HE'S GOT POSSIBILITIES 

When I heard that composer Charles Strouse had passed away, many memories came back to me, of the various musicals he had written, and of the several times I interacted with them. Most recently, here: 

Quite a few years ago, I played that poor, put-upon schnook Harry MacAfee in Strouse's Bye, Bye, Birdie, a character I had dreamed of playing since first seeing the movie version as a kid, with Paul Lynde in the role. But playing MacAfee was not my first encounter with this musical; 35 years earlier, Birdie would have a big impact on my development as a performer.

It was during my college days, in the late 70s, when I first landed in Birdie, which, let's face it, is one of those musicals done constantly in high schools and colleges. 

Ron Hill headed the chorus dept at my Atlanta
high school. He had an early death and I harbor
no ill will for his comment to me that I could
not sing. But it kept me out of musicals
for a while.

At the time, I was unsure about my place in musical theater, as I had had a music teacher in high school who informed me I couldn't carry a tune. I believed him for a while, but my attraction to musicals finally won out. Turns out, this guy was wrong (maybe it was my voice changing which confused him). Anyway, I gradually dipped my toe into musical waters, first in a very small role in Hello, Dolly as a senior in (a different) high school, then in another small role in L'il Abner in college. 

That's me as Lonesome Polecat, Indian Brave. He made Kickapoo Joy Juice, "heep grade A." The racism in this role is apparent now, but back then, they just smeared Texas Dirt all over me and sent me onstage.

I sang a full verse of the opening number in Abner, which gave me some much needed confidence. 

I had no business playing Motel the Tailor, the
orthodox Jewish boy who didn't know how to
wear his prayer shawl. I also couldn't sing his
big solo, until it was transposed to a lower key.
"Wonder of Wonders" was my first full solo number
in front of an audience. I ended it with a cartwheel,
cuz that's what you do when you're insecure about
your singing.

Soon after, I landed in a community theater production of Fiddler on the Roof, and sang my first full solo number in front of an audience. I was gradually proving to myself that I could carry a song successfully on my own. During this period, I met my great friend Judy, who approached me in the hallway at CSUN and asked me to be a chorus boy in her directing project, a slimmed down version of Cabaret.

I was originally a Kit Kat Boy, but by the time we opened, I was playing the Emcee. It was a dream role for me, and I was lucky to play the role in a full-length production 10 years later.

I had always loved Cabaret, (I wrote about my adoration of this musical here), and Judy was mixing the Kit Kat Club girls with some boys (since the Alan Cumming revival of Cabaret, this is commonly done, but back in the mid 70s, no one was doing it). Of course I said yes. During our rehearsal period, the guy playing the Emcee was showing up high to rehearsals, and Judy dumped him and elevated me to the role. 

Dick Van Dyke didn't get much competition from me, but I was still proud that I handled the leading role without, you know, crapping out. That's me as Albert in Bye, Bye, Birdie, in the bowtie, surrounded by the citizens of Sweet Apple, OH, which apparently had a majority Armenian population. Everyone in this picture is of Armenian descent except me and the guy in my lap. Oh, and there's one Latino in this crowd, doing director Judy a favor by giving his talents to the ensemble. Thanks, Ronnie!

A while after that,  Judy gave me a tremendous gift. She was developing her director skills by directing a full-scale musical for her church's youth group, and she asked me to play Albert J. Peterson, the Dick Van Dyke role in Birdie.

I was afraid of "Talk To Me," Albert's
big ballad in the piece. My costar
Carla was afraid of the romantic kiss
at the very end of the show.

This was my first leading role in a musical, with four big songs, including a ballad. I had never sung a ballad in public and I was very afraid of it. (It's all those held notes, don't cha know.)  We only ran a couple of weekends I think, but the show was a success, and I think I was, too (so don't tell me otherwise, let me remember it this way, k?) 

Our college chum Bob Newman played our
Birdie, not everyone can pull off gold lame`.
Bob went on to a successful TV career, and
several Emmy nods for Guiding Light.

I learned how to be a leading player while portraying Albert, and after that experience, I never again shied away from auditioning for roles in musicals, leading or otherwise.  

