Waiver Games, Part III: Nick's Pacific Street Saloon

(third in a series regarding my history with Waiver Theatre in Los Angeles. Go here for part I and here for part II...)

I had a good time appearing in my third Waiver Theater Production, but I may have been the only one.  At this time I was still working full time at Lockheed, and was hating every minute of it.  I was always in need of something creative to do outside those lousy office hours.  Once Poof! closed, my best friend Judy Welden came to the rescue, with her first foray into the Waiver Wars.

I wrote about Judy several years ago, and I am pleased to say that she remains my dearest friend to this day. 

Judy's environmental production of
this classic caused a sensation at CSUN.
Actors climbed the walls and
 swung through the air on ropes.
The audience loved it.
The faculty hated it.

She directed me many times during our tenure at Cal State Northridge, both on- and off-campus;  she remains, by far, the director with whom I have worked the most.  We forged a bond which was based on personal and creative intimacy, a bond which continues to deepen today, decades after we first met.

Judy first directed me as the Emcee in Cabaret.

Judy always fearlessly wanted to stretch her creative muscles, so after we graduated from CSUN, she began looking for opportunities to direct in the Real World. 

Our Armenian-centric production of Bye Bye Birdie
featured future soap star Robert Newman (in my lap).

She was raised in the Armenian Church (though I don't think they actually call it that), and one of their branches was located in Hollywood.  High above the sanctuary, for some reason which escapes me now, the church had turned a third floor room into an actual theater.  They had purchased comfy chairs from a movie house, and installed them in a big room, effectively turning the place into a proscenium theater.  Judy, as one of their own, got a great deal on the rental of this theater, and set about preparing her Waiver Theater debut.

She chose to direct William Saroyan's The Time of Your Life, a sprawling bit of modern theater which fit right into her creative aesthetic. Judy was (and is) a great believer in placing her productions in environmental settings.  

I appeared in Judy's first MFA thesis
project at the University of Utah:
The Night Thoreau Spent in Jail.

She had little interest in staging shows on the traditional proscenium stage, which she felt had a tendency to create a separation between the audience and performer.  She preferred her audience to become part of the environment of the play, so she turned the Upstairs Theatre (as it was called) into the saloon in which The Time Of Your Life takes place.  She hung curtains to block off the stationary seating already installed in the theater, turning the space into a true Black Box.  Our playing space was transformed into a slightly seedy bar, with lots of tables and chairs scattered about, where the audience members were to sit.  Judy's audience, back then, didn't just watch the action from a distance, they were seated right in the middle of things.  This was a dangerous but exciting approach to the play. 

James Cagney appeared in the film version of The Time of Your Life. No, that is not Madeline Kahn opposite him, though it surely looks like her.

Judy is a great proponent (and teacher) of the American style of acting, with the Moment-To-Moment interaction between her actors being highly important. 

Our program appeared on every
table like a restaurant's menu.

The cast of The Time of Your Life was huge, prohibitive by today's standards, but since the Waiver Code did not require payment to the actor, such considerations became unimportant.  Instead, Judy concentrated on casting her show with the best actors she could find.  Naturally, she raided the alumni list of the CSUN Theatre Department; many of the roles were filled with our college chums. 

Jenny's performance as Kitty was a highlight.

The leading lady, in fact, was our best gal pal Jenny (I wrote about her a long while ago), who gave a critically lauded performance as the psychologically wounded hooker Kitty.  One of the most dependable actors to come out of our generation at CSUN, Art Riddle, played the pivotal role of Joe. 

Art Riddle co-directed me in my first college
show. Years later, we spent time at Nick's Saloon.

Many more supporting roles were filled with our theatrical buddies, but several prominent roles were to be filled by other members of the L.A. Theatrical Community.  I have put those words in caps to emphasize the inherent dichotomy of those words.  The Theatrical Community of Actors in L.A. consisted almost exclusively of people who were interested in film and television work.  They may have had stage chops, but the focus of their career was to be noticed by Hollywood. 

Jessica Peterson played a socialite who
wandered into the bar, and was horrified.

