Farrah Fawcett

1947-2009

By now, everybody on the planet knows about Fawcett's tragic death from anal cancer. Or you would, if Michael Jackson hadn't died simultaneously. I'll postpone yakking about Jacko until some of the commotion dies down, but Farrah deserves some attention, too. Diagnosed in 2006, her health battles were played out in the tabloids and on television, the same venues which catapulted her to stardom. Her most famous contribution to pop culture occurred several years before her breakout role in TV's Charlie's Angels, when, as a model and occasional actress, she posed for what may be the biggest selling poster in the history of posters:

Every adolescent straight boy in the nation had this poster hanging in his bedroom, and it hung in a great many garages and biker bars as well. Though she tried for the rest of her life, Fawcett never escaped her iconic status as a pinup girl.



In the 60s and early 70s, she appeared in a dozen or more television series, including I Dream of Jeannie, Owen Marshall, Marcus Welby, McCloud and The Partridge Family. In 1976, she appeared in several episodes of The Six Million Dollar Man, starring her then-husband Lee Majors (for a while, she took her husband's name and was known as Farrah Fawcett-Majors, which was the kiss of death for the marriage. I wrote a long while ago in these pages about that odd Hollywood phenomenon, where the marriage inevitably ends if the woman adds her husband's name to her own).

Fawcett's role on Charlie's Angels made her a star. The show invented the genre called "jiggle television," with Farrah herself remarking that the show shot to number one in the ratings because none of the three stars wore bras. It was the centerpiece of producer Aaron Spelling's TV empire during the late 70s, and Fawcett's back-swept hair style became a sensation. She deserted the show after only one season, which landed her in court for breach of contract. She was later required to fulfill her contract by appearing as a guest star in subsequent seasons of the show.

Like all actresses known primarily for their looks, Farrah was determined to prove herself a real actress, and did so by appearing off-Broadway in the gruesome rape drama Extremities (she took over the role from Susan Sarandon, and ended up in the film version as well). She won her first Emmy nomination for the TV movie The Burning Bed, the true story of an abused housewife who set her husband on fire.

As she struggled to prove herself a legitimate actress, Fawcett's personal life continued to feed the tabloids. Her long-term relationship with Ryan O'Neal (they were a "Hollywood Golden Couple" back in the day) has endured numerous trials, including the habitual incarceration of their son Redmond, who is currently again behind bars for possession of illegal substances (I wrote about this loser here). There was talk earlier this week from Ryan that the couple would tie the marital knot soon, but that apparently did not happen.

I confess that I never considered Farrah Fawcett an exceptional actress, or even a particularly competent one. But her brave struggle with cancer, which she endured in the public eye, makes me hope she has found some final peace.

Farrah Fawcett died yesterday at the age of 62.

Friday Dance Party: Friends of Dorothy

The star of this week's Dance Party is surely one of the most revered, and most tragic, songstresses of the 20th century.

Everybody knows Judy Garland as one of the great song stylists ever. She could belt, she could croon, she could cry you a river. I have great respect for the lady, even as I have previously admitted to seeing only three of her films. Her singing prowess often overshadowed her acting ability; she won an honorary Oscar for her work in The Wizard of Oz, and she was subsequently nominated for A Star is Born and Judgement at Nuremberg.

As a product of the Studio System, Garland was also a first class hoofer. Her ability would never rival that of Ginger Rogers or Cyd Charisse, but she held her own opposite dance titans like Gene Kelley and Fred Astaire. This week's Dance Party proves the point. Please enjoy the following montage of some of her dance skills.

Judy Garland died 40 years ago this week, and her death was at least partially responsible for the birth of modern gay activism. (More on that topic in Sunday's entry. Stay tuned.)

Ed McMahon

1923-2009

The son of a traveling salesman, McMahon had a bit of the carnival barker in him. His first job, in fact, was as a carny at age 15. His booming voice and pleasant, non-threatening demeanor were perfect sales tools which he put to good use throughout a long career. In his early years, he hawked fountain pens on the boardwalk in Atlantic City, and kitchenware door-to-door while in college. He joined the military during World War II, and also fought in Korea, retiring as a colonel. His television career was launched in Philadelphia, but it was his job as Johnny Carson's announcer on the 50s game show Who Do You Trust? which was to change his life. When Carson succeeded Jack Paar on The Tonight Show, he dumped announcer Hugh Downs and gave the gig to McMahon. The two worked together for 30 years, with Ed defining the role of talk-show sidekick.

McMahon was the famous face of the Publishers' Clearing House Sweepstakes, and co-hosted the annual Jerry Lewis Labor Day Telethon since its inception. He hosted the talent competition show Star Search and TV's Bloopers and Practical Jokes, and appeared in commercials for Budweiser and Alpo, among other products. But his lasting fame will always be as Carson's set-up man. The two became such a team that McMahon renegotiated his contract to specify that he would only appear on The Tonight Show with Johnny. Whenever one of Carson's many guest hosts took over, McMahon was replaced by bandleader Doc Severinsen.

In recent years, McMahon landed in the news for defaulting on the mortgage on his Beverly Hills estate. He poked fun at his own financial distress in a Superbowl commercial earlier this year.

Ed McMahon died today at the age of 86.

Tale of the Squirrelly Squire

We have reached the mid-way point of our run in La Mancha, and a nice sense of confidence has overcome us all. It's leading to stronger performances, which in turn is leading to strong audience response to the piece. I confess, though, that I still get a little surge of unease as we approach the sequence in the kitchen of the inn. It was during that sequence, during our first preview performance, that I rewrote a song.

