William Gibson

1914-2008

He was a novelist and a poet, but Gibson was primarily known as a playwright and occasional screenwriter. He had two back-to-back Broadway hits in the late 1950s.

Two for the Seesaw, for which he won a Tony nomination, starred Anne Bancroft and Henry Fonda:

A year later, he provided Bancroft and a very young Patty Duke with career-making roles in The Miracle Worker:

Recreating their stage roles, both Duke and Bancroft won Oscars for the screen adaptation. Gibson won a Tony for the play, and an Oscar nomination for his film.

In 1964, he adapted the Clifford Odets 1930s play about boxing into the musical Golden Boy, earning another Tony nomination and providing Sammy Davis, Jr. a star turn. His Two for the Seesaw was adapted into the musical Seesaw in 1973, a production which launched the career of Tommy Tune as a dancer and choreographer (Tune won the first of his nine Tonys for his supporting role. Above are Michelle Lee, a shaggy-haired Tune, and Ken Howard in Seesaw).

In 1968, Gibson provided the Lincoln Center Repertory A Cry of Players, the fictionalized story of a young Will Shakespeare, stuck in an unhappy marriage and miserably employed by his father in Stratford. The play ran in rep with King Lear, and had a starry cast including Frank Langella and Anne Bancroft as the Shakespeares, with Rene Auberjonois, Stephen Elliott, Rosetta LeNoire, and Kristopher Tabori in support (a very young Paul Rudd was in the ensemble). I confess to a fondness for this play, as it provided me with a juicy role in my undergrad days, as Arthur, the young boy in the traveling players who always played the women.

I seem to have wandered into Memoryland here. Back to Gibson's obit:

Gibson continued to write for the stage, providing a flop sequel to The Miracle Worker called Monday After the Miracle, and a solo piece about Golda Meir, Golda's Balcony. The latter was a success for Tovah Feldshuh, who continues to perform the piece, and for Valerie Harper, left, who appeared in the national tour and the screen version.

Gibson continues to be remembered primarily for The Miracle Worker, which is constantly revived in community and educational settings, and has seen several television versions as well. In an interview several years ago, Gibson revealed this fun tidbit: in the original script, there was no mention of Annie Sullivan's Irish brogue, as the woman did not have one. But original star Anne Bancroft was having trouble dropping the very Noo Yawk accent she had been using for a year in Two for the Seesaw. Director Arthur Penn suggested the brogue, and it stuck. The role is now traditionally played with an Irish accent.

Coincidentally, local theatre Rep Stage is currently prepping Gibson's holiday play, The Butterfingers Angels, Mary & Joseph, Herod the Nut, & The Slaughter of 12 Hit Carols in a Pear Tree (here is a production shot of star Tim Pabon).

Gibson died this week at the age of 94.

s'Newz

...an occasional series mentioning current events which lately held my interest...

The belief that stock brokers, during the big crash of 1929, were leaping out of windows has been pretty much debunked as myth these days. But this actually happened: the current world-wide financial meltdown caused a Brazilian trader to shoot himself in the chest on the floor of the stock market. Ouch.







I was sorry to hear that one of my favorite comic actresses, Cloris Leachman, sought medical help this week for difficulty breathing. She apparently has pneumonia, and is home recuperating. I really am hoping she is not going to die, as her obituary would be dominated by her recent flamboyant stint on Dancing With the Stars. I have never watched an episode of the program (I avoid reality television), but clips of her antics have been hard to ignore, as they've been everywhere. That's OK, but I have such respect for the woman's talent that I really hope she gains some distance from the show before leaving us forever. She is reportedly the most "awarded" actress ever, with an Oscar, numerous Emmys, and even more Golden Globes and critics' circle awards. She first came to my attention as Phyllis on Mary Tyler Moore's sitcom, for which she won her first two Emmys. Somehow, she was able to make the self-centered character endearing. During her first year or so on the program, she won the Oscar for a highly dramatic role in The Last Picture Show, leaving no doubt of her versatility. With that history, I think it would be a crying shame if she were to be eulogized as that buxom broad who refused to act her age on a reality program.


