Things I Learned From The Civil War

...no, not that Civil War. I mean The Civil War currently playing at Ford’s Theatre in DC. It’s Frank Wildhorn’s musical version. Except it’s not really a musical. It’s more of a concert, really. Except it’s not really a concert, either. I’ve just checked the program, which calls it a “Song Cycle.” I’ll buy that. Actually, it’s more of a “Song Circle.” The songs circle round and round and round the subject, like the nifty turntable which circles the show’s onstage orchestra.



Which brings me to the first thing I learned from The Civil War: turntables are awfully fun. Especially when someone is walking on one while it is moving in the opposite direction. It’s really fun to watch somebody walking but not getting anywhere. I also learned that a turntable should be used very sparingly when transporting a single, solitary person on and off stage. It sort of makes the performer look like a manikin (there are manikins in this play, too, by the way). The Civil War already has a museum quality to it, which is not helped by the sight of lone actors slowly circling onstage to begin their big number.


What else did I learn from The Civil War? Well, here’s a biggie I learned right up front: the Civil War was only about slavery. Not about regionalism between North, South, and West. Certainly not about States’ Rights vs. Federalism. Not about anything but slavery. This was big news to me; my teachers in grade school spelled out at least three major reasons for the war. But Frank Wildhorn has decided there really was only one cause, and who can blame him? Songs about freedom and slavery and being sold as property and those terrible things, they practically write themselves. On the other hand, songs about political, governmental self-determination must be impossible to write, and really boring, too. I bet not even Stephen Sondheim could do it! Well, actually, he kind of did, in Pacific Overtures, when he wrote the Act II opener (above), all about various foreign governments forcing changes on Japan. Never mind, I never should have brought that up. It does Wildhorn no favors to appear in the same paragraph with Sondheim.



Let’s see, I learned many more things from The Civil War. I learned the talented Chris Sizemore (right) has a great pair of lungs. And a great pair of arms, too. His solo number, “Sarah,” is a standout. So are those biceps in that sleeveless shirt. In fact, everybody looks really good in their costumes, which are contemporary, but with a subtle “period” slant. I think they work great. And it sets up the final moment of the show, when the entire cast suddenly appears onstage dressed in period clothes. The moment is startling, and strikingly effective. (I think I read a review that did not like it, but they are wrong. It’s a quick but stunning moment.)




By the way, I also learned that EVERYBODY looks good in white choir robes.




In terms of learning things, well, I already knew that Stephen Gregory Smith (left) has a great set of pipes. Everybody in town knows that. But did you know he can also blow horns? I didn't, but he can, and he does a bang-up job. I wonder how he learned to pucker so well... I loved his little moment as a dying soldier, asking a nurse to read from the Bible. That reminds me of something else I learned: this show could use more little moments like that. There is almost no book here, but one of the most moving moments (in addition to the nurse sequence) comes when a Union and a Confederate soldier have the briefest of conversations with each other. They don’t SING to each other, they talk to each other, and the scene is heartbreaking in its simplicity. It couldn’t be more than two minutes long, but it is a highlight of the production.





Oh, that reminds me of another thing I learned. Just because an actor appeared on Broadway, it doesn’t mean he’s a dynamic performer. And when somebody is sitting alone onstage, strumming a guitar and singing a ballad, he really needs to be a dynamic performer.






But you know who IS a dynamic performer? My grad school buddy Elliot Dash, who has matured into an actor of depth and gravitas (I mentioned that a while ago, after I saw him in Driving Miss Daisy). Also, I learned from The Civil War that Elliot can hit bass notes. I thought he was a tenor! I can now see Showboat in his future...or at least Big River.






What else? Well, I learned that gospel music, when sung well, never gets old. It’s sung REALLY well here, and it never gets old. But when Power Ballad is piled upon Power Ballad, well, that gets old. No matter how well they are performed (and here, they are performed VERY well).




I learned that playing the keyboard is great for the biceps. Both Jay Crowder and Howard Breitbart tinkle the ivories in the show’s orchestra, and they are doing us all a FINE favor by wearing short sleeve shirts. In fact, they should be required to wear short sleeve shirts, cuz, you know, if you got great guns, let us enjoy them, too.


I also learned that, onstage, the more often actors shake each others’ hands, or pat each other on the back, or hug each other in that “aren’t we best buddies?” kind of way, the more artificial it seems.
I learned that the pronunciation of the word “scourge” rhymes with “gorge.” That is indeed a surprise. I was taught that the pronunciation of the word “scourge” rhymes with “merge.” I just looked it up in my old-fashioned dictionary (you know, the one that sits on your bookshelf, rather than the one which resides in your Microsoft Word), and “Scourge” does indeed rhyme with “merge.” Well, the word was mispronounced by actor Michael Goodwin, and was probably a slip of the tongue. He will correct it in subsequent performances, I’m sure. Except that Goodwin’s performance in The Civil War is all on tape, as he recites various writings of Abe Lincoln. So, when Ford’s Theatre went into the studio and recorded these snippets, nobody noticed that Goodwin was mispronouncing the word “scourge.” Now, they’re stuck with it. The show's press boasted that these pre-recorded speeches were going to be delivered by Hal Holbrook, but I guess that plan fell through. Perhaps Hal disagreed with Ford's on the pronunciation of certain words...