Everyone who has spent an amount of time on stage has at least a couple of stories to tell of unmitigated disaster. Usually, it involves the humiliation of the actor telling the story. I have more than my share, including the one I wrote about quite a while ago. That one involved youth, inexperience, and a bourbon gone awry. I had no such excuses the other week at Man of La Mancha.

Let's be frank; brain pharts are coming more frequently these days. Probably too many martinis over the years, but I'm not going there. I promised a little while ago to write about this tale, and so I sally forth.

I sing three songs solo in the show. The first is a very quick acappella dittie. The second number I sing, "I Really Like Him," is the one which caused me some grief at our first preview.

In my own defense (okay, there is no defense, but there are reasons I went so far astray), the song's two verses are virtually interchangeable. They do not follow a logical progression, which is the reason I had trouble learning them in the first place. At the first preview, I launched confidently into the song, singing the second verse first. I recognized my error immediately, but of course did not stop singing. Instead, my brain started to concoct a plan to sing the first verse second. As I tried to figure this out, my mouth took over and began inventing lyrics.

These lyrics didn't have much to do with the show, but they fit the rhythm of the song perfectly. They even rhymed. I don't have a clear memory of the rewrite, but it had something to do with turning myself into glue. My costar in the scene, the lovely and talented Nancy O'Bryan, maintained her composure, though the twinkle in her eye screamed, "What the fuck words are coming out of your mouth?"

I did not do much better when it came time for the second verse, which was a mishmash of scrambled words. In a nutshell, I rewrote the whole song. On the spot. In the correct rhythm and rhyme.

I received kudos from my fellow cast mates, who all claimed they had never enjoyed an onstage screw-up so thoroughly.

It's really a shame that no one was taping that first preview performance. The lyrics I invented, whatever they were, could have been sent to the authors of Man of La Mancha, and offered to subsequent productions as a third verse...

The Flop That Would Not Die

Remember Glory Days? It was the brand new musical which premiered a year or so ago at Signature Theatre to positive response, then transferred to Broadway and flopped big time. A musical has not opened and closed on the same night in many years, but Glory Days accomplished the feat. But something about the piece keeps it going, and a Japanese language production was recently announced. Now, the young creators and stars have more good news: the score is being recorded. I have no doubt this will be a boon for the show, giving thousands of high schools, colleges, and small professional theatres a chance to hear the music. I wrote a while ago that, with such a small, young cast and limited requirements regarding sets and orchestration, the show could rise from the ashes of its Broadway demolition and find regional life.

A full cast recording is a phenomenal achievement for a show with such a checkered history. While I was not really won over by the show, it's a great chance for authors Nick Blaemire (music) and James Gardiner (book) to become better known. Anything that leads to more opportunities for new theatrical writers is a good thing.

Friday Dance Party: The Panza Pirouette

If you occasionally drop by these pages, you know that I am currently working in a lovely production of Man of La Mancha at Wayside Theatre. Sancho Panza is well-remembered by anybody who has ever seen a production of the show, as a comic sidekick (though he has some tender moments as the play progresses, which I hope I fulfill). He gets lots of laughs and two throw-away comic songs; I'm enjoying the heck out of playing him.

In our production, Sancho also acts much like a stage manager, helping to set the various scenes, passing out props, etc. These instances have been choreographed just like dance numbers, and as I have very little formal dance training, I believe I'm doing only moderately well in this department. Here is one of the sequences when I'm setting the stage by handing out props (in this case, cups). I was so lucky to have someone in the audience last weekend with a Flip Camera who captured this brief moment on film, enabling me to share it as this week's Dance Party. If you have trouble spotting me (my make up transforms me completely), I'm the guy in the blue tights:

Saturday Knight Fever

Man of La Mancha is up and running. I wrote about our final week of rehearsal and our opening night earlier in these pages; we have now completed our first regular week of performances, which were enhanced by several glowing reviews.

Now, about reviews. Usually, they are not very well written, and are often penned by people who have very little experience in live theatre. At least two of our raves are more book reports than critiques, but you know, if they are positive, we don't make noise. It's only if the review is negative that we complain about the sloppy writing.

As I said, all our reviews have been raves, and I hope they will help increase attendance. Wayside Theatre depends on them, as well as on good word-of-mouth response. So far, we have had smaller houses than I would expect, for a musical with this kind of name-recognition. But of course, small houses don't necessarily mean "bad" houses. In fact, we have had two spectacular audiences, including our big Opening Night, and another which included dozens of teen aged actors. They were great fun.

Other houses, though, have surprised me with their reticence. Wayside's core audience is an older one (nothing new there; I doubt there is a theatre in the country which does not depend on seniors for their attendance), and out here in Middletown, VA, the oldsters seem tired. Last Saturday evening's performance, for example, I was surprised that the response during the show was so tepid. Nation-wide, Saturday Night performances are usually the best of the week. But here, it was as if the audience was worn out before we ever started. Interestingly, though throughout the performance these folks seem overly quiet, when it comes time for the curtain call, they are up on their feet, applauding wildly. They clearly are enjoying the show, and are attentive to the show, they just don't respond during the show.

I admit to being disconcerted by this response (or lack thereof), which I feel pretty keenly, as Sancho has so many comic moments. There is nothing odder than delivering laugh lines to tentative response. In my younger years as an actor, I would be quite worried, and would try to "pump it up," to go Over The Top to get more vocal response (the role of Sancho Panza already straddles the line between the comedic and the clownish, so it would take only a small push to shove my performance into cartoon territory). But I am an older and wiser coot now, and have resisted that temptation.

So far.