"Perpetual Anticipation...

...is good for the soul, but it's bad for the heart."

So goes Stephen Sondheim's recitative in his brilliant musical A Little Night Music. Just about everybody has been wondering when his 1973 masterpiece might appear again on Broadway. We've had revivals of his A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum (twice), his Follies, Company, Into the Woods, Sweeney Todd, and Sunday in the Park with George. Even more problematic pieces Assassins and Pacific Overtures have seen revivals. In past seasons, Meryl Streep and Glenn Close have both been mentioned as possibles to play Desiree, the aging actress at the center of the story. But so far, they have failed to send in the clowns. Roundabout Theatre Co. has just announced a single performance fundraiser for their theatre in January, 2009, a concert staging with the starriest cast imaginable. Notably, Christine Baranski will be playing the scene-stealing part of Charlotte , and Broadway Babies Victor Garber, Laura Benanti, and Marc Kudisch will also participate. The terrific Natasha Richardson, Tony-winner for the Cabaret revival a while back, will play Desiree, and in a fantastic casting coup, her mother, Madame Armfeldt, will be played by her mother, Vanessa Redgrave.









A Little Night Music was the first Sondheim musical I was exposed to, back when I was a teen-ager. My friend Valerie, who was and remains a Sondheim-aholic, introduced me to the cast album at a party way back when. (Yes, that was the kind of party I attended as a teen. Any wonder I turned out like this?) I was aware of West Side Story and Gypsy, of course, but this piece just blew me away. The first time I saw the show was in a major revival in Los Angeles. The attraction here was the casting of Glynis Johns, the original Desiree, in the role of her mother, Madame Armfeldt. The central role was to have been played by Lee Remick, who was tragically diagnosed with breast cancer before rehearsal started and was forced to withdraw from the production to begin chemo. She was replaced by one of the most boring actresses ever to grace stage or screen, Lois Nettleton. As a result, Johns, in a wheelchair but still riveting to watch, was the undisputed highlight of the show. I have seen only two other productions. I mentioned the revival at The Kennedy Center's Sondheim Festival a while back, in which Blair Brown had the lead, and of course, there is the notorious film flop, against which I have already railed.


What is it about Night Music which has caused it to be absent so long? Surely it's not the score, famously written as a series of waltzes, for it contains Sondheim's most famous tune, "Send in the Clowns." It also contains what is arguably the most exciting Act One finale in any musical of the 20th century, "Weekend in the Country."




I say arguably, because two other Sondheim Act One Finales might challenge that statement. Sunday in the Park's first act ends with "Sunday," in which our hero Georges Seurat constructs his most famous painting with the people he has been sketching throughout Act One. The song always makes me teary, as it reflects the artist's struggle to turn the ordinary into the extraordinary.




And then there's Gypsy, which features a shatteringly human reversal. On a lonely train platform in the middle of nowhere, with boyfriend Herbie and daughter Louise cowering in the background, the monstrous Mama Rose sings optimistically that "Everything's Coming up Roses." But the lyrics mask a dark desperation. We know we are not in for a happy ending.














Perhaps the planned benefit reading will convince someone that we need A Little Night Music.

If not Now, then Soon. Rather than Later.

Eileen Herlie

1918-2008

The New York soap world continues to lose long-time supporting players. On the heels of the death of Emmy winner Irene Dailey, comes the news that Eileen Herlie, who has played Myrtle Fargate on All My Children for over three decades, has died of pneumonia at the age of 90.

As with most soap stars of her generation, Herlie had a substantial stage career. Originally from Scotland, her London and Broadway credits include Shakespeare, contemporary works, and musicals. She was invited by Laurence Olivier to play his mother in his film version of Hamlet, though she was actually younger than Olivier at the time. A generation later, she repeated the role of Gertrude, this time opposite Richard Burton in his celebrated Broadway version. That production was also filmed. She played Irene Malloy opposite Ruth Gordon's Dolly Levi in Thorton Wilder's The Matchmaker, and she appeared in several musicals opposite substantial stars, such as Ray Bolger in All American and Jackie Gleason in Take Me Along. The latter production, a musical version of Eugene O'Neill's Ah, Wilderness (if you can imagine such a thing), snagged Herlie a Tony nomination.

