Monday Dance Party: Everybody's Got The Right

There was no Friday Dance Party last week.  Friday was not the day for dancing. Or a party. 

 

All weekend, in the midst of joyously performing A Midsummer Night's Dream (and telling ourselves we were doing a good deed by lifting spirits), I only occasionally stopped by Facebook.  Amidst the outpouring of emotion regarding the school massacre was the expected blip from the usual suspects, those who regard any restriction of gun ownership to be a violation of their constitutional rights.  Sometimes my brain hurts from this stuff.  When the White House spokesman, of all people, proclaimed that this was "not the time to debate gun control," I thought my ears would start bleeding.  When exactly IS the best time to debate gun control? 

 

The current fiscal cliff stalemate proves that our legislators  cannot accomplish anything unless in crisis mode (actually, they are YOUR legislators, since, as a citizen of DC, MY legislator does not get to vote in Congress...so all this stuff is YOUR fault).  I would call last weekend's slaughter evidence of a crisis, and encourage action.

Wow, I didn't mean to get into all that, but you can now see how impossible it would have been to create a Dance Party last Friday.  But I've been feeling bad that I skipped a week, the only time that has happened in over four years of Dance Party silliness, so I shall make up for the loss with a special Monday edition.

Believe it or not, there is actually a piece of musical theatre out there which deals with violence in America.  That theme alone is reason enough that the show is not widely appreciated, and its history is one of lousy timing and disconcerting content.  The show is Assassins, one of Stephen Sondheim's most controversial works. 

In 2006, Signature Theatre in DC, renowned for reexamining Sondheim's flops, presented Assassins. As if the piece itself wasn't unsettling enough, this staging placed the actors in theatre seats facing the audience.  There was no escape.

A lot of Sondheim's shows have had, shall we say, "checkered" histories, and Assassins may be at the head of a list which would probably also contain Passion, Pacific Overtures, Merrily We Roll Along, and Road Show.  All these shows had limited appeal in their initial runs, and divided audiences into lovers and haters (I've heard that, during the Broadway run of Passion, there was an actual fistfight in the audience between someone who hated the show and someone who was defending it!).

My favorite Cassidy, Patrick, co-starred in the
original, with Victor Garber.

But back to Assassins, which made its debut Off-Broadway in 1990, with a cast which included Victor Garber, Patrick Cassidy, Terrance Mann, and Debra Monk.  It's no surprise that the show sold out its limited run of only 73 performances, as everybody clamored to see Sondheim's first show since the well-regarded Into the Woods.  The surprise here was the fact that the show did not make its anticipated move to Broadway (the NY Times pan had a lot to do with that). 

In the 2004 revival, Neil Patrick Harris's
performance as Lee Harvey Oswald was
creepily enhanced by his t-shirt, upon
which the Zapruder home movie of JFK's
assassination flickered.

Years later, Roundabout Theatre's plan to finally produce the show on Broadway was derailed by the September 11 attacks;  they rightly surmised that nobody wanted to see a show which humanized the people who, throughout history, attempted and/or succeeded in murdering American presidents.  Yes, that's what Assassins is about.  In a carnival setting, the show gives voice to the most heinous (and occasionally hilarious) villains in American history.  John Wilkes Booth and Lee Harvey Oswald tell their stories (and argue with each other), while John Hinkley sings a love song to Jodie Foster before shooting Reagan.  The lesser known assassins of presidents Garfield and McKinley are also featured, as well as those loony ladies who each tried to kill Gerald Ford, Squeaky Fromme and Sarah Jane Moore.

Squeaky Fromme and Sara Jane Moore meet on a park bench.  Fromme was a member of Charles Manson's "family," and oddly, Moore went to high school with him. Individually, they both attempted to shoot Gerald Ford, and they have both currently been released on parole.

The connecting thread of all their stories seems to be a desire to be noticed.  But there is another major character in Assassins: the gun.  The show opens with The Balladeer, who acts as our narrator, handing out guns to all the assassins;  there is even a ballad ABOUT the gun.  As you can imagine, the piece is dark and unsettling;  it's no surprise that Assassins is not considered a classic. 

