Friday Dance Party: Don't Let 'em In!

It's been a very long, exhausting week, and I need a laugh. This week's Dance Party provides it. In fact, it's a scream.

Our star had a long career in radio and television, as an announcer and host. The list of game shows with which he was involved early in his career is quite lengthy, and he appears in the oldest episode of a quiz program preserved on kinescope, NBC's Party Line from 1947. Here's a fun fact: he taped the pilot to The Hollywood Squares, but was dumped in favor of Peter Marshall when the show went to series.

But of course, if you mention the name Bert Parks, everyone will think of the Miss America pageant. He was its congenial host for a quarter century, until he was sacked in 1979. The pageant was seeking a younger audience, and Parks's demographic skewed decidedly old. His dismissal caused a bit of a firestorm, with Johnny Carson leading the charge to get him reinstated. Parks was so identified with the pageant that his statue stands in front of the Atlantic City hotel which always hosted the event.

The effort to reinstate Bert failed, but I understand that Parks's iconic rendition of "Here She Comes, Miss America" is still played during the contest's final moments.

I never watched the pageant (yes, another gene I lack: I have never understood the fascination gay men have with beauty pageants). But anytime I have run across a clip of Bert Parks, he gives me the willies. Don't you find him a bit creepy? If not, you will in the following clip, which comes from the 1976 Miss America show. Paul McCartney should sue.

And I have to admit, it's the gayest clip to grace the Dance Party since its inception, including Prop 8 the Musical!

Bert Parks died from lung cancer eight years ago this week, at the age of 77.

"I Consider Myself Rather Condensed"

Zelda Rubinstein

1933-2010

An actress and human rights activist, she came to her entertainment career a bit late, after having worked for years as a lab technician. She is best known for her role as psychic Tangina in the 1982 horror flick Poltergeist, where her diminutive (4'3") stature and doughy face combined with a steely stare and little-girl voice to create an unforgettable impression. ("Would y'all mind hangin' back?" she drawls upon her entrance into the haunted house, "You're jammin' my frequencies.") After a series of hair-raising tactics to rid a suburban home of ghouls, she calmly proclaimed, "This house is clean." Luckily for her, she was wrong, as the film spawned two sequels; she appeared in both.

Her first film role was as one of the comic relief munchkins in the Chevy Chase monstrosity Under the Rainbow, which solidified her belief that little people were used more for comedic props than for their talent. She formed the Michael Dunn Memorial Theater Company especially for under-sized actors (the late Dunn was an actor who gained some fame as a recurring villain on TV's The Wild, Wild West, and who earned an Oscar nomination in 1965 for Ship of Fools).

Rubinstein's career stalled a bit in the mid-80s, when she became one of the first celebrities to join in the fight against AIDS. The epidemic was in full swing, and the only victims seemed to be gay men. Anyone living in Los Angeles who went to a club or watched a bus go by became aware of the print and video campaign in which she appeared as "Mother," urging all her sons to play safely. She later maintained that her involvement in the cause adversely affected her acting career.

Our Zelda popped up again in the early 90s, as a co-star of Picket Fences, a David Kelley TV series about a seemingly normal mid-western town where odd things often happened. Rubinstein, playing a police dispatcher, seemed a perfect fit for the scenario, but after a season or two, she was dropped to recurring status when the writers had trouble coming up with plotlines for her particular eccentricities. She eventually vanished from the show's canvas, though a later episode, starring composer Paul Williams as her brother, tied up her disappearance (her character fell into a deep freezer and, well, froze. Comic relief again.).

I am not a fan of horror films, or ghost films, or the like. But the original Poltergeist really spooked me, probably because, rather than taking place in a secluded house on a creepy hill, it took place next door. It was a relatively low-budget flick, with B and C list talent such as JoBeth Williams, Craig T. Nelson, and Beatrice Straight turning in steady performances. And of course, our Zelda helped the film to huge grosses (pun intended). If you are interested, here is a scene:

Zelda Rubinstein died this week from natural causes. She was 76.

