Special Material Written by Glen Roven and Maria S. Schlatter
(The guests are surprised when, out
of nowhere, a VIOLINIST—Bruce Dukov from
the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra—appears
and starts to play the theme from
FIDDLER ON THE ROOF. The show is beginning!
MICHAEL, as TEVYE the dairyman, makes his
Way to the performing area. The MUSIC
Continues)
MICHAEL
(as TEVYE)
A Jewish star in the movies?! Sounds crazy, no? But in our little shtetle of Trousdale estates you might say that every one of us is a Jew trying to make it in the business of show. It isn’t easy.
You may ask, “why do we do it?” Do we do it for the money? Yes.
Do we do it because of our unmitigating and enormous egos. Yes.
Do we do it so we can rub that first bastard casting director who said we’d never make it-‘s nose in our success? …Yes.
But there’s something far more important than all of that…We do it to get the hot chicks. It’s tradition.
And the man who got the hottest chick in town is the man we’re here to celebrate. Kirk Douglas!
(JOEL and PETER enter)
JOEL, PETER and MICHAEL
(as JEWS from ANETVKA)
KIRK DOUGLAS,
KIRK DOUGLAS,
(THEY spin like Jews for a beat)
KIRK DOUGLAS,
KIRK DOUGLAS,
KIRK DOUGLAS,
(Another spin)
KIRK DOUGLAS.
HERE IS A MAN WHO
IS SO VERY MANLY
CLEFT UPON HIS CHIN,
SO DEEP THAT YOU COULD DIVE IN
THIS MANLY MAN
HE SHOT HIS SEED AROUND
AND MADE SOME OTHER
MANLY MEN
MY POPPA
MY POPPA,
(SPIN)
KIRK DOUGLAS
MY POPPA,
MY POPPA,
(SPIN)
KIRK DOUGLAS
(The VIOLIN underscore continues.)
PETER
Some say that the Spielbergs, Katzenbergs, Soderbergs, all the…Bergs are perhaps more Jewish than the non-Bergs. But I ask you: Do they go to temple more often? No. Are their ‘CHHHHHHHHHH’s” stronger? No. Were their circumsicians more painful? No…Definitely not!
JOEL
When my father changed his name to become an actor…he purposely chose a name that was steeped in ancient roots and meaning of its own. His first name “Kirk” is actually Native American. It means “I took an axe to his chin and it looks pretty damn good.”
ALL (with Michael trying to smooth everything out.)
KIRK DOUGLAS,
KIRK DOUGLAS,
(THEY spin like Jews for a beat)
KIRK DOUGLAS,
KIRK DOUGLAS,
KIRK DOUGLAS,
(Another spin)
KIRK DOUGLAS,
(JOEL and PETER to leave the
playing area as the VIOLIN continues)
MICHAEL
Kirk Douglas. Kirk Douglas. This may sound silly or overly-dramatic, but, if it weren't for him, I have a sneaking suspicion that I wouldn't be here today.
(MUSIC VIOLIN BUTTON)
MICHAEL
(He wraps up the show…and…)
I mean…after all that what can you say, except: (to the pianist) HIT IT.
(SUPERCALIFRAGILISTIC)
MICHAEL and CATHERIJNE
KIRK CAST A GIANT SHADOW
THROUGH ALL SEVEN DAYS IN MAY
OUT OF THE PAST, THIS JUGGLER
PLAYED A GREAT "DOC HOLIDAY"
HE CRASHED THE WALLS OF JERICHO
'CAUSE THEY WERE IN HIS WAY
ALL WOMEN DREAMED TO BE WITH HIM
ALL MEN WISHED THEY WERE GAY.-
CHORUS
THE CAST
OH, SPARTACUS, TO CATCH A SPY, ULYSEES: SUCH A CAD, OH
LUST FOR LIFE, I WALK ALONE, THE BEAUTIFUL AND BAD. OH
SEVEN DAYS IN MAY, THE FURY CAST A GIANT SHAD-OW
ISSUR DANIELOVITCH DEMSKY: PETE AND MICHAEL'S DAD, OH!