Here's the most ironic story I caught this week. The late George Carlin, about whom I have already written, posthumously received the Mark Twain Prize for Comedy at the Kennedy Center in a ceremony which was held, and videotaped, this week. The television special covering the event will be broadcast in 2009. Carlin was famous for a lot of things, one of which was his infamous routine regarding the Seven Dirty Words You Can't Say on Television. During this week's ceremony, a video clip of that routine was shown to the audience, and was bleeped. Onstage. Live. I'm not talking about the TV tape which will be broadcast, which can certainly be censured during post-production; I mean that the tape of his routine shown to the live, in-person audience in the theatre at the Kennedy Center, was bleeped. I've had a little bit of experience with censorship at KenCen, though in this instance, the administration at the Kennedy Center disavowed putting any pressure on the producers of the show to censure this tape.

Carlin, wherever he is, is probably tearing his few remaining hairs out...

This last item reflects a sensibility which is creative, charitable, provocative, and kind of icky, simultaneously. Daniel Radcliff, the planet's most famous student wizard, will soon be wrapping up his Broadway stint as the sexually confused teen-aged horse-abuser in Equus. This particular production of the play is to be commended for its determination to raise funds for Broadway Cares / Equity Fights Aids (BC/EFA). Recently, they auctioned off various items associated with the play, including a signed script belonging to Kate Mulgrew, who is playing the judge in the piece. Her script brought a pretty penny from some star-crossed Trekkie. But there may be pandemonium in the theatre soon, as three matinee performances have been pegged to host another auction. This time, audience members will have the chance to buy the very pair of jeans worn by Radcliff during the performance. Our hunky Harry Potter will take his curtain call, dash backstage, strip off the jeans he wore throughout the performance (except when he was naked), and carry them back onstage to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. He'll even sign the skanky pants.

...I just have to let that image lay there for a while...

Friday Dance Party: It's Miller Time

With a nod to Larry Dalke's weekly Dance Party (his entry this week is truly hilarious, check it out at http://ldahlke.wordpress.com/2008/11/21/friday-dance-party-5-the-tantrum/), please enjoy the above clip. The commercial was shot in 1970, when it was extremely rare for a star to appear in TV ads. At the time, with a budget reportedly well over 160 grand, this was the most expensive commercial ever produced. Everybody loved the spot but hated the product, which disappeared soon after this commercial ran.

Return of the Happy Dance

Many moons ago, I mentioned that I had purchased a scrumptious lobster tail to celebrate some terrific news which I was sure was forthcoming. That tail has been gathering frost in my freezer ever since.

It's been a long summer (and beyond) of inactivity for me, though I had some fun working on a film, and spent several days training young lawyers how to examine witnesses (that's not as provocative as it sounds). But I never really feel I'm working unless I'm in a show. As a result, I cast my net beyond the DC area, and spent several days auditioning for The Producers in Connecticut, and before that, attended a general audition for an up-and-coming theatre in North Carolina while I visited the pater.

More recently, I spent at least a month auditioning at a tiny theatre in Annapolis, for a production of The Fantasticks. I have unfinished business with the musical The Fantasticks, but that is another blog entry. Suffice it to say that, for now, that business will remain unfinished.

Though I confess I've been concerned about the lack of work, I am used to these periods of inactivity. My career has always had an ebb and flow to it; I tend to work a lot all at once, then remain unemployed for a while. Gladly, the current slump has come to an end, and there is once again Happy Dancing around here. That general audition I had in North Carolina at the beginning of the summer, after a loooong gestation period, yielded fruit, and I will be traveling back to NC in January for a brand new adventure. I'll be returning to the challenging world of Tom Stoppard (I did Arcadia a while back), tackling his first play.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern may end up dead, but not before I strut some stuff.

Tonight, I'm defrosting that lobster tail.