Friday Dance Party: Dream Curly

James Mitchell

1920-2010

He was a soap opera stalwart, landing his first contract role on The Edge of Night in 1964. Later in the decade, he was the male lead in Where the Heart Is, a barely remembered CBS soap which ran four years or so. In 1979, he landed the role for which he is best remembered, Palmer Cortlandt, on All My Children, a part he played for 30 years. He received 7 Emmy nominations for his work on the show, winning none.
Before snagging that role, Mitchell had toyed with retiring from acting. He had a lengthy stage career, but as he aged, roles dried up, and his final big stage appearance, in the Broadway flop Mack and Mabel, caused him to return to school, where he earned an MFA and landed teaching gigs at Julliard and Yale.

But his earlier stage career is why this gent is on my radar. He came late to the ballet studio (in his twenties), so his traditional technique was lousy. But his masculine style so impressed choreographer Agnes de Mille that she hired him anyway, for Bloomer Girl in 1944. Their collaboration lasted 25 years, during which Mitchell became a leading interpreter of de Mille's work. She placed him in the starring dance role of Harry Beaton in Brigadoon, and often hired him as her assistant as well as a leading dancer. Mitchell always stated that it was his acting ability which attracted de Mille to him, never considering himself a true dancer. In fact, he played many non-dance roles in his career, including Marco the Magnificent in Carnival, and conceited choreographer Paul Byrd in the Fred Astaire classic, The Bandwagon. His final film role was as another choreographer, in 1977's The Turning Point, opposite Anne Bancroft.


Though he also danced for Jerome Robbins and Gower Champion, he was known principally for his close ties to Agnes de Mille. This week's Dance Party is only a brief illustration of his style, and the clip, I'll be honest, is not one of my favorites. It's from the film Oklahoma, and the sugary sweet performance of Shirley Jones makes my teeth ache (I've heard she's actually a salty lady, but that persona never made it on film in any of her movie musical roles). The sequence is capped with a dream ballet, a technique which was used occasionally back in the day when a choreographer wanted a leading character to dance, but the performer didn't have the skill. In these days of triple threats, it's just as likely to see the stars themselves dance this routine (Hugh Jackman performed his own ballet in his revival of Oklahoma a while back).


But way back when, stars such as Shirley Jones and Howard Keel were not expected to dance, so dream sequences took over. Here is part of the dream ballet from Oklahoma, with James Mitchell playing "Dream Curly."

James Mitchell died last week at the age of 89.

Time of "Hope" becomes Time of "Nope."

I live four blocks from the Capitol (yes, that Capitol), so it's very difficult to avoid lots and lots of political blather. But I do my best.

This year it's particularly hard. I am a Democrat (what are the odds of that?), and remain very disappointed in the party's performance. Others more qualified than I can examine and dissect all the monumental things which have gone wrong with the President's agenda, a matter which he will probably address in his first State of the Union Address tonight.

Health Care Reform seems dead in the water, which distresses me on the personal level. I don't know if the current bills would even have eased any of my difficulties, nobody can really explain all the details clearly to me. I am persuaded that Obama's sincere desire to allow the legislature to handle this gargantuan issue was naivete on his part. As has been pointed out by others, the guy should have come up with his own plan, then submitted it to congress for review and passage. Instead, well, everybody knows what happened next.


My health insurance ends in June, after which I'll have to come up with exorbitant COBRA payments until I re-qualify through my union's plan, a process which can sometimes take a year or more. I'd like another option, please.


Anyway, today, in the midst of a very busy week (rehearsals for my next project have begun, an important audition has reared its head, and there is still much prep to be done regarding the annual group audition I help run next week), I received the following alert from the District of Columbia.



Remember, I live four blocks from the Capitol.


Street Closures for President’s State of the Union Address.


(Washington, D.C.)


