Suzanne Pleshette

Son of a gun

We had big fun.

1937-2008

Album Droppings: Diva Edition

I continue to slog away at my vast record collection, translating hundreds of albums to digital format. I've moved into the 'Ps"!


I have to admit that many many MANY of these albums are real losers. I don't know why I bought them in the first place.

Well, yes I do. I know why I bought each and every one of them. In some cases, in fact in a whole lot of them, I bought the album merely for the presence of a single female performer.

Such was the case with Pins and Needles. This was a studio recording celebrating the 25th Anniversary of a Harold Rome revue which in its original form ran about four years back in the 30s. This recording was released in 1962. Rome was at the time represented on Broadway as the composer of I Can Get It For You Wholesale, and for this studio recording of Pins and Needles, he enlisted one of the minor players in Wholesale. It is Streisand's appearance on this album (she doesn't need a first name on this blog) which encouraged me to purchase it. It's amazing how clear and clean her sound was back then (she was in her late teens at the time), with only a hint of the nasality which she adopted soon afterward.

While on the topic of I Can Get It For You Wholesale, it's a very under appreciated story of the meteoric rise and sudden downfall of an unscrupulous young businessman. The tone is considerably darker than another show with identical themes which appeared around this time (early 60s), How To Succeed in Business Without Really Trying. While Wholesale sings of "men and ulcers on parade," How to Succeed admonishes that a "secretary is not a toy." Audiences chose lightness over dark; How to Succeed won all the Tonys and the Pulitzer, and Wholesale is remembered solely as Streisand's Broadway debut.

I was never a Mary Martin fan. Give me Merman or Channing, please, but not the sugary sweet characters Martin tended to play. I own the original Sound of Music because one must, and the original I Do! I Do! because the terrific Robert Preston is worth it. The only other recording I have, either on vinyl or CD, which features Martin is One Touch of Venus. This is one of those studio albums which pretends to be an original cast album, and as such things go, this one is pretty darn good. Kurt Weill broke with his usual atonal habit and contributed a fairly traditional score, but as I am a fan of neither Weill nor Martin, you might wonder why I own this thing. Well, I purchased it on vinyl only a few years ago, when I appeared in a staged reading of the musical at American Century Theatre. We did a weekend's worth of performances, and I actually liked the piece. I had a ball playing sidekick Stanley.


I have lots of other recordings featuring various divas, but this one is probably the weirdest. Sid and Marty Krofft had booming careers as producers of children's television back in the 60s and 70s, but their shows all had a psychedelic twist. Lidsville took place in a world of talking (and singing and dancing) hats, and starred the hilarious Charles Nelson Reilly, a gig for which he was MUCH too good. The Bugaloos were all flying insects who were also a rock band, or something, tortured by a villainous Martha Raye who lived in a giant juke box. Or maybe the singing insects lived in the giant juke box. I can't remember those specifics. I can only remember being embarrassed for Raye, who was one of the great film clowns of the golden age, being reduced to this thing (our Maggie Raye has starred in the Friday Dance Party in these pages). Sigmund and the Sea-Monsters starred a post-Family Affair Johnny Whittaker, before things went so terribly wrong for him.


But the weirdest, wildest, most disturbing show from the Krofft Brothers was also their most famous, H.R. Pufnstuf. These guys surely ingested something illegal when they concocted this story of an island where all inanimate objects talked, and many of them walked. All of them annoyed. Poor Jack Wild, fresh from an Oscar nomination for Oliver, did the best he could as the kid lost in this acid-induced world, where the title character was a talking Dragon. Or maybe he was a dinosaur, who knew? Somehow, this piece attracted my attention way back when. I'm sure it was due to the presence in the cast of character actress Billie Hayes, whom I had loved as Mammy Yokum in Li'l Abner, and was here chewing the scenery as an incompetent witch.