Hey, I learned that, even after a multi-million dollar renovation, the sight lines at Ford’s Theatre still suck. I hate those columns in the audience. I’m always sitting behind one. And it’s pretty frustrating to be seated in orchestra seats but miss many of the swift projections which apparently add depth to the show, because the floor of the balcony is in the way. I bet those projections were great. Wish I could have seen them.

Well, I whined a while ago about trying to see The Civil War on a discounted rate, which ballooned an additional nine dollars when being sold online BY A COMPUTER, so I am very glad I ended up seeing the show anyway. It’s a very strong cast, and probably the best production, concept-wise, this piece is ever likely to receive.

Dom DeLuise

1933-2009

After graduating from Manhattan's High School of the Performing Arts, DeLuise knocked around New York without much success. He actually attended Tufts College to study biology, with plans to become a teacher. He had a bit of a stage career early on, including a few seasons at the Cleveland Playhouse, some summer stock in Provincetown, Mass. (where he met comic actress Carol Arthur, left, who became his wife of 44 years), and a stint on Broadway in Here's Love (much later, he returned to Broadway to replace James Coco in Last of the Red-Hot Lovers). His first noticeable film role, a nervous sergeant in the cold-war thriller Fail-Safe (1964), was not indicative of his later career. ("I became a comedian when they laughed at my serious acting," he said.) Instead, his physical shtick in the Doris Day flick The Glass Bottom Boat that same year reflects the talent which would make him a major supporting player in film comedies and TV variety shows.

Dom was part of the comic ensemble of the early 60s program The Entertainers, alongside Carol Burnett, Bob Newhart, Ruth Buzzi (at right) and John Davidson, and he created "Dominick the Great," a hapless magician, for Garry Moore's variety show. The character was popular enough to become an early trademark of Dom's, who took it to Dean Martin's show and parlayed the routine into a substantial career on all the variety programs of the 60s and 70s. He headlined his own summer replacement series in 1968, and was a regular sketch performer on both Glen Campbell's and Dean Martin's shows in the early 70s.

DeLuise provided several over-the-top comic cameos in films of the late 60s, but it was his performance as a money-mad priest in 1970's The Twelve Chairs (left)which brought him in contact with the man most responsible for his movie career, Mel Brooks. The film, produced early in Brooks's career (back when Mel cared a little about plot, and before his movies became a string of comic bits), is not remembered as one of Brooks's great achievements, though I find it far more satisfying than many of his broader hits. (Take a look at it if you haven't seen it; Ron Moody is a comic powerhouse in the film, and a young Frank Langella makes a terrific leading man.) As a result of The Twelve Chairs, Dom became a member of Mel Brooks's stable of stars, appearing in Blazing Saddles, Silent Movie, History of the World Part One (right, as Nero) and Robin Hood: Men in Tights.

Dom spent the majority of his career "in support," including a string of films starring his friend Burt Reynolds (the Cannonball Run series, The End, The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas). Around the time Mel Brooks and Burt Reynolds began to fade from the frontlines, television variety shows were also petering out. For a sketch comedian like Dom DeLuise, this could have spelled extinction, but he continued his career as a voice-over artist in such cartoon franchises as An American Tail and the All Dogs Go To Heaven series (and he contributed a memorable vocal performance in Mel Brooks's Star Wars parody Spaceballs, playing Pizza the Hutt.)

In his later life, Dom parlayed his lifelong love of food into a second career as a celebrity chef, authoring several cookbooks and appearing on talk shows to prepare various recipes. Food, in fact, was a major problem for DeLuise throughout his life, as he battled obesity in his middle and later years. His hip-replacement surgeon flatly refused to operate until he lost 100 of his 325 pounds. Dom's self-professed obsession with food mirrored that of the rare leading character he had played in Fatso (1980), a dark comedy directed by, and costarring, Anne Bancroft.

Dom DeLuise was known throughout his career as a physically expressive comedian, whose rotund body seemed to help, rather than hinder, his physical agility. As proof, please enjoy the following clip of his early work, in 1964's The Glass Bottom Boat (and don't ignore Doris Day in the scene; she was not known for her physical comedy, but here, she holds her own).

Dom DeLuise died yesterday at the age of 75.

