Thumbing through the Oxford Companion to American Theatre
Had a nice quiet holiday weekend by doing nothing at all. Spent Friday perusing the 681-page third edition of The Oxford Companion to American Theatre by Gerald Bordman and Thomas S. Hischak. What I always do when I get an encyclopedia is open to “A,” find something interesting, then move to “B,” and so forth through the alphabet’s 26 letters. Here’s what I noticed:
Abbott, George. Here’s a good place to explain the asterisk system that the authors use. Whenever a show title or person is mentioned in an entry and also has its own entry somewhere else in the book, Hischak uses an asterisk for cross-referencing purposes. Abbott, by the way, has 32 asterisks, which just might be the most that anyone has in the book.
Burns, David. (1902-71), the entry states before going on to list his appearances in The Man Who Came to Dinner, Make Mine Manhattan, Out of This World, The Music Man, A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, and Hello, Dolly!. But wouldn’t you think that the authors would mention his last show, 70, Girls, 70, given that the actor died in mid-performance during the Philly tryout?
Claudia. This the 1941 Rose Franken comedy ran 722 performances but the authors have it at 453, and I think I know why: After Claudia’s February 12, 1941-March 7, 1942 run at the Booth, it had an 11-week layoff before resuming on May 24, 1942 at the St. James. Those layoffs are easy to mistake for closings.
Duke, Vernon. While the authors give Duke’s Broadway credits, I would have liked to have seen Zenda mentioned, too. It was his last show, a 1963 adaptation of The Prisoner of Zenda, an out-of-town closer with lyrics by Leonard Adelson (who later wrote Molly), Sid Kuller (who had previously co-written the Marx Brothers’ The Big Store), and Martin Charnin, who’d have a big hit 14 years later.
Engel, Lehman. The conductor, say the authors, “was also a serious student of musical theatre, teaching both at the American Musical and Dramatic Theatre Academy and at New York University.” And yet there’s no mention of Engel’s most famous legacy: Starting The BMI Musical Theater Workshop, for which he was so central that it’s now known as the BMI Lehman Engel Musical Theater Workshop.
Flower Drum Song — “the only Rodgers and Hammerstein work clearly in the musical comedy genre.” Oh, I don’t know about that. Wasn’t Me and Juliet a musical comedy, too?
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. I like that the authors not only give us the facts and figures on the 1949 musical but also on the 1926 play. Did you know (I didn’t) that Frank (The Wizard of Oz) Morgan played one of Lorelei Lee’s beaus?
Hallelujah, Baby!. Guess the authors felt they had to include this stinker because it won a Tony (in a woebegone season). The Oxford book’s practice of listing a show’s “Notable Songs” — almost always three of them — sure failed here. There’s the expected “My Own Morning” but who would have anticipated “Now’s the Time” and “Feet, Do Yo Stuff”?
Impossible Years, The. Speaking of woebegone — how about this awful comedy? But the authors must have fet that they should include long-runners and the show did play 670 performances. How bad was it, you ask? Here’s a line from the description: “When Linda announces that she left her virginity on a beach, Mrs. Kingsley becomes so rattled that she bids ‘three no-virgins’ in a bridge game.”
Jews in American Theatre and Drama. I wasn’t surprised to see two full pages on this but I was astonished by the last line of the entry: “Only the Irish, among American minorities, can claim an influence on the American theatre equal to the Jewish loyalty and influence.” I don’t see that, though I was surprised when I flipped back to “Irish in American Theatre and Drama” that there was enough for a full page. Still, I say it’s no contest.
Kiley, Richard “would comfortably shift from dramas to musicals throughout his stage career, giving such memorable performances as the suspicious Major Harry Cargill in Time Limit, the sleuthing Tom Baxter in Redhead, the young senator Brig Anderson in Advise and Consent, novelist David Jordan in No Strings, the dual roles of Cervantes and Don Quixote in Man of La Mancha….” Hey, are you as surprised as I that Kiley’s La Mancha roles get equal weight with the other parts that, lumped all together, he didn’t play nearly as long and didn’t make him nearly as rich and famous?
