance gives the worst line-reading I’ve ever heard in my life. Never mind this movie confirming that he’s pretty much a Chelsea Elsie through-and-through. He just can’t act.

9:06 And, finally, Lance’s campaign becomes the most uneventful of its kind since I quit LARPing. I think this calls for another PR success montage set to a bouncy, formulaic pop song.

So, it took two guys to write this, huh?

9:09 The token “Fat One gets his dick stuck in his fly” gag.

Hey, what’s better than a “bad date” montage or even a “doofy friend” montage? Having a montage of the doofy friends going on various bad dates! Set to Groove Armada! Meanwhile, Lance was probably at home watching Mildred Pierce on DVD.

Seriously, I haven’t seen a main character this flakily uninteresting since Ally McBeal.

9:19 Lance almost gets fired. I wonder why. Honestly, I wouldn’t be against what he’s doing with the whole billboard girlfriend stalker thing. Just befuddled. I mean, it’s always been pretty obvious he doesn’t go for the girls. Oh, I get it. His job is “On the Line,” too!

9:21 Fat One’s t-shirt says “Will Sing For Food.” Not since Ryan Seacrest’s “I Man-Whore for Petty Cash” has a t-shirt logo been so prophetically appropriate.

9:13 So, what exactly is Corporate Scum’s evil plan to get back at Lance? Expose him? As a dude who’s dating Reichen from “The Amazing Race”? That’s not shocking. What-ever.

9:25 Lance gets the copier to work again via the power of persuasive monologue.

It’s like Lance’s definition of acting consists almost solely of blank stares. No wonder Joey got to Broadway before he did.

9:26 If you’ve ever wanted to hear Joey Fatone cover Twisted Sister, now’s your chance.

9:30 Fat One: “It’s like that girl on the train…You want something so bad it hurts…You’ve got to put yourself On the Line.” Looks like Lance has got something he can’t hide. A dark secret!

Don’t get me wrong. I love the gays. If a guy like Gary Beach can be so open with his sexual identity as a gay man that he can portray Gay Hitler in a major movie, wear a sequined tux to the Tony Awards while he nudges his boyfriend on NY1, and still be immensely popular and have a great career – and headline the upcoming Les Miz 20 revival? I say more power to the Nancy boys. I’d take them over the heteros any day. Especially in light of the whole Crazy Mel controversy. And I told you so!

Just call me a one-woman campaign for gay rights.

America, meet your next Out Magazine cover boy.

On the Line: See it and live to...forget it.

Give a Man Enough Rope

Tony Award Nominee Keith Carradine is 007.



Discuss.

Die, Vampire, Die!

You know you really love New York when walking by the Lestat billboard in Times Square inexplicably puts a smile on your face.


The show Died Young...but the marketing campaign Lives Forever!

Fancy Dress

Friday Quote for the Ages:

"I was doing Night of a Hundred Stars at Radio City Music Hall. We were at the Minskoff Rehearsal Studios. Often, when I would walk through the halls during break, there would be an old guy with gray hair, kneepads around his ankles, all in black, checking me out.

One day, he said hello when I was on my way to the bathroom. I totally snubbed him. Another day, when I was feeling sick and lying on a couch, he walked by and gave me the big 'up and down' with his eyes. I thought, 'I can't believe this guy.'

As he walked away, somebody said, 'Oh, my God. With Fosse checking you out like that, you will be the next Reinking.'

I thought, 'That's Bob Fosse? The guy I have been snubbing the whole time?'

Later, I went to an audition for Sweet Charity. I wore the same leotard I had on the day I found out it was Bob Fosse. There approximately three hundred and fifty girls at the Equity call and three hundred and fifty girls at the non-Equity call. Bob came right up to my face and said, 'Same leotard. Smart.'"

-Jane Lanier, in Making it on Broadway: Actors' Tales of Climbing to the Top by David Wienir and Jodie Langel; New York, Allworth Press, 2004

Standing on the Corner

Have you seen the lines for Mother Courage (starring Meryl Streep) at the Public Theatre? Whoa! And, you know, I'm a huge Drama Nerd, but even I feel like I have to sit this one out just to avoid the massive Geek-gasm that will occur the moment La Divina walks out on stage at Central Park. A friend of mine actually works at the Public box office, and I can only assume she's getting a major raise after this hysteria. Frankly, I haven't seen this many arty freaks since my good old days in the E.T.W.



