Friday Dance Party: "She Put 'Em Down Like A Man"

So said Fred Astaire about the star of this week's Dance Party, Eleanor Powell. She was the dominant female tapper of the 30s and 40s, though is not as well remembered as other later hoofers such as Ann Miller and Ginger Rogers. She was considered the only star who could out-tap Astaire, and though he partnered with her several times, word was he was intimidated by her. Their dance routine to Cole Porter's "Begin the Beguine" is considered a classic.

She was ordained as a minister in the Unity Church in the early fifties, and on television, headlined a Sunday morning drama series called The Faith of Our Children. The program ran several years and won some regional Emmys; two of Powell's juvenile co-stars were her son Peter Ford (Glenn Ford was Powell's first husband) and John Stillman. Don't recognize the latter's name? He grew up to become porn legend Jack Wrangler, about whom I wrote when he died last year (bring your best bow-chicka-bow-wow here to read that entry).

I seem to have wandered off track here, how did that happen? Though she partnered with everybody, Powell was best known as a solo tapper. This week's Dance Party proves why. She rehearsed and shot this sequence in her own home, in order to get the best performance out of her co-star, who almost steals the show.

The 28th anniversary of Eleanor Powell's death was last week; she died February 11th, 1982, at the age of 69.

Kathryn Grayson

1922-2010

Her dream was to sing opera, but Louis B. Meyer had other ideas. Born in North Carolina, Grayson's family moved to Los Angeles during her teens, at a time when MGM was looking for a young talent to rival Universal's Deanna Durbin. She was teamed with Mickey Rooney in Andy Hardy's Private Secretary (playing the title role), in which she sang a bit of Strauss. Her clear, bell-tone soprano was used to good effect in Showboat, Kiss Me Kate, Desert Song, and a string of lesser operettas. She played opposite Gene Kelly in Thousands Cheer and Anchors Aweigh, but was better matched with stars with legit voices such as Mario Lanza and Gordon MacRae. With the decline of the movie musical in the 50s, she turned to the stage and the concert hall, often teaming with Howard Keel (with whom she had made several films). Together they played Vegas and toured widely with Man of La Mancha. Grayson hit Broadway as a replacement for Julie Andrews in Camelot, and headlined its first national tour. The 60s also provided her with opportunities to fulfill her life-long dream to sing opera; she played in La Boheme, La Traviata, and Madame Butterfly, among others.

Kathryn did a bit of television work, earning an Emmy nomination in 1956 for an episode of General Electric Theatre, and decades later, she appeared on Murder She Wrote several times.

I admit that Grayson was not one of my favorites, as I hold a general disinterest in the soprano voice. Give me the lower smokey tones of Garland any day. But Kathryn Grayson was a sweet presence on film, illustrated in the brief clip below from 1947. She is singing one of my favorites of the old standards (though I prefer the belty versions offered by Judy Garland and Karen Morrow); you will surely recognize a couple of Rat Packers in the scene:

Kathryn Grayson died yesterday at the age of 88.

Happy Talk

Here are a couple of local news anchors. You may not know who they are (I don't either), but they have a vaguely familiar look about them. They look very much like every news anchor team of every local television station in the country. They are pretty, personable, likeable, and rarely qualified to bring you the news. You have this guy to blame:

Frank Magid

1931-2010

His degrees were in social psychology and statistics, and the company he founded spent most of its years in Iowa, but his influence has been felt throughout the world. At a time when all local newscasts consisted of a single anchor reading the news, he revolutionized the genre with his "Action News" concept. He took random samplings from viewers and deduced that they wanted their hard news mixed with lifestyle segments and local crime stories, delivered by a team of good-looking, well-dressed performers whom the audience liked (attractiveness became a more important attribute than trust or journalistic competence). His concept, first adopted by TV stations in San Diego and Philadelphia in 1970, included personalizing TV news by encouraging mundane banter among the team. The changes improved those stations' ratings dramatically, and soon everyone was on board with the vapid chatter in which news readers indulged. They called this stuff "happy talk," and it remains a central aspect of all local news programs everywhere.


Magid's research also changed the early morning news show format when, in 1975, he helped create ABC's Good Morning America. Though the rival Today show had been around for years, it was this new concept which took hold of the genre: far less news, far more fluff, delivered, once again, by anchors who were more personable than journalistic. Hardly anyone now remembers that Good Morning America's first hosts were David Hartman and Nancy Dussault, both actors.
Later, Magid formed an actual school where aspiring on-air performers were coached on "relaxed intensity." The company also served as headhunters, helping stations locate the perfect personality to anchor their local news shows. Sadly, there is no better proof that the general public wants a performer, rather than a journalist, to deliver their news.

Magid's research was not always spot on. In the 80s, his surveys indicated huge audiences would watch football in the spring and summer months. The United States Football League was formed, and went completely bust after only three seasons. Magid died earlier this month from lymphoma at the age of 78.

Here's an innovator who gave us something better than "happy talk":

Fred Morrison

1919-2010

He and his wife used to toss a tin cake pan back and forth on the beach in California, and Fred was investigating ways to make the thing more aerodynamically sound when WWII popped up, and he became a pilot. By 1948, he was manufacturing his flying discs, and selling them at state fairs and beachfronts. He called the invention the Pluto Platter, but in New England, college students noted the toy's similarity to the cake tin, and, in honor of a local bakery, gave the plastic saucer a nickname. Thanks to the Frisbee Pie Company, the Pluto Platter became the frisbee; Morrison sold the invention to Wham-O in 1957. He died last week at age 90; his invention has sold over 200 million units.

I was sorry to hear of this guy's death a week or so ago:

Ian Carmichael 1920-2010

He trained at RADA, and appeared in a series of comic films in the late 50s, but it was his television work in Britain for which he is best known. After a disastrous foray on Broadway, in the original production of Boeing, Boeing in 1965, he returned to Britain and began a lengthy TV career. He played P.G. Wodehouse's upper-class twit Bertie Wooster in a well-regarded series, and Dorothy Sayers's charming amateur detective Lord Peter Wimsey in another successful series. Those performances are why Carmichael is on my radar, as I used to enjoy the Wimsey whodunits when they were broadcast on PBS's Masterpiece Theatre. A later series starred Edward Petherbridge as Lord Peter, and my sister will claim that performance was closer to Sayers's original concept for the character, but as I never read any of the mysteries, I always preferred Carmichael's more jovial approach.

Ian Carmichael died February 5th at the age of 89.

Here is a death which is likely to affect the quality of our big screen entertainment from now on:

Miramax

1979-2010

Brothers Bob and Harvey Weinstein formed their film distribution and production company in Buffalo, NY, coming up with Miramax by combining Miriam and Max, their parents' names.

The studio became the leader in independent films in the 80s and 90s, with their first big hit, sex, lies, and videotape, and continuing with My Left Foot, Mr. and Mrs. Bridge, The Grifters, Enchanted April, Reservoir Dogs, The Crying Game, The Piano, Trainspotting, Good Will Hunting, Mrs. Brown, The Talented Mr. Ripley, The Aviator, The Hours, The Queen, and so many more. Miramax developed ongoing relationships with Woody Allen, Michael Moore, and Quentin Tarentino, providing these artists more freedom, and a wider audience, than the larger studios would have afforded them.

The Weinsteins really excelled at the promotional aspect of film distribution, and came under criticism for their blatant advertising during Oscar season. Their ad techniques worked, as the list of actors, directors, writers, and craftsmen who won Academy Awards for Miramax films is astonishing. In addition, the studio provided Best Picture Winners in The English Patient, Shakespeare in Love, No Country for Old Men, and Chicago.


The brothers sold their company to Disney in 1995, but continued to operate it more or less independently for another decade. Eventually, studio interference increased, and the Weinsteins left the company. It was announced last month that the Miramax offices were being closed, a good indication that the brand is being fazed out by Disney. There are six Miramax films awaiting release, all of which are expected to receive short shrift from the House of Mickey.

Friday Dance Party: Life's a Beach

Had enough of the snow? We in the mid-Atlantic have had our fill for a while, so in that vein, this week's Dance Party heads to the beach.


In 1963, American International Pictures, which specialized in lower budgeted films, produced a sleeper hit with Beach Party. With its antecedents in the Gidget series of films earlier in the decade, the original intent was to ape the Elvis Presley musicals of the time. They added pop music, bikini babes, and removed any mention of parental authority, and ended up created a new genre of movies. AIP produced seven of the films, and other studios quickly churned out other illustrations of the genre. The plots all had the basic premise of the young leading man and lady trying to make each other jealous by hanging out with others, only to find their way back to each other by the final song. Additional conflict was usually provided by an outsider (Harvey Lembeck had great success spoofing Marlon Brando in several of these films, playing an incompetent gang leader called Eric von Zipper), and as the films gained prestige, Hollywood stars popped up in guest and cameo roles. Peter Lorre, Elsa Lanchester, Vincent Price, Boris Karloff, Mickey Rooney, and Dorothy Malone made appearances, and comics Don Rickles and Paul Lynde played a leading role in various films. Elizabeth Montgomery contributed a cameo, spoofing her character from the sitcom Bewitched, which was a current hit (Montgomery's husband at the time was William Asher, who co-wrote and directed the AIP beach party films). Give a close look at the fisherman who appears at the end of the clip below; it's silent film clown Buster Keaton.


The premise of the films proved so successful that they eventually moved away from the beach, but nobody seemed to care. Thus, films set in a mountain resort (Ski Party), a haunted house (Dr. Goldfoot and the Bikini Machine), and at the race track (Fireball 500) are usually considered part of the "Beach Party" ouvre. There was even an attempt to marry the genre with science fiction, in Valley of the Giants, starring a very young and very blond Beau Bridges (that's him on the left, below).

Musical interludes were frequent in these films, and Stevie Wonder, Nancy Sinatra, The Beach Boys, Sonny and Cher, The Righteous Brothers, The Four Seasons, and The Supremes all stopped by in one film or another.


The cast always included a gang of twentysomething actors playing the teens. Sharp eyes can spot Bob Denver, Tina Louise, Linda Evans, Barbara Eden, Raquel Welch, Peter Lupus, James Darren, and Fabian in leading or supporting roles. Darryl Hickman, Deborah Walley, Tommy Kirk, and Shelley Fabares all played the leading couple in one or more of the films, but the undisputed stars of the beach party genre were Frankie Avalon and Annette Funicello.

She grew up on television as one of the original Mouseketeers, and he was already married with children when they were paired in the first beach party movie, appropriately titled Beach Party. They had ongoing pop recording careers independent of the films, and because they appeared in the movie which spawned the genre, they are considered the dream team. They occasionally appeared with other partners, but the half dozen films in which the two star are considered the epitome of the beach party movie.

The genre sputtered out as quickly as it ignited, and by 1967, the beach party was dead. Twenty years later, Frankie and Annette reunited for Back to the Beach, a good-natured spoof of the genre, and the film was successful enough that there was talk of a sequel. Those plans were abandoned when Funicello's health (she has multiple sclerosis) began to decline.


Today's Dance Party was filmed at Paradise Cove in Malibu. Most of the beach movies were filmed here, during the dead of winter, which explains the gray sand and lack of brilliant sunshine. These actors must have been pretty chilled during the filming. But they are not as chilled as those of us on the East Coast who have endured some really nasty weather events this week. Get your twist on, and let's hit the beach!

Missing Matriarchs

Only a few weeks after the soap world lost James Mitchell, who enjoyed a 30 year run on All My Children, comes the news that another long-time soap player has died. Her passing started me thinking about the changes these soap operas have undergone over the decades, specifically in the way certain stock female roles have all but disappeared.

FRANCES REID

1914-2010

Though known exclusively for her 42 years on Days of Our Lives, Reid had a bit of a stage career elsewhere. She played Ophelia opposite Maurice Evans's Hamlet, and Roxanne opposite Jose Ferrer's Cyrano. On film, she appeared opposite Rock Hudson in 1966's Seconds, whose director, William Frankenheimer, called her one of his favorite actresses. Her soap career stretches back into the early 50s, when she starred in an early TV drama called Portia Faces Life. The program was only 15 minutes long, but she left the show claiming she would never work in soaps again, as the work was too hard. It wasn't long before she went back on her word; she spent three years on As The World Turns and another year on Edge of Night before landing the role of Alice Horton on Days of Our Lives, a role she played until her retirement a few years ago. She was paired with film star Macdonald Carey, and together they were the moral center of the show.


Frances Reid was one of the last survivors of the dying breed of soap opera matriarchs who were once central to the genre. Back in the day, these shows were always created around a strong, middle aged maternal character whose adult children caused the drama of the series. But these characters such as Alice Horton were themselves never ambiguous about their moral choices; in most cases, they married only once, and if they married twice, it was only after being widowed. No messy divorces for them, no child custody dramatics, no long lost children popping up out of nowhere. Those plot twists of the soap genre never seemed to touch these matriarchs, whose sole function was to be the moral compass by which the other characters' failings were measured.
Every soap had one of these iron butterflies, and indeed, most soaps were created around them. Actress Charita Bauer comes immediately to mind, who began playing Bert Bauer on The Guiding Light when the show was still on radio; she kept the role when the program transitioned to television in 1952, and remained the show's matriarch until her death in 1985. Another World had its Mary Matthews, Ryan's Hope its Maeve Ryan, All My Children its Ruth Martin, all women of impeccable moral fibre who attempted to teach their children the rewards of true love and clean living. But these characters grew to be purely advisory roles, and as such, were rarely central players in their shows' ongoing plotlines.
But times changed, and eventually, so did the soaps. Matriarchs today, if you can find them, are aggressive manipulators who become actively involved in their children's lives. No sitting around drinking tea and dispensing wisdom for these old gals. Susan Flannery's Stephanie Forrester is an excellent example of the modern matriarch (her soap, The Bold and the Beautiful, is, at the age of 23, the youngest of the surviving soaps). These are career women who leap right in and meddle in their children's affairs without invitation, something Frances Reid's Alice Horton would never have done.
Nor would Nancy Hughes over on As The World Turns. Helen Wagner is now playing the last surviving matriarch of the old school soap; she has played her role since the first episode of her show in 1956. In fact, she uttered the very first line of dialogue on As The World Turns ("Good morning, dear." Riveting stuff, eh?)and, at age 91, continues to show up to advise the youngsters. I'm sure I will write a bit more about this dainty dinosaur when I ruminate on the demise of As The World Turns, which is going off the air in September, in the midst of its 54th year. For now, I guess I'll just say those old matriarchs held an important position in the structure of their individual programs, a position absent in today's shows. Personally, I wouldn't mind spending a Christmas Eve with Frances Reid's Alice Horton, hanging those personalized ornaments on the tree, and basking in the warmth of that familial (if artificial) glow.

The Kindness of Strangers

Well, he's not exactly a stranger, but he certainly can't be called a friend. An acquaintance, I suppose, but even that is stretching it. He lives one flight up, and I hear him moving about regularly. He's been up there for years, ever since the former tenant, the girl with the dog, moved out. She was a nice one, too. She worked a very regular schedule, and every night at 7 PM, like clockwork, I would hear the dog's Happy Feet welcoming her home with clickety clickety clicking across the floor when she opened her front door.

That girl, I can't recall her name, made only one unneighborly mistake, one Thanksgiving, when she went away for the long weekend and left the dog alone. I'm sure she arranged for someone to pop in to walk and feed the pet, but for hour after hour after hour, all weekend long, the dog was alone. And let everyone in the building know it. Someone must have complained to her upon her return, because a few days later, I found a little bag of chocolates taped to my front door. It carried an apology note from Marky (the dog).

Funny how I don't remember the woman's name, but I'm sure the dog was called Marky.

I don't interact with my neighbors much, it makes it hard to complain about them at the Condo Association meetings, so I'm not sure when I was first aware that Jane Doe and Marky had vacated, and Jason had replaced them upstairs.

I did start to run into him on the stairs, as he left for work and I for the gym. He was clearly a pleasant, friendly guy. But even then, I was not sure he was the tenant directly above me until one Saturday night, when I returned from several days out of town to discover a leak coming through my bathroom ceiling. I dashed upstairs and knocked on the door of the condo above mine, thinking perhaps a tub had overflowed.

Jason answered, and was oblivious to any problem. We searched his bathroom together, and could not find anything leaking. I'm sure I was too preoccupied with the leak to notice how fit he looked in that tank top and those cut-off jeans.

Turns out, there was in fact a leak from his toilet, but instead of insisting that I call a plumber on a Saturday night, he offered to spend the rest of the weekend at his girlfriend's, allowing us to turn his water off until Monday. Yes, there is a girlfriend whom I've never seen, but I hear her often enough. When she is in residence upstairs, her heels sound eerily similar to Marky's toenails, clickety clacking across the floor. I guess in a way, you could say both Marky and Jason's girlfriend have happy feet.

My next interaction with Jason actually wasn't mine at all, it was my buddy Barbara's. She was coming over for dinner, and miscounted the flights of stairs. She overshot my floor and landed in front of Jason's front door upstairs. Being Barbara, and knowing she is always welcome at my place, she knocked on the door and immediately entered. She walked right in on Jason and his girlfriend cooking dinner. I have no idea what the girlfriend was wearing, as Barbara only reported that Jason was stripped to his underwear. And that he was...um... built. Of course, I had never really noticed that fact, even after my binoculars picked up his daily run around the block in those tennis shorts.

I'm not the only one around here who thinks Jason is a good guy. Clarence thinks so too. Have I told you about Clarence? He's an elderly black guy who hangs around our parking lot. For years, I thought he must be running a chop shop out of one of the single-car garages which ring our building's parking lot, but I have since learned that he's just a retired gent who used to live in the neighborhood, and now drives his ancient Caddy or his yellow Mustang onto our lot to "work on it." He usually parks his vehicle in Jason's spot, which is, appropriately, spot #1. Clarence has mentioned to me what a nice guy Jason is, to allow him to poach his spot.

That parking spot brings me back to my latest encounter with Jason. After the big snow hit last weekend, I ventured out, to take a few pictures and to have a look around. I found Jason in the parking lot, shoveling snow like a machine. We got almost 30 inches of snow, and a plow never made it onto our parking lot, so Jason had grabbed a shovel and begun to dig. He didn't really need to free his car, as the largest employer in the area (the government) was shut down, but he just thought he would pitch in and do his bit.

As a joke, I motioned to the large mound of snow under which my car sat, and said, "While you're at it, that's my car."

We both laughed, and I went back upstairs. The next day, I discovered that Jason had dug my car out of its drift.

It's sometimes hard to believe that there are people out there like Jason, who just do things to help out. I left a bottle of Merlot on his doorstep, with a note thanking "the dude upstairs," but I'm sure he didn't expect any thanks. Don't you just want to clone this guy? Or at least be his friend.

DC is getting hit with "Snowmageddon 3" as I write this. The wind has turned wild and blizzardy, and my car is again packed under several inches of snow. I wonder if Jason would like a nice Chardonnay...

Snowmageddon

The snow storm which dumped upwards of 30" on the DC area has been nicknamed "Snowmageddon" by President Obama, though I prefer "Snowpocolypse," but whatever. I have had an easier time than most, dealing with the inclement weather, as I really don't need to drive anywhere. I did do the "stocking up on supplies" thing on Thursday, the day before the storm hit. When I arrived at the Shoppers Food Warehouse, where I do such shopping, the place was so packed that there was not even a cart available (this branch has hundreds). I walked into the store, took one look at the lines at the checkout, and walked back out again. I drove instead to one of those Harris Teeters located in a parking garage (what's up with that trend?), where there were plenty of shopping carts and many fewer shoppers.

I think I have enough food to last until Easter. I settled in Friday night to enjoy the snow. I am by nature a hibernator, so being stranded in my condo for several days in a row held no fear for me. I was sorry to lose the rehearsals we had scheduled for the weekend; more on that in a mo'.




The storm affected just about every theatre in town, to one degree or another. My poor Wayside Theatre, which has been plagued with weather-related cancellations this winter, lost their weekend of The Buddy Holly Story, which is expected to be a big hit. But not if no one can get to the theatre. Closer to home, the Kennedy Center shut down for the whole weekend, releasing all those Shear Madness folks into the wild.


Even the mighty Shakespeare Theatre Company had to cancel several previews for their upcoming rep. I bet they tore their hair out over that; the Shakes hates cancelling performances for any reason. I am recalling the year I worked there, back in the late 90s, when a huge snow storm similar to this one shut down the city. We were in performance with Henry V, starring that fine classical actor Harry Hamlin, and the theatre was forced to cancel one single performance. Cleanup had barely begun when it was announced that Henry was back on the next night, the only theatre in town to reopen so quickly. Hamlin himself was dispatched to local radio stations to promote the show, and urge patrons to brave the weather and attend. We got wild applause as soon as the curtain rose that night, and the actors spontaneously applauded the audience in return. It was a memorable moment.



I seem to have digressed into Memoryland. It occurs to me that The Shakes is coincidentally previewing Henry V right now; I wonder if anyone at the theatre has noticed that when they do that play, weather wreaks havoc. I noticed that the theatre did not cancel Sunday night, with hugely discounted tickets (10 bucks for all seats! That's a savings of about 65 dollars) made available to try to paper the house.

Rehearsals all over town were affected by the storm, too. Those cannibals over at Signature Theatre in Shirlington planned ahead, and put all their cast and crew in a hotel for the weekend. They were in the midst of tech for Sweeney Todd, and if there is any show which cannot afford to lose tech rehearsals, Sweeney Todd is it. Their previews begin this week; I heard their final invited dress on Sunday was a success.




I haven't heard what the end result was over at Adventure Theatre in Echo Park, but they were also teching their show, scheduled to open this week as well. Someone said the theatre actually lost power, so absolutely no progress could be made there.



My buddy Steve Carpenter is also in tech, for Mauritius at Bay Theatre in Annapolis. Usually a large number of actors and techies live in DC, and the commute between the two cities was impossible for most of the weekend. The theatre announced yesterday that the show's opening night has been postponed.





Which brings me to my own show, Lord Arthur Savile's Crime at the Washington Stage Guild. We have lost three rehearsal days so far, but the greater loss has been a technical one. The company's new space, a charming spot attached to a Methodist church, was used for years by a community theatre. The Stage Guild has higher production standards, of course, so some pretty substantial improvements have been planned to make the theatre more appropriate for professional productions. Namely, a lighting grid and new floor were to be delivered and installed this weekend; that, as you can guess, did not happen due to the storm. After careful deliberation (hopefully over some Jameson's), our glorious leaders Ann and Bill decided that the show's opening should be postponed a week. These technical aspects must be handled, and there are question marks regarding when the large delivery trucks can use the city streets again. There are mountains of snow on every corner and lining every curb, making negotiating the streets very problematic.



For now, we wait, and hope that the dire predictions regarding the next storm, scheduled for tomorrow and possibly going to dump another 10-20 inches of snow, are exaggerated. Snowmageddon may have a sequel.