Thirty five years after that college experience, I landed in Birdie again, at Shenandoah Summer Music Theatre, this time playing Mr. MacAfee. (I wrote about this gig when it was happening, go here for that report). This climactic scene was completely revamped in the film. In the stage version, MacAfee, completely starstruck by the show's host, creates total chaos on The Ed Sullivan Show. 

Unless I'm missing something, these two productions of Birdie were the only times I sang songs by Charles Strouse. One of them, "Put On A Happy Face," found its way into the Great American Songbook, and another, "Kids," is one of the funniest numbers in any classic musical comedy.  With that first production back in the 70s, I believe he played a big part in my development as a musical theatre actor.  Thanks, Buddy!

Charles Strouse 

1928-2025

GAMECOCK DIARIES, PART SEVEN: Why, Oh Why, Iago?

another entry in the occasional series describing my adventures pursuing my MFA

This is the only photographic evidence I have uncovered that proves I did, indeed, play studly leading man Cassio in Othello. Or at least, I tried to play him; I was not very successful.  I blame the mullet.

It's been pointed out to me that my last entry in this series was over three years ago, and how the hell long does it take to write about a couple of years in a guy's life? I really do want to complete this series, I've just been lazy about doing so. I started writing these memories <ahem> a few years ago, and if you're interested, you can read all the installments, in reverse chronological order (that is, the newer stuff will come up first), by going here.

This is the Dance Instructor in USC's original production of The Emperor's New Clothes. I performed in this children's show simultaneously with playing Moonface Martin in Anything Goes. That same summer, I taught at the USC summer conservatory for kids,  studied for and passed my comps (a year early), and completed the first draft of my MFA thesis (two years early). I was cookin' with gas.

The most recent entry covered my adventures in the summer of 1994, after which I was pooped but proud. As I headed into my second year of my MFA training, I was feeling pretty confident. So confident, in fact, that I inadvertently made a huge blunder before the fall semester even began. 

The first show of the season, which went into rehearsal weeks before classes actually started, was Hot L Baltimore, a Lanford Wilson relic which I did not like. I had seen only one production of the show, directed years earlier by my former acting coach and mentor Bobbi (I wrote about her influence on my life here), and I didn't like it then either. Having completed the exhausting summer I described here, I really did not want to leap into rehearsal for a show I didn't like. When the director, Ann Dreher, dropped a note in my mailbox asking which role I would be interested in playing, I made a big mistake. I responded that I would prefer not to do the show and could I be excused from playing in it? This was a request which was fairly out-of-line for USC's Acting grad students; we had been enrolled, after all, to perform in whatever play the faculty placed us in, we were not really supposed to pick and choose our own roles. The department had been roiled in this question of student control only months earlier, when several grad students refused to participate in the winter production of Measure for Measure (I wrote about that controversy here).  Now here was another grad student asking to be released from his commitment to the department's next show. I fully expected Ann to refuse my request, but when the cast was announced, I was not in it. I felt a weight off my shoulders, realizing that, for the first time since I arrived on campus a year earlier, I would not be in rehearsal (at least, for a month or so). What I did not realize was that Ann had taken my request very, very personally, and not only did she release me from Hot L Baltimore, she refused to cast me in anything else she was to direct. I did not know of her sudden animosity for many months, since Ann taught only undergraduate students, and mostly non-majors, so I did not cross paths with her during my daily life.

It was very disturbing to find out, the following spring, that the quirky and outspoken teacher whom everyone loved had revealed herself, at least to me, to be petty and vindictive. But that's a story for a future entry.

I'm not bitter about any of that these days, as I'm sure you can tell.  At the time, all of that trauma was in the future, so I began the semester fairly light-hearted. My academic load was greatly reduced from my first year; I had already taken the two semesters of Theatre History my degree required, so I was now at liberty to choose my own academic classes. 

It will surprise no one that I aced my Musical Theatre History class. I wrote term papers on Sondheim, Michael Bennett, and George Abbott, all without research.

My friend and mentor Jim Patterson was teaching his History of Musical Theatre, so I enrolled in that fascinating class. I was also teaching the undergrads Beginning Acting and Speech & Diction; one of the reasons USC could afford to give their grad students a generous assistantship was the fact that we were used as teachers for undergraduate students. We taught undergrads in the morning, and took our own classes in the afternoon.

