Theatre Droppings: A Happy Time, and Tony and Cleo's Wedding

Signature Theatre took a beating in New York recently, but at their home in Shirlington, it's a happy time, artistically speaking. I really enjoyed the first show of their Kander and Ebb Celebration, Kiss of the Spider Woman, though the local reviews were mixed. I caught the second show of the series several weeks ago, a production of the little-known, scantly-recalled The Happy Time. The show, initially produced back in the 60s as a follow-up to the team's hugely original Cabaret, was not a success in its first production. This intimate story of the black-sheep son returning to the bosom of his small-town French-Canadian family was given an overblown, Full Broadway Treatment, and apparently, the show's assets were swallowed. But here in Signature's smaller space, the show has been scaled down to become the chamber musical it probably always should have been, and it's a real charmer.

Michael Minarik plays the pivotal role of Jacques, the wayward son who returns to his hometown with wild and wonderful tales of the outside world, which he imparts to his impressionable nephew over the objections of his family. For the life of me, I cannot picture Robert Goulet in the role, for which he won a Tony in the original production. Goulet's only asset was his voice, so I cannot imagine he was at all successful in this role, which requires all the nuance, specificity, and internalized conflict which Minarik provides in the Signature production. The supporting cast here is superb, with the emphasis of the show being the close interaction of the family members as they struggle to regain "the happy time" of the title.

Antony and Cleopatra, currently in rep at The Shakespeare Theatre Company with Julius Caesar, has never been one of my favorite plays by the Bard. I'm told the thing has forty scenes, which take place all over the ancient Roman world. This hugeness tends to dwarf the human love story between the two title characters. There isn't much heat generated between them, though when they are apart, they shine. In particular, Suzanne Bertish as the Egyptian queen mines her early scenes for all their comedic potential, and later, as she waits impatiently for news of her beloved Antony, her histrionics seem justified. She's better waiting for Antony than when she's with Antony. The couple's scenes together never seem to ignite. Several of the supporting players make their mark, notably Ted van Greithuysen, who contributes a hilarious drunk scene, and Aubrey Deeker, who makes some interesting and unusual choices as the upstart Octavius.

Naturally, my buddy Kurt Rhoads contributes solidly as Ventidius (it's a mystery, but my friends always do great work), and really, nobody makes a false move. But it's a lengthy evening with lots of dry politics, men in togas, men in tunics, and men in sandals. But the show did remind me of my first acting class in graduate school, where all the MFA actors were assigned the same scene from Antony and Cleopatra. I was singularly unimpressive as Antony, but the experience did introduce me to what has remained the favorite Shakespearean line I have ever uttered:

"Hence, saucy eunuch!"

Beverlee McKinsey

1935-2008

TV Guide called her the best actress in the history of daytime television, and I would agree.

Beverlee McKinsey began her career on the stage. On Broadway, she understudied the leading lady in Neil Simon's Barefoot in the Park, and frequently shared the stage with a young Robert Redford. She created the role of Honey in the original London production of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, appearing opposite acting guru Uta Hagen.

But she found her lasting fame in daytime television. She spent decades working in soaps, beginning with Love is a Many Splendored Thing, and ending with a short gig on General Hospital, but she is surely best remembered for the creation of two iconic roles: Another World's Iris Carrington and Guiding Light's Alexandra Spaulding.

She made a bit of history in both roles.

Along with Shakespearean actor Douglass Watson, and daytime diva Victoria Wyndham, McKinsey created a fascinating triangle which dominated Another World for nearly a decade. She brought great depth to the role of Iris, the society maven with severe daddy issues.

Her performance became so popular that she was spun off into her own soap, Texas, which holds the distinction of being the first daytime drama to premiere as a one-hour program. More history was made here, as McKinsey was billed in the opening credits, the only soap performer ever to be so honored.

Several years after leaving Texas, McKinsey joined Guiding Light in a role which had been created specifically for her, Alexandra Spaulding. Again she played a high-society sophisticate. Her velvety vocal quality and clear, uncluttered acting style allowed her to move seamlessly from icy coldness to heartrending despair, and she became one of the leading ladies of the soap. She spent almost a decade on Guiding Light, and made history there when, after her repeated complaints about her long hours and sub-standard storylines were ignored by the producers, she exercised an obscure clause in her contract and bolted from the show. She moved into a reclusive semi-retirement, surfacing only for the occasional short-term engagement.

In her later years she underwent a kidney transplant, the long-term complications from which she ultimately died last week. She is survived by her son, Scott, currently on the directing team of General Hospital.

During her years on Another World, McKinsey received four consecutive Emmy nominations, losing all of them. Her work appeared effortless, so more frenzied, eccentric performers such as Judith Light went home with statuettes which were rightfully earned by McKinsey.

Expect some kind of memorial tribute at this year's Daytime Emmy Awards Show June 20.

"Glory Days" gored

Glory Days: Are these boys jumping for joy, or jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge?

Did anybody really think this slight little musical could make a successful Broadway transfer?

