Well, dear readers, the LACC show is done and in certain ways it was a rousing success and, in the long run, that is all that matters. I suspect it was a very moving show for most of the alums in the audience, and I suspect it was a somewhat long show for others. Six months ago, when I agreed to do the show, the first thing out of my mouth was, two hours. I said it over and over, and everyone agreed. When we were sketching out the show, I knew my co-director and everyone else wanted a selection of scenes. I knew that was a dangerous game, because it’s virtually impossible to select scenes that are only two to four minutes long. And that proved to be the case, only I didn’t know it until a few nights ago. At that time, I began my predictions of a three-hour show, and I was absolutely correct. In fact, the show clocked in at three hours and fifteen minutes with intermission. On paper, it ran two hours, but the minute I saw the scenes earlier in the week, I knew that every one of those scene times had been incorrect. Four minute scenes lasted ten minutes. But, ultimately, it didn’t matter and the audience seemed to have a great time. The show began with a bang, and I mean a bang. Just as I wanted them to, the audience entered the theater and their interest was immediately piqued by seeing no set, backstage walls, a light pipe down, people milling about and sweeping, and a ghost light. Little by little as show time approached, the activity got bigger, until finally and unbeknownst to the audience, the show proper began, with our actress playing a stage manager coming out and checking on everyone. The light pipe goes up, then she says to someone, “Let’s lose the ghost light.” A drum roll starts, the guy crosses and as he grabs the ghost light and pushes it off, the opening number begins. And, while the stage manager is singing, “Preset one, curtains in, kill the works, let’s begin” the set (mostly drapes) flies in, as the stage is bathed in proper stage lighting. She finishes her verse, checks everything and leaves the stage, and a moment later, the company enters and begins the second verse. And so on, and so forth, until its three group counterpoint at the end, and then the big finish. The number got a huge ovation. In the middle of it, the cast steps back, some to the left, some to the right, making an aisle in the center, and Cindy Williams entered.
I was so proud of my kids. Eight weeks ago, most of them hadn’t sung, very few knew how to move in rhythm, and I was, frankly, very worried they’d be able to pull it off ( the rather complicated opening number I’d written). But, boy did they ever and then some. For me, that was the most gratifying thing of doing the entire show. Cindy’s speech went very well, and the couple of jokes I wrote her landed beautifully. Then she introduced Annette Cardona, myself, and recent alum, Candice Nicole (who played the stage manager in the opening number), and we did Been A Long Day from How To Succeed, which Annette and I had done back in 1968. We then had the first problem of the evening – I introduced our next speaker, my schoolmate Winston Butler. He already had too much copy (for a tribute to alum Charles Gordone), and he kept embellishing it. Also, while he was speaking, the screen was supposed to be down, showing slides of Gordone, and his play No Place To Be Somebody. The screen didn’t come down on time, but came down at the end of Winston’s speech – so everyone had to then sit and watch an endless slideshow. The rest of the act played in fits and starts, some good, some okay, nothing terrible. But, I could already see the writing on the wall – the act was supposed to run an hour and just some quick thinking ahead told me it would be at least an hour twenty – it ended up being an hour thirty. The highlights of the act were Diana Canova’s Could I Leave You, Valerie Gillett’s What Do I Do Now?, the first act finale, Things Are So Strange, and the little scene from No Place To Be Somebody.
Well, why don’t we all click on the Unseemly Button below, so I can continue our postmortem.
The place to be during the show was in the scene shop, where a monitor had been set up. There we all were – Mike Lembeck, Cindy, me, Maggie Roswell, Bill Ewing, Mark Hamill, and others, and our commentary was ribald and hilarious. It escalated in act two.
Act two began with the entrance of the teachers, doing my parody lyric to Everybody Ought To Have A Maid. When I began thinking about the show, the two numbers that came into my head, fully-formed, were the opening number and the teacher’s number. Well, they really pulled it together and, as I knew it would, it brought the house down, with prolonged cheers (for the song proper and its two built-in encores). And then came Hugh O’Brian. He started out quite charmingly, and got a couple of big laughs. Every person who was out there to tell an anecdote before introducing the next number, was told emphatically, two to three minutes tops, and off. Eight minutes into Hugh’s rambling monologue, I knew we were in deep merde. And he just kept on going. In fact, he was the classic example of a benefit nightmare – the person who gets out there and thinks the show is about him. Ten minutes in, I took the bull by the horns, walked backstage and instructed my musical director to start playing the piano. He did so. Hugh, God bless him, knew exactly what that meant, but he wouldn’t leave before finishing the endless story he’d been telling – in fact, he said, “they’ll have to get the hook” at which point I tried pushing the co-director onstage to do something. Three minutes later, he finally introduced the next number, which was swell, thanks to Maggie Roswell (she did The Boy From…). Then we had more tributes and scenes (one, from Othello, was short and sweet and performed very well by Victor Love, in tribute to alum Paul Winfield). And more songs. Diana kicked butt with I Still Believe In Love, Annette Cardona raised the roof with All That Jazz, and Linden Waddell did great with The Girl That Men Go Mad For. The kids came back for Our Time, and the show was finally over.
There were several lovely moments during the show – Mark Hamill’s genuinely touching tribute to his time at the school, Mike Lembeck’s intro to Annette Cardona’s All That Jazz (I gave him his entrance line just before he went on – “My goal here tonight is to speak longer than Hugh O’Brian” – and that he was going to perform The House of Bernarda Alba in its entirety), Victor Love’s tribute to Paul Winfield. I took a few photographs, which I’ll get uploaded onto the computer on Tuesday. It was great hanging around with Cindy, and Lembeck, and Ewing, and Hamill, and Annette and Maggie, and everyone else.
Afterwards, there was a big bash and I saw lots of friendly faces in the crowd, including cousin Dee Dee, Panni, Tammy Minoff and mum Susan, Kevin Spirtas, my old pal Phil Kellard, and lots of others. Most surprisingly, a nice lady came up to me and said, “Do you remember me?” I’m senile, of course, but I did remember her face. I thought she said her name was Laura, which didn’t ring any bells – then finally she said she was Susan Aviner’s mother. That took me a second, but then I realized immediately it was Flora Gordon, mother of Susan. I hadn’t seen her in a few years, and it was great to catch up with her and boyfriend Billy. I also met a lot of folks I didn’t know, and everyone really did seem to have a good time. Finally, I had to take my leave and get home, which is where I am now, writing these here notes at two-fifteen in the morning.
What I learned? I will never again co-direct a benefit. I really like my co-director, but you can’t have two people who are stylistically on such different pages – my idea of a great benefit is two hours, period, the end. If it’s longer, cut what’s not working. Still, I think we did the school and the department proud, and the cast was great. For me, the show’s opening number is one of the best things I’ve ever done, especially its staging. I’m sure I’ll be usurping it for some other show at some point.
I’m sure there is more to tell, but I can barely keep my eyes open as it is, and I must get some sleep, because I must pack and get ready to go to the airport to fly to San Francisco for Simply Sondheim. Once there, I shall be whisked to a rehearsal, where I’ll have to work with Mr. Haines on his number.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must, for example, get my head together for this little trip, and I must also find time to update the script for my play (there’ve been a few word and line changes), in time for our first rehearsal on Tuesday. Today’s topic of discussion: I’m afraid you’re on your own, topic-wise, so I shall expect a few excellent topics from you dear readers. Don’t fail me. Let’s have loads of lovely postings, shall we, whilst I get my beauty rest.