This TV series was popular enough to spawn a film, and I own the soundtrack to that film. It has not been released on CD in this country, and somebody has listed the vinyl recording on EBay at 20 bucks. I imagine it used to be worth even more than that, as the soundtrack boasts a solo by "special star Mama Cass" (I bet she loved that billing) which has not been available anywhere else for over 30 years. That song, "Different," has now been released on a CD of Elliot's solo recordings, so I guess the value of Pufnstuf 's soundtrack has dropped (that number can be viewed here). The film was extremely low budget, shot on the TV series' sets, and when watching it now (full disclosure of my geekiness: I not only own the soundtrack, I actually own the movie on VHS-it's never been released on DVD), one feels rather sad. Three divas playing witches deserved better. Martha Raye was ending her long stage and screen career; to her credit, she is as subtle as anyone could be playing a character called "Boss Witch." Billie Hayes, who spent a lot of time in Krofft Bros. series, deserved better than to be remembered only for this hammy role of "Witchiepoo." She snagged the role of Mammy Yokum in the film version of Li'l Abner after playing the role on the first national tour (she stole it from original Broadway Mammy, Charlotte Rae. I love that.) And Elliot was just stepping out on her own, which is probably how she was talked into playing this role in which her first appearance is made sitting in a vat of fruit, munching on a banana.





It helps, I suppose, to be hopped up on mushrooms to enjoy this thing. But be careful. The mushrooms in Pufnstuf talk.

Snow Daze

I can't help it. I'm a sucker for the snow.

I get so excited, I just have to head up to my rooftop deck:

Here's the view once I get up there:

I missed the first snow of the season by being in Los Angeles, which, I understand, is enjoying temps in the 70s today. So, today's light sprinkling is especially appreciated. My first winter here in DC, back in '96, coincided with one of the major snow storms of the decade. At the time, I was living in a basement apartment, better know as "The Pit," and I was buried. Which would have been fine if I had any window action going on, but, just like Laverne and Shirley, my windows were all at sidewalk level, so I couldn't even see out them.

I don't live in "The Pit" anymore. Instead, I live in a Tree House. On such a day as today, I pull up all the wood blinds on all my windows, and just look.

Snow. It's addictive. It's Nature's coke!

Toilet Humour

I spent the better part of Sunday with my head in the toilet.

Literally, I spent about two hours trying to fix my leaky john. The toilet had been slowly dripping for many many months (only inside the tank; there was never any leakage onto the floor). Against my better judgement, I decided to finally try to fix the thing myself, and therein started a really monstrous afternoon. Why I even attempted it is beyond me; history has proven time and time again that I am not a DIY Guy.

I ventured out to Home Depot, a place which always gives me the creeps: the place is just too big. It makes me feel like a midget. And an INCOMPETENT midget at that. I look at all those acres and acres of aisles filled with Do-It-Yourself Stuff, and I feel completely overwhelmed, as well as highly unqualified to own my own home. I mean, I can't install my own ceiling fan, I can't re-tile my floor, I can't replace my garbage disposal, I can't even Plant A Tree For The Homeless. But obviously, everybody else can.

However, I needed to buy a new toilet flush valve apparatus, encouraged by a commercial I recently saw which illustrated how easy it was to replace the thing.

Never trust commercials.

My home toolbox is limited, as is my patience for such endeavors, and after several hours contorting myself in order to reach various toilet valves and fixtures, I had succeeded in creating a leak where one had not existed before. I now had a steady dribble onto the bathroom floor.

I gave up, and headed for the yellow pages to call a plumber who would surely have gouged me for an emergency call on a Sunday. And I was kicking myself for ever starting the damn project. As I waited on hold, I thought I'd make one more effort (I inherited that little bit of stubbornness from my father), so I removed the brand new flusher and re-installed the ancient relic I started with.

The new leak stopped.

And so did the old one I was trying to fix in the first place.

[sigh]

Stritch to stretch

I've been thinking of Elaine Stritch lately. Why not?





