Friday Dance Party: Lads from Liverpool

The stars of this week's Dance Party do precious little dancing (and by "precious little," I mean none), but when has that ever stopped me?

The following clip has some personal significance for me. In 1965, The Beatles were already a world-wide phenomenon, with huge hits on the charts, and their famous appearances on the Ed Sullivan Show already behind them. Though they had toured quite a bit in Europe, the Beatles had not performed a live concert in the US. They changed that on August 15, 1965, with this appearance at Shea Stadium in New York. The fact that there is news footage of the concert proves that the guys generated mainstream media attention, even back then. Not only was this concert a first for the Beatles (that is, their first American concert), it also changed the way music concerts were presented. Their appearance at a sports stadium was a first for a musical act; the superstars of today can thank The Beatles for proving that people will attend a concert in a sports arena, an arrangement which is now common.

There is a personal reason I enjoy this clip. Two nights after that history-making concert in New York, I saw The Beatles at Atlanta Stadium. My parents had succumbed to the entreaties of my older sister, who was a big fan of the Fab Four, and bought tickets for us to attend the Atlanta concert. I have very few memories of the event (I was quite young), though the following clip is a pretty decent account of the things I remember most: screaming teen-aged girls. We were seated in the nose-bleed section, and the performers were mere ants on a stage plopped on the mound of the baseball diamond. I don't remember hearing any of the music, only the screams of the girls surrounding us.

My sister, age 12, had more composure than others, perhaps because my father was with us as chaperon. My parents went through a whole lot of trouble to get us to a 30 minute concert which we could not hear nor see clearly, but I am awfully glad they did. The Beatles gave fewer than 50 American concerts in their entire career; only a year after I saw them, they gave up on performing live, and who could blame them? How much artistic satisfaction could they get with the chaos which surrounded their live appearances? Despite the fact that their extraordinary musical output continued for another five years or so, they could not be persuaded to return to the concert stage.

In my adult life, whenever The Beatles come up in conversation, I can be counted upon to bring up the fact that I saw them in concert. Other than my father and sister, I have never run across anyone else who saw them perform live. I've been "dining out" on that event for decades.

I'm glad to have come across this clip for the Dance Party. It shows me some of what was happening on the stage, and in the audience, during that concert I attended, and barely remember, back in 1965.

Everybody knows John (they don't need last names, do they?) was assassinated in 1980, and George died of cancer in 2001. Paul, who was knighted in 1997, is in the Guinness Book of World Records as the most successful composer of popular music. Ringo turned 70 years old on Wednesday.

He Was the Very Martin of the Bader Ginsburg Marital

Martin Ginsburg

1932-2010

His marriage to Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg had just begun its 57th year when he died last week from cancer. They met on a blind date, as undergraduates at Cornell in the early 50s. They both became lawyers of note, with Marty's specialty tax law. He practiced with several firms in New York and DC, and became a professor at Georgetown University when his wife was appointed to the DC appeals court by Jimmy Carter. The Ginsburgs were one of DC's most visible couples, and Martin, though well-known in tax law circles, had no problem with the spotlight being turned so much more often on his wife.

He had a smart, self-deprecating sense of humor, about both himself and his wife. His story of her first attempt at tuna casserole has become legend. Seeing the two of them together was pretty precious. I should know, as I met, and performed for them, twice.


(You don't mind if this obit wanders off into Me-land, do you?) The first time was just a few years after I arrived in DC. I was a member of a musical revue which presented satirical songs of a political nature, called Mrs. Foggybottom and Friends (Foggy Bottom is the high-class neighborhood which houses the Watergate, as well as the Kennedy Center and George Washington University). Our little troop performed for various corporate functions, and were occasionally hired to provide entertainment at private parties.



One such event actually happened in one of the swanky Watergate Apartments, and the Ginsburgs were guests (they lived in the building for years). It was the first time I had performed our very political material for such high-level politicos, but the show went off well, and we were congratulated by Madam Justice and her husband. (I remember being surprised that Justice Antonin Scalia was also at the party; I would learn later that, though Ruth and Tony were on opposite sides of the political spectrum, they enjoyed each others' company and the Ginsburgs and Scalias saw each other often socially).