I applauded the effort, as it is good for the local theatrical community to be represented on the Great White Way. But I'm sorry to see that my initial reactions to Glory Days when it ran at Signature have been echoed by the critics in New York. They have even been reflected in the review Peter Marks filed in the Washington Post. Marks raved about the show during its Signature run, but in a fascinating illustration of successful backpedaling, he revisited the show in New York, and claimed that he never meant the show was much good, but rather that it was a worthy first effort for the twentysomething guys who wrote the thing.

It does NOT do the DC theatrical community much good to submit a show to Broadway which opens and closes on the same day. Such has been the fate of Glory Days. The largely dismissive reviews the show garnered only reinforces the New York attitude that all shows grown in the provinces must be regarded with suspicion.

And I wonder what this 2.5 million dollar flop might mean for the next Signature shows which are aiming for Broadway? The Visit, opening soon in Arlington, stars Chita Rivera and George Hearn and an ensemble which was cast and rehearsed in New York, with every intention of transferring to Broadway. (This show may have a fighting chance, with its Tony-winning stars on board, and the terrific Frank Gelati, a Tony-winner himself, directing the piece.)

But what of next season's planned projectile, Ace? Even as I write this, casting is underway for this show which is being announced as a pre-Broadway engagement. This one, however, is being directed by Signature's artistic director Eric Schaeffer, who helmed the flopped Glory Days, as well as several previous endeavors which failed their transfers to Broadway: Witches of Eastwick, Over and Over, The Rhythm Club, and Mame, among others.

I hate to say it, but maybe Signature Theatre is not ready for the Great White Way...

ADDENDUM: The Tony Awards Committee has deemed "Glory Days" ineligible for award consideration in any category.

I Hate Spring

Yep, I really do hate it. Not that I mind opening the windows all day, or the breezes, or the flowers, or whatnot.








I hate Spring for what it represents. It is the front door for Summer. And I REALLY hate Summer. Here in DC, our Spring is a brief fling of only a month or so, during which tons of cherry blossoms are dumped on the city, tons of pollen are dumped on our cars, and tons of tourists are dumped onto our streets.








Just try to drive anywhere this time of year in the District, and you will be stymied by huge tour buses all the way from Des Moines, driven by drivers who are thoroughly confused by the layout of our city.








But even as I claim to hate Spring, I know that I hate Summer more. Much, much more. I hate Summer with every sweat gland in my body. (I'm convinced every cell in my body has a sweat gland, and they all remain activated all Summer long. And as Summer around here lasts until Halloween, that's a lot of sweating).








So, I hate Spring, as the harbinger of Summer.








Except...








When I wake up these mornings, I roll over and look directly above my head. In traditional bedrooms, one would be looking at the headboard. Instead, in my condo, I am nose to glass with one of my large windows. I live on the third floor of a decidedly urban building, only a few blocks from the Capitol. But by some miracle, my windows are surrounded by trees. These trees are completely bare during the Winter months, but come Spring, they spring to life.








So, I wake up to this sight every morning these days:

When I lived in L.A., I would occasionally visit Disneyland, where my favorite exhibit (it wasn't really a ride) was a replica of the house where the Swiss Family Robinson lived. Remember that movie? The Disneyites turned the novel by Johann Wyss into a family-friendly star vehicle for Dorothy McGuire and Tommy Kirk. The shipwrecked family lived above ground, in a house constructed in the trees.

When I wake up these days, I spend several minutes gazing out the window into the lush foliage.

I'm like one of the Robinsons, or Tarzan, or George of the Jungle.

I'm living in a treehouse.

Space for Truckdrivers

...the first in an occasional series discussing the mechanics of acting for the Stage...








"Pace," as used in the theatrical world, means the rhythm of a production. It reflects character, motivation, and urgency (or lack thereof). Take this hypothetical:





Actor A: "I got a phone call asking for Blah Blah Blah."


Actor B: "Who is Blah Blah Blah???"


Actor C: "That's me. They call me that at [insert hysterical punchline]"





It is a very traditional and very effective formula to build to a joke, and keeps up the momentum of the show.





But suppose all of the actors are not tuned into the rhythm of the moment? The following might happen:





Actor A: "I got a phone call asking for Blah Blah Blah."


[beat.]


[beat.]


[beat.]


[beat.]


[beat.]


[beat.]


[beat.]


Actor B:" Who is Blah Blah Blah?"








A "beat," as used in the above context, is simply a pause. Not a full second, but a pause of silence. Think of it as a heartbeat.





Perhaps Actor B is pausing for six or seven beats because he/she is doing a lot of "silent acting" before he/she can deliver the next line.





But a savvy director is sure to point out that a long pause is unnecessary at this point, and is even detrimental in a farcical, high-voltage production. It's likely to reflect a lack of urgency in the proceedings.





In that case, that director might say:

"You could drive a truck through that cue."

By Myself

The party's over, the game is ended,

The dreams i dreamed went up in smoke.

They didn't pan out as i had intended;

I should know how to take a joke.