Loudon, Dorothy. Here’s proof positive of how quickly books date: After her name is (b. 1933), with no notification of her death in 2003.
Minnelli, Liza. She’s described as being “wildly popular,” even now. Hmmm. Is that true?
Nederlander Theatre. Would the authors catch that this theater was the Trafalgar for a year or so? Indeed. What I’d forgotten was that Trafalgar was a lucky name for the house, for between April, 1979 (when it ceased being the Billy Rose) and October 1980 (when it became the Nederlander), the Trafalgar hosted Whose Life Is It, Anyway? and Betrayal, plays that not only repaid their investments but also were made into Hollywood films (which is a badge of success).
Over the River and Through the Woods. Listen, each of the three times I saw this play, I shed tears, so I certainly don’t begrudge its inclusion in the book. I’m just surprised that this Joe DiPietro work, which amassed a two-year run, was included while his I Love You! You’re Perfect! Now Change! — which has run eight years and counting — wasn’t.
Paper Mill Playhouse in Millburn, NJ. “The artistic director, who stages most of the important productions, is Robert Johanson.” Not for more than a year now.
Quintero, Jose. Well, I guess expecting the authors to include the two musicals that Quintero directed would be too much to ask. They ran a total of three days. Pousse-Cafe opened on March 18, 1966 and closed March 19, 1966 — five years before Johnny Johnson opened and closed on April 11, 1971.
“R” is for Royale Theatre. Would the authors catch that, from 1934-1937, the theater was actually called the Golden — while the theater next door that we now know as the Golden was the Theatre Masque? Yup, they sure did!
Would “S” be for Streisand? I had to wonder. Granted, she burst onto the Broadway scene in March, 1962 and became a star just two years later; but, after 1965, never returned to us. (Barbra of the 1000 Days!) Well, I say the editors of the book correctly handled her. Look under Streisand, Barbra and you’ll find “See Funny Girl.” The show gets its own entry but Streisand does not. Take that, Hollywood star!
“T” is for Time of the Cuckoo, which allows the authors to take the moment to mention the musical version, Do I Hear a Waltz? — “Rodgers only show in the theater that was later named for him.” Well, if you only count original productions, yes, but the 1954 revival of On Your Toes played there, too.
Umpire, The. What fun to read about this 1905 musical that was a big hit in Chicago but never braved New York. How’s this for a plot: “Johnny Nolan is a baseball umpire who make such an outrageous call in a crucial game that he is forced to flee all the way to Morocco. There he participates in a football game.”
Voice of the Turtle, The. At 1,557 performances, it’s still the eighth longest-running non-musical in Broadway history. How prescient of the authors to tell why and make this astute editorial comment: “The first small-cast play (only three characters) to become a smash hit…set a precedent that later economics forced other playwrights to abuse.”
Wheeler, Hugh. I didn’t know that he doctored the book for Half a Sixpence. Did you?
As for “X” — too bad that Jack Richardson’s 1965 play Xmas in Las Vegas wasn’t a hit, for then it would have given the book an “X” entry. Alas, there isn’t a single one.
Youmans, Vincent. Was his middle name really Millie?
Ziegfeld Theatre, “possibly the finest theater ever built in New York.” Oh, don’t make it worse by telling us that! I never even saw the place on Sixth Avenue and West 54th-55th, let alone caught a show in it. Those who want to get a glimpse of it should see the 1965 film How to Murder Your Wife. During the credits, while Terry-Thomas is discoursing on a rooftop, you’ll see the theater to the right of him. Then there’s a quick zoom-in, but don’t look for anything on the marquee; alas, as usual, the Ziegfeld was dark.
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[To contact Peter Filichia directly, e-mail him at pfilichia@theatermania.com]