I wouldn't be able to spend an evening with that right winger, so I give kudos to the Ginsburgs.

Several years later, the Ginsburgs were responsible for one of the most memorable evenings I have ever spent as a performer. Back in early 2001, I was asked to participate in an evening's entertainment being planned for Martin Ginsburg's birthday party. Interact Theatre Co., with whom I had done Christmas at the Old Bull and Bush the previous holiday season, was hired by Ruth Bader Ginsburg to provide the entertainment at a lavish birthday party she was throwing for her husband. At the Supreme Court. Yep, the members of the Supreme Court have access to various large banquet-type halls in the building, and Ruth was using one for Dinner and a Show.

Martin was a huge fan of Gilbert and Sullivan, and Interact Theatre was an expert at presenting those operettas, so it was a natural fit. All the songs were to come from the G&S canon, and Justice Ginsburg had one very specific request: that one of the numbers include her husband's favorite phrase in all of G&S, originally uttered (or sung) by the Major General in Pirates of Penzance. In the show, the phrase, "Yes, but you DON'T go!" is issued in frustrated response to the policemen's exaggerated protestations of their own bravery, and their willingness to hunt the pirates. "Yes, but you DON'T go" had become a catchphrase the Ginsburgs used throughout their marriage. I was entrusted with that very important lyric.

There must have been about 8 of us performing that night, and we had rehearsed only a day or two in advance. I was new to Gilbert and Sullivan, so I struggled with the patter lyrics of some of the songs, but was confident that all would be well.


The dinner, as I said, was actually held at the Supreme Court, which is walking distance from my house. We gathered late in the afternoon, and were ushered through the security set up for the building. Though this was prior to 9/11, there was still a security check on all of us who were to be up-close-and-personal with the Supremes, and a physical patdown as we entered the building, too. You haven't lived until you've been frisked by the Secret Service.

It must have been a Saturday or Sunday night, and the building was closed to tourists at the time. Our ushers took us on an intimate tour of the inner sanctum, into rooms where your average tourist is not allowed. I was particularly impressed, and surprised, by the justice's deliberation chamber, or whatever they call it. It is a simple room, with a long table around which the Supremes sit, like a normal conference room. The walls are lined with books, but who knows if the judges ever use them. We were told that, during their discussions, clerks sit poised outside the door, ready to be dispatched to locate any precedent case which a justice may require.

I still get a kick out of the mental image of the nine Supreme Court Justices sitting around that conference table arguing, like opposing attorneys in a divorce case. We were also told that any notes which the justices may make while they are deliberating are burned.

After our tour, and running through our routine in the banquet hall, we were released, as the best of DC society began to arrive. We were the "entertainment", so we were not invited to the dinner portion of the evening, but Mrs. Ginsburg had arranged for us to have dinner around the corner at one of DC's nicest, quaintest restaurants. We trooped over to Two Quail, resplendent in our evening wear, and had a delicious meal courtesy of Ruth. (I was too nervous to eat much, so I took most of my filet mignon as a doggy bag, which the Secret Service searched when we returned to the Supreme's building).

The show went very well, no horror stories to tell, and the Ginsburgs were particularly grateful for our efforts. The whole room howled when I sang "Yes, but you DON'T go," I suppose because all of Marty's friends had heard this phrase from him over the years. We received a very nice, hand-written note from Justice Ginsburg a few days later, thanking us for our part in providing a life-long memory to her husband. (The note is in my scrapbook, yes, I'm that guy).

I bet just about everybody who met the Ginsburgs were impressed with their relationship. Martin came from a generation of men who was not used to being in their wives' shadows, but he didn't seem to resent his wife's higher profile. In fact, he enabled much of her success, and when she returned to the bench only 24 hours after his death last week, she did so because "Marty would want me to." He had many accomplishments in his own field of tax law, but I'll always think of Martin Ginsburg as the Prince Phillip of the Supreme Court.

Friday Dance Party: Those Were The Good Old Days

You may not know this is a very special day. July 2nd is the exact middle of the calendar year. (I guess it's the exact middle of the solar year, too, depending on when you start counting.) 182 days of 2010 are now behind us; beginning tomorrow, we have 182 days ahead. How can I avoid taking a bit of stock in how the year has gone, thus far?