Judy held open auditions for the available roles in The Time of Your Life, and received an onslaught of actors eager to appear on stage, in order to be seen by casters in the film industry.  Hey, there's nothing wrong with that, I'm just pointing out that Judy and several of her cast members had different goals in mind in presenting The Time of Your Life.  Judy's goal was to produce a memorable piece of theatrical artistry.  Their goal was to snag a TV or film contract.

Those of us who had known and worked with Judy previously had a lovely time with the show, but several Actors At Large did not gel with her way of working. 

Jimmy Williams
today.

Particularly, the gent playing the bartender, who was wonderfully engaging on stage, was a major pain in the ass.  He dismissed Judy's concept of the play;  they were often at odds during rehearsal.  This guy's name was Jimmy Williams, so I'll call him that. 

Our college buddy Jann played
a barfly.

Jimmy's dissatisfaction with Judy's direction came to a head when he learned that the show would not have a curtain call.  Judy has always had an uncomfortable relationship with the moment when her actors come back onstage to receive applause.  In later years she came to terms with the fact that audiences want to applaud the work the actors have done, but back in those early days, she was likely to forgo the moment. 

Ed Blackoff, one of the Hollywood Gang,
played Kit Carson. He's had a lively career in
slasher films.

As for The Time of Your Life, she felt the play's conclusion lost much of its impact if the actors came back onstage to take bows.  She was not prepared for the adverse reaction of that decision by Jimmy and his other Hollywood Actors.  They, of course, wanted to come back out onstage to receive joyous applause from their friends, who were likely to be the only people to attend this show. 

Our setup was not very different from this one.

To understand what happened next, it's necessary to envision the theater's setup.  There was only one way to enter and exit the space, through a large set of double doors.  The audience filed in through these doors, and the actors made all their entrances and exits from these doors as well.  They served as the entrance to Nick's Pacific Street Saloon.  I liked this arrangement, as it meant the audience entered the same front door as the characters who were frequenting this bar.  But once the final lights came down on the play, the actors all left the stage through this entrance.  In Judy's concept, the lights came back up, and the audience was left with itself, alone, in the environment.

Jimmy lead an ad-hoc revolt among his Hollywood Peeps, and as soon as the lights came back up, after the final blackout of the play, he charged back into the theatre.  He was followed, one by one, by his professional cronies.  The audience took this as a curtain call, though our director had decided against one.  Jimmy claimed he was just going out to greet his friends, though why he felt he must do so while they were still clapping, who knows?  So, our audiences were often confused as to why some of the actors came out for a curtain call, while others (like myself) did not.

The trouble with Jimmy's Gang notwithstanding, I enjoyed The Time of Your Life.  I played Harry, the young man who comes into the bar looking for a job as a comedian. 

Gene Kelly played my role in the original.

He has several big moments, including his "audition monologue," which proves he should stick to his bigger talent, the soft shoe.  This role was played, in the original Broadway production, by a very young Gene Kelly, before he became a film star, and I had the pleasure of improvising little dance routines which were scattered throughout the show.  Harry, once he entered the bar, continued to hang around, so I spent the majority of the show onstage. Much of that time, I did not have the audience's focus, so I spent a lot of time sitting at the various empty chairs in the saloon, often at tables occupied by actual audience members.  This was a case of "self-blocking."  It led to one of my favorite director's notes I have ever received.  After our final dress rehearsal, I received one hand-written note from director Judy: 

"I hope you know you won't be able to sit in some of the places you've been sitting in."

That's  good advice for life in general, isn't it?

Judy directed me (twice!) in A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum.

It would be only a couple of years after The Time of Your Life that I again appeared in a Waiver production.  Judy was involved in this one also, though as a stage manager rather than director.  Come back for Part IV of my Waiver Games, in which I gain an acceptable Irish accent but embarrass my mother.

Friday Dance Party: Killing Me Softly With This Song

Ontkean went on to Twin Peaks, Hamlin to L.A. Law. Jackson, late of Charlie's Angels, went on to Scarecrow and Mrs. King.

