Everything Was Possible: The Birth of the Musical Follies (Applause Books) (37 page)

Despite this being a matinee day, Sheila Smith was called at 10:30 A.M. to go through Phyllis’s material. She pointed out to Fritz, nicely but firmly, that she believed Yvonne had a contract to cover the role, that she did not, and that if she were to go on, technically she would be violating both her own contract and Yvonne’s. Fritz said he would call Carl Fisher and see that it got straightened out. Hal, realizing there was now a strong possibility that Alexis would have to miss some performances, spoke with Yvonne about her no longer covering the role. The report that filtered back was that Yvonne was relieved.

First Sheila went through all the music in the lounge with Hal Hastings and Phil Fradkin. Hal said she was fine but that her singing was one-dimensional. Then she went onstage, where George Martin took her through the staging. John Grigas remarked, “That girl is terrific.” I was sent to the music copyists’ suite at the Bradford to pick up copies of Phyllis’s songs so Sheila could have her own set. Of course, the decision whether she would fill in for Alexis had not yet been made, but everyone knew that they had better be prepared for the possibility. In the end, Alexis played the matinee, using a speak-sing style with whatever voice she had, still not attempting to perform “Could I Leave You?”

Yvonne, concerned about her new song, went to Steve’s hotel room at midnight, in tears. She was convinced “Fox Trot” was being replaced because she was incompetent, that she was performing it badly, and that no one was telling her the truth. Steve tried to assure her that there was nothing wrong with her performance, that the reasons for replacing the song had to do with the song itself. He didn’t think he was totally convincing, although what he said was the truth. Maybe just unburdening her woes made her feel better, but Steve was already hard at work on the replacement.

At noon Gene was called for a rehearsal of “The Right Girl.” This number wasn’t landing the way Michael wanted and hoped it would. He kept working at it, trying to find steps that Gene could execute well and that would make the staging exciting. He knew the set gave him ample opportunities for Gene to fly around, leaping from platform to platform, but he also knew that Gene was still nervous, and that his nervousness was coming across in performance. Michael seemed to have more patience with Gene than with some of the other performers, but he was still pushing, trying to find a balance between something that Gene could execute well and that was still exciting and energetic. He knew it wasn’t there yet.

The matinee performance was energized, partly because the entire cast of
Prettybelle
was in the audience. Since their closing notice had gone up, and because they played their midweek matinee the day before, on Wednesday, Hal had issued an invitation to the whole company. Angela Lansbury was in “house seats”—good locations held back from public sale to be purchased by people connected with the show, but since the box office wasn’t prepared for the number of people who took Hal up on his offer, the
Prettybelle
company manager, Seymour Herscher, worked with John Caruso to find locations for everyone. Not only would Angela Lansbury be in the house (audiences are always atwitter when a celebrity is spotted), but so would Jon Cypher, the originally cast Ben Stone who had taken the lead in
Prettybelle
after dropping out of
Follies.
He had the grace to write a note to Hal after the performance saying what a wonderful show
Follies
was, and adding that he would have had a nervous breakdown if he had stayed with it. (He also penned a very cordial fan letter to John McMartin.) Lansbury came backstage after the performance and congratulated everyone. She was very cordial to all, and told Yvonne she was marvelous and asked if she had ever been on the stage before. A somewhat nonplussed Yvonne concluded later that Angela must have been in a state of shock since her show was closing.

Graciela Daniele fell at the beginning of “Bolero d’Amour” and did the rest of the number with a sprained ankle. At intermission she was sent to a doctor, and Bob Avian gathered the dancers to discuss the changes needed in the second act to compensate for her absence. To keep the pairings equal in “Loveland,” one dancer was taken out and his line given to someone else. With Michael Misita now back in the show but looking wan, Young Vincent and Young Vanessa seemed to be the cursed roles so far. But Graciela would bounce back by the evening performance, Ace bandage securely in place.

I had dinner with Larry Cohen and Paul Gemignani at the Union Oyster House, a Boston landmark on Stuart Street. Mainly we gossiped about the show: Larry hadn’t seen it since the opening and questioned whether a lot of the new changes were taking the show in the right direction. There was a lot of tinkering going on, and we all wondered whether some wholesale changes weren’t more in order. It seemed clear that the libretto was going to stay as it was—any notion Michael may have had about bringing in someone to write jokes or spruce up the dialogue seemed to have vanished. We all agreed that the opening needed to be fixed, but Michael did seem to be working on that, although we couldn’t tell how much fixing he was actually doing. Paul had some specific criticisms of his own, but as he and his drum set were in the pit for performances, his vantage point was not ideal. And he was annoyed by something else: he wanted to conduct; he wanted the job as assistant conductor on this show. The man who had been hired, but who wouldn’t join the company until New York, had fine credentials. Paul Cianci by name, he had studied with Pierre Monteux, had conducted several Broadway shows, and perhaps most important, had been the assistant on
Funny Girl,
where he had kept Barbra Streisand happy. Paul was annoyed that he wasn’t being considered for the position. (He did stay with the show, and must have played his cards right because he ultimately did take over as conductor, and has gone on to become Sondheim’s number-one musical director to this day.)

After the performance, Larry Cohen met with Steve, who hadn’t been seen around the theater for days. Steve played him the new song he was writing for Carlotta, which he was quite pleased with. Larry liked it and felt it would be perfect for Yvonne, but Steve was disheartened because neither Hal nor Michael had reacted favorably to it, and he couldn’t see starting over again. They also discussed some current company rumors: that both Fifi and Ed Steffe would likely be gone before the show got to New York, and that Hal was considering postponing the Broadway opening. Steve felt that Hal was on the right track with changes but that Jim was proving to be obstinate.