It certainly has not been the worst year on record, for me, but not the finest either. Started the year with a swell gig with the Washington Stage Guild, a fine group of players who have taken me under their wing in recent times. They throw the best BBQs around.

Also had a grand time for a week at Fords Theatre, trying to keep up with the best voices in town, in their staged reading / concert of Parade. It's a good thing that experience was so artistically satisfying, as my wage for that gig was $3.44 per hour. So was everyone else's. Welcome to the Theatre!

Otherwise, professionally, it's been slow going. Back in March, I gave a terrific callback for a summer stock show, one of the best all-around auditions I've offered in years, only to lose the gig because I have male genitalia.

I'm still waiting to hear on a thing or two for the future, but have given up on the audition promised to me, twice, by the artistic director of a local house for their show which begins rehearsal within the month, an audition he himself offered out of the blue. After all these years, I'm still not sure why directors lie to actors about such things, instead of dealing with us in a professional manner ("Thanks for your interest, but as it turns out, we are going another way" is never fun to hear, but at least it's honest, and treats us as the professionals we are.)

It's a good thing I've had such fun traveling lately; my trips to North Carolina and to California have kept the personal spirits way up. Professionally, though, I'm feeling a bit wistful for last year. Exactly 365 days ago, I wrote about the great Pat Carroll, who introduced me to the privilege of performing two shows on your birthday. I was that lucky last year.

This week's Dance Party, coinciding with my birthday (in case you haven't picked up on that), should be all about me, don't you agree? Here's a rinky-dink clip of one of my favorite roles way back when. The show is Damn Yankees, and I was thrilled to land one of my dream roles in it, just a year before I left Los Angeles for good. As you can see, the show was performed in the round, at Glendale Centre Theatre. Musicals in the round are pretty challenging, but the group there seemed to know what they were doing. My director

was Ellen Wheeler (above), an Emmy-winning actress who went on to become an executive producer of daytime soaps. The choreographer, Lee Martino, continues a high-profile career on the West Coast. Not quite sure what happened to the gal playing Lola (left), but I know

what happened to me. I left L.A., thankful that I had accomplished one of my dream roles. Wouldn't mind tackling that devil again...

I'm sure you'll forgive the poor quality of the video itself; tapes of live performances are never much good in these situations. Happy Dance Party!

Prideful Husbandry

I spent the weekend in Durham, NC, attending the wedding of one of my closest friends. I may write a detailed report later, I'll have to decide if such a thing would annoy my friend. Deborah, though one of my dearest comrades, is only mentioned in these pages in connection with her work as an actress. Hard to believe (for a performer who is often in the public eye), but she guards her privacy voraciously, and would be furious with me if I were to post candid pictures of her wedding, or even write a play-by-play account of the event.

But another wedding caught my eye this weekend. It was no coincidence that its announcement took place during the final week of National Gay Pride. Actually, the entire month of June is designated for Gay Pride, and during that period, parades and festivals commemorating the Stonewall Riots are held throughout the country. I wrote a bit about those riots here ; I have often mentioned the event as the birth of the modern gay civil rights movement. The actual anniversary of the Stonewall Riots is today, June 28th, though the 27th is often commemorated as well (the police raid which ignited all the fuss took place around 1 AM, the morning of the 28th and the night of the 27th). Nobody cares much about that actual date these days, since there is so much Pride Partying going on all month long.

It was only a few years after the riots began to be commemorated with annual celebrations that some smart homo decided it was financially stupid to hold each and every Pride celebration on the same weekend. In case you didn't know, homosexuals have all this disposable income (the unemployment check in my hand is proof), and are very willing to spend it celebrating their own Pride. So, years ago, organizers across the country discovered that, if they scheduled their individual Gay Pride Festivals on different weekends, gays would likely attend more than one. Thus, the big parades in San Fransisco, Los Angeles, and San Diego are all held on different weekends. The celebrations in New York and Philadelphia never coincide, and those in DC and Baltimore are always scheduled separately as well.