Now that I had ducked performing in Hot L Baltimore, I was slated to perform in two other main stage shows that semester:  Eastern Standard by Richard Greenberg and Othello by you know whom. Othello was slated first, and was to be directed by our newest faculty hire, a young(ish) fellow named David. I don't remember his last name.

This is a very typical look of David's, who was usually involved in an intense conversation with someone. I would have liked to have had one of those convos regarding his miscasting of me in his show.

I didn't have fun in Othello, but
as the title role, Elliot sure did. 
He played the role again in
regional theater a few years
later.

Othello was not one of the highlights of my USC career. I had been cast as Cassio, who is basically the young leading man of the piece, a man of honor whose life is upended when he is manipulated by the villainous Iago into appearing to be Desdemona's lover.

Mullets get a bad rap, but mine was the best
part of my performance as Cassio.

Nobody in their right mind would ever cast me as such a character, but in the spirit of "grad school is your time to stretch your boundaries and explore roles you may not play in the real world," I tried my best.  It was not easy, particularly when I had desired to play Iago to begin with. I don't recall any audition readings being held for this show, at least for the grad students, and I was disappointed to learn that one of the new arrivals in the program would be playing one of the juiciest parts in all of Shakespeare. 

These folks were all in the class ahead of me, 
and became close friends, but after my first
year, they disappeared into their internships.

Before the semester got underway, I had had to say goodbye to my good friends who were in the USC class ahead of me; it was the third year of their program, so they went off to their internships. Meanwhile, five new actors arrived in the class behind me, and one of those upstarts had somehow snagged my part in Othello. 

This is the MFA class behind mine, so they joined
me for my second year. I'll introduce them later,
but for now I'll say, only 4 of them ended up in
Othello.

I don't remember the guy's name who was cast as Iago, so I'll call him Fred. Fred was a personable guy with leading man looks which, I thought, suited my role of Cassio much more than the dark Iago. I really had no idea why this clown was playing Iago, and it turned out, he shouldn't have been. 

"Fred" arrived at the first rehearsal for
Othello not having read the play.

Fred turned out to be a flake, in terms of responsibility, which was apparent at our first rehearsal of Othello. At that first read around the table, before reading the text aloud, director David asked each actor to tell the story of the play from our character's point of view. This was a great exercise, I give credit to David for that. We all had fun tracking our characters' story arc within the play, then it came to be Fred's turn. He was very vague and non-specific, it was apparent that he had not even read the play yet. This joker had been handed one of the greatest roles in the Shakespearean canon (and one of the biggest), and had done zero preparation for the first rehearsal. Turns out he had done zero preparation for all his classes, too, as in the next week or so, he was not only removed from the Othello cast, he was booted from the entire MFA program.

Mindi was wonderful as our Desdemona, Nan
played our cross-gendered Duke.

A major postponement was announced. The USC production of Othello would now be produced after Christmas, during the following semester. The only explanation from the administration was that there was a "scheduling problem" resulting in the change. That was true enough, though the scheduling problem had to do with the actor who was hired to replace Fred as Iago.

Bob Hungerford was an established professional
actor in Columbia. USC hired him to play Iago, and
he was a great one. 

Rather than shuffling the MFA actors around (and perhaps giving me the chance to audition for this dream role), the department went outside USC and hired an older professional actor to play Iago.  Bob Hungerford had a strong reputation among the actors in Columbia, SC, so I assume USC wanted him so badly that they rescheduled Othello to accommodate him.

My classmate Bodde (rhymes
with OK) played Emilia
(Mrs. Iago). 

I don't remember a lot about the actual performances of our Othello when it finally ran in January, 1995. I had a pretty fun scene playing Cassio getting drunk, but my other scenes are a blank.

Mindi had a birthday during our run. Here she's over the moon for my gift, a Wizard of Oz sweatshirt. Or rather, she's over the rainbow for it.

As I said before, I was not successful playing the romantic leading man, and the Columbia press agreed. One of the local critics, a gent who was exceedingly complimentary of my other roles played during my two years on campus, subtly wrote "R. Scott Williams is not cast into his strengths."  Ya' Think? 

(I am making a promise to myself that I will continue these memories of grad school until their conclusion. And I will not let another three years go by, for heaven's sake. Next Up: I am cast in one of my most successful and meaningful roles, in Eastern Standard, and I take a flying leap off a very high cliff with the agony and the ecstasy of a one-man show.)