Hal was in an agitated mood. He had a lot of little line fixes he wanted to follow up on and was annoyed that some of them hadn’t yet been given to the actors. There did tend to be a certain level of confusion between Hal, the stage managers, and me about what was to be typed and what was to be handed out to the actors—and when. Hal wanted to keep working on little improvements in the dialogue, which now included a speech for Roscoe in the very beginning in which he talks about feeling useful—“so many of my friends have given up.” The speech lasted only for a couple of performances.

Michael worked with the two dancers who had gone into “Buddy’s Blues.” They had basically been thrown into the number on the day the decision was made to replace the men in drag. Since both Rita O’Connor and Suzanne Rogers were accomplished dancers, putting them in the number had been a cinch. But something was bothering Suzanne: she hated her costume. She behaved as if she just didn’t want to be in the number. Michael explained the tone of the number to them, that it was a vaudeville, pure and simple, and wasn’t really any more complicated than that.

Alexis got through another performance, but her state of health was still a major concern. And she still didn’t do “Could I Leave You?” Bob Avian and the three stage managers worked with Sheila Smith on the stage, going over all of Phyllis’s blocking and musical staging until 1:30 in the morning.

Saturday was another matinee day, and the limited rehearsal time was used for the understudies. Ethel Barrymore Colt, Peter Walker, and Dick Latessa worked through Sally, Ben, and Buddy. I was confused enough about when new pages were and were not supposed to be given to the actors that I hadn’t a clue what to distribute to understudies. George Martin did most of the understudy blocking rehearsal, with Bob Avian and Fritz focusing on Sheila. She wondered what her wardrobe would be—for most of the show she could wear her own dress, but she would have to wear either Alexis’s dress or something else that was conducive to the choreography of “Uptown, Downtown.” (She was already in “Who’s That Woman?” so she knew she could handle that choreography in her party dress.) Fritz wanted to be prepared, so although no decision had yet been made about whether Alexis would be going on for either or both performances, he found an old
Hair
poster backstage and wrote on the back of it, in big bold letters: “AT THIS PERFORMANCE THE ROLE OF PHYLLIS STONE WILL BE PLAYED BY SHEILA SMITH.” Actors’ Equity rules require that if an understudy or standby goes on for a lead actor, two of the following three steps must be taken: an explanatory slip inserted in the program, a sign put up in the lobby, an announcement made before the performance begins. A slip in the program and a sign in the lobby are the preferred methods, but it takes time to print a slip and stuff copies into all the Playbills. If Sheila went on, she would have to be announced and the sign would have to be hung in the outer lobby before the house was opened. As it turned out, Alexis did perform at the matinee.

I went to see
Prettybelle
at its final matinee. It was pretty bleak—some interesting moments and performances, but it felt thrown together. The set looked cheap, the costumes looked like they came off a rack at a store, and the story was unbelievable. Angela Lansbury, with a thick Southern accent, did her best, but with her musical highlight a song entitled “When I’m Drunk I’m Beautiful,” you knew it was doomed. Alexander Cohen and his wife, Hildy, were standing in front of the theater, talking with anyone they recognized. They were gracious enough to say that they had seen
Follies
and felt that it was “a dream realized.” Luckily,
Prettybelle
was short, so I could get back to the Colonial to catch the end of the matinee, making a stop to get some more medicine for Alexis. It’s interesting how you can walk into a show midway through and within thirty seconds know exactly what kind of performance the cast is giving and what kind of audience it is. This performance was fine, but Alexis was still croaking her way through “Uptown, Downtown.” When the performance was over, she burst into tears and said, “You’ll be lucky if you see me tonight” as she disappeared into her dressing room.

Barbara Matera was going crazy. She had been quietly shuttling between her New York shop and Boston, where she was now constructing a new costume for Alexis for “Uptown, Downtown.” Few knew this was taking place; so many in the company had voiced displeasure with their costumes that it would have been suicide to let word get out that changes were even a possibility. Alexis’s Follies costume was revealing and sexy, but it wasn’t particularly flattering, either to Alexis or to the choreography. Phyllis was so repressed that to see her come out with her shoulders exposed and her great long legs was a surprise and a delight. Alexis’s entrance in the Follies sequence usually got gasps, but just because a moment appears to be working doesn’t mean you should stop fine-tuning. That was the thinking behind the new dress. Alexis had broad shoulders, and her spaghetti straps made them look even broader than they were. And although the strips hanging from the waist moved when she danced, they weren’t very graceful. Barbara needed a fitting with Alexis before she could finish the new dress, but because everyone was hovering around the ailing Alexis, there clearly wasn’t an opportune time. Ruthie had accosted Alexis to plead for her to try the new dress on, and in her raspy, coldy voice she said, “What do you want, a performance or a dress?” Later she apologized to Ruthie, saying she often says things that make no sense when she’s stressed.

The evening performance, the last one for the week, was quite spirited. Alexis performed, again without “Could I Leave You?” She had learned how to make her way through “Uptown, Downtown.” Dorothy, in her demure way, was beginning to get tired of all the attention being paid to Alexis. She knew Alexis was sick, but she was starting to feel overlooked by everyone, and Alexis had started to be a little standoffish with Dorothy anyway. Dorothy had tried to be friendly with everyone, and the rest of the company clearly adored her. But she felt the Californians weren’t friendly. She loved Ethel and wanted to applaud her every night at the curtain call, standing off in the wings as she waited for her entrance. But so as not to insult anyone else, she clapped for everyone until the moment came for her to come out onstage.

Henry and Mary Guettel were in the audience, along with Bill and Jane-Howard Hammerstein. They all went out to dinner with Sondheim afterward, and Mary said some unflattering things about the show. She regretted her candor later on, and was far more enthusiastic at the opening in New York.