Cyd Charisse

1921-2008

Grand Hotel, The Bandwagon, Singin' in the Rain, Brigadoon, Silk Stockings

No more dancing in the dark.

Shake-up at The Shakes

The Shakespeare Theatre Company has been scrambling a bit this week, as their star Andrew Long suffered an injury which has put him on the disabled list. Long has been very well-reviewed in the theatre's current "Roman Rep," playing Marc Antony in both Julius Caesar and Antony and Cleopatra.


























The terrific Kurt Rhoads, who had been playing Cinna the Conspirator and Ventidius in JC, and Ventidius again in A&C, has assumed the role of Antony in both productions.
















Kurt is an actor based in New York, and has played several roles here in DC, including a riveting turn as the creepy Uncle Peck in How I Learned to Drive at Arena Stage. He played Antony in Antony and Cleopatra previously at the Hudson Valley Shakespeare Festival:













James Denvil has assumed the roles vacated by Rhoads. James is a well-respected local actor with many high-profile credits, which most recently include a well-reviewed performance as Father Flynn in Doubt at Olney Theatre.

Sybil, streamlined

The remake of the 1970s television film classic Sybil aired over the weekend, trying to tell the same story in half the time. Much of it worked, but I have to admit to being overly prejudiced toward the original, four hour heartwrencher, which told the story of a woman suffering from Multiple Personality Disorder due to a traumatically abusive childhood. In the slimlined version (Syb 2), Emmy-winner Tammy Blanchard and Oscar-winner Jessica Lange played the roles originated 30 years ago by Emmy-winner Sally Field and Oscar-winner Joanne Woodward.





The remake spent very little time revealing Sybil's affliction, a distinct difference with the original, in which the viewing audience learned gradually about the various personalities inhabiting her battered psyche.




The growing sense of concern which the viewer felt for Sybil as she struggled with a disease she did not know she had, is missing from Syb 2. Perhaps it's due to the absence of the most important scene in the entire four-hour original film, the moment in which Sybil learns about the multiple personalities which have been inhabiting her body. That scene was a showcase for Field, as she shifted from buoyant, musical Vanessa, to angry Peggy, to confused Sybil, to her own mother, to, finally, an infant. The scene was deemed so important by its creators that it was used in the audition process to cast the role. Here's a terrific story I love, related on the DVD release of Syb 1:

With Woodward already attached to the project, the writer and producer of the film had the luxury of finding the best actress for the role, rather than casting a star (this step was reached after Audrey Hepburn turned down the role, and Natalie Wood was turned away for the role). An intensive search was underway (which included Lily Tomlin!) when Sally Field's agents begged that she be given an audition.



After spending the 60s in three silly sitcoms, the most fanciful of which was The Flying Nun, Field had left the industry for several years to study her craft at The Actors Studio. When she returned to Hollywood, she was still pegged as a perky sitcom star. As the story goes, Field's agent secured an audition for her client, though the Powers That Be had no interest in seeing her. As a testament to the professional integrity of Joanne Woodward, the legendary star was in the casting office, actually reading opposite the women auditioning for Sybil. Everyone rolled their eyes as Field entered the chamber and began her audition, the aforementioned "revelation" scene. If you've ever seen the original Sybil, even only once, you will recall this chilling sequence in which Sybil's various personalities emerge and shift, causing the patient to climb over furniture, crawl across the floor, sing off-key, tap-dance, break a window, and end up under the piano, wildly sketching one of her horrific memories while muttering about "the people." The casters were caught completely off-guard by Field's in-depth audition (for which she was off-book and thoroughly prepared), and she played the scene with abandon, alternately sitting on Woodward's lap and crawling across the floor, with Woodward scurrying after her.


I suppose I enjoy that story because I love any instance when an actor confounds the expectations of casting folk, who are Quite Sure they know Everything There Is To Know about the abilities of specific actors, but don't.





I seem to have wandered off-point a bit. What are the odds of that? Anyway, another aspect of the Sybil story I missed in the remake was the character of Richard, so prominent in the original (though invented by the screenwriter; there was no such person in the real Sybil's life). Richard was created to represent the outside world's reaction to Sybil's eccentric behavior, and was an integral part of our understanding of the severe loneliness with which Sybil dealt. Well, Syb 2 had only two hours, so Richard became a one-scene presence, who escorted our heroine to a piano concert, only to have Sybil relive the horrific moments when her fiendish mother lashed her to the piano and insisted that she "hold it" (this after being given an ice-water enema. Aren't these fun movies?). In fact, Syb 2 included two scenes in which Sybil peed on the carpet, while Syb 1 avoided any mention of bodily functions. What a difference 30 years can make on television... (we did see the scene in which Sybil as a child released the enema on the piano leg, which sounds as horrifying as it must have been. Director Dan Petrie of Syb 1 handled that scene so subtly, I bet it slipped by the censors at the time.)


But Syb 2 was not void of romance. In the updated version, Sybil the art student is befriended (quite quickly, of course. We've only got two hours here) by an Argentinian hunk who takes her out on the town. Both Sybs contain instances when Sybil's alter, Vanessa, assumes control and allows her to socialize with the opposite sex.





