Well, dear readers, here we are, the first day of July. April Fools! No, here we are on the first day of April. April Fools! Can you believe it? Can you believe it’s April already? Wasn’t I just writing welcome to March and now March is gone and April is upon us. And I hope that April is foolish and fun and a month of good Cheer or good Tide or good Surf, and that it’s prosperous and healthy for one and all and also all and one. I, for one, shall be acting foolish all the livelong day and night on this April Fools Day. I shall be singing the Bacharach and David song, The April Fools. I shall go to Du-Par’s with a carrot stuck in my nose. I shall drop a pancake on my pants. I shall, in short, be foolishly foolish and happy as a clam (malc, spelled backwards).
I was trying to remember the most foolish thing I ever did whilst at Los Angeles City College’s theater department. There were so many, but I think one of my favorite memories is from my first semester, when I was in speech class. For some reason, I just didn’t cotton to speech class. It was taught by May Rose Borum, if I’m remembering her name correctly. She was the department’s costume shop teacher and designer for all the shows – that she did brilliantly. Also, if I remember correctly, she was responsible for costume designer Ray Aghayan being in the country. Anyway, my first experience in the class was having to do a Shakespeare monologue. They worked us day and night back then and it was very hard to keep up with all the scenes and the productions and the crew work. So, I tried to learn the “Let me play the fool” monologue. Now, I will tell you right now that I do not like playing Shakespeare – the only Shakespeare show I ever did was The Comedy Of Errors, playing a Dromio, and while I was funny, I just had way too much trouble learning it and speaking it. So, there I was, in front of the class. I struck a pose (even though we were just supposed to speak the speech, I always liked a good pose) and said, “Let me play the fool.” And I stood there. And I stood there. And I could not remember the second line. Miss Borum told me to start again, after telling me that good actors don’t forget lines. I struck the pose, and said “Let me play the fool.” And I could not remember the second line. I tried, heaven knows I tried, but it would not come to me. I stood there. And stood there. But before Miss Borum could castigate me further I continued, saying “Play the fool me – let me play the fool, foolish me, what kind of fool am I, what a fool I playeth and sayeth,” and then I bowed and skipped back to my seat. I got laughs, and I got a C for Chutzpah on my speech, as well I should have. I took that entire incident in its entirety and used it in my musical Stages.
A few weeks later, we had another assignment – this time a dramatic speech or monologue of our own choosing. The day of the class I still hadn’t chosen the monologue of my choosing. So, because I was completely unprepared when it was my turn, I got up and did something I knew – not a dramatic speech or monologue, but the lyrics to Bushel And A Peck, but done as if I were doing a dramatic speech. I struck a pose (of course) and said dramatically, “I love you!” I let a beat go by and continued, “A bushel AND a peck.” Each line was fraught with meaning, and the class just cracked up and even Miss Borum cracked up. Afterward, she said I was a very lazy boy but very clever and she gave me an A for Audacious.
In my third semester they did Becket. I did not get one of the leads, but instead was cast as King Louis Of France. I decided to be quite flamboyant in the role, since Miss Borum designed me a fabulously fabulous costume with a swirling cape, which I loved. I remember graying the front half of my hair, because I just didn’t feel like graying the back half. And I decided to speak like character actor Cecil Kellaway – why I have no idea. My performance was indeed flamboyant and got laughs, but I’m sure it was quite bad and quite wrong and quite foolish. In those days, there was always a High School Night, where various high schools would come and see our shows and we’d do a Q&A afterwards. During the Q&A someone asked me why my hair was only gray in front and not in back. With a straight face I said, “In doing my research for King Louis of France, all the photos that I saw of him were only from the front.” I said this in all seriousness and had the cast not howled with laughter I might have gotten away with it. I think they were howling not because of the joke, but because I said “in doing my research.” THAT was comedy.