Gamecock Diaries, Part Six: My Summer of Silly Accents

another entry in the occasional series describing my adventures pursuing my MFA

During my years in Los Angeles, my college crowd always gathered for Easter Brunch, a tradition we continued for many years after graduation. When I got to South Carolina, I continued the tradition by suggesting to my new bestie Deborah that she host this Easter Brunch at her house. It was one of many social events, large and small, which added meaning and resonance to my time at USC.  That's me in the purple silk shirt behind the camera. And that hat?  I was too precious for words.

Deborah, the redhead, hosted many social
events, including this Easter Brunch. Kim
was soon to wow audiences as our Reno
Sweeney.

The MFA program at USC was designed to encompass three years, two spent on campus in Columbia, and the third spent in DC on internship.  The summers between those years were not technically included in our curriculum, but the Powers That Be had come up with a plan which allowed the graduate students to remain on campus during the summer, continuing to earn the assistantship money provided by the school, and at the same time, providing the labor for USC's summer programming.  That programming included several full scale productions and a lavish children's show.  In addition, the university offered a theatre camp for kids, from which, like all theaters everywhere, they made a buttload of money. Grad students were the faculty. 

Kim and Richard were to play the leading roles in Anything Goes. Take a look at our swanky "Grad Student Office", complete with up-to-date computer.

So the summer of 1994 was going to be jam-packed, in fact it would prove to be the busiest time of my MFA career. 

A Walk in the Woods, Strange Snow,
Anything Goes, The Emperor's New
Clothes, The Search for Signs of
Intelligent Life in the Universe

The Summer Rep that year included five full productions, I was cast in the two largest.  As I mentioned in a previous entry in this series, Anything Goes was placed in the season after several grad students displayed some musical talent.  USC was a classical program and did not, as a rule, produce musicals, but the late great Jim Patterson felt confident that this was the time for a full scale crowd-pleasing extravaganza.

Strange Snow ran in roughly the same period as Anything Goes. It's a small, 3-character piece full of what I think of as "truth and beauty" acting. My grad school chums Steve and Deborah were terrific playing opposite recent grad Steve Harley, who had become the leading man at the local professional theater. Like all the other shows in the '94 season, it may have been slightly overlooked as Anything Goes, with its lavish costumes, turntable set, and large cast, sucked up all the energy of the theatre department.

I've written about Jim Patterson throughout this series; when he was directing me in The Importance of Being Earnest, he was already planning for Anything Goes.  He gave me a huge compliment, in retrospect.  He asked me which role I would like to play. 

The cast was so large it had to be
augmented by several local actors
of note. Jonathan, only in his teens,
was already a stage vet, and he was
an audience favorite in the big 
numbers. He is now a cabaret
artist and arts administrator in NY.

There are two comic roles in Anything Goes which were appropriate for me, and though I only knew the show from the famous Patti Lupone revival cast album, I knew either one would be fun to play.  There was a British twit who has a comic song in act two which some consider to be the show's 11:00 number, and the larger role of the comic villain, Moonface Martin, a hapless gangster on the run. 

An old friend of the show's leading lady, Reno Sweeney, Moonface had two songs (plus inclusion in some group numbers) and lots of room for comedy. I told myself I had already played a British twit this year (Algernon in Earnest), what would I learn from playing another one? So I chose to play Moonface, but let's face it.  I picked it because it was bigger.  

I don't have any production shots from Anything Goes, but here's Joel Grey playing my role in the most recent Broadway revival. (Joel and I are practically twins, which I wrote about here.) Moonface Martin, Public Enemy #13, spends most of the show disguised as a priest, which causes a problem for anyone playing him.  It is difficult to be funny dressed in black. (There's another problem, too. Priests aren't funny.  Nuns are funny, priests are not.)  You can see here that Grey mitigated the problem of being in black by adding a jacket. Cheater.

I got great response to my performance, including from the USC faculty.  Our opening night ran like a dream, with the duet between Moonface and Reno, "Friendship," one of Cole Porter's best known songs, bringing down the house.  The day after that first performance, I received a handwritten note in my office mailbox from Ann Dreher, who had directed me in my first show at USC, The Cherry Orchard.  (I wrote about that show, and Ann, here.) 