While the romantic figures in Sybil's life were rearranged (and the role of her father was greatly diminished in Syb 2), there is one presence which haunted both films, that of a mother so abusive, she made Mommie Dearest look like Ma Kettle. The original's Martine Bartlett maintained later that her performance so spooked everybody that she never worked again. I can believe it, as her rendition of Hattie Dorset was truly frightening. In the remake, the role went to JoBeth Williams, totally unrecognizable in gingham and grey. Both actresses hit the mark.





As for the four leading ladies of the two films, nothing can be said against them. I preferred Woodward's Dr. Wilbur over Lange's, though I freely admit to being a long-time fan of the former, and an occasional doubter of the latter. Woodward's calming influence was a terrific counterweight to Field's flights, and the two had a remarkable chemistry which anchored the earlier film. But I liked Lange's harsher interpretation as well. Syb 2 was placed solidly in the 1950s, more historically accurate than the vaguely 70s feel of the original (check out Brad Davis's Godspellian suspenders in the picture above), and as such, Lange's Dr. Wilbur, a rare female analyst of the time, had more challenges to her credibility than the more modern doctor of Syb 1. This aspect of the remake felt right on the money to me. The coda to the film mentioned that it was many years before the psychiatric community agreed that Multiple Personality Disorder was in fact real; at the time of Sybil's diagnosis and treatment, many of Wilbur's colleagues believed the doctor actually invented the personalities herself.






As for the dueling Sybils, I greatly admired Tammy Blanchard's gutsy work in the remake. It's obvious she has stage experience (she played Gypsy opposite Bernadette Peters's Mama Rose on Broadway), as she employed a number of accents for her alters, including French for Vickie, and a vaguely New Yoiwk sound for suicidal Marsha.










Field's work was a bit more subtle, but no less specific in differentiating her roles, and she had double the amount of screen time in which to create her Emmy-winning performance.

Blanchard's work was impressive, but Field's was heartbreaking.

These Sybil quibbles have reminded me of those 70s years. I was too young to know that I would become a professional actor, but even then, I was strongly attracted to pieces which showcased superior acting talent. I was much more likely to tune into a talky British miniseries than a sci-fi action flick. The original Sybil was an extremely well-regarded television event, one which remained in my memory for 30 years (when its DVD was finally released last year, I was not surprised that I recalled so many specific moments from the film).


In fact, I consider the remake of Sybil to be Important Television as well. It seems a good fit for the current atmosphere at CBS, where CSIs and other procedural ick-fests dominate the schedule; with its mayhem and rape, Sybil more than holds its own in that milieu. And with its two high-powered stars and a riveting story, I have no idea why CBS buried this prestige film on a Saturday night during the summer.

I guess it didn't have enough gross-out moments.

You say potato...

...I say potah-to.








...You say tomato...










...I say salmonella...

Let's call the whole thing off.

Bye bye, BLT...

Theatre Droppings: New York, 1997

My more recent trips to New York have rarely included a trip to the theatre. The Broadway stage (and even most of the off-Broadway stage) of recent years does not resemble the community of dramas, musicals, farces, and classics which used to populate The Great White Way.

I believe I made only one trip to New York in 1997, but it was an eventful one. It was the first time I attempted to drive to the City from DC (in '96, I always took the bus), and I actually don't remember why I chose to drive that trip. I had been advised by my friend from The Shakespeare Theatre Company, Caitlin, with whom I was staying the night, that there should be street parking in her neighborhood in Washington Heights (that meant nothing to me at the time, but I learned it is the neighborhood at the far north end of Manhattan). So, I set out early Saturday morning, leaving plenty of time to find Caitlin's apt, get changed for my Big Audition Appointment, and find my way downtown to the audition site. Well, the best laid plans, and all that. As it was my first time on the infamous New Jersey Turnpike, I missed the sign pointing toward New York, and ended up in Philadelphia. Sounds like a joke, but I was not laughing as the clock ticked. I got directions from a guy at 7-11 (he spoke English!), and got back on track, finally making it across the George Washington Bridge. I found the bridge extremely confusing, until my next trip to New York when I took the Lincoln Tunnel to enter the city, then I decided it was the easiest way to get to the island. Anyway, I finally arrived at Caitlin's apt and found parking around the corner. She was not home, natch, but one of her roommates, a Swedish woman with a thick accent, was expecting me and let me in. I was very much behind my planned schedule as I changed into my audition togs and tried to get instructions from Miss Olga von Swede on how to negotiate the subway.

Very tense, but on time, I finally got to my destination and my audition appointment, for the Shenandoah Summer Music Theatre. It was my very first New York audition (let me rephrase that: it was the first New York audition to which I had been invited. Up to this point, I had been attending the horrid Cattle Calls), and I went way over the top, reading the role of the Duke in Big River.

