Everything I Know I Learned from Musicals

Is Paulo Szot Gay? Apparently, Yes.

Since there seems to be so much interest in the sexuality of Tony winner Paul Szot, I thought I'd pass this along. According to AfterElton.com, Szot is indeed an out gay man. I don't usually traffic in gossip, but the phrase "paulo szot gay" is still the number one search term on my blog, so I thought I'd satisfy the curiosity of a significant portion of my readers.

Szot is a handsome hunk of a man, with a sonorous voice and a terrific stage presence, and South Pacific has become the one, unqualified musical hit of the season. I'm not a fan of the show, and I found this production underwhelming, but I'd rather have people seeing Rodgers and Hammerstein than Andrew Lloyd Webber.

So, boa sorte, Senhor Szot. To you and your boyfriend.

Jury Duty: the Musical

Actually, as far as I know, no one is actually working on a musical version of Twelve Angry Men. Or Inherit the Wind, for that matter. However, I, your humble blogger, am bound to perform my civic duty tomorrow. In Massachusetts, we have a one day/one trial jury duty system, which basically means that, if you're not picked for a trial on the first day, you're off the hook for the rest of the week, and indeed for another three years.

But why am I telling you all this? ("And you a...perfect stranger...") Well, because if I do get seated on a trial, it may cut significantly into my blogging time. I've never been picked before. This could be because I'm a journalist, or perhaps not, but I always get disqualified at some point in the process. I certainly do my best to appear surly, opinionated, and intransigent. (Well, actually, I don't really have to work very hard to appear surly, opinionated, and intransigent...)

So, odds are that, within a few days, I'll be back to being surly, opinionated, and intransigent about the stuff that really matters in life: musical theater. But if by some slight chance I am picked for a jury, I'll be sure to make mental notes about how I can turn the whole adventure into a Broadway show. Or at least a blog post or two.

Lists, Lists, Lists

I recently discovered that I can add sub-pages to my blog (just like a real live Web site!), but at first I was at a loss as to what I could put on those pages. Surely not the newsy stuff that comprises my regular blog posts: more perennial stuff of continuous appeal.

Then more recently I've came across The Drama 100: A Ranking of the Greatest Plays of All Time by one Daniel S. Burt. The book has actually rekindled my interest in regular old non-musical plays. (Please don't think less of me, dear reader: I'm still hopelessly devoted to musicals.) I've been buying up the scripts to some of the plays that Burt lists, and having a grand old time discovering great playwrights old and new.

But Burt's book got me thinking about creating a list of my own: The Musical 100: A Ranking of the Greatest Musicals of All Time. I love lists, both reading through them and creating my own. But I discovered that the effort was a bit more challenging than I initially had thought. There simply aren't as many musicals as there are plays, let alone great musicals.

This is a simple fact of history: straight dramas have been around for literally thousands of years, but the musical, as we currently know it, didn't really begin to evolve until 1866 with The Black Crook. And most of what came after that, at least for the next 50 years or so, was unadulterated crap. We didn't really start to get musicals of any quality until the early part of the 20th century, and most of the musicals that we pay any attention to these days were written after 1940.

So I was at a slight disadvantage in compiling my list, but soldiered bravely on. And in the process I even came up with a list of 100 runners-up, and was then inspired to compile a running list of musicals that just plain outright suck (IMOHO). I consider all of these lists to be living documents: I've already made numerous changes, and will continue to do so as the spirit moves me.

The pages are listed on the sidebar to the right, or you can click through the links above. Take a look and let me know what you think. I would imagine there will be some consternation and uproar, but dialog is good. Just don't expect it to be a democratic process. As I say rather tactlessly in the introduction to my 100-best list, the criteria are mine, and if you disagree you're free to create your own. Then you can send it to me, and I can tell you you're full of beans.

Whatever that means.

Did Ben Brantley Like It? Check This Site

Proposition #1: It's fun to hate Ben Brantley. There's something about the position of lead drama critic at the New York Times that seems to invite scorn, but there's also something about Brantley himself that makes him that much easier to hate. I mean, check out his NYT headshot. This is the photo that he chose to portray himself to his reading public. Even so, he's the most powerful theater critic in the country, and whether he's spot-on or way off base, what he says can have a huge impact on the success of a particular show.

Proposition #2: Yeah, Brantley's powerful, but that doesn't mean I want to read his every word in order to find out whether he liked the show. Also, he's not the only theater critic out there, and it's always fruitful to seek out a variety of opinions rather than relying on one dyspeptic scribe. Wouldn't it be great if there was a Web site that collected the opinions of all the different drama critics into one easy-to-understand format? Kind of like what Metacritic does for movies, books, DVDs, and video games.

Well, now there is. It's called www.didhelikeit.com. The site collects the available reviews from the major critics and represents the basic upshot for each with a simple graphic element -- the Ben-ometer, modeled after old Benny boy. The site appears to be a work in progress: the site's creator apparently has plans to eventually include Off-Broadway shows as well. But it's a valiant effort overall, and a welcome addition to my list of must-see theater sites.