Ann's note to me was so flattering that I kept it. I should have reread it a month later, when she asked me who I'd like to play in her next show. My answer was not very judicious. 

Ann claimed I had stolen the show (and who am I to quibble with a faculty member?);  I was super flattered to hear this, but a little later in the summer, I should have remembered that note more clearly, as it would affect a decision both Ann and I had to make. (More on that in a mo'.) 

Kim (on the left) was actually studying for her M.A. when director Jim cast her as Reno Sweeney. She tore the roof off the joint, but the show ruined her relationship with Jim. As I understand it, she had asked Jim's permission to hire her friends to tape the show, and Jim agreed. He later claimed he thought Kim had meant to tape only a few songs, but the filmmakers arrived that night with the intention of taping from Overture to Curtain Call. Jim raised a stink (as only Jim could) and ejected the cameras, literally seconds before the overture began, in front of a full house. Kim almost quit, she was so angry, and the incident soured her enjoyment of the show from then on. The legality of this situation is clear: taping the show, even in an academic setting, is against the rules (everybody in academia breaks those rules, but they are the rules).  Still, I wouldn't mind having a copy of our Anything Goes, even if it was a bootleg.

The second show I appeared in that summer was an original adaptation of The Emperor's New Clothes, written and directed by USC's resident provider of children's programming, Jayce Tromsness.

Jayce wrote and directed large scale kids' shows for the Summer Rep, I worked on his shows both summers I was at USC. They were lively and fun, full of energy.

In this one, I was slated to play one of the Emperor's servants named Mop:  

When I first spoke Mop's lines aloud, I realized Jayce had subconsciously written the dialogue in a Cockney rhythm, so that's how I presented him at our first read. It worked well. I was already using  an over-the-top New York Brooklynese accent to play Moonface Martin in Anything Goes every night, and now I was using a British Cockney brogue during the day. I was to add one more silly accent before I was done.

Nan was in my MFA class, here she played Mop's
wife (I'm not sure she had a name). I did 11
shows while in SC, and Nan was in most of them.
Adding 5 more shows we did together during our
internship, and I'm sure I've worked with her
more often than any other actor, or indeed any
other person, in my career.

During our first read-through of The Emperor's New Clothes, there were a couple of very small roles which Jayce had not yet assigned to his company.  I had my eye on one, a single page scene in which the goofy Emperor, hilariously played by Steve Harley, took a dance lesson from a pompous instructor. 

Steve and Monica Wyche were
hysterical as the Emperor and
Empress.

Here again, Jayce had written a character's dialogue in a certain rhythm without really realizing it.  I, however, could see right away that this Dance Instructor was French. I volunteered to read the scene aloud, and went over-the-top Pepe Lepew with it. I now had two roles in the show (requiring an extremely tight quick change), a Cockney servant and French dance instructor. 

Theatre For Young Audiences and Classic Musical Comedy are not all that different from each other.  I spent the summer of '94 going over the top with both.

Steve was in the class ahead of
me. I don't remember his role
here, though I'm sure it was the
villain. We've remained friends
and colleagues; he has directed
me several times in professional
shows in DC.

I had a full schedule with the Summer Rep and with teaching teens all day, but I also made a decision which I thought was smart but others thought was nuts.  The MFA program at USC was performance heavy but was also an academic degree.  As such, the degree required passing a grueling comprehensive exam as well as writing a thesis.  Usually, grad students postponed dealing with those academic requirements until their second or third year, but I decided to tackle them both that first summer. 

The comps were offered twice a year, but MFA actors usually took them the summer after their second year. I was determined to get them out of the way, so I spent many late nights with members of the class ahead of me (including Deborah, above), studying the complete history of theatre from Thespis through Stoppard.

The test itself took four hours and included not only a resuscitation of facts but also a section of essay questions which were to be written on the spot. You couldn't graduate without passing this monster, so I was glad I did so early.  

Richard was in the MFA directing program, but was also an actor with musical theatre cred. He was great fun to hang out with.  He played leading man Billy Crocker, who sings "You're The Top" with Reno Sweeney (among other Cole Porter standards). Anything Goes is a bit odd, in that the leading man and the leading lady do not end up together, they aren't even interested in each other, they are best friends who help each other end up with somebody else. 