The 2004 Broadway production won the Tony, as did Michael Cerveris as Booth. You can also spot previous Tony winner Denis O'Hare, as well as comic Mario Cantone in the Santa suit.  My man Neil Patrick Harris played the Balladeer and Lee Harvey Oswald. The cast reunited this month for a concert staging in New York.  The casual way in which the cast handles their guns is truly disturbing, and is indicative of the American attitude toward weaponry and violence.

This week's Dance Party (or rather, last week's, appearing several days late) features the clip presented on the Tony awards when the revival finally made it to Broadway in 2004.  The yucky theme of the show has always doomed Assassins, and though the revival won five Tonys, it was not a hit.  It probably never will be, and after last week's gun violence, I pity any high school or college theatre department which was presenting the show as its Christmas musical.  This clip certainly illustrates the difficulty of producing Assassins for a wide audience, and the final image, which is the last moment of the show, has traumatic significance this week.

Friday Dance Party: Affecting The Upper Respiratory Tract

Faith Prince was a replacement Ursula in Disney's attempt to put The Little Mermaid onstage.

There are lots of stage actors out there who claim that the rehearsal process is their favorite part of putting on a show.  For them, it is more enjoyable and rewarding than actually performing in front of an audience.  Not me, baby. 

My current gig.

While I hope to always enjoy the rehearsal process (a hope which is sometimes dashed, unfortunately), the real fun for me is always in the final performance.  Because of this, I am being robbed.  My current production, A Midsummer Night's Dream, opened in Manhattan this week, for a brief, two week run.  Our houses are growing (we were full last night, at only our third performance, very unusual for this kind of showcase production), and the crowds have been warm and receptive.  I love the role I'm playing and should be having a ball.  I'm not.  I have a creepy croup which is causing me misery.

You must look very closely to see me in this picture.  The boys are kissing my hand.  I'm told I'm giving a solid performance as Wall.

I've been very lucky in that I have not been sick for a moment in the past two years, a personal best for me.  But last week, I came down with the illness which has plagued me, off and on, throughout my adult life. 

This ugly root is supposed to work wonders
for the common cold. I'm drinking gallons of
this stuff boiled into a "tea."

The tickle in the throat grew to a raging soreness, but soon disappeared, replaced with a very liquid cold.  That, too, has gone, leaving behind a hacking, racking, insistent cough.  That kind of cough really takes the fun out of everything, and I've been unable to socialize with my cast, as I must dash home every night to drink that lousy ginger root drink which everybody swears by.

Faith Prince as Adelaide in Guys and Dolls.

The star of this week's Dance Party also suffers from a cold, brought on, in her case, by an unhappy love life. 

Prince had success in the role which
made Judy Holiday a musical star.

It's a great character number from Guys and Dolls, and here is delivered by Faith Prince, who won the Tony for one of the revivals of the show.  She has a very specific style which works well for roles such as Adelaide;  her voice is lodged solidly in the mask of the face, which gives her a decidedly nasal quality but with lots of power.  That quality has been put to great use for years on the Broadway and cabaret stage. 

I own the recording of Faith's club act, which
proves her a skilled song stylist, but
unfortunately, her nasality begins to wear.

She first made a splash in Jerome Robbins' Broadway, in which she hammed it up as dresssy Tessie Turra in the Gypsy segment.  She headlined Bells Are Ringing and A Catered Affair, and she did replacement work in Falsettoes, The Little Mermaid, and Billy Elliott (in which she toured).  I'm told she now lives in Sacremento, but she continues to maintain a bit of a presence even off the beaten path.  

Sadly, nobody really sounds this good when they develop a cold, or in my case, hack up a lung.