On a recent drive to and from Manhattan, I listened to the recording of her one-woman show, "At Liberty," so she's surfaced in my consciousness this week. I love her to death, who doesn't? Yet I can't help thinking that only those people who have seen her in person can really explain her appeal. Her career has included just about everything, but she is by far best known for her roles in various musicals. From "Sail Away," which Noel Coward constructed with her in mind, to her most famous role in "Company," to the Hal Prince revival of "Show Boat," to countless others, she is remembered primarily for her musical work. But in listening to her recordings, one can't help but notice that she is more likely to wobble off the note than hit it cleanly, so her appeal must be in the theatre itself.














I have not seen her in a musical, but I consider myself lucky to have seen her searing performance in Edward Albee's "A Delicate Balance" on Broadway. She received one of her numerous Tony nominations for that role, and would have easily won it too, if Zoe Caldwell hadn't attracted so much attention as Maria Callas in "Master Class" that season.










Stritch is currently reviving her "At Liberty" show at the classy Cafe Carlyle, so I was excited and amazed to read that she will next be appearing in a starry revival of Beckett's "Endgame." For anyone who did not study Beckett in college (nobody likes Beckett, we only study Beckett), "Endgame" takes place in a vaguely post-apocalyptic world (Beckett's favorite setting for his plays), in a basement room with one window, a guy in a wheelchair, a silent servant, and two trash cans. Hamm, the guy in the wheelchair, will be played in this production by John Turturro. Elaine Stritch will be playing his mother, Nell. She lives in one of the trash cans. Her husband, Nagg, lives in the other trash can. See why nobody likes Beckett?









But I bet our Elaine will wipe the stage with her costars, even though trapped in the garbage bin.

The Perp Walk

I've entered a period of life (reentered, I should say) which I have often had to endure. It is the period of time which actors optimistically call "Between Engagements." It's the common industry euphemism for Out Of Work. And in my case, it's optimistic because "between" usually means something has ended, and soon something else will begin. I can only claim the former part of that equation: I have no idea when my next job will be, or even if there ever will be one.







These are the thoughts which fog the brain of all but the most foolish of actors.









So, the new year has begun with these surrounding clouds. I suppose I should feel lucky that, even this early in 2008, I have already had the chance to be rejected by two theatres! I'm on a roll...













A week or so ago, I returned to the scene of my most recent crime to audition for their Christmas 2008 musical, "Peter Pan." Olney holds group auditions for their musical productions. A dozen or so actors are called for an hour. One by one, the Actron Unit is ushered into the Jury Room to sing a song and perhaps read a side for the character in question. Once all that is done, the entire group is taught a dance combination and then required to strut their stuff.















I don't like group auditions, but I see the necessity of them for large scale musicals. But here's the hard part. After everyone has sung, danced, acted, and schmoozed, everyone is led back out into the lobby to await their Final Judgement. In a few minutes, the casting director steps out and announces who is called back for further auditions the next day.















See the problem? This is pretty embarrassing for those people not called back, to have that fact announced to the world. I have not noticed this problem before, because I have always been called back for Olney musicals. Until now.















It's tough enough if you are surrounded by strangers; you can try to slink away with your tail between your legs relatively unnoticed. But if you are surrounded by people you know, people you have been laughing with and carrying on with for an hour, it is pretty humiliating to have the theatre announce that you are not talented enough to warrant further attention.















As I slunk away with my Brave Face on, I started to feel like a perp being led in handcuffs through a mob of press after being arrested. I know that Olney handles these auditions this way in order to reduce the manpower necessary to call or email people individually, but they could take some lessons in Actor Handling from tiny Bay Theatre's routine. I suppose they think, "Hey, you (the actor) will get up onstage and do the weirdest, wildest, most outrageous things, so why would you care what other people think of you?"















So, I won't be visiting Never-Neverland next Christmas.















This week, I was summoned to New York to audition for "The Elephant Man" for a Vermont theatre. At least they did not require a perp walk. In fact, my reading went quite well, and the director responded with, "that was a good choice." This is AuditionSpeak for "You appear to be a good actor, but I have no interest in you." At least they did not communicate their disinterest to everyone in the lobby.