A birthday and an award ceremony intersected, in my own peculiar mind, with the biggest news of the week, and the result is this week's Dance Party.  Be forewarned:  not only doesn't it dance, it barely moves.  But the number has some importance in my life, and it helped gay cinema a bit too.

With gay couplings in the news, thanks to the president's endorsement, I've been thinking of one of the first films I encountered which included such relationships. 

I had no idea who Harry Hamlin was when I first saw him in Making Love. Fourteen years later, I worked with him onstage at The Shakespeare Theatre Company.  I never told him the importance his film had in my life.

The theme song from Making Love was co-written by Burt Bacharach, who, along with his former partner Hal David, won this year's Gershwin Award, given by the Library of Congress.  Everybody knows the music of Bacharach & David, even if they don't know they do, as their tunes dominated the pop charts during most of the 1960s and 70s. 

Bacharach & David provided the soundtrack for a generation.

This week's Dance Party, though, was written in the early 80s, when the team had parted ways. 

Burt Bacharach and Carol Bayer Sager won the
Oscar and Grammy for "Arthur's Theme."
"Making Love" was nominated for a Golden
Globe, but lost to "Up Where We Belong," from
An Officer And A Gentleman.

Here, Burt provided lyrics (he was usually a composer) in partnership with his squeeze at the time, Carol Bayer Sager.  The song was a fairly big hit for Roberta Flack (in fact, it marked her last appearance in the Top 20 as a single), but has not retained the staying power of her other, bigger hits.

Roberta Flack had bigger hits, but
none affected me as much.

The song is the theme song from Making Love, which was released in 1982 and which some consider to be a landmark film.  I can't quite agree with that, but I will admit that it was a significant step in the evolution of the gay cinema. And it was certainly a landmark for me. 

The poster looks like Ingmar Bergman.
The actual film was more
Movie-Of-The-Week.

I remember seeing the film in the theatre, with my friend Scott, and we were both greatly affected by seeing gay men on screen who were neither flamboyant nor freakish.  But the film is so friggin' earnest that it's a bit colorless.  This was one of the first attempts by a major studio to put gay subject matter in the neighborhood cineplex, and 20th Century Fox's timidity was showing. 

The screen lovers.

By today's standards, the film is completely inoffensive, but in 1982, Hollywood was scared.  The atrocious reaction which Al Pacino's film Cruising had aroused two years earlier made all the majors skittish about gay content, so Making Love is as inoffensive as possible.  A couple of scenes, for example, took place in gay bars, and I wondered at the time, where were the Bette Davis Drag Queens? 

1980's Cruising was a crushing indictment of the gay leather scene and garnered massive protests in the gay community.

Director Arthur Hiller did a bang-up job making the gay subculture in Making Love seem normal and non-threatening, and palatable for the public at large.  His film includes a comforting grandmotherly figure, over-played by Wendy Hiller, and the gay boys indulge in sports and BBQs, with nary a Broadway showtune in sight.

Kate Jackson and Michael Ontkean
previously played spouses in TV's
The Rookies.

Making Love was not a box office success, and its place in gay cinematic history is overshadowed by the next big Hollywood film to place homosexuality center stage, Longtime Companion.  

This early AIDS
film garnered Oscar love.  In
comparison, Making Love seems
like an episode of thirtysomething.

But when I see the film now, it still catches me in the throat.  The theme song is pretty languid and definitively soppy, but it reminds me of a pretty significant part of my youth.  I recognize the tortured leading character, played by Michael Ontkean, as well as the hedonist played by Harry Hamlin.  I was both of them.

Harry Hamlin was warned not to play gay, that it would halt his career before it really started. Four years later, he was the star of the hottest series on TV, and the most desired man in America.

I even recognize those streets in West Hollywood where some of the film takes place.  Mostly, though, I recognize the confusion of feelings, and the ashamed secrecy in which I lived much of my life during that period. 

President Obama's recognition of gay relationships, plus Burt Bacharach's Gershwin award (and the coincidence that Burt turns 84 Saturday), gives me the opportunity to share a song, and a film, which made an impact on my life.  It's a bit grainy, just like my memory:

Friday Dance Party: Kick Her Right In The Coriolanus.