Reportedly, the lines got so bad, they stretched all the way from Astor Place to I Love You, You're Perfect, Now Change Avenue.



I don't know what that neighborhood is like, but I can only assume that it's where the Bohmerbuddies live.

Crazy World

Dear God, it's finally happened.


Air Guitar: The Musical!

I can't help but feel like we, as a society, will not have truly progressed until every person, place, thing, or action is followed by a colon and The Musical!

Listen to the Music

I just don’t “get” Michael John LaChiusa.

His prominence, to me, conjures up images of people who read Maus and refer to it as a “graphic novel” with no prior knowledge of its very high concept. Who sucks all the fun out of Broadway musicals? Stephen Sondheim, yeah, but even Anyone Can Whistle had a fifteen-minute jazz riff sequence that made fun of both Communists and Jews (let’s see Spamalot try to top that!). As far as Broadway (and Off-Broadway! Simultaneously!) musicals go, MJL comes pretty damn close to topping Sondheim on the dissonant, nondancing, atonal gloom scale.

I don't know if it's some latent fear of inevitably becoming elitist or if I'm in denial, or whether I really don't like him very much...I mean, I can't even bring myself to listen to The Wild Party. Don't get me wrong. Toni Collette rules. Mandy Patinkin is the shit. Eartha Kitt? No problemo. But I never liked that poem, and the Tony performance scared the hell out of me many years ago: I tend to associate the words "Wild Party" with the kind of PSD coupled with such stark terms as "Hindenberg," "Plague," "Holocaust," and "Song & Dance."

But I noticed this thread on Broadwayworld.com, and I really paid no mind to the works of this guy until now. Really. For a Broadway message board, those are some pretty valid insights.

Long story short, I hopped on over to Borders today to finally pick up a good twelve-dollar copy of the Gypsy soundtrack, and they ran out.

Frankly, I almost got Gypped into buying the Bernadette Peters version.

And I decided to just kill some time and listen to a bunch of showtune CDs on a pair of broken headphones at a listening station. I ended up getting City of Angels for $10.00, and, I don't know why...I was just compelled to buy the soundtrack to Bernarda Alba too.

Well, I don't know. I really had to process my thoughts on this. I just figured, I'll put it on low, listen to it while I nap for a good hour, and see how long it takes before I chuck it out and pop in God Bless the Go-Go's instead. I mean, the whole thing just smacks of low-rent Spider Woman. And we all know how much I loved that Tony performance when I was a kid. That is to say, didn't love it at all and had persistent nightmares about Brent Carver, in his underwear, coming to strangle me with his ragged feather boa.

Let's see, what is there to say about Bernarda Alba? I listened to it all the way straight through, and it was anything but a snoozer. I really had to sit still for about fifteen minutes just to process it, and, even then, I couldn't even open the refrigerator without being at least a little freaked out by the percussiveness of the freezer door opening.

I felt I owed it to myself to at least listen to this CD, let alone buy it. Maybe the best way to get acquainted with LaChiusa is to listen to all his stuff in reverse chronological order - that is, if I actually do like it. I mean, I always hear, "Rose? You are smart. You went to #)!%(#%@!, so therefore you must be extremely smart." To which I downplay my ultimate-downfall intellect and just reply, "Duhhh...What's a gard-dang Looniversity?" I need to start listening to smart music if I'm going to now live up to that generalization.

And, to me, musical theatre should be about a lot more than just razzle-dazzle and putting on a happy face. But I don't know how that works, exactly. Being a non-Equity, agentless nobody who didn’t go to a theatre school, I always feel like a turista in this arena. Look, they didn't have Gypsy, so, I just up and decided to buy this one. Which, in itself, is like saying, “I couldn’t find any Darth Vaders and ended up buying a General Grievous instead.”

Anyway, this is a high-concept Lincoln Center chamber operetta-type musical based on a play I hated having to read in college that everyone else loved, with no sets and lots of chairs that get moved around periodically to denote a location change. It might as well be Tom Stoppard: The Musical. You can just assume what the music and the accents and the overwhelming emotional heaving will sound like based almost solely on this information. All I know is, ever since Kiss of the Spider Woman, I just can’t listen to any flamenco-influenced musical score with classical guitars in the orchestra knowing full well that it will never, ever come close to topping “The Mexican” by Babe Ruth, or even Santa Esmeralda’s seventeen-minute-plus disco-funk epic “Please Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”