The United States Capitol Police have provided the following information regarding security restrictions for the President’s State of the Union Address on Wednesday, January 27, 2010.

The Capitol Square will be restricted to authorized pedestrians only beginning at 6 pm on January 27.

In addition, Capitol Police will be closing the following streets surrounding the Capitol on Wednesday at 7:30 pm until the event has concluded:

D Street between 2nd Street, NE & Louisiana Avenue, NW

C Street between 2nd Street, NE & Louisiana Avenue, NW

Constitution Avenue between 2nd Street, NE & Louisiana Avenue, NW

Delaware Avenue between Columbus Circle & Constitution Avenue, NE

New Jersey Avenue between Louisiana Avenue, NW & D Street, NW

Pennsylvania Avenue between 1st Street, NW & 3rd Street, NW

East Capitol Street between 2nd Street & 1st Street

1st Street between Columbus Circle, NE & C Street, SE

1st Street between Louisiana Avenue, NW and Washington Avenue, SW

Maryland Avenue between 1st Street, SW & 3rd Street, SW

Independence Avenue between 2nd Street, SE & Washington Avenue, SW

C Street between 1st Street, SE & Washington Avenue, SW

Delaware Avenue between Washington Avenue, SW & C Street, SW

New Jersey Avenue between Independence Avenue, SE & D Street, SE

South Capitol Street between Independence Avenue & D Street

Now I know that, constitutionally, the president must report on the state of the union annually to the public, via the legislature. But the habit of his coming to the Capitol is old fashioned, a tradition set back when there was no other way for his message to be presented. Why must he disrupt my very busy week with his visit to the Capitol, just to deliver a speech?

Hasn't this guy ever heard of Skype?

A Cowboy And A Doll

A couple of folks have died recently who, though better known for their screen work, were on my radar because of stage appearances late in their careers.

Jean Simmons

1929-2010

"Simmons is one of the most quietly commanding actresses Hollywood has ever trashed," wrote film critic Pauline Kael in 1960, regarding her performance in Elmer Gantry. At that point, Simmons was already in the waning portion of her career, a career which began in her teens, when she was plucked from her dance school recital in 1944, to play Margaret Lockwood's little sister in Give Us the Moon. She played a brat in David Lean's Great Expectations in 1946, a performance which brought her to the attention of Laurence Olivier (Simmons was to come full circle with Great Expectations 45 years later, when she played batty spinster Miss Havisham in a Disney remake). Olivier had trouble hiring Simmons, who was under contract to another producer at the time, and tested dozens of alternatives before finally prying our Jean out of her contract to play Ophelia opposite his own Hamlet. She snagged an Oscar nomination and landed on the covers of Time and Life. She was 19.

That pesky contract was purchased by Hollywood profligate and weirdo Howard Hughes, who had more on his mind than Jean's iambic pentameter. Though she had recently married Stewart Granger, a leading man 16 years her senior (Jean liked older men: her second husband was 17 years older than she), Hughes was blatant about his desire to bed the young actress. When she refused, he retaliated by putting her in a string of stinkers (he owned RKO at the time). Hughes further damaged Jean's career by refusing to allow her to appear in Roman Holiday, in a star-making role which then went to Audrey Hepburn, who won an Oscar.

Simmons had a substantial film career, playing both leading and supporting roles. She turned to television later in life, winning an Emmy for the mini-series The Thornbirds, and starring in the prime time Dark Shadows remake, playing the role film-noir siren Joan Bennett had played in the daytime soap version. She also turned to the stage, headlining the first national tour of A Little Night Music; she also played in the original London production. It was not her first musical role. Back in 1955, she played strait-laced Sarah Brown in Guys and Dolls, opposite that musical icon Marlon Brando. She did her own singing in the role (so did he! The film was not well-received); here is a clip featuring one of the better known songs from the show:

Jean Simmons died this week from lung cancer at the age of 80.