CATHERINE (spoken)
In Wales, we’d never have a birthday celebration without a good ol’ fashinoned birthday sing along. So under your plates our the lyrics. You must know it by now. EVERYBODY!
(And indeed, under the plates, in nice
BIG letters, are the words to the CHORUS)
THE ENTIRE ROOM
SPARTACUS, DOC HOLIDAY, ULYSEES: SUCH A CAD, OH
LUST FOR LIFE, I WALK ALONE, THE BEAUTIFUL AND BAD. OH
SEVEN DAYS IN MAY, THE FURY CAST A GIANTO SHAD-OW
ISSUR DANIELOVITCH DEMSKY: ONE TERRIFIC DAD, OH!
CATHERINE
One more time!
THE ENTIRE ROOM
SPARTACUS, DOC HOLIDAY, ULYSEES: SUCH A CAD, OH
LUST FOR LIFE, I WALK ALONE, THE BEAUTIFUL AND BAD. OH
SEVEN DAYS IN MAY, THE FURY CAST A GIANTO SHAD-OW
ISSUR DANIELOVITCH DEMSKY: ONE TERRIFIC DAD, OH!
(THE BRING OUT THE CAKE)
EVERYONE
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR KIRK
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!!!!!!
Tuesday, December 5, 2006
Sunday, May 21, 2006
BIOS for I HATE MUSIC QUEER SONG BOOK
I was so thrilled and flattered that these magnificent artists offered to share their talents with you this evening that I felt I should personally write their bios. If you want the traditional credits, you can either ask the person sitting next to you, who will no doubt, know every last detail, or check the internet. I thought this would be more interesting; this way, I could share my personal anecdotes and heartfelt appreciation .
GR
Donna McKechnie: Donna's legendary performances in Promises, Promises, Company and, of course, Chorus Line, are burned deep in my consciousness. I've worked with her a few times over the years, but we really got to know each other during Singular Sensations, where I interviewed and accompanied her for a week down at the Village Gate. One night, when I suggested she was a Muse to the great Michael Bennett, as Susanne Farrell was to George Balanchine, she looked at me as if I were insane. Never mind. She was. She graciously participated in a workshop of Pandora's Box where she had the "Grizabella" part (which meant she came in to sing one song and stop the show). Well, the invited audience, who didn't know the show, saw Donna sit on her stool for the entire first act, wondering what the hell she was going to do; but then, midway through the second act, she got up and stopped the show cold with "One Great Love." Why should I have been surprised? Stopping the show is her trademark.
Douglas Sills: When I first heard that Douglas, the phenomenon from Scarlet Pimpernel, was sent the script to Doctor T, I was excited. But nothing prepared me for the miracle of watching him create Terwilliker and perform in the workshops. Never has a monster been so evil and yet so lovable. And funny! And sexy! Plus, he's extraordinarily creative, articulate and a real inspiration to work with. One improvised line of his can trigger an entire song. He's also a loyal friend. Quite honestly, I wouldn't have presented this evening if he were unavailable. My greatest wish is for Doctor T to get to Broadway with Douglas singing If You Want to Rule the World .
Sandy Duncan: Seeing Mary Martin fly into the bedroom window as Peter Pan was a seminal part of my childhood. I always thought my heart would belong to Mary until 1979, when I saw Sandy fly off the stage and straight into audience; it was then that my heart stood still. I’d seen Sandy on TV many times before, but I fell in love that afternoon at the Lunt. And her rendition of Ugh-a-Wug with Mary Beth Kurdock was definitive. We subsequently worked together but only became friendly when we were both recruited to the swamps of Florida to help a mutual friend: we were the Simon Cowell and Paula Abdul of Ft Meyes/Naples Idol. There, I met her son, Jeff, also a great actor; it was touching to see her in dual capacities: performer and doting Mom. I knew that she would be perfect to narrate “The Runaway Bunny,” tonight; she’s a sensitive actress and nurturing Mommy.