Friday Dance Party: Peter Pan's My Mother

The 1960s sitcom landscape was littered with the supernatural. On the top of the heap sat Samantha, the gorgeous witch, but we also had occultish families such as the Addams and the Munsters, as well as a Martian Uncle Martin and a Ghost romancing Mrs Muir. For a short while, we had a beautiful robot, a Living Doll if you will, learning to be human, and even a Mother reincarnated as a Car. The most provocative of them all was the studly astronaut who discovered a nubile genie on a deserted island, and took her home to call him "Master." We lost Major Nelson this week.

Once again, this week's Dance Party is inspired by the Grim Reaper, who must have felt cheated years ago when our hero's life was saved by a liver transplant.  Death exacted his payment this week.

Larry Hagman

1931-2012

One of the most recognizable television celebrities of his generation, Hagman will forever be remembered for his portrayal of silkily smooth good ol' boy villain J.R. Ewing. 

Those battling Ewings, JR and Sue Ellen,
were the poster couple for corrupt
marriages.

Beginning in 1977, heading a large cast of good-looking ne'er-do-wells, Hagman's central performance propelled Dallas to the top of the ratings, and ushered in the first renaissance of soap opera in prime time since Peyton Place left the airways in the late 1960s.

Dallas's success ignited more than a decade of its type of prime time soap, in which an extended family of wealthy schemers grasped for love, sex, and more wealth.

Falcon Crest, Dynasty, Dynasty's spinoff The Colbys, and Dallas's own spinoff Knots Landing (which rivalled Dallas in longevity) all followed a formula which included a character with similar characteristics as J.R., but Hagman's portrayal was preeminent. 


This year's Dallas reboot had some success and there are plans to continue. The "dreaming"tagline satirizes Season 7 of the original series, which was labeled a dream when Patrick Duffy, who had left the show, wished to return.

When, after three seasons, our hero entered tough contract negotiations, the "Who Shot J.R?" episodes were concocted, as a way to write out the show's most colorful character.  Larry won all his contractual demands, and remained with the show; he was the only actor to appear in all 357 episodes.

Dallas sometimes had more drama off-screen than on-.  The illness of Barbara Bel Geddes forced a recast. Hagman attempted to enlist his mother to play the Ewing matriarch, but the role went to Donna Reed.  When Bel Geddes unexpectedly returned the following season, Reed sued, and was awarded a million dollars to walk away from the show.

Censors watched I Dream of Jeannie
closely. A sexy, unmarried couple living
together (with one in a bikini top) belied
the show's cleancut image.

I was not a fan of the lavish prime time soaps, so I best remember Hagman as the baffled astronaut from his earlier TV hit, I Dream of Jeannie.  His comic reactions were responsible for most of the laughs in the series (Dick York held the same position on Bewitched), and Larry proved himself to be a nimble physical comedian. 

Considering his parentage, Larry spent only a bit of his career on the stage, notably appearing in the chorus of South Pacific when his mother, Mary Martin, took the hit to London.  This week's clip does not, I hope, illustrate his true musical talent, because he's lousy in it. 

Hagman had no business playing the male lead in a major
musical, but he was a big TV star, so he took the role
created by Len Cariou on the stage.

I own a bootleg copy of another of Hagman's appearances in a musical, the TV adaptation of Applause, and he's pretty lousy in that one, too. (Go here for the Dance Party which features Lauren Bacall's visit to a gay bar in that production.)  It's lucky, then, that Larry found episodic television, which was the source of his biggest success.

The 1973 TV version of Applause preserves the Broadway performances of Lauren Bacall and Penny Fuller. Larry Hagman was added to the cast to provide some TV star power.

Larry appears in only the first few moments of this week's Dance Party;  the rest of the clip is taken by his mother. 

Hagman's famous 1980 Malibu party for the Dallas cast
included his mother, as well as actress Linda Gray,
who was at Larry's side this week when he died.