If you know the play, you know that this show is about how a family in turn-of-the-century Spain falls apart after the death of the patriarch. The sisters all wear black, ragged dresses with veils and are played by a wonderfully multicultural cast that is made up entirely of women, so we can all stop complaining about how there are no good roles for the ladies anymore. Like most musicals set within these terms, it’s always the pretty white girls who end up making complete asses out of themselves. And you’ve got Daphne Rubin-Vega as the Ugly Sister, Martirio; Judith Blazer as Magdalena, the narcoleptic sister who has sparkling, protruding-ly beautiful Peter Lorre eyes; Nikki M. James (Dorothy from The Wiz remake?) as Adela, the youngest and prettiest sister; Sally Murphy (Sally?) as Amelia, the quiet, soft-spoken sister; and Yolande Bavan (Hermione Gingold?) as the wise old grandmother who presides over the action. Bernarda is played by Phylicia Rashad, who I really didn’t know could actually sing. She sounds less like a trained, professional singer and more like a very nice woman who just loves to wrap her vocal cords around a melody. On the other hand, hearing her as a tyrannical matriarch on this will ensure that I can never watch “The Cosby Show” the same way ever again.

There is also a gloomy, ominous, singing female narrator, played by Nancy Ticotin, who assumes several different guises during the show. Hey, just like in Jeffrey!

Let's see, the characters each get individual songs where they agonize and wail about the anguish and sexual repression of being dominated by a male-owned society. My favorite would have to be Blazer's character song, because I didn't think it was humanly possible to do all that crazy stuff with your voice.

Of course, it's the little things here that bug me. Like the pretty, bland, young Irish lasses (Laura Shoop? Candy Buckley? Candy?) who play the maids and have to cut through the screamin' and hootin' and hollerin' with all that fancy colaratura. There's also a big, eleven o'clock "I Want" pop power ballad that comes in for a few seconds toward the beginning ("I'll wear my green dress, and I'll go outside..."), but, luckily, the treacle's cut through with a whole lot of angry flamenco stomping. And the things that I like are the ones I least expect. And I didn't even expect to like this at all! I thought I was going to hate it!

I can't help but feel like I should be criticizing this. I shouldn't have the free right to actually like it, but I don't think there's any true authorization for me to truly appreciate it as a musical theatre score. This should be something like The Light in the Piazza, which I really "get" and "loathe," because I am certifiably "smart," but, whenever I'm around my musical-theatre friends who gush about how supposedly "great" and "wonderful" it is, I just drool and go straight into "duh" mode. Shouldn't I be calling this show out on its own pretentiousness and hawking money to keep smart but nontheless mainstream, populist fluff like The Drowsy Chaperone going for another year? Am I making any sense?

Still? Mrs. Huxtable.

Telephone Hour

What's the most bizarre "Please Hold" music you've heard since moving to New York City?

A toss-up between...

The oddly jarring "Everybody's Got the Right" from Assassins...

...and the sadly ironic "Don't Leave Me This Way" by Ms. Thelma Houston

Just an observation.

Why It's Good Old Reliable Nathan

Friday Quote for the Ages:

"I have taken some classes. At some point, somebody said to me, 'Well, you know, you should study. You should do something, get some sort of foundation.' And I took kind of a crash summer course at the Stella Adler Studio.

I didn't work with Stella Adler. That was real smart. I was working with her cousin or something. I was very young and it was a little too abstract for me. She would say, 'Go to the window and tell me what you see - you know, describe.' And people would go, 'Oh, I see a homeless person and I see the poverty of the world. I see dark clouds, and I see the tragedy of life.' She asked, 'What do you see?'

And I said, 'I see four-hundred dollars going down the drain.'"

-Nathan Lane, in Acting: Working in the Theatre; Robert Emmet Long, ed., New York, Continuum/American Theatre Wing, 2006

You'll Never Get Away from Me

I watched the Special Edition DVD of Gypsy starring Rosalind Russell and Natalie Wood last night. Obviously, you don't need to give this blog a passing glance to know just how much I freaking love this musical. So, here it is in all its Warner Brothers Golden Age Contract Player Technicolor glory, and I couldn't be more excited!

The Good:
That overture still has the power to give me chills. Funny story: They played the whole thing during a pre-show very recently, and my mom turned to me and asked, "What show was this from, again? Sound of Music or somethin'?"

Sure, they cut some of the best numbers, but look what they kept in! "You've Gotta Get a Gimmick"? "All I Need is the Girl"? "Everything's Comin' Up Roses"? "Some People"? Pure pop Heaven.