National "Act Like Your Life Was a Musical" Day

The whole "social networking" thing has, for the most part, passed me by. You know, MySpace, Facebook, Second Life, etc., all those sites where you sign up and invite your friends and interact with you online. I never really saw the point. (I find the title "Second Life" pretty risible. No thanks, I have a first life.)

The only reason I signed up for Facebook was so that I could match faces to names in getting to know my Boston Conservatory students. Then suddenly I started getting invites from friends and acquaintances long past to "write" on their "walls" and play Scrabble online and whatnot. I would politely confirm invitations to become online buddies with people, but I never really go to Facebook and actually "do" anything.

But a Facebook invitation that I recently received really caught my eye. A young lady I did a show with a few years back sent me an invitation to "National 'Act Like Your Life Was a Musical' Day." As of this writing, 2,671 people have confirmed their participation. It's not clear from the invite what "participation" entails, exactly, but I'd like to offer my suggestions to people who'd like to make their day today more musical-esque:

Let the song emerge from the drama. Take a tip from the masters, Rodgers and Hammerstein. One of their key tenets was to craft songs and scenes that arose organically from the dramatic necessity of the action, as opposed to artificially inserting some new song that was meant to be a hit, a la Cole Porter. I'm not saying you should write yourself a whole new score for today's musical (if you can, and you do, God love ya), but when you do burst into song, try to make it something that naturally fits the moment. For inspiration, think about such wonderfully organic songs as "Another Winter in a Summer Town" from Grey Gardens, "What Would I Do?" from Falsettos, or even "Show People" from Curtains.

Musicalize the emotional high point. Another Hammerstein innovation. Music should emerge when words alone cannot suffice to convey the drama of the moment. In the best shows, musical underscoring punctuates the intro scenes, and then the singing kicks in when there's sufficient love, elation, sadness, or just plain rambunctiousness. Think "I Have Dreamed" from The King and I, "Make Believe" from Show Boat, "Tonight at Eight" from She Loves Me, or "Luck Be a Lady" from Guys and Dolls.

Dance when words fail you. This one comes from Jerome Robbins, who used dance in West Side Story as a rich vocabulary for a bunch of spirited but uneducated kids. What the Jets and Sharks lack in erudition they more than make up for in kinetic expression. "Cool" may be the best example here. Also think Cassie's big number, "The Music and the Mirror," from A Chorus Line. The dance kicks in when the words and the music can no longer fully convey her frustration and desperation.

Put a button on it. Gower Champion taught us the importance of dressing the stage, creating stage pictures, but also creating a final moment at the end of a big number that indicated to the audience that the song was over, and that they might wanna start clapping at this point. In musical theater, we call this "putting a button" on the end of the number. Champion didn't invent the "button," but he certainly...well...championed it. Think "Telephone Hour" in Bye Bye Birdie, or "Put on Your Sunday Clothes" from Hello, Dolly! Audiences are willing to forgive a lot if the number ends decisively.

Hope this helps you make your day, and your life, more musical.

Oh, BTW, if I were going to be grammatically pedantic, I would point out that the title of today's festive event should technically read "National 'Act As Though Your Life Were a Musical' Day."

But I'm not one to quibble with good intentions.

Why My Dog is Named Oliver

I apologize for my recent lack of musical theater postings, but it's been a very difficult week. Oliver, my beloved cocker spaniel, came down with a blood disease called immune-mediated thrombocytopenia, a condition in which his immune system began to attack his platelets, making clotting difficult. His gums started to bleed, and the next thing I knew he was admitted into the critical care unit at Angell Memorial, the best animal hospital in the country, and one of the best in the world.

Fortunately, I happen to live right across the street from Angell, in a section of Boston known as Jamaica Plain. I recall a while back while I was walking Oliver around the grounds of Angell and chatting up this woman who was walking her yellow lab. The woman had an accent, and I asked her where she was from. Turns out it was Bermuda. Did she relocate from that sunny island? No, she commutes up every two weeks to get chemotherapy for her dog. That's how good Angell is.

This week has been a wild ride both in terms of treatment options and emotional extremes. As you can tell by the prominence I give Oliver's picture on this site, I am inordinately fond of my dog, almost preternaturally so. You know how some people in really tough times clam up, lie in bed, and refuse all calls? I'm not one of those people. When I'm in a crisis, I grab the phone and pour my heart out to any and all who have the time and patience to listen. It's a mess, but fortunately I have wonderful friends who can withstand the slobbering.

As for the title of this post, Oliver got his name from the story of my less-than-immaculate conception. I was conceived the night that my parents saw the musical Oliver! on Broadway. (How are they sure of the exact night? They're Catholic. 'Nuff said.) More important, why did they feel the need to share this information with me? I can't recall the context in which it first arose. All I know is that I know, as do most of my nearest and dearest. When my friend Richard Carey saw Love! Valour! Compassion! on Broadway, he called me up immediately after the show and said "Chris, Terrence McNally stole your birth story!" In the play, the character Buzz tells the audience that he was conceived the night his parents saw Wildcat on Broadway. Close enough to be actionable, but I'm not the litigious sort.