Mary Martin is probably my least favorite of the old Broadway Grande Dames, and this clip does not change my mind.  She's clearly in her "legendary" mode, as the voice (which I always found wobbly) is weak, and she relied heavily on the perkiness factor.  But it's kind of fun to see Martin and her son together, so in honor of Larry Hagman's death this week, enjoy:

Friday Dance Party: I Don't Count Sheep

I don't see those fabulous Ficcas nearly enough, but they have woven themselves into the fabric of my life.

This morning I had pecan pie for breakfast, which happens only once a year;  obviously, it's the day after Thanksgiving. 

Please pronounce my annual breakfast treat correctly.
The accent is on the second syllable: "pe-KAHN."
"PEE-can" is where you urinate when you
can't find a bathroom.

The pie was the surviving remnant of yesterday's feast, more about that in a mo'.  Thanksgiving is not a big holiday in my family, our traditional feasting on that day passed out of fashion decades ago when my mother died.  There was always a significant distance factor to our family's attempts to gather, and Christmas has become the big family holiday for us.  Even though my father and all his kids now live on the east coast, we are still far enough away from each other to make it difficult to get together for Christmas and a month earlier as well, so Turkey Day faded from our familial consciousness.

This family Thanksgiving included my grandmother, and occurred years before we left Atlanta for Los Angeles. Note my mother's stylish bouffant.

For years, then, Thanksgiving for me was simply a quiet day which happened to have a parade and a lot of football interrupting daytime television. 

Last year, Nan and Ray moved our dinner to the bar. We'll
never go back to table service again.

About 6 or 7 years ago, though, my buddy Ray called out of the blue and wondered if I had plans to celebrate Thanksgiving, and if not, would I be pleased to join him and his wife and a few of their strays for dinner at a local eatery.  We had a blast, and a tradition was born.  I look forward to these dinners with Nan and Ray, which some years are quiet affairs with just ourselves, others are bigger gatherings of their friends.  In recent years, we've refined the tradition quite satisfactorily.  We meet at their favorite watering hole and spend 6 hours or so seated at the bar, enjoying drinks and the meal. 

Yesterday's Thanksgiving, where I was the only one without
a team shirt or jacket. I've been promised a Redskins earring.

Yesterday, football was added to the mix, as my hosts are avid (one might even say rabid) Redskins fans, and the team was playing.  Everyone who knows me will be astonished to discover that I actually watched and enjoyed the game.  Perhaps the 6 hours of cocktailing had something to do with that.

So, Thanksgiving really is a party day for me.  Usually, I overlook its real meaning.  This week, though, I've been thinking about the things for which I ought to be thankful.  The family is relatively healthy, including my father who turned 85 this year and is still going strong. 

My family's Thanksgiving celebrations have splintered. Christmas is our big day.

I myself have had some health concerns which, thankfully, are now under control.  A few weeks ago, I wrote about my good fortune regarding my living arrangements, which include comfortable residences in two of the most interesting cities on the planet. 

Whether she's a "blessing" or just a stroke of good luck, I am very thankful for my Claudia.

I'm lucky to be maintaining that life, though it comes with a cost.  I am going to have to face my own fiscal cliff very soon, but just as our legislators are likely to do, I'll probably kick the financial can down the road a bit, and deal with it in the new year. 

I was reminded several times this week of more of my "blessings," which I put in quotes because, though that's what everyone else seems to call these bits of good luck, I hesitate to label them so. 

Another blessing.

The word "blessings" seems to imply that some specific person or entity is responsible for granting them to me, and I'm more likely to believe I have had simple, but profound, good fortune.  Specifically, I'm talking about my friends.  I had lunch early this week with one of my oldest and dearest, who has been at my side, supporting me and accepting me, since my grad school days.  I have a few such intimate friends, and in addition, I am continually reminded that I am surrounded by dozens and dozens of others who wish me well. 

At an audition this week, I ran into Carl and several others who
wonderfully wander through my life.

These are folks who wander in and out of my daily life; I often don't see them for long periods, but then I bump into them and remember why I consider them friends.  Perhaps we are not all that involved in each others' daily lives, but when I see them, I am reminded of their acceptance and support.