The colors. Such pretty colors.

Natalie Wood. 'Nuff said.

The Bad:
Were Tulsa and Miss Mazeppa the only people retained from the original Broadway cast? Seriously?

The screenplay by playwright Leonard Spigelgass (A Majority of One) does way too much to explain these very over-arch plot points that weren't in the play and didn't need to be incorporated anyway: Herbie is really Uncle Jocko because vaudeville died and shut down his show! Mama Rose stole random shit from her ex-husbands! Gypsy Rose Lee singlehandedly saved the Orpheum circuit! Dainty June didn't really elope with one of the Farmboys because the studio demanded a "Hollywood" ending! Oy.

Who cares if Roz doesn't do her own singing? The voice actress hired to dub her sounds remarkably alike. And "Rose's Turn" never fails to incite shivers with those set pieces, lighted lights, and orchestrations. Still...it's not like she's Merman.

But she brings her own interpretation to the role, and, come on, it is Rosalind Russell.

The So-Good-It's-Uncategorizable:
The Special Features: I'm a DVD Extras junkie, and the fact that these were unearthed and presumed to never be seen again is just too much to handle...

First off, we have the original trailer. And, man, with Screenvision and all that crap, they just don't make movie previews like they used to anymore. This probably accounts for why I watch Turner Classic Movies so much. Even the previews for movies that were downright horrible (Like I Love Melvin starring Donald O'Connor!) were so well-produced and full of juicy detail and utter showmanship, they were marketing genius and so worth watching for five-to-fifteen-minutes. The chyrons, the music, the happy-peppy-not-at-all-threating voiceovers that are less so "In a world..." and more like "Come join the parade, see!" And did you see that Angela Lansbury retrospective they had the other night? Man!

My favorite vintage movie trailer? The groovy one for Pal Joey where an obviously-drunk young Frank Sinatra explains Joey's "vocabulary" to the audience and pretends to sell everyone on Kim Novak's singing.

But in this trailer, we get a small glimpse of the deleted "Together Wherever We Go" number with the sound off. And, wow, that was a bold move.

Because even the most ignorant fan of this musical (is there such a thing? An ignorant fan?) will notice that Herbie does not sing in this version. Even Jack Klugman sang a little. Hell, even Sam the Pickle Man could sorta carry a tune. I mean, at least he tried.

And Karl Malden doesn't.

Wanna know why? Skip to the "Outtakes" section of the DVD Special Features, and behold, in all its glory...Karl Malden sings.

This really shouldn't have been cut. Granted, his voice isn't all that to behold. It is every bit as loud, off-key, and scratchy as an old record or his big scene in Patton. But he's so energetic! Look at him attempt that flat-footed choreography! Seeing Karl Malden sing and dance is oddly fascinating and endearing. I honestly don't know why, and would like to get a good answer out of him on why this was actually cut from the movie's wide release, according to the DVD Extras menu. And he's still alive; the fact that he was generous enough to authorize this footage for inclusion on the DVD proves that he cares about the preservation of non-singing actors attempting to do musicals for all posterity. But, man, even Julia Roberts' singing wasn't cut from Everyone Says I Love You. And I know she's, like, the most powerful actress in Hollywood, and an Oscar winner, but not only was Malden an Oscar winner, too - he was President of the freakin' Motion Picture Academy!!! The whole world needs to see this for itself. If that many people suffered through Julia pre-DVD, maybe seeing Karl attempt to do Sondheim-Styne will be a whole lot easier to swallow.

Mr. Malden, we love you.



Malden!

I'm Not Alone

Actors with blogs are a dime a dozen. What I really appreciate about Broadway actor Aaron Lazar's blog is that he tells it like it is. As much as she hated The Light in the Piazza, my mother loved him. Well, she likes Broadway musicals fine. I don't know why she is more supportive than encouraging of my choice of career pursuits, even though she used to sing and act, and has a beautiful voice. She never pursued it professionally - she got into college at a very young age, and pretty much followed through on her own gifts. Given that those "gifts" led to a Masters' and a PhD on full (Ivy League) scholarship, she has also had to work extremely hard her entire life. I am very fortunate and thankful to have her for my mom.