Ittai Shapira: Quite frankly, Ittai is the very epicenter of classical music in New York City. Not only is he a brilliant musician (well, you can hear that for yourselves tonight) but a force of nature. Plus, he is consistently optimistic and positive which is amazing given the vicissitudes of the music biz. I wrote “The Bunny” especially for him utilizing all of his enormous talents: his dazzling virtuosity, his tenderness, and especially his humor. We’ve done many concerts together and playing with him is a master class in humanity. He founded The Ilona Feher Foundation which promotes young Israeli Violinist. I am honored to be on the board. If you’d like to come to one of our concerts, just get to Ittai or myself after I HATE MUSIC. He’s recorded ten Cds released on the major labels; they are all brilliant, no surprise. And if you’re a wonderful women (aged 22-35) looking for a violinist boyfriend, also come up to us…well, Ittai. This probably isn’t the best venue to look for something like that, but what the hell.
Kaitlin Hopkins: Kaitlin is a new friend of mine; I met her on the last reading of Dr. T. I didn't know her work (only because I'm a recluse and never leave my apartment) but Susan Schulman and Jay Binder stated unequivocally that she would be a great Mrs. Collins. And, of course, they were right. She had a tiny little number in the beginning of the first act. We had a few discussions about it, and, the next time she performed it, she virtually stopped the show. It was a wonder to behold. She's a real artist. (I liked her so much I actually got out of my apartment to see her in Trailer Park. Wow! If you missed it, buy the CD.) She's a great singer, a warm actress, and I'm glad to now be her friend. Tonight, she is singing songs from Pandora: it's a long leap from confused Mrs. Collins, to Mona, the lesbian handywoman of Pandora, but Kaitlin can take the jump in her stride. (And I love her on Law and Order!)
Sal Viviano: I've know Sal a long time from the proverbial “Broadway scene,” (Falsettos, The Full Monty) but I think the first time we actually worked together was in the Pandora's Box workshop. (Sal had an incredibly, difficult part to play: he was Oliver who is basically completely unsympathetic and a real shit until the second act; now "unsympathetic" is an actor’s least favorite action to play.) But he was fantastic. And the audience loved it. Then, when his character grew emotionally and transitioned into a state of vulnerability, he had the audience in tears. He sings two songs tonight from Pandora: the first, "Nothing To Do With Love," is a duet with his penis. It was a treat finding out what key his dick sang in.
Noah Galvin: When we were casting the 4,999th reading of Dr. T, Amelia DeMayo, the great voice teach for kids, called me up and said she had someone. When Amelia calls, you listen. I ran over to her studio and was treated to Noah. What a gem. What a voice. The casting people didn't know him and were a bit reticent to call him in, but, after hearing him sing "You Deserve a Prince" (which I hear is his new audition song) they leaned over to me and said, "Hire him!" He's going to be in Tommy this summer in East Hampton, and I know he will have a great career. People just don't sing better then he.
Kevin Chamberlin: I know Kevin least well out of the group, although I've obviously known his brilliant work over the years. One night a few weeks ago, he ran into a friend of mine who told him about I Hate Music. He said it sounded great and wanted to be a part of it. I immediately ran to the phone. "If you want to, I'd be honored." He gave me an enthusiastic yes. I love it when things like that happen; I always find the more talented the performer, the nicer the person! He listened to a couple of different songs on my web site and really responded to "Daddy's Here", from Norman's Ark, one of my favorites. He's on his way to national recognition with his new series in the fall with Jeffrey Tambor and John Lithgow. Don't miss it.