This week's Dance Party does a good job of illustrating my feelings this week.  The song was written by Irving Berlin for his film White Christmas, and both Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney had success with it, having introduced the song in the film.  Instead of visiting that clip, though, here is songbird Diana Krall with a slightly more heartfelt rendition.  It is the perfect way to sum up my feelings this Thanksgiving. 

It comforts me to imagine that my blessings, or bits of good luck, are somehow connected to my mother's spirit. Frankly, that's easier for me to believe than that a specific deity might have decreed I deserve certain "blessings." But whatever these are, these blessings or bits of good fortune or cosmically designed shards of karma, I am grateful to have them. Thanksgiving is a fine time to express that gratitude. 

Friday Dance Party: 4th Anniversary

Maybe I need a new hobby.

I can't believe it myself, but the Friday Dance Party turns four years old this week. 

Blame Larry. He's the one in the middle.

Don't blame me.  Blame my old Wayside Theatre buddy Larry Dalke, who created the event on his blog, but almost immediately abandoned it.  I, however, have too much time on my hands, so I stole the idea and gave it a home here.

Tommy Tune's tribute.

How do I pick the clips which appear here every Friday, you may ask?  OK, you're probably NOT asking, but I'll tell you anyway.  Often, I'm inspired by something happening in the news of the week;  for example, our recent visit by Frankenstorm Sandy inspired two weeks' worth of entries, including a medley from the original, aging cast of Grease (Sandy? Grease? Get it?), and the other being a clip from Urinetown, which was reminding me of Staten Island after the waves hit. 

The song from this film popped up during
discussion of Same Sex Marriage.

The recent election inspired several entries as well, including last week's advice regarding gay marriage, and this parody song from Pirates of Penzance.  The flap over Chik-Fil-A's antigay contributions invited a visit from The Muppets, and the Supreme Court's confirmation of the legality of Obamacare reminded me of the Scrubs musical episode.  We had a Blue Moon (that really wasn't one) over the summer, so Harpo Marx handled that controversy, and the use of pink ribbons for breast cancer advocacy inspired us all to Think Pink!

I've never understood the popularity of Shark Week, but that didn't stop me from celebrating MY favorite sharks, and when the DC region's two Baseball teams were in the running to advance to the World Series, we watched Jason play baseball.

My own life inspired a couple of clips from Kiss Me Kate.  I was playing Gremio in Taming of the Shrew at the time, so this clip seemed appropriate, as did this one reminding us to Brush Up Your Shakespeare.

A Facebook meme which traced the number one song on the date of one's birth led to this clip from the film version of Damn Yankees (and questions about the word "erp"), and when the Natalie Wood case was reopened, we enjoyed Christopher Walken's dance moves (Walken was onboard the night Natalie toppled into the bay).   Christmas inspired a visit to Judy Garland's TV show, where Liza danced with "her beau," and Father's Day reminded me of this clip from Working.  (That was not the only visit to Garland's lamented variety show: when her longtime musical director Mort Lindsey died, we had her lovely rendition of "Just In Time.")

A couple of deaths in the past year triggered memories from my own life. When Donna Summer danced her Last Dance, and when Whitney Huston wondered "How Will I Know?", I was immediately transported back in time, to the era when their music served as the soundtrack to my life. 

Nobody remembers Doe Avedon, an actress who
was famous only for being famous. But her life
inspired the Hepburn/Astaire classic Funny Face.

But of course, those were not the only corpses to inspire Dance Parties.  Several composers who passed away this year deserved attention.  Richard Adler's "Shoeless Joe" made an appearance, and when Hal David died, Sean Hayes and Kristin Chenoweth vowed never to fall in love again. When Marvin Hamlisch died, we played his song.  Lee Pockriss was not a household name, but he provided this humorous clip from the Perry Como show.

I still don't know if Robert Sherman wrote music or lyrics, but it really doesn't matter.  His death broke up the Sherman Brothers, who provided Disney with decades worth of terrific music, such as this jazzy showstopper from The Jungle Book.