Boy-on-Boycotts

When I entered grad school in the early 90s, I was surprised that no one in the gay community in South Carolina seemed aware of the Hit List. It's what we in Los Angeles informally called the group of corporations which had a history of contributing to anti-gay, anti-women, anti-human causes. Domino's Pizza neared the head of that list, as did Carl's Jr hamburgers, and especially Coors. That Colorado based beer company was at the time controlled by the Coors family, a group of right wing nut jobs who donated millions and millions of dollars to stamp out equality for everybody except white men. After a long (over a decade I think) boycott by the progressive community, the Coors company ousted its founders as CEOs, and reversed their positions, even offering domestic partnerships to their employees.

I've been thinking about that particular boycott, even as I now have Coors Light in my fridge. The Coors family still sits on the board of directors of that particular beer company, and receives profits from every can of beer I buy. And while the company which makes the brew is now progressive, the family is decidedly not. They helm a foundation which continues to do damage to equal rights around the country. So, technically, I am still funding hatred toward my own tribe and others.

This topic has reared its head in the past few weeks since the passage of Prop H8 in California. Due to the massive financial support the "Yes on 8" faction received from the Mormon church, the Marriott corporation has come under attack from those who want equal rights for all. Originally founded by a Mormon family, the company is currently being headed by Bill Marriott, himself a Mormon. Amid cries for a boycott, Marriott issued a sweeping statement which, while falling short of supporting equal rights, made clear his company's innocence of any wrongdoing:

As many of you may know I'm a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Some might conclude given my family's membership in the Mormon Church that our company supported the recent ballot initiative to ban same sex marriage in California. This is simply untrue. Marriott International is a public company headquartered in Bethesda, Maryland, and is not controlled by any one individual or family. Neither I, nor the company, contributed to the campaign to pass Proposition 8.

Thanks for clearing that up, Bill. But as a Mormon, I'm sure you tithe, right? Every good Mormon does, in substantial amounts. So while your corporation steered clear of the Prop 8 mess, you still handed over 10% or more of your gross income to your church, which in turn poured millions into the "Yes on 8" campaign. Did you stand up at any of your church meetings and denounce your church's stand, or even decline to contribute monetarily to it?

I find myself unable to accept Marriott's claims of innocence. But his attitude is at least understandable. I lived in Utah for a summer, and am well aware of the stubborn prejudice of that state's citizens. All he did was be a Mormon.

Another betrayal hits much closer to home. Once the list of individual contributors to the "Yes on 8" campaign was made public, actors and others who scoured the list were astounded to discover that the artistic director of one of California's leading musical theatres had contributed $1,000 toward passage of the amendment. Scott Eckern of the California Musical Theatre, a Mormon if you couldn't guess, expressed disappointment and surprise that his donation angered the gay community, a community in which he has worked for many years. It's astonishing to me that this guy works day in and day out among dozens of gays, and still sent a thousand dollars to a campaign to rob them of marital rights. His participation ignited a firestorm, including a personal phone call to him from Tony-winner Marc Shaiman, the composer of Hairspray, who promised that no theatrical work under his control would ever be performed at the theatre. The producer of Broadway's Avenue Q, which had granted rights to CMT for a production this season, stopped short of yanking those rights ("we don't break contracts"), but members of the creative team were considering writing a new song about Eckern's contribution toward bigotry and placing it in the show.

Of course, this guy has every right to believe what he believes, and to contribute his own money anywhere he pleases. But Shaiman and other artists also have the right to refuse to allow their work to earn money for those who contribute to bigotry. As that Avenue Q producer said:

“That a man who makes his living exclusively through the musical theater could do something so hurtful to the community that forms his livelihood is a punch in the stomach. He didn’t just vote for it. One thousand dollars is a lot of money for an artistic director of a nonprofit.”

As news of Eckern's stand against same-sex marriage spread, he backpedaled furiously by contributing another grand to the Human Rights Campaign (HRC), but the damage of his innate bigotry was already done. California Musical Theatre accepted Eckern's resignation on Wednesday.