Joy Lynn Matthews: Joy is simply that: a joy. She's been slaving away in Menopause, The Musical for the last couple of years, although I swear she couldn't possible be over 38. (A great actress like her can stretch.) I loved her in Renee Taylor’s play, “Crowns” and look forward to her appearing in “Mrs. Lincoln” at the York. She's participated in all the many Dr. T readings and workshops, and her talent is a "joy" to behold. And ya gotta love those high notes. Stand back!
Erick Devine: Eric also has been in many of the Doctor T workshops. (And didn't you love the picture of him on the front of the New York Times Arts and Leisure section from Of Thee I Sing, a couple of weeks ago?) After the last workshop, he handed me a resume outlining his formidable directing career. I didn't know he did that. But, anything he does, he does well, so I asked him to direct tonight’s evening. I'm so glad he gave me that resume.
Amy Alexander: Amy, too, has participated in far too many Doctor T workshops. At one point she had a very small part in an early scene in the show. A friend of mine said, “I liked the show but I LOVED that girl.” She really can make an impression. (Of course, those of you who saw Little Women on Broadway know that.) At a previous Doctor T incarnation, the boy playing Bart was a millimeter away from puberty. Amy is so delicious and beautiful that I forbid her to come within 10 feet of that kid because I knew her mere presence could trigger his soon-to-be raging hormones and his lovely soprano voice would change right there in front of Gerry Shoenfeld. She was a good sport about it, kept her distance, and happily the kid made it through the run through--just! But I don't know what will happen with the kids in our show tonight; good thing they kids are on first.
One of the best things about doing an evening like this is meeting new people. Paul Staroba, a great new musical director in town, put together a choir from his colleagues. In their own words:
Brad Standley: As a new addition to the city, Brad Standley is
excited to participate in his first New York event and
to meet so many new and interesting people.
Sarah Orr: "Sarah Orr studied the piano for seven years as a child, and still could not tell you what a C diminished chord entails. Luckily she lives with a brilliant pianist. Play it again Paul."
GR
Donna McKechnie: Donna's legendary performances in Promises, Promises, Company and, of course, Chorus Line, are burned deep in my consciousness. I've worked with her a few times over the years, but we really got to know each other during Singular Sensations, where I interviewed and accompanied her for a week down at the Village Gate. One night, when I suggested she was a Muse to the great Michael Bennett, as Susanne Farrell was to George Balanchine, she looked at me as if I were insane. Never mind. She was. She graciously participated in a workshop of Pandora's Box where she had the "Grizabella" part (which meant she came in to sing one song and stop the show). Well, the invited audience, who didn't know the show, saw Donna sit on her stool for the entire first act, wondering what the hell she was going to do; but then, midway through the second act, she got up and stopped the show cold with "One Great Love." Why should I have been surprised? Stopping the show is her trademark.
Douglas Sills: When I first heard that Douglas, the phenomenon from Scarlet Pimpernel, was sent the script to Doctor T, I was excited. But nothing prepared me for the miracle of watching him create Terwilliker and perform in the workshops. Never has a monster been so evil and yet so lovable. And funny! And sexy! Plus, he's extraordinarily creative, articulate and a real inspiration to work with. One improvised line of his can trigger an entire song. He's also a loyal friend. Quite honestly, I wouldn't have presented this evening if he were unavailable. My greatest wish is for Doctor T to get to Broadway with Douglas singing If You Want to Rule the World .
Sandy Duncan: Seeing Mary Martin fly into the bedroom window as Peter Pan was a seminal part of my childhood. I always thought my heart would belong to Mary until 1979, when I saw Sandy fly off the stage and straight into audience; it was then that my heart stood still. I’d seen Sandy on TV many times before, but I fell in love that afternoon at the Lunt. And her rendition of Ugh-a-Wug with Mary Beth Kurdock was definitive. We subsequently worked together but only became friendly when we were both recruited to the swamps of Florida to help a mutual friend: we were the Simon Cowell and Paula Abdul of Ft Meyes/Naples Idol. There, I met her son, Jeff, also a great actor; it was touching to see her in dual capacities: performer and doting Mom. I knew that she would be perfect to narrate “The Runaway Bunny,” tonight; she’s a sensitive actress and nurturing Mommy.