Another extremely funny foolish moment occurred onstage at the Mark Taper Forum whilst doing Forget-Me-Not Lane. In the second act, the Bud Cort character and my character haven’t seen each other is several years – he’s grown up and changed, I haven’t. It’s awkward. We don’t know what to say to each other. During the scene, John McMartin, sitting on the lip of the stage, watches Bud (who is playing McMartin’s younger self) and comments every now and then. At one point I’m talking about our favorite jazz players (Eddie Condon was one, if I remember correctly), and Bud says, “Oh, I don’t listen to that stuff anymore, I’m into Debussy now” (or something close to that). McMartin says “Poor prig” and we go on with our scene. One night, the scene is going very well, and Bud says, “I’m into Debussy now.” We hold for McMartin’s line. No line. Nothing. Silence. Deadly silence. Both of our eyes sort of wander over to McMartin, whose head is down, whose eyes are closed, apparently having fallen asleep. Our eyes meet. Bud’s eyes have abject panic in them. I’m looking at him as if it’s HIS fault that the silence is there. Another beat goes by – an eternity. Bud realizes I’m not going to help bail us out, and he finally looks at me and says, “Debussy. He was quite a guy.” I had to bite my tongue so hard or I would have been gone, and Bud was almost gone, and suddenly McMartin’s head snapped up and he looked at us in surprise and blurted out, “Poor prig” and on we went, but both of us having little giggling fits all during the scene.
The only other time we had giggling fits like that was one night where in our second scene, where Bud and I are talking about all sorts of things and there’s just laugh after laugh – and those laughs are always in the exact same places. This particular night we’re approaching the first laugh. And a man in the second row guffaws loudly and long – JUST BEFORE WE GET TO THE LAUGH. Not after, but BEFORE. Okay. Same thing on the next laugh and the one after that. And then Bud and I knew he was going to do that before every laugh line and we just went. It was hilarious. We had tears in our eyes and the audience knew why and started laughing really loudly every time the man would laugh and it was just hilarious. We barely got through the scene and once we got offstage we just fell on the floor and died laughing.
Well, why don’t we all click on the Unseemly Button below because I’m feeling ever so foolish and frolicsome, aren’t you?
Yesterday was a perfectly pleasant end to March. I was able to get a really good night’s sleep and then I printed out lots of orders, did the long jog, and then the Kritzerland helper came over and pre-labeled about 200 boxes. We then went to lunch at Jerry’s and then I dropped the helper off and I picked up some packages that needed picking up (including another 400 boxes) and shipped about fifteen packages, as well. I then came home, printed some more orders, did some work on the computer, and then finally sat on my couch like so much fish.
Last night, I watched a motion picture on DVD entitled Crime and Punishment USA, a weird adaptation of the Dostoyevsky novel. Set in LA, the film stars George Hamilton, an impossibly young and weird Marian Seldes, and other people I didn’t really (except for Frank Silvera). A really low-budget affair, it was directed by Denis Sanders, who had a short and odd career in low-budget films. It’s pretty much a complete stinker, but there are some terrific shots of 1959 Ocean Park and Venice. This is a Warner Archive DVD-R, and the quality is about on a par with laserdisc – not bad, and enhanced for widescreen TVs, but nowhere near a transfer you’d normally get these days. Still, I was glad to finally see the film.
Today, I have a breakfast meeting at Du-Par’s (pancakes here I come), and then I’m going to begin addressing packages and will try to do at least fifty to one hundred. Then I have some errands and whatnot to attend to and then the rest of the day will be mine all mine. I have to make a decision on the next Kritzerland release, but I’m still waiting to hear when I can pick up tapes so I can determine the best path to take. Tomorrow, most of the day will be spent in finishing the addressing and stamping process, and then I’m going to record a commercial for the Ahmanson’s production of Ain’t Misbehavin’. That will probably take about three hours all told, and then I shall come home. Friday, if everything goes according to Hoyle, we’ll have Illya Darling discs arriving in the afternoon. The morning hours will be spent working with the composer and lyricist of the long musical.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must, for example, do the long jog, have a breakfast meeting, address packages, and perhaps watch a DVD or three. Today’s topic of discussion: What are some of the most foolish things that have ever happened to you – on stage, off-stage, in school, at work, let’s hear it all. And yes, it’s Ask BK Day, the day in which you get to ask me or any dear reader any old question you like and we get to give any old answer we like. So, let’s have loads of lovely questions and loads of lovely answers and loads of lovely postings, shall we, whilst we welcome in the month of April with high hopes for a foolishly fabulous month.