Blame Larry

My buddy Larry has proclaimed every Friday to be a Dance Party on his blog (http://ldahlke.wordpress.com/), and in the spirit of copycatdom, I present the above video.

Frankly, I think our Larry is confused about exactly what "dance" is. In the four weeks since he has inaugurated his Friday Dance Party, he has featured only one segment which contained dancing. Otherwise, he has presented rodents dancing, skeletons dancing, and, inexplicably, a steel-drum band who did nothing but stand still.

So, to help our Larry out, because we love him even as he becomes more and more confused, I offer the above video. These nine-year olds are actually DANCING...

s'Newz

...another in an occasional series mentioning current events which caught my interest this week...

It looks like Jane Fonda is returning to Broadway after 46 years. During that brief hiatus, she won two Oscars, an Emmy, and the enmity of a lot of folks who called her Hanoi Jane. Even she now admits those photos of herself yucking it up with the Viet Cong during the Vietnam War were ill-advised. After a long period of self-imposed retirement, during her marriage to Ted Turner, she has returned to prominence as an elder stateswoman of the arts. I run hot and cold on Fonda, and not because of her political stances, upon most of which I agree with her. I'm not really sure she's as strong an actress as she's given credit being. Back when she was rebelling against her sex-pot image, she was trying to stretch herself (The China Syndrome comes to mind), and no one can argue with her Oscar winning work. Although I enjoyed her in Julia, the fact is she vanished in her scenes with Vanessa Redgrave, with Jason Robards, and even in her short scene with Meryl Streep (Streep is fabulous in her cameo appearance in the film). I admire her for snagging the film rights to the stage play On Golden Pond for the express purpose of appearing in it with her father. But here again, though she won an Oscar nomination for her work, she just couldn't keep up with her co-stars. Henry Fonda and Katherine Hepburn wiped the screen with her; even the little boy in the film fared better.










Speaking of actors who are well-known (and often ridiculed) for their political views, I was amused by the story of Tim Robbins on Election Day. There was some foul-up at his polling place in New York, but instead of giving up, Robbins pursued the error all day, ending up in court, where a judge ordered that he be allowed to vote. I'm loving that determination, particularly since we all know for whom he was voting, and New York was clearly going to Obama anyway. His particular vote was not going to make any difference, but he persevered. Democracy at work.





There was some sad news from the regional theatre front last week. Robin Farquhar, the long-time executive artistic director of the Flat Rock Playhouse in North Carolina, committed suicide. This sorry event happened just a day after the theatre had dedicated its new building which houses its educational wing. Farquhar took over the reins of the theatre from his father Robroy Farquhar, who himself had founded the theatre in 1952. I can't claim to have known Robin, though I met him once years ago, at a large cattle call audition in New York. I did not let him know at the time that the Flat Rock Playhouse held a special spot in my life. Back when I was a pre-teen, I spent several weeks every summer with the grandfolks in Hendersonville, NC. For reasons which escape me now, my grandmother one day announced that we were driving "down the mountain" to see a matinee at the Flat Rock Playhouse. I had never seen a play before. The show was Look Homeward Angel, and it made a lasting impression on me. In short, I was hooked. I knew that I wanted to have a career on the stage, and I owe that realization to the Farquhar family of director/producers.

Finally, this tidbit gave me the giggles and the icks at the same time. Last week, a packed house at the 9:30 club (a rock club featuring live music here in DC) was treated to an indoor shower. In the midst of a concert by a Grateful Dead tribute band, several patrons started to feel liquid streaming down on their heads. Looking up, they saw a grinning man leaning over the balcony, pissing on them. The man was arrested, and it was discovered that he was a Jersey City councilman. Spokesmen for the council assured reporters that Steve Lipinski, the Urinator in question, was a caring human being who always put the needs of others above his own. Lipinski himself apologized several days later, claiming to be an alcoholic who had fallen off the wagon at the concert. He was arrested for simple assault.

I'm sure it's not the first time a crowd got pissed by a politician.