Ittai Shapira: Quite frankly, Ittai is the very epicenter of classical music in New York City. Not only is he a brilliant musician (well, you can hear that for yourselves tonight) but a force of nature. Plus, he is consistently optimistic and positive which is amazing given the vicissitudes of the music biz. I wrote “The Bunny” especially for him utilizing all of his enormous talents: his dazzling virtuosity, his tenderness, and especially his humor. We’ve done many concerts together and playing with him is a master class in humanity. He founded The Ilona Feher Foundation which promotes young Israeli Violinist. I am honored to be on the board. If you’d like to come to one of our concerts, just get to Ittai or myself after I HATE MUSIC. He’s recorded ten Cds released on the major labels; they are all brilliant, no surprise. And if you’re a wonderful women (aged 22-35) looking for a violinist boyfriend, also come up to us…well, Ittai. This probably isn’t the best venue to look for something like that, but what the hell.
Kaitlin Hopkins: Kaitlin is a new friend of mine; I met her on the last reading of Dr. T. I didn't know her work (only because I'm a recluse and never leave my apartment) but Susan Schulman and Jay Binder stated unequivocally that she would be a great Mrs. Collins. And, of course, they were right. She had a tiny little number in the beginning of the first act. We had a few discussions about it, and, the next time she performed it, she virtually stopped the show. It was a wonder to behold. She's a real artist. (I liked her so much I actually got out of my apartment to see her in Trailer Park. Wow! If you missed it, buy the CD.) She's a great singer, a warm actress, and I'm glad to now be her friend. Tonight, she is singing songs from Pandora: it's a long leap from confused Mrs. Collins, to Mona, the lesbian handywoman of Pandora, but Kaitlin can take the jump in her stride. (And I love her on Law and Order!)
Sal Viviano: I've know Sal a long time from the proverbial “Broadway scene,” (Falsettos, The Full Monty) but I think the first time we actually worked together was in the Pandora's Box workshop. (Sal had an incredibly, difficult part to play: he was Oliver who is basically completely unsympathetic and a real shit until the second act; now "unsympathetic" is an actor’s least favorite action to play.) But he was fantastic. And the audience loved it. Then, when his character grew emotionally and transitioned into a state of vulnerability, he had the audience in tears. He sings two songs tonight from Pandora: the first, "Nothing To Do With Love," is a duet with his penis. It was a treat finding out what key his dick sang in.
Noah Galvin: When we were casting the 4,999th reading of Dr. T, Amelia DeMayo, the great voice teach for kids, called me up and said she had someone. When Amelia calls, you listen. I ran over to her studio and was treated to Noah. What a gem. What a voice. The casting people didn't know him and were a bit reticent to call him in, but, after hearing him sing "You Deserve a Prince" (which I hear is his new audition song) they leaned over to me and said, "Hire him!" He's going to be in Tommy this summer in East Hampton, and I know he will have a great career. People just don't sing better then he.
Kevin Chamberlin: I know Kevin least well out of the group, although I've obviously known his brilliant work over the years. One night a few weeks ago, he ran into a friend of mine who told him about I Hate Music. He said it sounded great and wanted to be a part of it. I immediately ran to the phone. "If you want to, I'd be honored." He gave me an enthusiastic yes. I love it when things like that happen; I always find the more talented the performer, the nicer the person! He listened to a couple of different songs on my web site and really responded to "Daddy's Here", from Norman's Ark, one of my favorites. He's on his way to national recognition with his new series in the fall with Jeffrey Tambor and John Lithgow. Don't miss it.