I recognized this phenomenon when I lived in L.A., but was pretty surprised when I got to Columbia, SC to attend grad school. The two years I spent there, the Gay Pride festival was held in April (and this year, their celebration happens in early September!). Clearly, there are a lot of queens out there who will travel from city to city to show their pride over and over and over again.

Which brings me back to the very special marriage announcement I caught in the Washington Post on Sunday. After being together over 60 years, Henry Schalizki and Bob Davis took advantage of the recent legalization of same-sex marriage in DC, and became husband & husband. These two stylish gents have been on the radar of all theatre types in this area for decades; they attend more opening nights than the critics, and have been so supportive of the local theatre scene that they received an honorary Helen Hayes Award in 2008. I was in the audience that night, and can verify that the crowd rose into an immediate standing ovation when they took the stage to accept the commendation.

Do you think these guys were meant for each other? Get a load of this story. They met in Providence in 1942, striking up a conversation in a hotel bar, so taken with each other that they ignored Boris Karloff, who was also in the room. Three years later, Davis was appearing in a USO production of Room Service being presented on a military base in Hawaii, and was spotted by Schalizki, who was in the audience. They missed a connection there, and three more years passed. In 1948, they wound up in the same bar in Baltimore, and they've been together ever since.

Of course, they could not publicly acknowledge their relationship for many decades. They were well-liked and popular, and the fact that they were "confirmed bachelors who lived together" did not stop them from becoming two highly visible, highly sought-after members of DC society. The tacit acceptance of their relationship did not extend to the law, however, so in 1990, Henry legally adopted Bob, who was a year older than he. In this roundabout way, they hoped to get legal protections afforded traditional families, including inheritance tax breaks and the right to make medical decisions for each other.

That adoption was voided a few weeks before the couple took their vows on June 20th, exactly 62 years (to the hour!) after they had begun their relationship in that Baltimore bar in 1948.




I doubt those drag queens, hustlers, and homeless homos who started the riot at the Stonewall Inn 41 years ago could ever have imagined that one day, they might have the right to marry. And even as Don't Ask, Don't Tell is being gradually rolled back, Henry Schalizki and Bob Davis, who both served their country in WWII, have two decorative urns waiting in their penthouse overlooking Pennsylvania Avenue. When the time comes, their remains will be buried at Arlington National Cemetery.

How's that for feeling proud?

Friday Dance Party: An Out and Proud Song & Dance

This week's Dance Party coincides with the 41st anniversary of the Stonewall riots, which I wrote a bit about last year, and the year before. I return to the subject over and over because of its importance. This weekend is official Gay Pride Weekend in New York, where those riots occurred, and where it is commonly acknowledged the modern movement for gay civil rights began.

In honor of Pride weekend, I'd like to celebrate one of our big success stories. Neil Patrick Harris came out publicly several years ago, and has seen no decline in his career. In fact, the opposite happened, and he is now lovingly accepted as a big ol' 'mo who can effectively portray a womanizing straighty (take THAT, Newsweek!)

Harris was discovered at a drama camp in New Mexico, by playwright Mark Madoff, who placed him in his film Clara's Heart, opposite Whoopie Goldberg. He snagged a Golden Globe nomination for this film debut. It was only a year or so later that he landed the title role in Doogie Houser, MD, a TV series centering on a teen-aged doctor (I never saw the show, so cannot vouch for its quality, but it ran 4 seasons, and was created by Stephen Bochco and David Kelley, so it must have had some redeeming features).

Our Neil didn't seem to have a problem graduating to adult roles, as so many child actors have, perhaps because he took the stage route. He appeared in the Second National Tour of Rent, which might seem a demotion for a former television star, but it turned into a shrewd career move. The tour visited Los Angeles and San Diego, and he was plucked to play Romeo at the Old Globe. A few years later, he appeared as Tobias in a San Francisco concert production of Sweeney Todd, opposite Patti Lupone and George Hearn. He warbled "Not While I'm Around" in several concert stagings of Sondheim's classic during this period, with such notables as Christine Baranski, Kelsey Grammer, Audra McDonald, Melissa Manchester, Ken Howard, Davis Gaines, and Judy Kaye in various roles.