Those are the lyrics of the little-known intro to a song famously sung by Fred Astaire. Recognize it? I didn't either, but they are the words leading up to Fred's jaunty take on being alone: "By Myself." He sang the ditty in The Bandwagon (and on many other occasions, I suspect), as he sauntered through town on his own, feeling relieved that no one in the world had a claim on him. (Of course, he was about to meet Cyd Charisse and fall madly in love, so the song has an ironic tinge.)









That song has been running through my head lately, as I have been reminded how very single I am.













"We travel single-oh, " Fanny Brice tells Nick Arnstein in "Funny Girl,"

"Maybe we're lucky. But I don't know..."










I don't know either. I've always "Traveled Single-Oh", though I don't ever remember making a conscious decision to do so. I am a self-centered man, and I admit that without judgement attached. I mean that, because my life has always been lived alone, I have naturally put myself at the center of it. Any occasion which comes up, any emotion which reveals itself, any event which occurs, I am likely to experience it as it pertains to me.













My dear friends Scott and Drew, about whom I have written as members of my chosen family, are about to celebrate a quarter of a century together, and the success of their relationship lies in the fact that they put each other at the center of each other's lives. Who am I to argue with that? They have proof: relationships flourish when the participants are self-less, rather than self-ish.

















I believe that hypothesis put forward by Scott and Drew is correct. I'm sure I never made a conscious decision to put myself at the center of my life, but that is surely how I have lived it. And because I have done so, has my life not really been open to being shared with another? I may very well have brushed up against someone who would have turned out to be my soul-mate, particularly in my younger years, but I didn't give him much leeway to prove it. I was busy taking care of myself; making my own choices, pursuing my own goals, living my own life.

















No one has a claim on my life. I still revel in being alone, I have to admit. To quote Scott, I get to have beer and toast for breakfast if I wish.













But I also have to admit that, as I've entered middle age, I feel more loneliness than I used to. I am not sure that means I regret anything I did as a younger man. But I do wonder if things might have been different, had I not put myself at the center of my life.









I'll face the unknown,
i'll build a world of my own;
No one knows better than i, myself,
i'm by myself alone.

Theatre Droppings: Miss Daisy drives by

I popped out to Front Royal, VA, to catch my buddies Elliot, Faith, and Jim, in a charming little play called Driving Miss Daisy. Ever hear of it? As opposed to the Oscar-winning film adaptation, this stage version is very much a chamber piece, played quite well by a trio of actors, with all of whom I have a bit of history.

I have not worked with Faith Potts, but have seen her work several times, and all of us who have worked on the Madness of Shear share a special kinship (she has often played the society matron Mrs. Shubert). I particularly enjoyed Faith quite a while ago in an Irish play called The York Realist at Studio Theatre. One of her costars in that production was a gal I went to grad school with, which is how I ended up in that audience.

Faith's rendition of the indefatigable Miss Daisy lent a robustness to the show which I did not expect.

Jim Fleming was playing Daisy's son, Boolie. I worked with Jim a few seasons back at Wayside, in an Agatha Christie thriller called Black Coffee. Jim dominated that production (rightly so) as the quirky Dutch detective Hercule Poirot, and I found him to be a most generous actor onstage. I was a last-minute replacement in the production, and unfortunately, was not cast into my strengths, so I came away from the experience hoping Wayside would one day ask me back to correct the rather mediocre impression I had left with them. In Driving Miss Daisy, Jim once again proved himself to be a sensitive (but savvy) character actor. He delivered every laugh, and every poignant moment, which the playwright could have wished.

Of the three cast members in the show, I have the most history with Elliot Dash, playing the chauffeur Hoke. Ell and I were in graduate school together, and as always happens with any MFA in Acting, we practically lived together for three years. On campus, we shared the stage in The Cherry Orchard, Measure for Measure, and Othello, and we performed in five productions at the Shakespeare Theatre Company during our internship. This was quite a while ago, and Elliot has matured into an actor of dignity and gravitas, as illustrated in his performance in Miss Daisy.

I'm so glad I was able to get out to see the show, which closed last night. There must have been even more poignancy to last night's final performance. It was Wayside Theatre's last performance in the Front Royal space, a theatre they created out of almost nothing a year ago, and have inhabited ever since. I've mentioned several times that Wayside was in temporary digs while their permanent home underwent renovation, but there was always the hope that this temporary theatre could turn into a permanent, second space for Wayside. That possibility has sadly disappeared, so Wayside will return to their single space in July.

I chatted a bit with Wayside's artistic director, Warner Crocker, and could detect some real disappointment that they were not able to continue to use the Front Royal theatre. Apparently, funding was in place, then was withdrawn. Probably a common occurrence in the life of a theatre like Wayside, but no less disappointing.

I intend to write a bit later about theatres such as Wayside, regional theatres which have been around for decades, have strong national reputations, but are often stymied by financial matters. These theatres operate on a lower tier than the regionals I referenced in my earlier entry. They struggle mightily to find the funds necessary for survival, and even more mightily for growth. When these theatres are located in areas more rural than cosmopolitan, that struggle is even harder.

I know Wayside's final performance in Front Royal must have had all the bittersweet qualities of the show they were presenting.