Joy Lynn Matthews: Joy is simply that: a joy. She's been slaving away in Menopause, The Musical for the last couple of years, although I swear she couldn't possible be over 38. (A great actress like her can stretch.) I loved her in Renee Taylor’s play, “Crowns” and look forward to her appearing in “Mrs. Lincoln” at the York. She's participated in all the many Dr. T readings and workshops, and her talent is a "joy" to behold. And ya gotta love those high notes. Stand back!
Erick Devine: Eric also has been in many of the Doctor T workshops. (And didn't you love the picture of him on the front of the New York Times Arts and Leisure section from Of Thee I Sing, a couple of weeks ago?) After the last workshop, he handed me a resume outlining his formidable directing career. I didn't know he did that. But, anything he does, he does well, so I asked him to direct tonight’s evening. I'm so glad he gave me that resume.
Amy Alexander: Amy, too, has participated in far too many Doctor T workshops. At one point she had a very small part in an early scene in the show. A friend of mine said, “I liked the show but I LOVED that girl.” She really can make an impression. (Of course, those of you who saw Little Women on Broadway know that.) At a previous Doctor T incarnation, the boy playing Bart was a millimeter away from puberty. Amy is so delicious and beautiful that I forbid her to come within 10 feet of that kid because I knew her mere presence could trigger his soon-to-be raging hormones and his lovely soprano voice would change right there in front of Gerry Shoenfeld. She was a good sport about it, kept her distance, and happily the kid made it through the run through--just! But I don't know what will happen with the kids in our show tonight; good thing they kids are on first.
One of the best things about doing an evening like this is meeting new people. Paul Staroba, a great new musical director in town, put together a choir from his colleagues. In their own words:
Brad Standley: As a new addition to the city, Brad Standley is
excited to participate in his first New York event and
to meet so many new and interesting people.
Sarah Orr: "Sarah Orr studied the piano for seven years as a child, and still could not tell you what a C diminished chord entails. Luckily she lives with a brilliant pianist. Play it again Paul."
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
GAMES WE PLAYED: On With The Show
ON WITH THE SHOW
Every block had one and I was it: the queer. I grew up in the early sixties in Flatbush, Brooklyn long before queer had any sort of positive, ACT-UP connotation. It was merely one of the epitaphs hurled at me along with the usual fag, sissy, pansy and homo. These were the words that supposedly wouldn’t break my bones.
Naturally, I was excluded from all the block sport. I couldn’t catch a ball to save my life and to this day I still throw like a girl. But quite honestly, I was one, thrilled outcast. Being gay made me feel special, different from the Brooklyn thugs who lived on my block, and the kids who would be stuck in Brooklyn for an eternity while I would make my fame and fortune in Manhattan. For an occasional nanosecond, I did miss the camaraderie of playing on a team. Although having a real friend instead of Lucille Ball and Wally Cleaver might have been nice, I had my world and they had theres; I was fine with the uncrossable rubicund between us.
The big game on Marlborough Road was stoop-ball. Most of the houses had two sets of steps leading up to the front doors. After buying a new Pensy-Pinky or a Spaulding at Lamston’s around the corner, the boys would spend hours throwing the ball against the upper set of stairs, each step having a higher point value, the lowest being 5 and the highest 50. If you were able to throw the ball so that it didn’t bounce on the way back to the street the points doubled. Occasionally, I was recruited to help with the math when my friends couldn’t figure out what came after 1,999. I assured them it was a trillion.
Who needed to play ball outside, anyway? I was quite content to stay in my room and play at something I seemed to have an innate talent for: big Broadway musicals.
These were not just any run-of-the-mill productions. These were extravaganzas complete with (homemade) costumes, an orchestra (my scratchy 78s on a little red, portable record player), and a cast of thousands (the three girls on the block I could recruit)—each and every production directed, choreographed and starring me.
The only cast albums around were my mother’s old 78 recordings of Rodgers and Hammerstein shows. So my Broadway reviews consisted of the four of us lip-syncing to Mary Martin as she Washed That Man Right Out of Her Hair or Cockeyed Optimist (although I was certain that the title was Cockeyed Optometrist and consequently had the entire cast in cardboard cut-out glasses). We would usually end with the Grand Finale: Oklahoma! complete with trenches.