He is survived by his wife Carol, and sons Peter, Michael, and David, all of whom are actors.

Ernie Barnes

1938-2009

Don't recognize this guy's name? I didn't, but I recognize his most famous work. Barnes had a dual career; not only was he an artist, he was also (are you ready?) a professional football player. He went to college to study art, and ended up playing ball for the Denver Broncos among other pro teams. He used to sketch the defensive lineman who would be opposing him each week. His most famous work was featured in the credits of the 70s sitcom Good Times; it also appeared on an album by Marvin Gaye. Farewell to the artist of The Sugar Shack.

Theatre Droppings: Art, Science, and Rock 'n Roll

I drove back down to North Carolina this week, in time for a mini-family reunion and to catch a couple of swells before their shows closed. But before leaving DC, I popped over to see Studio Theatre's latest Stoppard rant, Rock 'n' Roll. They did a bang-up Invention of Love a long while back, and since then, have become one of the leading interpreters of Stoppard's plays in the area. I was interested to see my young SSMT cohort (that's Shenandoah Summer Music Theatre, a stock company where I work on occasion) Atom Pribila, who snagged a role in the show, and has been imported from New York by Studio.

The show is presented in the round. Atom makes a big splash in the first moments of the play, leaping onto a wall and blowing a pipe in a drug-induced vision of one of the major characters. Wouldn't you know, I happened to be sitting in the one section of the theatre to which Atom's back was turned, so I did not get a good look at his brief performance. (Our section DID get a good look at his bum, though; during his crouching on the wall, his pants slipped below the equator. So we got our own treat.)

Otherwise, I had no trouble at all with the circular staging, which brought the story right into our laps. Ted van Griethuysen, playing a die-hard Communist professor, has never made a wrong move in any piece in which I have seen him, and here, he makes every explosive argument logical and clear. Lisa Harrow, whom I just saw emote the pants off Ion's mother at The Shakespeare Theatre, delivers a, pardon the pun, harrowing portrayal of dying wife Eleanor. This performance was so intricately nuanced that I could hardly stand it, having had some personal experience with breast cancer death. Her very specific, unforgettable portrayal of Eleanor gave me trouble in Rock 'n' Roll's second act, in which the actress plays her own daughter as an adult. The problem here was mine, not the actress's; Harrow's scenes with Ted, as husband and wife, were so painfully effective that I had real trouble in Act II, in which the same actors played father and daughter. I'm a bit embarrassed that such a cosmetic aspect of a production would throw me, but it did. Stafford Clark-Price, who is new to me, was quite wonderful in the central role of Jan (he's been getting a bit of flack elsewhere for delivering a non-specific performance, but I had no such trouble.)

Back in Asheville, I caught NC Stage's closing performance of A Number, a densely constructed one-act by Caryl Churchill. This two-hander starred Charlie Flynn-McIver, whom I had previously admired in Stones in His Pockets, and a gent named Graham Smith, who is new to me. Both actors were terrific, as was the production as a whole, all about the possible repercussions of human cloning. The company's playing area was converted so the show could be performed in the round, an unusual configuration for NC Stage, but I thought very effective. This tightly acted piece benefited from being placed so close to the audience. Coincidentally, the onlookers included a handful of folks from my recent experience with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, so I had some fun catching up on everybody's news. That's really the reason we go to the theatre, isn't it? To catch up on everybody's news?

Even more coincidentally, I sat next to an actor I saw just the day before in Art: Scott Treadway, one of the honchos at Flat Rock Playhouse. (Scott was also in that Stones in His Pockets I mentioned earlier; the theatrical community in this area is very close-knit.) I was glad to get the opportunity to let Scott know how hilarious his production of Art had been. I've seen the show more than a few times over the years, as it's frequently produced on regional stages; in fact, I saw the original Broadway production about two years into its run. By then, the headliners were Alan Alda and George Wendt, but Billy Munoz and Damian Duke Domingue, who played the same roles at Flat Rock, were much more entertaining. This was the funniest production of the play I have seen, and also the most clear. The repartee among the guys morphed from discussions about art to the more substantial topics of the meaning, the necessity, and the boundaries of friendship. I understand the three actors, who all work at Flat Rock Playhouse in various other capacities, are great friends, and it showed.

Working with your friends...that's why we do it, isn't it?

s'Newz

...an occasional series of stories which recently caught my eye...

You can find someone doing something stupid anywhere, anytime, but this is one of the best in recent memory. I'm sure everybody recalls this idiotic woman, who cheerfully climbed into the bear pit at the Berlin zoo to play with the fully grown polar bears during feeding time. She was astonished, I suppose, when her projected playmate, Knut, mauled her. Was this woman drunk? Intellectually impaired? Just looking for attention? The only real problem I have with this story was its conclusion; zoo caretakers hauled the stupid cow out of the pit and saved her life.