Well, after eight long days and seven difficult nights, my boy is back home with me. He's a little weary for the wear, and they had to shave the middle of each of his four legs to accommodate all the needles for the transfusions and whatnot, which makes him look a bit too much like a poodle for my tastes. But he's my boy, and he's home, and I'd take him bald and painted Day-Glo orange if I had to. Please send your thoughts, prayers, vibrations, emanations, or whatever cosmic energy you ascribe to in Oliver's general direction to expedite a speedy recovery for my beloved boy.

And we'll send the same out to you.

Happy Holidays from EIKILFM

Winter was warm
Summer soft that year
The winter was warm
Without a sign of frost,
Like winter lost
Its way that year.

It seems as I recall
No blossoms fell that fall,
“May” didn’t leave at all,
Or did love paint an illusion?

Now trees, with a sigh,
Stand and shiver while their
Dreams fall and die,
And all my dreams are bare
Wrapped up somewhere
In summer leaves.

Oh, what I’d give to be
To be in love again
This year, the winter is cold
Will it ever be warm
As it was then?

"Winter Was Warm"
From "Mr. Magoo's Christmas Carol"
Music by Jule Styne
Lyric by Bob Merrill

To all my dear readers out there in the blogosphere, friends old and new, I wish you the happiest of holidays. May the spirit of Christmas join the spirit of musical theater in your hearts and illuminate your life with hope, peace, and possibility.

Much love,

Chris

What to Do When You Miss Curtain Time

How annoying is this?

Last weekend, I was heading down to New York City for one of my regular theater weekends. I don't usually see shows on Friday night, mostly because I don't want to contend with Friday-night traffic. But I was using a discount code to see The Color Purple, and it wasn't good for Saturdays. So I figured I'd break with tradition and get a ticket for Friday night. I mean, how bad could the traffic be?

Bad. Really really bad. I left Boston 1:30 PM, and I didn't make it to New Rochelle until 6:30 PM, which is bad enough. But then it took me TWO AND A HALF HOURS to get from New Rochelle to the George Washington Bridge (which should only really take about 20 minutes), only to find out that the GWB doesn't go into Manhattan from route 95, it goes to New Jersey.

Grrrr...

Needless to say, I missed my Friday night show, which was actually to be my first visit to The Color Purple. I had heard great things about Fantasia Barrino, so I was kinda looking forward to it. It was also to be my first time ever in the Broadway Theater, which I was actually a bit more excited about than seeing the show. There are only four Broadway theaters that I've never been in -- the Lyceum, the Longacre, the Winter Garden, and the Broadway -- and I was looking forward to crossing that last one off my list.

Of course, as for missing curtain time, I was pissed, and I cursed the theater gods repeatedly from the front seat of my Jetta. But then I remembered an article that I read on Playbill.com: a recent Ask Playbill column focused on the issue of what you can do when you miss a show that you have tickets for. It's called "past dating," it's not really an official policy, and it varies from theater to theater. For some shows, you can call the theater on the day of the performance and see if the show is sold out. If not, you might be able to snag a ticket.

I called Ticketmaster and told them my tale of whoa, and they mentioned a similar policy. I told them I come from out of town and that I'd really rather have a set date. So they told me to write a letter and explain my situation, and to give a number of alternate dates when I could see the show, as long as those dates are on a Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday. Given that the official policy is "no refunds or exchanges," I think that such courtesy arrangements are more than fair. They don't have to replace my ticket, so the fact that I will need to see the show on a weekday seems a minor inconvenience at best.

So, if you should ever get caught in traffic on a rainy Friday afternoon, or if your dog starts barfing his brains out on a show night, don't despair. Depending on the show that you have tickets for, you might still be able to see the show at a later date. If it's a big hit like Jersey Boys or Wicked, it might be much much later. But it's better than eating a $120 loss.

Same-Sex Marriage in Massachusetts

Today the Massachusetts legislature meets to determine the future of same-sex marriage in our commonwealth. This isn't a political blog, but I am a political person. And because I filter pretty much everything in my life through a musical-theater sensibility, I will sum up my take on gay marriage by quoting lyricist Lynn Ahrens from her marvelous show with composer Stephen Flaherty, A Man of No Importance:

You just have to love who you love

People can be hard sometimes
And their words can cut so deep
Choose the one you choose, love
And don't lose a moment's sleep
Who can tell you who to want?
Who can tell you what you were destined to be?
Take it from me

There's no fault in loving
No call for shame
Everyone's heart
Does exactly the same
And once you believe that
You learn how to say
I love who I love who I love
Then just go and love who you love

I live in the wonderfully progressive commonwealth of Massachusetts, and for that I'm thankful. My hope is that our elected officials won't abandon that tradition by caving in to a bunch of hypocritical hate-mongers.

[UPDATE: They didn't! The proposed ban on same-sex marriage was defeated! Yee-friggin'-haw!]