Where I picked this up is anybody’s guess. I hadn’t seen a Broadway musical yet, so it must have been the occasional movie musical on TV. Perhaps it was the perennial running of Wizard of OZ, or Peter Pan. Maybe it’s just in the genes. However this form of entertainment seeped into my consciousness, it filled my mind at a very, very early age. I’m sure my parents’ friends never forgot my definitive version of “People Will Say We’re In Love” sung to my sister’s Chatty Cathy.
For those who are already shaking their heads in horror about the little-gay-boy-putting-on-shows-in-his-bedroom, I fear it gets worse. My parents took me to Balanchine’s Nutcracker at the New York City Ballet and my life changed.
Not that I became a ballet dancer, but I saw how magnificent professional theatre could be. By a happy coincidence, the most celebrated, commercially successful Christmas show in NYC was also produced by the great titan of twentieth Century ballet. I venture to say any kid with artistic ambitions who had the momentous fortune to see this ballet at an early age was forever changed. I still vividly remember the ballet’s two children peeping though the key-hole trying to see the great Christmas tree. And then there was the theatrical coup as the painted scrim of the door dissolved through and we could see the guests actually trimming the tree. Amazing!
When I returned to my rehearsal room—bedroom--I knew I had to move on. Out were the tacky, under-rehearsed Broadway numbers with the amateurs from the block. Sorry Denise, sorry, Suzie. I needed professionals. Luckily, Elise Brodsky, a girl in my first grade class was already taking ballet lessons and when I suggested a full-length production of the Nutcracker with a cast of two, she jeteéd at the chance.
Unfortunately, this production never came off and I learned a valuable lesson that would hold me in good stead over the years. Stars are different. Stars are temperamental. Stars want things. Elise and I easily divided up the solos in the ballet: she would be the Sugar Plum Fairy, I would be the Mouse King, she would be Marie, I would be Fritz. But when it came to the Candy Cane dance, we reached an impasse. She wanted it and I wanted it too. In fact, I had already cut my hula-hoop in half so I could do the jumpy bit over the multi-striped candy cane.
No matter what I did or how I pleaded, Elise wanted to dance that Variation. I offered more money, better billing, the final curtain call, all the things that you learn to do early in the game. Still no movement. Negotiations collapsed. So, I did what any budding entrepreneur had to do: I cancelled the production. Artistic differences.
It was back to Broadway for me. Back to Mary Martin and the toilet paper wigs for Washing That Man Out Of My Hair. Back to real show business. And when my parents bought me a 60’s style tree-lamp reading light with three adjustable lights for studying, I knew I was right where I belonged. If I took a white sheet off my bed and painted a doorway on it, and if the tree light was positioned just right, we almost had a bleed-through effect. This wasn’t a game. This was theatre.
Every block had one and I was it: the queer. I grew up in the early sixties in Flatbush, Brooklyn long before queer had any sort of positive, ACT-UP connotation. It was merely one of the epitaphs hurled at me along with the usual fag, sissy, pansy and homo. These were the words that supposedly wouldn’t break my bones.
Naturally, I was excluded from all the block sport. I couldn’t catch a ball to save my life and to this day I still throw like a girl. But quite honestly, I was one, thrilled outcast. Being gay made me feel special, different from the Brooklyn thugs who lived on my block, and the kids who would be stuck in Brooklyn for an eternity while I would make my fame and fortune in Manhattan. For an occasional nanosecond, I did miss the camaraderie of playing on a team. Although having a real friend instead of Lucille Ball and Wally Cleaver might have been nice, I had my world and they had theres; I was fine with the uncrossable rubicund between us.