That's director/writer Jayce trying
to avoid my antics. He gave me
juicy roles in two splashy kids'
shows and an off-campus
Shakespeare, plus we acted
together in Mother Courage on
campus the next year. I think
those stories are coming...

That summer, I also wrote a complete first draft of my thesis, which was to be comprised of dissections in depth of four performances I gave during my time on campus.  My advisor Jim Patterson encouraged me to take the first four shows I did at USC and write this thing immediately, polishing it later.  I was smart enough to take this advice, so in addition to everything else going on that summer, I wrote in depth examinations of my performances in The Cherry Orchard, The Importance of Being Earnest, Measure for Measure, and Anything Goes. Though my thesis wasn't actually due for two more years, I was relieved to have written the lion's share of it so early. Here is the final title page as it was published by the University Press two years later (the format dictated by the university):

MOVING FORWARD

by

R. Scott Williams

Bachelor of Arts

California State University, Northridge, 1979

Submitted in Partial Fulfillment of the

Requirements for the Degree of Master of Fine Arts

in the Department of Theatre, Speech, and Dance

University of South Carolina

1996

What a summer it was, I don't regret a single moment of it.  Well, except one.  Remember that swell note of congratulations I received from Ann Dreher regarding my performance in Anything Goes?  I didn't recognize its significance.  A month or so after writing that note, Ann dropped another note in my mailbox.  She was to direct the first show of the following season, Lanford Wilson's Hot L Baltimore, beginning rehearsal in mid-August. 

She wanted to know which role I was interested in playing?  I was flattered that, for the second time since arriving at USC, I was being offered my choice of roles, rather than simply being assigned a part, but I was fried.  Since arriving at USC the previous August, during the school year I had rehearsed and performed in three mainstage productions (taking one of them to Charlotte for a professional run), taken two semesters of upper level Theatre History (in which I had written five term papers), taught two sections of Speech classes for underclassmen, as well as attended a full caseload of MFA performance classes (acting, movement, speech and vocal technique). During the summer, I had simultaneously rehearsed and performed two more large scale productions, taught teenagers in the USC summer camp, studied for and passed my comp exams, and written a full first draft of my MFA thesis. Cue the violins.

I didn't particularly like Hot L
Baltimore, and I saw no problem
with at least asking to be excused.
Boy, was I stupid.

I dropped Ann a note in response.  I wrote that I was exhausted and, as I was already slated for large roles in Othello and Eastern Standard in the fall, to add a third show in the same semester seemed unwise.  I hoped to be excused from her show, but if that was not possible, I guess I could play either X or Y (I don't remember which characters those were).  I didn't hear back from Ann, but when the cast was announced a few days later, I was not included. I breathed a sigh of relief, but I shouldn't have.  I did not know at the time that Ann had taken my reluctance to do her show as a huge insult, particularly after she had praised my work so lavishly only a month earlier.  I also didn't know that she could hold a grudge, and nine months later, that grudge would surface to cause me some real trouble during the following summer's season. 

The summer of '94 ended, and I was exorbitantly pleased with myself.  I had had significant success in my roles for the summer, plus my teaching of kids had gone well. More importantly, I had studied for and passed my comps, a year or more early, and had written the major portion of my thesis. I was pooped but proud.

My first year at USC had proven to me that my decision to uproot my life to pursue the MFA had been a good one.  I flew back to Los Angeles for a week or so to visit my old life, and was back in South Carolina before August ended, ready to hit the ground running for my second year of graduate work.  Oh yes, there's more.  

One of the requirements of doing the kids' show was meeting the kids out in the lobby. Well, I considered it a requirement. Others, like Richard, considered it a perk. 

Backstage camaraderie. 

This was indeed a summer of silly accents for me, but by no means did I consider myself an expert with dialects.  All three accents I used were lifted directly from TV. Moonface Martin was a male Rhoda Morgenstern.  The Dance Instructor, as mentioned, was Pepe LePew, before he was cancelled. And Mop's Cockney accent? That was Richard Dawson from Hogan's Heroes.  I am no expert with dialects.  But I am a cunning linguist. 

(You can read other entries in this series, in reverse chronology, here)