Several show biz impresarios left us this year, inspiring clips devoted to Dick Clark, Don Cornelius, and Robert Dozier. When director Ken Russell died, I resisted the temptation to use the infamous scene from Tommy in which Ann-Margaret rolled around in a room filled with baked beans, and used this one instead.  But when character actor Bill McKinney died, I could not resist those dueling banjos from his most famous film, Deliverance. 

I made the blanket claim that Davy Jones was
the first Teen Idol, and backed it up too.

William Duell's death allowed me to visit one of my favorite musicals, 1776, and Celeste Holm's death reminded me that I saw her onstage, twice.  From the world of television, we had the odd conglomeration of Cass Elliot, Ray Charles, and Elton John on Andy Williams's show, and a sweetly melodic entry from Don Knotts and Andy Griffith, when the latter finally stopped whistling. 

Neil Patrick Harris's birthday is never overlooked at the Dance Party. This pic was taken during his opening number at this year's Tonys, but his Dance Party, also featuring Patti Lupone, came from his concert appearance in Sweeney Todd.

Perhaps the oddest corporeal contribution to the Dance Party this year was by Edna Milton Chadwell, whose name is completely forgotten, but whose life as a hooker formed the basis for one of my favorite guilty secrets, Best Little Whorehouse In Texas.

They had a lousy summer. Kristin Chenoweth suffered major injury on the set of The Good Wife, and Kathy Bates underwent radical mastectomies, plus her show was canceled. The Dance Party cheered them both up by sending them to "Easy Street."

You didn't have to die to get onto the Dance Party, there were plenty of birthdays celebrated as well.  Dorothy Loudon gave 100% on her rendition of 50%, and Meryl Streep did the best she could with the yuckiest song of the year. 

Gene Kelly stopped traffic on roller skates, and
here, Madeline Kahn stopped the Sondheim
tribute when she refused to Get Married Today.

When Streisand turned 70, we got an early medley from Funny Girl, and when Mary Tyler Moore turned 75, we enjoyed a dance number in capri pants from her first TV show.  Doris Day was not known for her dancing, but she did a pretty good job here;  I wish I could say the same for Debbie Reynolds, who turned 80 this year (and should have known better than to tackle this hilarity).  Two other performers of note turned 80 this year as well:  we watched a very young, very impish Joel Grey mug his way through his very first TV appearance, on the Eddie Cantor show, and we suffered greatly because of Peter O'Toole's retirement announcement, and because of his disastrous Don Quixote too.

Another important birthday graced the Dance Party this year, my mother's. A clip from  my mother's lookalike Rita Hayworth celebrated it.

And there you have it, 52 musical clips comprising the fourth year of the Friday Dance Party.  If you are seriously disturbed, you may want to access all of them in reverse chronological order, beginning with last week's, here (in fact, you can find all <gulp> 210 clips, from the beginning of the segment, there as well).  But we need one more clip, to begin the 5th year of this pompous segment.  As in past anniversaries, this week's clip features young amateur dancers.  I rarely feature amateurs on the Dance Party, but for the first, second, and third anniversary, I did.  So to kick off the next year of overwritten essays and obscure tributes, enjoy this week's Dance Party:

Friday Dance Party: The Misery Of Matrimony

I am having a very hard time wrapping my brain around the passage of marriage equality measures this week.  As everybody has already noted, any time gay marriage has been placed before a popular vote, it has lost. 

Minority rights should never be placed in the hands of the majority, as the majority will invariably deny them, a fact which, regarding gay marriage, has been proven over 30 times in state-wide elections.  If the abolition of slavery had been voted upon by the general population of, say, South Carolina, Charleston would still be hosting slave auctions.

The reversal of this trend leaves me happily astonished.  Perhaps there is hope for mankind after all.

I bet it pleases Robert Klein, too. 

He's appeared once before on the Dance Party, go here to see his lively duet with Lucie Arnaz.  This week, he welcomes homosexuals to that institution previously reserved only for the straight.