Taming of the Shrew, American Conservatory Theatre.

Tonight I'll be starting rehearsal for my next endeavor, I'm sure I'll be writing all about it in subsequent pages.  In honor of the gig, this week's Dance Party features a number from the film version of the stage play which was inspired by my new project.  Clear as mud?

Taming of the Shrew does not, as far as I know, have a musical version, though civilians sometimes think Kiss Me, Kate is one. 

The original Broadway production won the first Tony
Award for Best Musical, in 1949.

The Cole Porter classic is an original piece which contains a few snippets of Shakespeare's text.  It is the story of an acting troop putting on a musical version of Taming of the Shrew, conveniently called Kiss Me, Kate.  So, there are backstage shenanigans as well as onstage numbers which comprise the entirely fictional musical in question.  Still not clear?  Who cares?

Ann Miller's rendition of "Too Darn Hot" was one of the few major revisions made from stage to screen.  On stage, it's sung by chorus members. On film, Miller's Lois Lane tap dances on the furniture during a cocktail party.

Kiss Me, Kate is considered one of the classic chestnuts of the Golden Age of the American Musical, and is still revived with regularity today. 

This London revival was filmed
live for PBS.

The film version is a pretty faithful adaptation of the Broadway show, though the clip below is one instance where an adjustment was made.  In the stage show, the song is sung
by a couple of gangsters who find themselves unexpectedly onstage.  Here, the same two gangsters try to cheer up the leading man after he's been dumped. Wherever it's placed, the number is still one of the memorable tunes from the score. 

Teen Idol Rex Smith toured in a
revival in the  90s.  He did not look
like this at the time.

Our stars here are Keenan Wynn, who knew his way around a musical, and James Whitmore, who did not.  But they make a bit of fun of Whitmore's lack of coordination in the dance,  so all's well that ends well (sorry).

That's Bob Fosse, with Carol Haney, during a specialty pas de deux constructed for the film version.

I'll be brushing up my iambic pentameter in the coming weeks, playing Gremio in Taming of the Shrew.  I have a pretty fair amount of experience with the Bard, having appeared in about a third of his plays (so far), but it's been a decade or so since my last Shakespearean show.  This summer, I'll be doing two, so it's time to heed these guys' advice. 

Waiver Games, Part IV: There's No Place On Earth Like The World

That odd lyric ("there's no place on earth like the world") was included in one of the songs which were peppered throughout Brendan Behan's sprawling vaudevillian treatment of the Irish/English conflict, The Hostage.  The show was to be my fourth foray into the world of waiver theatre in L.A.  I did not go willingly into that good night's entertainment;  I had to be convinced and cajoled into participating in the piece, and became a member of the cast solely due to the entreaties of the director, Bobbi Holtzman.

I spent a dozen years, off and on, studying with Bobbi. She was a great influence on my life.

I wrote a bit about my long relationship with Bobbi here, soon after she died about four years ago.  I cannot overstate the influence Bobbi had on my life, both artistic and personal, and I find myself thinking of her often.  I first met Bobbi when she taught my Acting Three class at Cal State Northridge, and we formed an immediate bond. 

Bobbi.

After the semester ended, I joined her adult acting workshop, which met twice a week for intense scene study.  It was during these sessions that I believe I became an actor, and the tools which she gave to me are still being used today.

At CSUN, Bobbi directed a stunning production of the Lorca classic, The House of Bernarda Alba. It was seductive and suffocating at the same time. My oldest friend Claudia had a major success, as did Diane Rostant, who would go on to star in The Hostage.

It must have been around 1980 when Bobbi was invited to direct a full-length play under the auspices of her own non-profit theatre company, NTG. 

That's Bobbi's husband Alan
in the background, where he usually stayed.

She directed only once every 3-4 years back then, as her technique required buttloads of rehearsal time, and was exhausting for everyone concerned, including her ultra-supportive husband, Alan.  Bobbi's choice of The Hostage was both understandable and dangerous.  It is an unwieldy piece, taking place in a Dublin whorehouse, in the late 1950s.  Author Brendan Behan had used the piece as a forum to ridicule both sides of the Irish/British conflict, and the show was an unlikely mix of comedy, heavy drama, audience interaction, and Music Hall. 