Well, after she saw Piazza on PBS, she wouldn't stop leaving me messages along the lines of "Marry someone like Fabrizio." Although, she really appreciated that Forbidden Broadway sketch where "Fabrizio" describes himself as "a Jewish-American actor" with "a pidgin Italian accent," too. Well, that Food Network coverage of his wedding did a lot more to endear her to him (especially when he sang "Shiksa Goddess" to his wife), and any nice Jewish boy with a voice like that and a look like that is enough to compel her to give him a big, Manilow-sized hand.

See, this is a guy who is using his blog as a public service. He's covering pretty much every issue out there an aspiring actor should know of right down to the littlest detail. Smart dude.

And then? He posted this.

I never realized stage fright could actually be a medical diagnosis. This answers a lot of questions I've had recently...I have to look into this.

Because I've had it. I've been freakishly, unbelievably nervous in that when I'm called on to perform, I can't harness that energy to do it. I've had public moments where I freak out, and my nerves just break down. And this was all after I got a B.A. in Theatre Arts. I blame a lot of instances where I was told I wouldn't make it...and then some. But I've really come to this understanding - much like our good friend Mr. Lazar has - that I loved acting and singing when it was a hobby and no expectations were really attached: There was no possible way I could set myself up to fail, because I wasn't sabotaging myself. It's funny how now I can understand that, regardless of all of these interior and exterior factors, not only do I know I have that confidence to achieve, I realize I've had that all along.

I've been shy. I've been insecure. Sometimes, I've had to drag myself kicking and screaming onstage, but I do it out of love. This was why I took to improvisation and let it all out once in this no-holds-barred rant about - get this! - Why I Hate Musical Theatre. This was right after I moved to New York City, and when I was taking my Level 1 improv class. I couldn't get seen for any auditions, and the ones I could get were completely beyond my comprehension at the time. Anyway, my teacher gave me this look I will never forget, and said:

"You really love musical theatre, don't you?"

The whole room was silent. Then we all cracked up.

That was the lightbulb moment! Holy shit!

After all that, I earned some respect from my friends and peers, but I tried not to get a swelled head about it. I realized it was okay to be in this struggle together and to have interests, however embarrassing they may be, that somehow creep into what you're doing when you really love what you do...

Here's another positive thing I tend to flash back to - call it a selective memory, call it what you will, believe me, I've had plenty of bad experiences to go with the good - on my last day at the Neighborhood Playhouse, I was pretty much ready to throw in the towel and quit acting. I didn't want to go back to school and the dread of knowing I was going to be away from New York City and friends from a wide variety of backgrounds and knowledge. I wanted to stay with my friends and run around the city all summer, studying and absorbing that knowledge; at the same time, I had some downright miserable moments at the Playhouse where I would just scream and cry for help. Sure, it was Meisner technique: The only way to conquer your fears is to confront them, head-on. Have people yell at you constantly about how you're Not Going To Make It; stand on top of a stool; go out and make a scene and curse at everyone. It's a strange, strange method that is oddly beneficial, because it taps into our basest subconscious, psychological needs. At the same time, you kind of wish Meisner was a little more lighthearted in his approach to the craft of acting. Throw in a tap break or something along the way.

I had a friend in the program who was a student in the Musical Theatre program at the University of Michigan, and we both knew some of the faculty members and mutual friends from my theatre group back home. I think he was the only person who had heard me sing, albeit very roughly, because we would run out in the street and do two-person versions of numbers from My Favorite Year and The Producers on the way back to housing. Meanwhile, back in class, I was not taken with the scene I was assigned, from the classic play Stage Door, and yearned to make it more comedic than it actually was. I would stammer, but, otherwise, I had trouble playing a brunette "character" broad who was bitter, sarcastic and discouraging, something I really felt back then.

On the last day of class, our Meisner teacher wanted us to do the scenes with the roles reversed. So, I thought it would be hilarious to make her the typical musical theatre blonde in a pretty pink dress. I studied various blonde ingenues via different musical theatre CDs I checked out from the school library, and surprised everyone by being funny and fully committing to something I knew I was never, ever going to play in real life. At the end of the sketch, I sang. And everyone gave me a standing ovation. I couldn't believe it. I was singing without abandon. I never told anyone in the program, not even my friend, that I was a singer. The other kids approached me all day after that and told me I should really go for it, that I have a talent.

I had heard that in college, too, but it was from professors - the students would get ultra-competitive when they were gunning for roles come audition time. I would get intimidated, also, because I was going up against not only incredibly smart and talented people, but former child stars and rich, well-connected kids from performing arts schools in big cities: Real professionals. I really didn't have any favorite roles there. I was never cast in any leads, unless they needed an older woman in a Chekhov play to be melodramatically hysterical. It was making me happy, to be on stage. I guess I've always had that love, but I need to be able to look past the crap I've put up with a focus on the present. Love what I do. Or at least get back to loving it and being fully committed in that love.