Hurlie joined the cast of All My Children in 1976, and received four Emmy nominations for her work. She remained with the show until her death this week.

Irene Dailey

1920-2008

Another of the many actors I admire because they spent their careers in support, Dailey was usually overshadowed by her older brother, Hollywood hoofer Dan Dailey. She worked steadily in regional theatre and in London before making her Broadway splash as the mother in the original production of The Subject Was Roses. She appeared onstage often throughout her career, including standing by, and eventually taking over, for Irene Worth in Neil Simon's Lost in Yonkers. Her final Broadway performance, in the mid-1990's, was opposite Frank Langella in The Father.

Like so many stage actors of the period, she found her day job in daytime. Dailey spent a year on The Edge of Night, playing murderous socialite Pamela Stuart. Subsequently, she landed the role which would keep her employed for 20 years, busybody Liz Mathews on Another World. In 1979, she won the Emmy for Best Leading Actress for the role, beating out, among other heavy-hitters, the late great Beverlee McKinsey, about whom I have already written.

Dailey passed away from colon cancer last week at the age of 88.

Theatre Droppings: Big Brother and Wee Thomas

I freely confess that I have never been a fan of Orwell's futuristic novel 1984, having been forced to read it in high school. I'm not a fan of anything I was forced to do in high school. Actually, all I remember were those omnipresent television screens, in every corner of every room. I did a lot of things in high school I didn't want anybody else watching, so the idea of those screens gave me the creeps. Ironic, considering nowadays, we spend so many hours of our day peering into screens...

I caught the Catalyst Theatre revival of their adaptation of Orwell's novel, and I still find those screens creepy. Kudos to director Jim Petosa for that, because the screens are never even seen onstage. But when the booming voice of James Konicek interrupts the action onstage with the latest propaganda, and the actors look out into the audience to view the telescreens, we see them too. In fact, the sound design of this production is really the starring character, taking nothing away from the strong work being done by the actors.

It took about 25 more years, but Orwell's vision of Big Brother always watching us via technology has actually come to pass, with much of our everyday lives now under surveillance. So I suppose Orwell is to be commended for his insight. But I confess that I always preferred his examination of communism, Animal Farm:

All animals are created equal.

Some animals are more equal than others.

A couple of weeks after I saw 1984, I popped over to Signature to see their regional premiere of The Lieutenant of Inishmore. This might be the most hilarious show currently onstage in DC, as well as the ickiest. You've never seen so much blood, so many corpses, so many...um...unaesthesticized amputations. Lots of feline fur is flying, too, as the catalyst for this sly examination of terrorism's ruthless inefficiency is a decapitated cat named Wee Thomas. Oh, my goodness. Director Jeremy Skidmore, who in the past occasionally appeared onstage (I played with him in Thief River many moons ago) has really come into his own as a director of substance. I've already written about his Ambition Facing West last season. Here, he is able to wring every laugh out of this gruesome tale, and somehow make every despicable character in the play likeable.

...or at least understandable.

Jeremy cast his show extremely well, beginning with the terrorist at the center of the action, played by Karl Miller. I've been a fan of Miller's since I first saw him sweep down the loading platform at the Clark Street Playhouse in The Maids. In full drag, he completely mesmerized the audience with a ten minute monologue in French. He's matured since then, and is a steely but appealing leading man. He has his hands full in his first appearance in the play, as his partner in the scene is hanging upside down by his ankles, with blood dripping from his feet, and torture devices clamped to his nipples. Talk about upstaging! It wasn't until this poor sod was finally released and up-righted that I saw it was Jason Stiles, who surely is playing the most physically challenging role of anybody's career. Really, while hanging upside down for 10-15 minutes, Jason still hit every character nuance, every moment in the scene. He even got laughs.