Harris has appeared on Broadway in Assassins and as the Emcee in Cabaret (a survey of all the gents who played the Emcee in the most recent, long-running revival of Cabaret reveals that the grosses during Neil's tenure surpassed those of Alan Cumming, John Stamos, and everybody else who played the part). He has become our modern version of the classic song-and-dance man, and displayed his talents on three prominent awards shows in the past year.

Neil's hosting duties on the Tony Awards in 2009 were capped with this closing number, written as the show itself was progressing, and featuring details of the events of the night. This is somebody who can truly think on his feet, as he delivers this showstopper without rehearsal, and with the lyrics having been written only minutes before:




Neil's triumph at the Tonys lead to his hosting the Emmy Awards a few months later. He again delivered a terrific performance, including this opening number:




To complete his trifecta, Harris performed the opening number at the most recent Oscars, go here if you want to take a peak.
Harris would be winning Emmy awards for these appearances on the various award shows, if the TV Academy had not eliminated the "Best Individual Performance in a Variety or Musical Program" category in 2009.

Neil lives in West Hollywood with his long-time partner, not that that's anybody's business. He acknowledged his sexual orientation several years ago, with this classy statement:

"...I am happy to dispel any rumors or misconceptions and am quite proud to say that I am a very content gay man living my life to the fullest and feel most fortunate to be working with wonderful people in the business I love."

If all the homosexual actors in Hollywood treated their orientations with such nonchalant respect and openness, Gay Pride Weekends would lose their importance. That would be a good thing.

Neil Patrick Harris will be directing a concert staging of Rent at the Hollywood Bowl this summer. He turned 37 last week.

(UPDATE 8/10/10: THE EMMYS HAVE ANNOUNCED THEY ARE PLACING HARRIS'S NAME AMONG THE PRODUCERS WHO ARE NOMINATED [FOR THE 2009 TONY AWARDS SHOW] IN THE CATEGORY OF BEST SPECIAL CLASS PROGRAM. SHOULD THE 2009 TONY BROADCAST WIN THE EMMY, ITS HOST, NEIL PATRICK HARRIS, WILL ALSO WIN A TROPHY. Go here to find out if Harris won.)

Theatre Droppings: Men In Disguise

Last weekend was unbearably, swelteringly, HOT in DC. I swear if I ever become a man of means, I will buy myself a summer getaway in Maine, on a high cliff overlooking the ocean, like the Collinwood estate in Dark Shadows. I may even walk the beach on gray days like Joan Bennett.

That day is not very likely any time soon, so, to fight the heat in DC this weekend, I went where I am most comfortable: The Theater.

Over at Studio, they are reviving (and re-imagining) a notorious flop called Legends! (note the exclamation point; it's that kind of show). I have never seen this play, hardly anyone has, though it has a wild reputation among theatre folks. The original production back in the mid-80s was a high-profile disaster starring Mary Martin and Carol Channing, which toured the country, trying to make it to Broadway (it never did).

The story of that tour is hilariously and harrowingly told by the playwright James Kirkwood in his memoir, Diary of a Mad Playwright. After seeing Studio's production of Legends! on Saturday, I pulled the book off the shelf and read it again (it's a quick and fascinating read for anyone in the theatre).

As I said, over at Studio, they've done some re-imagining. According to Kirkwood's book, when director extraordinaire Mike Nichols was first approached to direct the original, he suggested that the two central roles be played by drag queens. Nichols did not end up directing the play, and Kirkwood refused that idea outright anyway. Now that the playwright is dead, his estate gave permission for John Epperson to tinker with the play, and to allow Nichols's suggestion to become a reality. At Studio, the roles originally played by Carol Channing and Mary Martin are being played by men in drag. You probably won't be surprised to learn that it works pretty darn well that way, considering that Channing and Martin are often the targets of drag queens.