Well, the week has not been a total failure. I was invited to perform in the first of a series of staged readings for the Washington Stage Guild. I am playing the all-important role of the butler. It's a pivotal role. I get to announce people. And every once in a while, I get to arch my eyebrow.















It's actually fun to be back with the Guild Gang, if only for a few days. It's a fun bunch, and we eat well. We'll be reading the play, "The Return of the Prodigal," Friday night and Saturday matinee, before what we hope will be appreciative and forgiving audiences.


















So, after a banner year in 2007, the new year has seen a return to the regular ups and downs of my Actor's Life. So far, one kind invitation, one harmless rejection, and one outright humiliation.









Hi-Ho, the glamorous life...

"Take Your Toys"

That was the admonition given by my dear friend and longtime acting coach, Bobbi Holtzman. I heard her say it countless times to actors, including myself. In a nutshell, it means going after what you want. Need something from another character ? (all characters do). Get in there and get it. Don't be afraid to stand up for yourself; if you need something, go for it. This direction, one of many I received from my 12 or so years studying with Bobbi, always led to the kind of raw, emotionally available work for which she was known. I think of her every single time I am faced with an emotionally challenging scene to play.

I've been thinking about Bobbi a lot this week, wondering what my life would have been like had I never met her. After a long decline, she passed away at midnight on New Year's Eve.

I first met Bobbi during my undergrad days at Cal State, Northridge. She was on the adjunct faculty there, meaning that she occasionally taught a class or two. I had heard her name bandied about the department for a year or so before I landed in her Acting II class. I knew immediately that she was something special. She spent no time at all on how you moved or what you sounded like; her emphasis was on what you (and your character) were feeling, and how to express it honestly and completely.

I was mesmerized by this woman, so different from anyone else teaching on that campus, so when the semester was over, I summoned my courage and asked if I could study with her privately. She ran a professional actors' workshop at the time, and I was thrilled to be able to join it. Thus began a creative, artistic, and personal relationship which lasted to this day. Bobbi's workshops were tough; you would sometimes work a scene in class for a solid hour and a half. During those sessions, when she was both a commandant and a cheerleader, Bobbi taught me the art of acting.

And what a class. We met at a pre-school in the Valley, so this very adult work was being conducted among tiny chairs and tables and fingerpaints. Nobody cared about the surroundings, though. Bobbi usually assigned me roles which I would never play out there in the Real World, but from them, I learned my craft. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Caligula, Mourning Becomes Electra, A Delicate Balance, Romeo and Juliet, the list goes on and on. I still occasionally use a speech from I Never Sang for my Father, which we worked on extensively. In addition, Bobbi was always eager to explore work we may have been doing outside class. She helped me tremendously when I was appearing as "Harry the Hoofer" in The Time of Your Life in Hollywood (I had to conquer one of the actor's danger zones, the Telephone Call). She coached me on the pieces with which I auditioned for graduate school, pieces which ultimately changed my life.

Bobbi was a well-respected stage director during that period, too, and I appeared in her production of Brendan Behan's The Hostage. She gave me the confidence to play the flamboyant Rio Rita, the Irish transvestite. She appeared onstage herself a good bit, too, and in productions such as Awake and Sing, Toys in the Attic, In a Northern Landscape, and Working, she put her teaching techniques to the test. She took her toys.

There are less than a handful of people whom I would consider made a real, lasting impact on my creative life. Joan Peterson was one, as was (and is) my best buddy Judy, but I can say for certain that Bobbi Holtzman's influence will be felt in my work forever. She taught me to be brave and honest, assertive and vulnerable, all at the same time.

I still recall the last scene I worked on with Bobbi, in a workshop only a week before I left for grad school. Every once in a while, she would give you a role you were born to play, but one which had passed you by. Such was "Tom" in The Glass Menagerie. While I was playing this uptight southern boy who is forced to leave the family he loves, I'm sure I did not recognize the similarity to my own life. But perhaps Bobbi did. Perhaps she knew that, by going to grad school, I was taking the only positive step I could take to improve my life, all the while feeling tortured over what I was leaving behind.

Blow out your candles, Bobbi. And so, goodbye.