Musical improv was merely the catalyst. It's combined the two things that come naturally to me, and yet, seem exceedingly difficult to allow to come naturally from me. But it was really the breakthrough: I realized I could do it. By confronting my fears head-on, I've finally learned how to cure them. Imagine that!

I'd also recommend Aaron's post re: Liberal Arts vs. Conservatory. He's done both and has an overwhelmingly spot-on perspective on the two. To that, I say, "Right on!"

And? Aaron Lazar = a Broadway star only a mother could love

Hakuna Matata

Does Dixie even make bathroom cups anymore?

Seriously, I have been to nearly every drug store and grocery in the greater Gramercy area looking for these. If anyone, anyone finds them, please send them to my apartment along with the customary condolence letter.

I got enough of those children's party cups to tide me over, and the only ones they had were decorated with pictures of Timon and Pumbaa. So, if anything, I can safely brush my teeth twice a day and continually be reminded of the brilliance Nathan Lane and Ernie Sabella create when they're together.

Also? Mother.



It was announced today that Marin Mazzie is replacing Lauren Kennedy as the Lady of the Lake in Spamalot. And I'm excited! I don't know why...I know I mentioned I wanted to be one of those Sherie Rene-type alto belters, but I've really been getting into Mazzie lately. She has a beautiful voice. And does anyone doubt that she can do Python? Come on! She was freakin' Lalume! Of course she can handle comedy.



And, even better, her husband is going to be starring in Curtains right across the street. No wonder she's doing this! Yeah, yeah, I know, she probably deserves better. She was a freakin' three-time Tony nominee. But who cares? I know I don't. Because she is awesome. I know Lady of the Lake is kind of a lame character and goes against everything the Pythons ever stood for; also, the fact that Ramirez actually won the Tony for playing the only girl in a Monty Python Broadway musical pretty much proves that it's tougher to be the chick in an already-established comedy boys club, and way more deserving of an acting award than a retarded teenager, a neglected child, an evil supervilliainess, or Joanna Gleason. Well, finally, Mazzie gets to play a Tony-winning role...um, even though she doesn't have a Tony - yet. She's an inspiration. Someday, I hope to play Lili Vanessi in Kiss Me Kate.

Lovely Ladies

Well, I've gotten over at least one commitment issue today.

In that I decided I'm all talk and, mentally, I am so not ready to enroll in a Level 5 improv class at UCB. Instead, I'm (hopefully) doing a special half-class on scene study for women with the amazingly brilliant Christina Gausas. I got to meet her last weekend at DCM, and decided I really value her input.

I've always been on the fence about doing an all-girls improv class. Either it's a huge opportunity to meet other comediennes of the female persuasion who have the same frustrations in the "boys club" of improv, or the sheer amount of estrogen takes over and brings out too much radioactive bitchiness and competitiveness in the group dynamic for anyone to handle.

I'll stop blogging now for fear of this becoming a naively hasty "ooh, which Level 2 should I take?" improv journal. So, I'll try to refrain from writing like a dolt, what with the rhetorical questions and making pretty much everything out to be much more complicated than it really is.

Anyway, I came to a very important conclusion this past weekend in that what I've been feeling is only about 45% gung-ho about soldiering on into Level 5. So, I feel like this could very well be the last stepping-stone into that.

Unless it doesn't want to be my stepping-stone. Which would suck.

End cowering. Resume freshness.

Politics and Poker

And people wonder why Off-Broadway is a dying breed.

Is this what it takes? Focus groups? For some reason, I was led to believe that corporations were anti-art, but I haven't the faintest idea why.

Jesus. I hate to be a bitch about these things, but I feel this need to complain. And, I don't know why. If you love something so much, are you supposed to find some reason to complain about it in order to feel fully complete? I mean, I went to some Off-Broadway play once, and I was seated in front of these two elderly theatre queens who would not. Stop. Bitching. And this was even before the play started!

No more Lamb's. No more Playhouse 91. No more Cocteau Rep. Nothing. If there is going to be some great new avant-garde play now, it will probably star somebody from "The O.C." or some celebrity's kid. Because some focus group mandated it. People, this is who determines what will pass go for the New York City theatre scene:


Seriously?!?