The big game on Marlborough Road was stoop-ball. Most of the houses had two sets of steps leading up to the front doors. After buying a new Pensy-Pinky or a Spaulding at Lamston’s around the corner, the boys would spend hours throwing the ball against the upper set of stairs, each step having a higher point value, the lowest being 5 and the highest 50. If you were able to throw the ball so that it didn’t bounce on the way back to the street the points doubled. Occasionally, I was recruited to help with the math when my friends couldn’t figure out what came after 1,999. I assured them it was a trillion.
Who needed to play ball outside, anyway? I was quite content to stay in my room and play at something I seemed to have an innate talent for: big Broadway musicals.
These were not just any run-of-the-mill productions. These were extravaganzas complete with (homemade) costumes, an orchestra (my scratchy 78s on a little red, portable record player), and a cast of thousands (the three girls on the block I could recruit)—each and every production directed, choreographed and starring me.
The only cast albums around were my mother’s old 78 recordings of Rodgers and Hammerstein shows. So my Broadway reviews consisted of the four of us lip-syncing to Mary Martin as she Washed That Man Right Out of Her Hair or Cockeyed Optimist (although I was certain that the title was Cockeyed Optometrist and consequently had the entire cast in cardboard cut-out glasses). We would usually end with the Grand Finale: Oklahoma! complete with trenches.
Where I picked this up is anybody’s guess. I hadn’t seen a Broadway musical yet, so it must have been the occasional movie musical on TV. Perhaps it was the perennial running of Wizard of OZ, or Peter Pan. Maybe it’s just in the genes. However this form of entertainment seeped into my consciousness, it filled my mind at a very, very early age. I’m sure my parents’ friends never forgot my definitive version of “People Will Say We’re In Love” sung to my sister’s Chatty Cathy.
For those who are already shaking their heads in horror about the little-gay-boy-putting-on-shows-in-his-bedroom, I fear it gets worse. My parents took me to Balanchine’s Nutcracker at the New York City Ballet and my life changed.
Not that I became a ballet dancer, but I saw how magnificent professional theatre could be. By a happy coincidence, the most celebrated, commercially successful Christmas show in NYC was also produced by the great titan of twentieth Century ballet. I venture to say any kid with artistic ambitions who had the momentous fortune to see this ballet at an early age was forever changed. I still vividly remember the ballet’s two children peeping though the key-hole trying to see the great Christmas tree. And then there was the theatrical coup as the painted scrim of the door dissolved through and we could see the guests actually trimming the tree. Amazing!
When I returned to my rehearsal room—bedroom--I knew I had to move on. Out were the tacky, under-rehearsed Broadway numbers with the amateurs from the block. Sorry Denise, sorry, Suzie. I needed professionals. Luckily, Elise Brodsky, a girl in my first grade class was already taking ballet lessons and when I suggested a full-length production of the Nutcracker with a cast of two, she jeteéd at the chance.
Unfortunately, this production never came off and I learned a valuable lesson that would hold me in good stead over the years. Stars are different. Stars are temperamental. Stars want things. Elise and I easily divided up the solos in the ballet: she would be the Sugar Plum Fairy, I would be the Mouse King, she would be Marie, I would be Fritz. But when it came to the Candy Cane dance, we reached an impasse. She wanted it and I wanted it too. In fact, I had already cut my hula-hoop in half so I could do the jumpy bit over the multi-striped candy cane.
No matter what I did or how I pleaded, Elise wanted to dance that Variation. I offered more money, better billing, the final curtain call, all the things that you learn to do early in the game. Still no movement. Negotiations collapsed. So, I did what any budding entrepreneur had to do: I cancelled the production. Artistic differences.
It was back to Broadway for me. Back to Mary Martin and the toilet paper wigs for Washing That Man Out Of My Hair. Back to real show business. And when my parents bought me a 60’s style tree-lamp reading light with three adjustable lights for studying, I knew I was right where I belonged. If I took a white sheet off my bed and painted a doorway on it, and if the tree light was positioned just right, we almost had a bleed-through effect. This wasn’t a game. This was theatre.
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