My audition over, I thought about returning uptown to Caitlin's place, but I knew that one of my favorite actresses from my internship at The Shakespeare Theatre, Helen Carey, had just opened on Broadway in a revival of London Assurance. Helen had played several roles at The Shakes the season I was there, including an absolutely hilarious turn in Volpone, and a frightening Lady M in Macbeth, opposite Stacey Keach. That production of the Scottish Play remains one of my favorite Shakespearean experiences, largely due to the spectacular, muscular performances of Stacey and Helen. Here's a fond memory: in one of the big court scenes, Helen had a brief scene with Stacey, then moved stage left to join a crowd of courtiers while Stacey had a scene with another actor. Helen, who was the most consistent actress ever, would place herself with her back to the audience, then completely drop character and begin to chat sotto voce with us minor players. "So, what did you do over the weekend? Anybody get laid?" It was difficult for the interns to maintain decorum around Helen, who was a hoot.

(Here's the Happy Couple with their Young Siward)

Well, I decided I wanted to catch Helen's Broadway debut, so I hung around the theatre district and saw her swipe this 19th century drawing room comedy away from the likes of Brian Bedford and Rainn Wilson. I sent a note backstage, and Helen graciously agreed to have a drink with me after the show, so it was about 1 AM when I finally returned uptown and rang the bell at Caitlin's apartment. The sweetheart (at left) had blown up the inflatable mattress for me, and didn't mind a bit that I had spent the evening having a ball, without calling to let her know the whereabouts of her wayward guest. (She was raising a teen aged son at the time, and just shrugged, "I knew you were out getting drunk someplace.")











It was a terrific weekend all around. The following Monday, the Tony nominations were announced, and Helen received one for her performance in London Assurance. Coincidentally, our local Helen Hayes awards were presented that very day, and Helen won for her bawdy interpretation of the over-sexed Lady Wouldbe in Volpone, above with one of her ensembletori ("this is the most fun I've ever had standing up," she quipped when she accepted her trophy).






As for me, the following Wednesday, I got the call that my over-the-top reading for Shenandoah had landed well, and I was hired to be tarred-and-feathered in Big River.

New York, New York...in May of 1997, it was a helluva town.

Age Appropriate

My long-time buddy from the Madness of Shear, the highly talented Aaron, celebrated his birthday today, and the event got me thinking. Firstly, reminiscences of the past, as Aaron was my first "Rosetti" (the cop who runs the investigation in the play) back around 1998. Here's a pic of the two of us way back when. I haven't worked with Aaron regularly since then, but on the odd occasion when we get to play together onstage, I find it magical. Any "Tony" in Shear will tell you: you never forget your "first Rosetti."

Aaron continues in the night company of the show, so as I was leaving the theatre today, I was able to give him a hug and a good wish for his birthday. We joked about his finally reaching age 39. I have no idea how old Aaron actually is, nor do I want to know. It is none of my business, and further, it doesn't matter. But his birthday today reminded me of an on-going issue in the life of an actor: age.

When I was growing up and being trained as a gentleman by my parents, I was taught never to ask anyone's age. It was considered rude and intrusive. Those days are long gone. Nobody cares about being rude or intrusive anymore.

Throughout my adult life, I have usually looked younger than I actually am. I don't deserve any credit for that, I inherited some mighty fine genes. In my business, the age you look is often important. But the age you actually are is completely immaterial. So, if a director, or a producer, or a caster, or just about anyone, asks, "How old are you?", a red flag goes up in my brain. It's signalling an inadequacy on the part of the pro asking the question. It means he has no idea how old you look, and so is asking how old you are. But for his professional purposes, it doesn't make any difference how old an actor is, it only matters how old an actor can play.

Everybody knows this, or used to, but Estelle Getty was actually younger than Bea Arthur when she played her mother on The Golden Girls. The story goes that she hired her own make-up artist for her final audition, to convince the Powers That Be that she could, indeed, play elderly Sophia. It did not matter how old Getty was, it only mattered how old Getty could play.

For that reason, I tend to keep my actual age private. It created some good-natured turmoil when I rejoined the Madness in March, as everybody in our cast eagerly revealed how old they are. I did not, and was branded vain. But really, vanity has little to do with my reluctance to let my age circulate in the local theatrical community. I received some very sage advice from one of the leading local actors as soon as I arrived in DC. Once a director pegs your actual age, he will only consider you for roles that age. If a caster knows, for example, that an actor is 32, that caster is very unlikely to submit the actor for a role which is described as 24, even if that actor can convincingly portray such a role.

Of course, it would be very easy for anyone who really cared to discover anybody's actual age, now that we've all joined the privacy-free zone known as the Internet. And I really don't care if anyone knows my age. But I do care when that factoid impacts my professional life. For that reason, and that reason alone, I'll keep the year of my birth to myself. And don't ask. I won't tell.

I Told Them So

...if only they had listened to me. I could have saved them millions.










Exactly one year ago, I predicted this was the worst idea since mayonnaise, but they went ahead and did it. They produced another lavish musical version of Gone with the Wind. Can you believe it's actually been tried twice??

















And just as I predicted so many months ago, it flopped. It will be closing after only 79 performances.

Why won't they ever listen to me?