Everybody in the show is outstanding, including a real find, Michael McGloin, as the long-haired local boyo sucked into a nightmare. I have not seen McGloin's work before, though his bio reveals substantial local credits. He's one to watch.

Other than McGloin, I had seen all the other performers in other projects except Casie Platt, the lone actress in the cast. Or at least, I thought I'd never seen her before. I never read cast bios until after the performance, so I was sure she was another newbie to me. Not so; I actually saw her in a tricky little play at Catalyst a while back, portraying a mixed-up kid with a fetish for pyrotechnics, called The House is Falling Down, Call Justin Timberlake. OK, that wasn't the actual title, but it was along those lines. Anyway, I absolutely love it when I think someone is brand new to me, and I discover I enjoyed the actor in a previous endeavor, but did not recognize it.

That's a good actor. And this show is full of 'em.

I see England, I see France...

Olney Theatre's current production of Steve Martin's "The Underpants," which I have not seen, received a fairly weak review in today's Washington Post. It caught my eye because, on page one of the Post's style section, letting readers know what's inside, there is a picture, not of Olney's current production, but a picture of the Washington Stage Guild's hit production of the same play from 2003.

I got a giggle out of the mistake, then started to feel a bit bad for the three actors who appeared in that picture from 2003. I hope they don't get any blame for what appears to be a pretty lackluster production.

It reminds me of some trouble I had when I lived in Los Angeles. There was another actor there with my name, though he did not carry my first initial; I'm the only one pompous enough to do that. This other Scott Williams received one of my residual checks once (I never did get that 50 bucks! Thanks, SAG), and another time, I turned to the Arts section of the LA Times and, there on the front page, was a review so scathing it singed my eyebrows. I don't remember the play, it was an original, but the critic cut the production no slack. The worst thing in this debacle, the critic railed, was Scott Williams.

All this on the front page of the Arts section of the LA Times.

The review was continued on page six, which, thankfully, contained a production shot of Scott Williams. He was a 300 pound black man.

I could only hope that everyone who knew me took the time to read the whole article, which exonerated me. You see, I'm the whitest guy ever.

That's not the only other Scott Williams I have run across. I ran into another one while I was in grad school. He was a drag queen in Columbia, SC, and the talent portion of his contests were quite unique. While the other gentlemen all come out and did that annoying lip-sync thing to the latest Madonna tune, this guy, dressed to the nines in sequins, high heels, and huge hair, came out onstage, sat down, and played the violin.

He always won.

Come to think of it, that kid was black, too. I'm beginning to detect a pattern here...

I seem to have wandered off-course a bit. As I said, I have not seen the Olney production of "The Underpants," but I did see the Stage Guild production back in 2003. I loved it. So, to Nigel Reed, Michael Glenn, and Chris Davenport (at right), the three gents who are getting partial blame for the Olney show without actually being in it, let me ease your minds.

Back in 2003, your Underpants gave me great enjoyment.

Lucky 13

After 13 hours of deliberations, exactly 13 years (to the day) after his acquittal: conviction.

Who's Who?

The above video has been making the rounds of late, and I’m posting it here, but not for the reason you might think. In it, a lot of famous folks urge people to register to vote. Everybody I know has been aware of electoral procedures for many moons, and are either avid voters, occasional voters, or complete slackers (you know who you are). But none of those people will be persuaded by a video to suddenly become a better citizen and start voting.

I imagine this video is aimed at younger people who have never been inspired to vote.

The reason, then, that I’m posting this item is: it contains a dozen or more celebrities in short, fun snippets. But here is the disheartening part.

I only know about two-thirds of them.

I am deeply disappointed at my lack of knowledge regarding pop culture and its inhabitants.

So, even though I know this video will not change anyone’s mind about registering to vote (you know who you are), check it out anyway, and see if you can identify who the hell everybody is...

Oh, and by the way, if you live in California, and you fail to vote no on Prop 8, you have no one but yourself to blame when the right-wingers win, and the right to marry is forbidden to all in your tribe.