I'm with the bear on this one.


Here's another, sadder story which causes the head to itch. Last week, George Zinkhan, a mild-mannered professor of Business and Marketing at the University of Georgia, drove his two children, aged 8 and 10, to a party being attended by his wife. He left the kids in the car while he opened fire on his spouse, killing her and two others, before returning to the car and driving off with his kids. He went to a neighbor's house and asked if the children could be left there for a while, then disappeared. He's still at large, though his jeep was found in a ditch. This kind of violence is nothing new these days, but what caught my eye was this: the party was being given by the volunteers of the local community theatre, where the wife was the president and leading actress. (The other two fatalities were the guys who handled most of the tech for the group.) As I've written previously, I spent a good bit of time working in community theatre in Los Angeles, and without a doubt, I can imagine someone wanting to kill the president of that group, but I still feel for this troop. How are these poor schnooks at the Town and Gown Players in Athens, GA, going to put on their plays without tech?

The Washington Post yesterday mentioned a sign of the current times. At a State Department reception Thursday night, before Hillary Clinton began shaking hands along the receiving line, everyone present was offered hand sanitizer.

Finally, it looks like the infamous Glory Days may be getting some respect. I wrote about the show during its premiere at Signature Theatre a year ago, where it was successful enough for some foolish producers to transfer the piece, with no retooling, to Broadway. It played 17 preview performances to lackluster houses, then closed after its Opening Night, an extremely rare occurrence for a musical these days. It was ruled ineligible for Tony Award consideration due to its short life. But a year later, the show is being resurrected in Tokyo, and will star Japanese recording group Attack All Around. Though this production will be in Japanese, it could jumpstart interest in the show here. Though I disliked it (or rather, didn't quite get it), it has a few pluses. The show requires only four teen-age actors, one set, and a small rock band. I can see it having an afterlife in high schools and college drama programs. The only problem here: the show's cast consists of four BOYS; everybody knows drama departments in schools are overrun with teen aged GIRLS.

"Hello, Copy? Get me rewrite!"

Friday Dance Party: "Musclehead" Manning

1914-2009

One of the pioneers of the Lindy Hop in the 1930s and '40s, Frankie "Musclehead" Manning was a featured dancer at Harlem's Savoy Ballroom when he invented his signature "airstep move," in which his partner was tossed into the air, landing on the beat. It was the first step in the evolution of the Lindy Hop, an exhilarating, acrobatic swing dance which became the rage in pre-World War II dance clubs. Many of the moves are preserved in this week's Dance Party, from 1941's Hellzapoppin'.

As be-bop jazz, and later rock-and-roll, became popular, Manning left the business and worked 30 years as a clerk at the Post Office. His dance career revived in the 80s, and in 1989, he won the Tony for his choreography of Black and Blue. He taught Denzel Washington the Lindy Hop for Malcolm X (the dance takes its name from a dancer's exclamation, "We Flyin' like Lindy!", a reference to aviator Charles Lindbergh), and he choreographed for Alvin Ailey and other dance ensembles. This clip is a terrific example of the exuberance which accompanies the dance, as the couples propel each other into the air, over the back, through the legs, and into any other available space between partners. Manning is the dancer in overalls who gets kicked in the butt by his partner:

Frankie "Musclehead" Manning died this week at age 94.

In Praise of the Sidekick

The last day or so, I've been thinking about a coincidence. The same weekend during which I was invited to perform one of the most famous sidekick roles in American Musical Theatre, Beatrice Arthur died. As I previously wrote, before Arthur was a TV star, she originated memorable roles in two iconic musicals, Fiddler on the Roof and Mame. In the latter, she won the Tony Award, and created what may be the finest sidekick ever to show up on Broadway.

The sidekick has a glorious history in the American Musical Theatre, and I've been lucky enough to play a couple. At Shenandoah Summer Music Theatre, for example, I played sidekick "Jeff" to leading man "Tommy" in Brigadoon, one of the chestnuts of the canon. (In those older shows, the leading man rarely had any laughs, so the sidekick got them.) I have a deep respect for the sidekick, and Bea Arthur's performance as Vera Charles in Mame was one of the true greats.

I think the mark of a great sidekick role comes during the moments when both the leading player and the best friend (the sidekick seems always to be a BFF) are onstage and interacting together. The clip below proves the point. During one of the Tony Award shows which Angela Lansbury hosted, she reunited with Bea Arthur to recreate their showstopping duet from Mame.

Tonight, in fact just a few moments ago, the lights of Broadway's marquees were dimmed for a minute, to commemorate Beatrice Arthur. That honor is reserved for those who have made a distinct, lasting contribution to the American Theatre. In Arthur's case, that contribution included the creation of one of the most memorable sidekicks ever: