Friday Dance Party: Do They Think That Walls Can Hide You?

Jesus!

It was a week of confessions, one of which inspires our Dance Party.  Of course, everyone has heard all about Lance Armstrong's revelation that he has been lying for years, and that he in fact was a major doper. 

Liar's Club

I did not watch his interview this week, as I have less than zero interest in an athlete revealing that he rose to glory by artificial means.  I've heard that Armstrong is likely to feel the pain of his lying through his wallet.  NPR told me that he is worth about 100 million, but will shortly be sued by just about everybody.  The London Times, for example, paid out over a million dollars when it lost a libel suit brought by Lance.  Since the claims the paper made are now verified, they want their money back.  So does the US Postal Service, who sponsored Armstrong's activities to the tune of 90 million dollars.

Ah well, you get what you pay for.

Jodie Foster's confession was probably the week's most fun. 

Foster's first Oscar nod came at age 15.

Her rambling speech at the Golden Globes verified what everybody in the film industry already knew about her sexuality, though her speech seemed to mystify some.  I read later that there was confusion about whether or not she had actually come out.  Yes, she did.  The confusing part of her speech was really about her work;  it sounded a lot like she was retiring.  When someone asked her about it backstage, she clarified that no, she did not mean to imply that she was leaving the business. 

Something's wrong with this picture.

Good to know, but I'd really like to hear why Foster specifically mentioned Mel Gibson as someone who "saved me."  How did such a self-professed bigot, racist, misogynist, and xenophobe ever save Jodie?  THAT'S the Oprah interview I'd like to hear.

This week's Dance Party comes from the third confessional we heard this week, though it really wasn't one. 

Playing Jennifer Garner's pop
on Alias brought him his first
sustained national attention.

Victor Garber was interviewed by one of those Hollywood bloggers, and seemed surprised to be asked about his partner of 13 years. Garber has never been secretive about his sexuality, but since he spent his younger years in the theatre, it didn't come up.  I don't really think anybody cares now, either, as he's a solidly middle-aged character actor who has a thriving but understated career.  He counts Titanic as one of his films (he played the boat's builder) and is currently on the big screen as the heroic Canadian ambassador in Argo.  He's carved a lively career in episodic television, playing Jennifer Garner's father in Alias and, currently, as the patriarch on NBC's Deception (Victor has a total of six Emmy nominations to his credit). 

Eli Stone didn't last 2 seasons, and is now only remembered, if at all, as having brought current Sherlock Holmes Jonny Lee Miller to the small screen.  But the quirky show was one of my favorites, and was peopled with Broadway alums like Loretta Devine and Victor Garber. Producers occasionally made use of their vocal chops with imaginary musical numbers.

Our hero has earned four Tony nominations, having appeared in the original casts of Lend Me A Tenor, Noises Off, Deathtrap, and many others. 

Garber teamed with Bebe Neuwirth in the 1994 revival of
Damn Yankees.

His performance in the Canadian production of Godspell (he is himself of Canadian birth) led to his starring role as Jesus in the film version, which perhaps should have elevated him to stardom, but didn't. 

Suspenders and clown makeup will only take you so far. I find the charm of Godspell to be questionable, even on stage, but I'm clearly in the minority. The show is constantly performed in schools.  The film version was even less charming. Filmed on location in New York City, the show's hippy-dippy vibe was out-of-date by 1973. One of the numbers was filmed on the roof of the World Trade Center, which was just nearing completion, making the film even harder to watch today.  That other messianic musical, Jesus Christ Superstar, was also released in 1973 to similarly disappointing results. 

Godspell is one of those shows which is more fun to be in than to watch, and the film is cloying and pretty unwatchable.  But it is Victor's appearance in another Broadway musical of note which inspires this week's Dance Party. 

Garber's young leading man in Sweeney Todd
was overshadowed by the
flamboyant performances surrounding him

In 1979, Garber created the role of sailor Anthony Hope in Stephen Sondheim's masterwork Sweeney Todd, and introduced one of the most haunting ballads in the Sondheim canon, "Johanna."  I've been unable to find a video clip of his performance in Sweeney, but the original cast album, which is one of my treasures, reveals a clarion tenor voice filled with emotion.  Sondheim, master that he is, allows his young leading man to introduce the song, but then incorporates the tune as a continuing motif of the show.  The clip below illustrates that mastery;  it comes from the video of the First National Tour. 

In the upper right corner, Victor is almost
unrecognizable.

Sadly, Victor Garber is not included here, his role is taken by the blond Cris Groenendaal.  But this sequence is a prime example of Stephen Sondheim's genius.  He takes what was, at first hearing, a stand-alone love ballad, and expands it into a quartet which reveals aspects of character and moves the plot. This clip also displays director Hal Prince's staging finesse, which is so evocative of  London in the early industrial age, filled with iron and smoke and teaming with lowlife. 

Who needs meat pies with all this ham around? Angela Lansbury and George Hearn chewed the scenery ferociously, exactly as needed for this melodrama.

This video was shot during the tour's stop in Los Angeles, at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion.  Though the close-ups were filmed in an empty theatre, the producers also taped a performance in front of a live audience; I was in that audience. 

Victor Garber's confirmation this week of his
long term relationship was met with shrugs.
That's a good sign.

I wish I had seen Victor Garber play the role he created, but could never complain about the performances I saw, which included the great Angela Lansbury as the definitive Mrs Lovett (she wanders through this clip carrying human remains;  she is the woman with the red hair). In honor of Victor Garber, enjoy the song he introduced to the world. 

Friday Dance Party: This Lingering Season

My stocking was handmade by my grandmother when I was only 5 or so.  It hangs in a position of prominence, over my fireplace's mantle, all year long. I don't consider it a Christmas decoration at all, but rather a family treasure.

Usually, by the first week of January, I am ready to move on from the holidays.  I love my Christmas and all that, but by the New Year, I'm done.  Not this year.  For what may be a variety of reasons, I am loathe to let go of the holidays this year.

I put up this misshapen specimen as an afterthought, and despite its obvious shortcomings, I have enjoyed it more than most others in my holiday history.  Perhaps its sorry state is a symbol for the way Christmas limped into town this year.

Part of the reason may be that crooked little tree.  I wrote here about my impulse buy, a Christmas tree which I stuffed into the trunk of my Honda on Christmas Eve.  I tossed some strings of lights and some ornaments on the thing, in a very haphazard way, and called it tannenbaum.  The poor thing slants precariously to the southwest, but I've enjoyed watching the cheap colored lights blink.  For some reason, I can't get rid of it yet.

Apparently, I'm not the only one.  I've run into quite a few friends and others who rather sheepishly admit that their tree is still up.  It seems particularly hard for a number of people to let go of the holidays this year. 

These snowflake lights hang from streetlamps in
DC during the hols. Everyone's back to work,
the new year has begun,
but the snowflakes remain.

It was certainly a stressful, even dismal, Christmastime in and of itself.  Everybody was frustrated about finances, both personal and at the national level (I really wanted to cover the Capitol building with a big tent and gas the place during the whole Fiscal Cliff debacle).  Thousands of people spent the holidays in makeshift, temporary homes after their entire lives were flattened by Sandy.  The horrible shooting in Connecticut only 10 days before Christmas drew a pall over the holiday for the whole country. 

Superstorm Sandy, the Fiscal Cliff, Newtown: Who the hell
was in the mood for Christmas? The Whos, that's who, and it
came just the same.

But there was something comforting about the fact that, to quote Dr Seuss, Christmas came just the same.  Maybe that's why so many of us don't want to let it go this year.

I've already given up some of the accoutrements of the holiday.  As much as I love Christmas music, it loses its charm after month #2, so my dozens of albums of the holiday genre have all been retired until next year. 

This little-known album is a constant presence on my CD
player from November-December.
But in January, it's gotta go.

My Christmas Wine and Martini glasses (yes, I have such things, are you surprised?) have already been packed away until next November. 
But as we approach the middle of January, my misshapen little tree continues to blink in my bay window.  (Only at night, of course, as I find a Christmas tree which is lit during the day to be a little sad.)  But every night when I come home from rehearsal, I plug in the lights on my crooked little tree, and admire the sentiment for a while. 

Yeah, it's probably time to bid Christmas adieu.  But not before one more Dance Party celebrating the season.  There's a melancholy song out there which seems to suit my mood as I let Christmas go;  it's really only marginally a Christmas carol.  "River" is a Joni Mitchell tune, and it's been recorded  by lots and lots of others. 

Robert Downey Jr shocked everyone (and won a Golden Globe) with a dynamic comeback on Ally McBeal.  His 12-episode story arc included several musical sequences, including the first time I ever heard "River." Sadly, he fell off the wagon during hiatus, and he was dumped from the show.  But his musical career continued.

It first came to my attention when Robert Downey, Jr. was guest starring on Ally McBeal, and he delivered a soulful version which has stuck with me all these years.  That particular clip has been removed from YouTube by Fox, and I've been unable to find another clip of him singing it live.  It's my favorite version of the song.  My bittersweet farewell to Christmas calls for "River," so this week's Dance Party features James Taylor's rendition.

Friday Dance Party: Hush, Hush, Sweet Patti

Patti Page's rendition of "Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte" does not reflect the tone of the film.  She recorded the theme a year after the movie was released; it was her final visit to the Top 10.

Once again this week's Dance Party is inspired by a death, but in this case, I'm somewhat ashamed to admit, it's a person who meant absolutely nothing to me.  Of course, I was aware of her name, but truly, I would not be able to pick her out of a lineup, recently or even during her heyday. And I admit to finding her music, well, let's just say "not my cup of tea."

Patti Page

1927-2013

Page deserves some recognition, as she was one of the leading songstresses of the 1950s and early 60s. Her rendition of "Tennessee Waltz" is considered definitive, even though many, many other artists have recorded that snoozer.  Her version ranks as one of the all time top selling singles, and I mean TOP selling, right up there with Bing Crosby's "White Christmas." And Patti returned to the top 10 many times, for well over a decade, so attention must be paid.

Patti was not much of an actress, but she was enlisted to appear in Elmer Gantry, in which she sang snippets of gospel while playing a revivalist nun.

Page straddled pop and country, and
often charted in both genres.

But her music does absolutely nothing for me. Admittedly, her era is not one of my favorites, but even with that understanding, I find her songs just too simple. I will give her credit, as others do, for being the first to instigate a recording technique which would eventually revolutionize the recording industry. She did it by accident. The story goes that a musicians' strike was looming as she was going into the studio to record what would be her first big hit, "Confess." Instead of waiting for her background singers to become available, her producer, Mitch Miller of "Sing-a-long With..." fame, suggested she record her own backup vocals. 

Miller and Page share credit for inventing the
process of overdubbing.

He had the ability to record Page on acetate disc, then replay the recording as Patti sang the lead vocals. Thus, she became the first artist to overdub her own recording. She liked the result so much that she used the technique often in her career. All the musicians of today who not only sing their own backup, but also play all the instruments on their recordings, must count Patti Page as their antecedent.

This moment from a concert in recent years seems to reflect an energetic vocalist, but I was unable to find a single clip, early or late, in which Patti was truly dynamic.

I just wish Page's choice of songs were a little more sophisticated. But I suppose they fit her style, as she herself was pretty milquetoast. In researching this week's clip, I looked in vain for an instance in which she exuded any kind of energy or pizazz in any concert setting. I could find none. 

I cannot argue with her recording success, even
as I find her music rather dull.

Every clip out there presents a singer devoid of sparkle, and some of her performances are down right perfunctory. For a while, I became excited to learn that Patti had her final big hit with the theme song for the horror classic Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte, but even her version of that one is a yawn. Once Page's style of music faded, she continued to record and to tour, and apparently her concerts were well-attended.

Page's "Live at Carnegie Hall" album won a Grammy in 1998.  Along with Ravi Shankar, she will receive a Lifetime Achievement Award posthumously at this year's ceremony.

I'm sure it's my own failure that I have such trouble appreciating her mix of pre-rock pop and dull country twang.

With Johnny Cash.

It's hard to believe, but even Patti's performance of her big novelty hit lacks verve. The song is one of the biggest novelty tunes of all time, and has the distinction of being the first #1 hit to have a question in the title. 

How much did she earn from that doggie? The song
was a smash, and became one of her signature tunes.

I suppose the song itself has some charm, but this week's performance of it, which comes from Patti Page's variety series in the 50s, doesn't have much sparkle. The dog, the boy, and the salesclerk all clearly wish they were someplace else. Me too.

2012: It's Not The Work. It's The Stairs.

 

 

I'm ending 2012 more upbeat than when I started.  Looking back, I've worked pretty hard this year.  Was anything gained?  Not sure. 

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIII'll drink to that.

But I am reminded of the old quip with which the great Elaine Stritch opened her one-woman show At Liberty.  "It's like the prostitute said," Stritch deadpanned in her signature rasp, "It's not the work.  It's the stairs."

It's the appropriate description of my life in 2012.

Both metaphorically and physically, I spent 2012 climbing stairs. This is a picture of the first of THREE flights of stairs which I climbed to do A Midsummer Night's Dream. The year proved to me that such climbing is necessary to progress artistically and professionally.

The year was defined by my learning to straddle life in two cities at once.  I have not perfected bi-urban living (a term I believe I coined, I hope it catches on), but I'm getting better at it.  The first months of the year, I was always eager to return to DC if I spent any more than a few days in NY. 

At least I never had to queue up outside, like these actors.  But
the AEA required EPA process, correctly nicknamed the Cattle
Call, is not for the feint of heart.

That feeling of unease in Manhattan was exacerbated by the fact that I spent the early months of 2012 attending Equity cattle calls, which always provide proof that my chosen career is not for sissies.  By my count, I attended more than 60 of these ego-busters in 2012.  No wonder I was usually glad to return to the security of the DC Branch.

As time went on, though, I became more comfortable in the Big Apple and by year's end, a curious change had occurred.  I now find that, if I spend more than four or five days in one city, I start to think about the other one.  I take this as a good sign.

I played Gremio in this production, which wins the award for the Largest Number of Different Rehearsal Spaces (six, by my count).  The final performance space was one of hundreds of Black Boxes in the city, with lousy/non-existent backstage area and primitive air conditioning.  The audience actually entered through the loading dock of this building, and as the location was in Queens, our audiences were not robust in numbers.  But I was treated very very well by Titan Theatre's brass, with whom I shared many mutual colleagues.  I will be working with them again, stay tuned.

Whether it's healthy or not, I almost always judge a year by the amount of work I achieved, and by that standard, I had a good first year in NY.  I snagged three very different Shakespearean productions, and while each had its stairs to climb, as it were, I came away from all three considering them successful, at least artistically. 

The "stairs" I had to climb with Richard III all had to do with our rehearsal process, which took place outside.  In July. I am never comfortable in extreme heat, so I never rehearsed without being wet and sticky.  But an interesting reversal happened once we opened.  Our evening performances in August were a joy to do, with audiences and actors alike sharing nature's elements.  R3 holds the distinction of being this year's show which I hated the most to rehearse, and the one which I loved the most to perform. 

The fact that I made no money from these three projects means that I must consider them only marginally successful, professionally. After all, this is my vocation, not my hobby.  But in each of the three projects, I climbed those metaphorical stairs and did the work.

A Midsummer Night's Dream ended my performance year.  I only wish I had felt better during its brief run.  I had a nasty cold and cough throughout our performances, which sapped a lot of the fun for me.  And the stairs here were not metaphorical, as the theatre, another Black Box with limited back stage, was a fourth-floor walk-up. 

The new year will begin in the plus column, as I will start a project tomorrow in DC which actually furnishes a little bit of money.  It will keep me in the DC Branch of my life, give or take a night or two here or there, until early March.  My current plan has me returning to NY in the spring, to play with some of my new NYC friends in another Shakespeare.  I'm betting that that show, and any others I snag in this new year, will require me to climb more stairs. 

I've never been involved in anything worthwhile which didn't require it. If you can coast through a project by staying on the ground floor, it's probably not worth the effort.   Gotta keep climbing those stairs.

Friday Dance Party: Waltzing With A Mensch

We lost two great character actors this week, so naturally, attention must be paid on the Dance Party.  Extensive research has turned up absolutely no record of the unlikely duet which Jack Klugman and Charles Durning performed back in the early 70s. 

A number from Annie Get Your Gun was the perfect
vehicle for these vets.  Sadly, no record remains.

The story goes that Durning was slated to sing "Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better" with Bobbie Gentry on the Glen Campbell show, but at the last moment, Gentry had a hair emergency and withdrew.  Like the trooper he always was, Klugman, who was across the hall filming The Odd Couple, agreed to sub, and the duet went on.

Bobbie Gentry's hair malfunction led to
the infamous duet which has been lost.
She received her own Dance Party here.

This story is surprising for a number of reasons, chief being that Jack Klugman did not consider himself musically talented.  He had such a low opinion of his gifts in that area, in fact, that he actively discouraged writers Jule Styne and Stephen Sondheim from creating a solo for his starring role in the original Gypsy.  Generations of subsequent Herbies have cursed Klugman for his resistance to singing;  the role is the very rare Leading Man In A Musical which does not have a solo song.

I won't sing, don't ask me. Klugman's refusal to sing has cursed future generations of Herbies.

Obviously, this leaves only one choice to star in this week's Dance Party.

Charles Durning

1923-2012

He was a decorated WWII veteran, participating in both the Normandy Invasion and the Battle of the Bulge.  I always enjoyed watching his sober recollections and readings during the Memorial Day Concert held annually on the National Mall.  But of course, he was best remembered for his hundreds of performances on screen and stage. 

Durning's Broadway debut was in the flop
The au Pair Man, opposite Julie Harris.
They reteamed decades later for Gin Game.

He first gained recognition in the Broadway production of That Championship Season, and he won the Tony as Big Daddy in 1980's revival of Cat On A Hot Tin Roof, in a production which was apparently sunk by Kathleen Turner's clueless performance as Maggie.  He moved easily between stage and screen, and between comedic and heavier roles.

Charles was harried as the cop dealing with Al Pacino in Dog Day Afternoon.  The actor just over his right shoulder is Matthew Broderick's father.

I was privileged to see Durning twice on stage.  In 1997, I caught him in a revival of The Gin Game, opposite Julie Harris;  they were stopping by the Kennedy Center on their way to Broadway. 

When the revival of The Gin Game blew through DC, I took the opportunity to see Julie Harris in one of her final stage roles. Durning gave able support.

Earlier, though, I saw Charles in one of my favorite musical failures.

Durning romanced Maureen Stapleton in the TV film Queen of the Stardust Ballroom.  When the piece was adapted for Broadway, Vincent Guardenia took his role.  When the show was revamped in Long Beach, Durning took the role back.

In 1992, the originators of the TV film Queen of the Stardust Ballroom attempted to revamp the Broadway musical which had been created based on that film (that musical was simply called Ballroom).  I saw this revamped musical, which starred Tyne Daly and, in a pretty inspired casting choice, Charles Durning.  The project was torpedoed by the LA Times critic, and a hoped-for move to Broadway did not happen.  But it was in that project that I first learned that Durning could sing a bit and dance a bit more.  For a hefty gent, in fact, he cuts quite a rug, as you can see from this week's Dance Party.

Tootsie is full of fine performances, including Charles Durning as the lonely widower who unexpectedly falls for a transvestite.

I've written about The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas before.  When Miss Edna from the famous Chicken Ranch bordello died, I contributed this Dance Party clip, and when Signature Theatre in DC presented a pretty rare revival of this chestnut, I wrote about seeing it.  The film version, which was adjusted a bit to feature Dolly Parton even more heavily, contained this showstopper, delivered by Charles Durning, who received an Oscar nomination for his efforts (he lost the award to Lou Gossett in An Officer and a Gentleman).  A year later, he was again nominated, this time for the Mel Brooks film To Be Or Not To Be (this one he lost to Jack Nicholson in Terms of Endearment).  But Durning will always be a winner to me, playing expletive-filled games of cards with Julie Harris, or waltzing under a mirrored ball with Tyne Daly.  He died this week at the age of 89.

The Night Before Christmas

I had regretfully decided not to put up a Christmas tree this year.  For the second year in a row, the timing just didn't seem to work out.  I never think I get enough out of a tree if it is only up for a week or so, I really need several weeks with the thing to get my full enjoyment.  This year, as last, that didn't seem to be in the cards.  I closed Midsummer in NY only a week ago, then packed up and drove to DC the next day.  My hacking cough has hung on tenaciously, zapping my energy and making me feel yucky, and all week I was busy getting things in order for my family Christmas.  In addition, I was trying to prep for an audition on Thursday.

So, I just did not have the time to get out to buy a tree, much less the energy. 

This is what my apt looks like when in full decorating mode.

My Honda is not built to carry a tree, so transport is always an iffy proposition. 
As I live alone, the hauling of the tree up to the third floor of the DC Branch is all on me, as is the retrieval of boxes and boxes of decorations from the basement, four long flights away. So I have a good excuse when I decide I must forgo a tree.

Today, Christmas Eve, I dashed down to the new DC Costco to pick up a few munchies for tomorrow's Christmas Dinner.  On the way home, I passed a Christmas tree lot, which still had lots of inventory but no customers.  Who the hell would buy a Christmas tree on Christmas Eve?  When I was growing up, I would occasionally see a TV episode where the family was trimming their tree on Christmas Eve;  it never made sense to me.  Why not have it in your home to enjoy longer than a few days?

For some reason, though, I was feeling a bit nostalgic for Christmas Eves past when I drove past the lot.  A couple of blocks later, I pulled a U-Turn and headed back.  Yes, I bought a Christmas tree.  On Christmas Eve.  What a yutz.

That tree, smaller than others I've had but just as lopsided, is now decorated and sitting in my bay window. 

If a tree leans to the left, is it still as pretty?

It's a tradition now, that all my trees lean sideways, there seems to be nothing I can do about it.  I've convinced myself it's charmingly eccentric, just like I convince myself that I am too.  I'm pretty lousy at decorating a tree, practice does not make perfect in this case.  The lights are invariably unevenly placed, and no matter how hard I try, the ones that blink always end up surrounding the bottom of the tree.  In the dark, it looks like half the tree disappears for a few seconds before rematerializing.  And don't get me started on my ornaments, which are mismatched, cheap, and pretty ugly.  I really need some new balls.

Today, my thoughts have gone back to the many years I worked on Christmas Eve.  I'm not talking about my performance work, though I've done my share of Christmas shows.  When I lived in Los Angeles, I spent 15 years in retail, overlapping with 13 years in food service, so I know a little something about working Christmas Eve.  You know what?  I usually enjoyed it.  There was a camaraderie among those of us who were at work on that holiday eve. 

Not Christmas, but Halloween. This pic always
reminds me of my Sears Ladies, the middle-aged
women in the office who tended to me while my
mother struggled, then succumbed, to cancer.

I worked 15 years in the Sears Customer Service Department during my college years and beyond (we didn't call it the Complaint Department, but that was what it was).  Christmas Eve was never a busy day in that office, as everyone was going crazy on the sales floor, but very few people were complaining.  (It was the day AFTER Christmas that you did not want to be on duty.)

I also worked many, many Christmas Eves as a waiter.  Customers were usually in jolly moods and had holiday generosity that day, and often felt sorry for the poor waiter who had to work, so it was a good day to make money. My family has never had a strong tradition on Christmas Eve, so I never felt as if I was missing much by working a Christmas Eve shift.   

I worked in 4 restaurants over a 13 year period, and each one had a staff which became a squabbling, unruly, but loving family. There was always a "Us vs. Them" feeling in the restaurant business, where everyone banded together to feed the hordes.  This was my first gig as a waiter, I'm on the lower right in the plaid shirt.

As I think of it, the only consistent Christmas Eve tradition I have had, at least in my adult life, was the movie outing a group of us used to take late in the night.  Lots of high class movies open during the Christmas season, and my buddies Valerie and Ronnie used to arrange to catch the late night showing of one of them on Christmas Eve.  It was always the last show of the night, giving everybody time to fulfill their family obligations before heading out for a midnight show, and we were usually the only people in the theatre. I don't know if that tradition is still ongoing among my LA friends, but I have lots of good memories of those nights. 

Year after year, our gang gathered for the midnight showing on Christmas Eve. It was lucky that we were usually the only ones in the theatre, for when we saw turkeys like A Chorus Line, we hooted, hollered, and talked back to the screen. My head only can be seen here, third from the left.

As I look at this lopsided tree twinkling with lights and tilting precariously to starboard, I'm happy to relive those memories of Christmas Eves past.  Good times.