An unusual four-disc album was released, of the full original Off-Broadway production of The Hostage. Julie Harris had some success as the ingenue, Teresa.

On first look, this was not at all Bobbi's cup of tea, as she was attracted to down-to-earth dramas with realistic characters.  The Hostage was peopled with flamboyant characters who often stopped the action on stage in order to sing a song or tell a joke to the audience. 

This was not our production, but it could have been: an eclectic group of misfits living together in a boarding house / brothel during the Irish Troubles.

Bobbi's directorial style was fluid and without sharp edges.  She would never have any success directing a farce, with the specific timing required for such things. 

Bobbi's workshops were serious and satisfying.
Her students were intensely devoted to the work and to her.
Then someone would have a party.

Her forte was the personal interaction among actors, and her shows usually looked very spontaneous and even improvised.  The Hostage, on the surface, looked like such a play, but in reality, it was to require a strong sense of timing and reliable specificity.  A particular type of actor would be necessary to pull off this show, and Bobbi was only partially successful in finding such actors.

But, back to me.  Once Bobbi decided to direct The Hostage, she asked me to play the featured role of Rio Rita, a transvestite prostitute who was one of the many oddballs who lived in the boarding house where the action took place.  At the time, I was struggling a lot with facing my sexuality, and I was deeply concerned about playing such a role which might embarrass my parents.  Though Bobbi did some strong convincing, I declined the offer to play the part.  Bobbi cast the role with my good friend Cris, another of her longtime students and friends, and began a rehearsal process which would last many months.

Cris was also part of Bobbi's gang, as well as being a good
friend of mine. He has continued in the business, and is now
an Emmy-winning TV personality and producer.

Meanwhile, I performed in one of my favorite shows, A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, produced at a local women's club/dinner theatre. (You can read my thoughts on that production here.) 

After Bobbi caught this performance in
Forum, she renewed her efforts to get me
into The Hostage.

My best buddy Judy directed that piece, and as we were both close to Bobbi, she was invited to attend.  Bobbi loved the production, and in particular, my performance, and she once again began pushing for me to join her cast.  Our buddy Cris had at that point discovered that he would prefer to help Bobbi produce the show, rather than appear in it, so she was once again looking for someone to play Rio Rita. I finally relented (Bobbi was a force of nature which could not be denied for long).  The part was certainly a flamboyant one, but to call him a drag queen would be a misnomer.  I never appeared in what we would now call drag;  instead, I wore a provocatively placed scarf or a silk robe, over everyday, male attire.

Again, not our production, but this is a fair indication of Rio Rita's looks (he's the white guy with his hand to his chest): not at all a modern drag queen, he was ready to drop his flamboyance and blend into the real world of the 1950s.

We had two runs of The Hostage, the first in Encino, CA, and the second at the Pilot Theatre, which was one of a number of Waiver houses in Hollywood.  Our cast included several of Bobbi's workshop participants, though she did some casting At Large as well.  This being a waiver show, no one was paid, and Bobbi had the luxury of using a large cast.  Our ensemble of whores and drifters was particularly dynamic, and included an actor from Czechoslovakia, who spoke stilted English and played a Russian sailor.

Not our production, but the guy in the striped shirt is the Russian Sailor looking for love. In our production, he was a Czech sailor looking for his props.

In his particular sequence, this character wanders into the house, and the hookers begin to fight over him. Meanwhile, he reaches into his sock and pulls out a wad of cash. One night, this poor actor forgot his prop money, and spent several tense moments searching his pockets, his shirt, his socks, even his hat, looking for his cash. The entire action of the stage stopped, waiting for him to produce the money. Bless him, he remained in character, and babbled in Czech, which sounded like Russian to our ears, while frantically searching his pockets.  At just the moment when the audience began to feel some alarm that something was actually going wrong onstage, I pointed at the front door of the set and shouted (in my Irish brogue), "Throw him out!"  The stage exploded with exclamations, and the audience erupted with relieved applause. 