If you are old enough, you will recognise this guy:

If you are not quite so old, you may recognise this guy:

They are both the same guy. It's Pernell Roberts, who had a long career of ups and downs. He started his work on the stage, winning a Drama Desk award in 1955 for Macbeth, but became a star with a big break in the early 60s, playing the eldest Cartwright boy in Bonanza.
He left the hit show after six seasons, after clashing with producers over a variety of issues. He disliked the habit at the time of casting white actors in non-white roles (remember Marlo Thomas as a Chinese girl?), and wanted to discard his toupee, which network execs vehemently opposed.


After leaving the Ponderosa, Roberts continued guesting on various episodic programs, and returned to the musical stage, where he displayed a rich baritone voice (he did a fair amount of singing on Bonanza, too). He is really on my radar for his connection with the disastrous attempt to musicalize Gone With the Wind, in which he played Rhett Butler (I wrote a bit about this show when Harve Presnell died; Presnell played the role in London, while Roberts played it in the states, when the musical was called Scarlett). Pernell returned to weekly television in the title role of Trapper John, MD, playing a character originated by Elliott Gould in the movies and by Wayne Rogers in the earlier TV hit M*A*S*H. The show ran a healthy seven seasons, and introduced Gregory Harrison as a young doctor mentored by Pernell.

Roberts died this week from pancreatic cancer. He was 81.

Ali MacGraw's Disease

Film critic Roger Ebert coined the term, "Ali MacGraw's Disease," and described it as a "movie illness in which the only symptom is that the sufferer grows more beautiful as death approaches." Ebert would never have been talking about such a thing if it weren't for this guy:

ERICH SEGAL

1937-2010

He was the most intellectual of men, teaching classical literature at Yale, and fluently speaking German, French, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. He held undergraduate and graduate degrees from Harvard, and published well-regarded examinations of Euripides and Plautus before his career took a decidedly populist turn. Though he had written screenplays before (he shares credit on The Beatles' cartoon classic Yellow Submarine), nothing could compare with the phenomenon he created with Love Story. While the movie was in pre-production, Segal was asked to crank out a novelization to be published before the film hit the screens; Love Story the paperback enjoyed the largest print order in the history of publishing, and earned a nomination for the National Book Award (judges were so shocked at the nomination that several threatened to resign, claiming its mere inclusion would diminish other, more substantial works of literature).

But Segal didn't need his puny National Book Award once Love Story the movie was released. It was a smash hit both financially and culturally, signalling a return of old-fashioned melodrama to film, and creating the outline for what would become known as "the chick flick" decades later. The movie made temporary superstars out of its young leads, Ryan O'Neal and Ali MacGraw, both of whom, incredibly, received Oscar nominations for their work. O'Neal had been a television soap stud (he appeared in TV's first primetime soap, Peyton Place, opposite Mia Farrow), and MacGraw had a bit of a modeling career before making the smartest career move she could ever have made: she married Robert Evans, the head of production at Paramount. Soon after, she replaced a pregnant Lesley Ann Warren in Goodbye, Columbus, and was tapped to play the dying heroine of Love Story.

If you didn't live through the period of Love Story, it's hard to describe the cultural phenomenon it was. O'Neal and MacGraw became sensations. Ali landed on the cover of Time and Mr. Blackwell's Worst Dressed List, and Ryan began a film career which remained healthy for several years. Despite a severe lack of enthusiasm for Love Story from the critics (Judith Crist called it "Camille with bullshit"), the movie garnered 7 Oscar nominations, including the top categories of Best Picture, Director, Actor, Actress, Supporting Actor (John Marley, above), and Original Screenplay for our boy Segal. But the only award which the film won was probably the only one it actually deserved, for Francis Lai's original score.
Lai also contributed an original song which became so popular, even today it can be identified by its first five notes. The composer's original recording of the Theme from Love Story reached #39 on the US charts, and Henry Mancini's version hit # 13. The song was everywhere in 1970; a lyricist (Carl Sigman) quickly penned some words, and the tune became Where Do I Begin? It took on a second life, becoming THE romantic melody of a generation. Countless vocalists covered the song, with Andy Williams's version topping the charts for four weeks.