I had a great time at this show, whose star is a gent of whom I am unfamiliar, James Lecesne. He is an actor and writer of note (he penned the Oscar winning short film, Trevor, which coincidentally starred a college chum of mine), and he tears up the stage in the Channing role. The Martin role is being played here by the adaptor, John Epperson, who is better known as Lypsinka. In fact, he is SO well-known as Lypsinka that he is co-billed as "a.k.a Lypsinka." Well, whatever, he's pretty funny in his role as well, though I have a hunch (in fact, I know, having just finished Kirkwood's book) the playwright meant the cat fight which is the climax of the first act to be quite rough-and-tumble, with the glamorous ladies snatching each others' wigs off. With men playing the roles, the wig-snatching was not feasible, so the sequence came off pretty tame. This particular scene of the play fell flat for me. It really doesn't work unless the two actors go for broke.


But I had a good time overall, and this piece may have a future among theatre troops who are attracted to plays in which men play women (Irma Vep and the Tuna plays, for example). There were several other actors in the play, including Tom Story, whom I have seen many times on local stages. Here, he is playing the sleazy producer who tries to get his two legends to star in his play. According to James Kirkwood's memoir, the gent who played this role in the original stole the thing. That actor was a young Gary Beach, who went on to create the role of Lumiere (the candlestick) in Broadway's Beauty and the Beast, and later won the Tony as Roger deBris in The Producers.

Have I wandered off-topic? Must be the heat.

On Sunday, the heat was even more unbearable, so I chose to drop into a matinee in probably the worst ventilated theatre in town. I knew that going in, as I worked at Church Street Theatre myself, though it was in December, so the lack of adequate air conditioning wasn't a problem. On Sunday, the almost-full audience was sweating up a storm at the matinee. Though Church Street Theatre is named after the street upon which it sits, it really does look like a church which has been gutted on the inside and built into a proscenium theatre (by someone who did not know what they were doing).

The ceiling over the audience is extremely high and difficult to cool. The theatre itself is very difficult to perform in, as there is no access to the stage except through the house. There are two tiny dressing rooms tucked underneath the audience , and when there is a large cast performing, the remainder of the actors dress downstairs in the boiler room. Welcome to Live Theatre!

Anyway, the Keegan Theatre has taken charge of Church Street full-time. They are a primarily non-Equity company, but are employing two Equity actors in their current production of A Man of No Importance, both of whom shine. By the wildest coincidence, they are both friends of mine, or at least colleagues. For quite a few years, Buzz Mauro and Deb Gottisman hired me to teach movement to their teen students during the summer training program they created, The Theatre Lab. I haven't done so in a long while, and meanwhile, their organization has expanded, and even has its own building downtown. These two are go-getters, actors who created their own work. Gotta love that.

In A Man of No Importance, Buzz takes the leading role of an Irish bus conductor who runs an amateur theater group. Deb plays the supporting role of one of the amateur actors; she swipes every scene in which she carries focus. As for the piece itself, it has been a favorite of mine since I ran across it years ago. Its premiere production was at Lincoln Center; I saw a scaled-down production in Annapolis several years ago (it was that production which made me fall in love with the piece). While watching Keegan's version, I began to notice some small flaws in the structure, flaws I had not noticed before. Our hero, Alfie, hides a secret, you see, but we get no hint of it until well into Act One. In the meantime, we get several solo numbers from various supporting characters, and a lot of time is spent with the amateur theater group. I enjoyed all those moments, but I bet civilians in the crowd may tire of seeing so much stage time devoted to this troop trying to put on a play.

It's when Alfie's big secret is revealed that the meat of the play begins. Buzz fits this role perfectly, and finely underplays his tortured soul. When he's in charge of the score, the music is terrific. I found some of the other solos, and group numbers for that matter, to be strangely muted. Perhaps the fact that the live band is situated far above and behind the action left me with that impression. John Robert Keena, who plays the galoot who is the object of our hero's affection, does a swell job with his big solo in act one, (I could have done without all the cris-crossing of the ensemble members behind him, but that's a directorial choice. The song is called "The Streets of Dublin," so they were going for a semblance of a buzzing metropolis. I'm probably the only one who finds that kind of thing distracting...ah, well.)

I love this show, and confess that A Man of No Importance is on my

wish list of roles to play before I get too...um...mature. It's a large-scale musical, and it's pretty unusual that two local theatre companies have tackled it in recent years. Chances are fading that I'll ever get to play that man in the mirror...