Heston was not packing heat when he
came backstage to meet the cast.

(This actor's day job was as valet to Charlton Heston, I kid you not. Heston came to see The Hostage during its initial run, and was very gracious backstage to everyone.  He was much less public about his politics back then, and I was pretty pleased to shake his hand, not realizing that I would later be invited to take his gun out of those hands when they were cold and dead).

Joe Colligan has gone on to
a substantial on-camera and
voice-over career.

Bobbi's greatest achievement in casting The Hostage was with the two actors playing the romantic leads.  Joe Colligan had played the title role during his undergraduate career, and he was ripe to attack the role again.  I thought he was outstanding as the British soldier captured by the IRA and stashed in the whorehouse until he could be executed.  I loved watching Joe's work, as he had a charisma which was undeniable. Plus he introduced me to Fosters Beer. 

Diane Rostant was one of the strongest
actresses to come out of CSUN. Here she's
causing trouble in The Crucible.

Playing opposite Joe, as his love interest, was one of my CSUN cohorts, and one of Bobbi's favorite actresses, Diane Rostant.  Diane's work was always seamless and grounded and utterly, utterly real;  she may have been the best dramatic actress to come out of my generation of CSUN students.

In the role of Meg, the landlady and ersatz madam of the house, Bobbi cast an off-beat character actress  who was also her friend, Bunny Burnhart. 

Bunny Burnhart (seated) played Meg with
vivacious humanity. Bobbi directed her
many times; this is Hot L Baltimore.

Bunny was one of the most memorable people I have ever interacted with, and she gave an outstanding performance.  Unfortunately, the majority of Bunny's stage time was shared with the man who ultimately sank our production.  Barry Cahill was an older gent who had been knocking around Hollywood for decades, playing one-scene roles in television and film, and becoming more and more bitter about his lack of fame. 

Barry Cahill died this year, at the age of 90, never
coming close to the success of his wife. He was
a misery to work with.

His bitterness was compounded by the fact that his wife was substantially more successful than himself.  She was an original player on General Hospital, and worked steadily on the soap for over 40 years. I knew exactly who Rachel Ames was, and had a lot of respect for her talent, as did everybody else. 

I was thrilled when Rachel Ames
dropped by rehearsals, after a
full day of taping
 General Hospital. She had class
and charisma, sorely lacking in
her husband.

But she was clearly the breadwinner in her marriage, and her husband was not the kind of man who could easily accept that fact. By the time Barry was cast in the central role of Pat in The Hostage, he had become an embittered and obnoxious drunk. 

I had a success in The Hostage (the gay press gave me raves, duh), and my father and sister attended the show.  My mother declined to see the production.  I was upfront with her about the flamboyant, somewhat queenie characterization I was giving, and she asked to be excused from watching.  I had no problem giving her a pass;  she was never comfortable with my feminine tendencies, and as Rio Rita, director Bobbi was encouraging them. 

Our flyer gives the impression my role was bigger than it was (I'm standing in the "O"). Though draped in scarf and silk robe, I had street clothes of the period underneath.  Rio Rita was always ready to "pop down to the docks to see if I can pick us up a sailor."

The Hostage taught me a lot about how to conduct myself in a professional setting (it gave me a pretty good Irish accent, too).  I saw the animosity which Barry Cahill created toward himself with his obnoxious behavior, and I also saw the respect which our younger leads Joe Colligan and Diane Rostant engendered.  Though I had been studying with Bobbi in her private workshop for years, I was glad that I took the plunge and finally worked with her as a director. 

Bobbi's workshop presented me with
a cake on the occasion of my last class,
as I headed off the grad school in 1993.

Bobbi was well-respected on the Waiver circuit as a director and as an actress, and when she died in 2008, after a long decline, there was quite an outpouring of admiration for her.

It would be 3 or 4 years after The Hostage before I worked again under the Waiver Code.  That next venture would be the first American production of a text which was over 400 years old, and had shady Shakespearean ties.  To get the scoop on that chestnut, come back for Part V of My Waiver Games. Meanwhile, you can read the full series, so far, here.