Erich Segal became a bit of a jetsetter with his success, appearing on Johnny Carson's show four times in a single month, judging the Cannes Film Festival, and partying hard in Paris and London. He continued his teaching at Yale, where attendance to his lectures jumped into the hundreds. His academic peers were not amused (or were jealous), and, despite his scholarly publications and his doctorate earned at Harvard, they denied him tenure in 1972.

Segal ultimately settled in England, becoming a teacher at Oxford, after having furnished a sequel to Love Story called Oliver's Story, which could not repeat the success of the original tearjerker. He continued to publish both scholarly work and popular entertainment, and has gone on record that Love Story is NOT based on the courtship of his good friends from college, Al and Tipper Gore (here's a fun fact: Al Gore's roommate in college was Tommy Lee Jones, whose very first film appearance was in, you guessed it, Love Story).
Erich Segal was a devoted runner for many years, a passion which diminished as his Parkinson's disease became more advanced. He was a linguist and an academic, but will always be best remembered as the creator of one of the most famous, and most parodied, lines of dialogue to appear in any American film:

"Love means never having to say you're sorry."

Segal died this week after suffering a heart attack.

Friday Dance Party: Casting Yul

The person behind this week's Dance Party does not appear in it, nor was she one of its creators. But without her, it would not exist:

Shirley Rich

1922-2010

This woman spent a very long career as a casting director, for both stage and screen, and, if anyone can be admired for being a casting director, she was. I admit to a bit of a prejudice against casters, at least the current crop, who spend a great deal of energy trying to convince the world that people who want to hire actors and actors who want to be hired need a conduit. At least in New York and Los Angeles, casting directors run the range from reputable to..um..not. Often they are folks who started out as actors and gave up in order to make more money. I'm remembering the casting director who was recently caught Twittering during actors' auditions (I wrote about that lady of loose integrity here). Many casting directors indulge in what I think is a pretty low enterprise, running what they call "workshops for actors," ostensibly to help them learn how to get the part, but actually charging actors for the chance to meet them. That activity has always rubbed me the wrong way, for obvious reasons.

Have I wondered off topic here? You bet. Anyway, Shirley Rich seems to have been one of the well-respected of her tribe, and specialized in casting the smaller, supporting roles which flesh out a project. She placed Donna Pescow in Saturday Night Fever, and Judd Hirsch in Serpico. She helped launch the careers of both Tom Cruise and Sean Penn by casting them as cadets in Taps, and is responsible for placing stage vet Helen Gallagher at the core of the cast of the daytime soap Ryan's Hope; Gallagher went on to win multiple Emmys for her work there.

Rich worked her magic on stage as well, placing comic Alice Ghostly in The Sign in Sidney Brustein's Window for Broadway, a performance which won the Tony; she spent time working with Harold Prince and Rogers and Hammerstein as well. It was in that latter connection that she became, ultimately, responsible for this week's dance party. The story goes that Shirley was running an open casting call for a new R & H project in the early 50s. A sullen, striking, bald man entered, sat on the floor cross-legged, and strummed a guitar while wailing some unintelligible sounds. Rich was intrigued enough to bring him to the attention to the Powers That Be; he was cast as King Mongkut of Siam, and an iconic musical performance was born.





Yul Brynner won the Tony and the Oscar for his performance in The King and I, and returned to the role again and again throughout his career. In the original stage version, he played opposite Gertrude Lawrence; today's Dance Party comes from the 1956 film version, where Deborah Kerr played "Mrs. Anna." The song is one of the hits from the show, and Kerr's singing is being dubbed by our old stand-by Marni Nixon. Her polka-ing, presumably, is her own:

Casting Director Shirley Rich died this week from natural causes.