Have you ever been curious about what it takes to get an original Broadway musical to opening night? Ted Chapin, college student at the time, had a front row seat at the creation of Stephen Sondheim's Follies, now considered one of the most important musicals of modern time. He kept a detailed journal of his experience as the sole production assistant, which he used as the basis for Everything Was Possible: The Birth of the Musical Follies, originally published in 2003. He was there in the drama-filled rehearsal room, typing the endless rewrites, ferrying new songs around town, pampering the film and television stars in the cast, travelling with the show to its Boston tryout and back to New York for the Broadway opening night. With an enthusiast's focus on detail and a journalist's skill, Chapin takes the reader on the roller-coaster ride of creating a new and original Broadway musical. Musical theater giants, still rising in their careers, were working at top form on what became a Tony Award-winning classic: Stephen Sondheim, Harold Prince, and Michael Bennett. Many classic Sondheim songs like "I'm Still Here," "Losing My Mind," and "Broadway Baby" were part of the score, some written in a hotel room in Boston.
Celebrate the 50th anniversary of Follies with Ted Chapin. A new afterword brings the history of the show forward, diving into recent productions around the world, new recordings, and the continued promise of a film version.
Have you ever been curious about what it takes to get an original Broadway musical to opening night? Ted Chapin, college student at the time, had a front row seat at the creation of Stephen Sondheim's Follies, now considered one of the most important musicals of modern time. He kept a detailed journal of his experience as the sole production assistant, which he used as the basis for Everything Was Possible: The Birth of the Musical Follies, originally published in 2003. He was there in the drama-filled rehearsal room, typing the endless rewrites, ferrying new songs around town, pampering the film and television stars in the cast, travelling with the show to its Boston tryout and back to New York for the Broadway opening night. With an enthusiast's focus on detail and a journalist's skill, Chapin takes the reader on the roller-coaster ride of creating a new and original Broadway musical. Musical theater giants, still rising in their careers, were working at top form on what became a Tony Award-winning classic: Stephen Sondheim, Harold Prince, and Michael Bennett. Many classic Sondheim songs like "I'm Still Here," "Losing My Mind," and "Broadway Baby" were part of the score, some written in a hotel room in Boston.
Celebrate the 50th anniversary of Follies with Ted Chapin. A new afterword brings the history of the show forward, diving into recent productions around the world, new recordings, and the continued promise of a film version.
Everything Was Possible: The Birth of the Musical Follies
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Overview
Have you ever been curious about what it takes to get an original Broadway musical to opening night? Ted Chapin, college student at the time, had a front row seat at the creation of Stephen Sondheim's Follies, now considered one of the most important musicals of modern time. He kept a detailed journal of his experience as the sole production assistant, which he used as the basis for Everything Was Possible: The Birth of the Musical Follies, originally published in 2003. He was there in the drama-filled rehearsal room, typing the endless rewrites, ferrying new songs around town, pampering the film and television stars in the cast, travelling with the show to its Boston tryout and back to New York for the Broadway opening night. With an enthusiast's focus on detail and a journalist's skill, Chapin takes the reader on the roller-coaster ride of creating a new and original Broadway musical. Musical theater giants, still rising in their careers, were working at top form on what became a Tony Award-winning classic: Stephen Sondheim, Harold Prince, and Michael Bennett. Many classic Sondheim songs like "I'm Still Here," "Losing My Mind," and "Broadway Baby" were part of the score, some written in a hotel room in Boston.
Celebrate the 50th anniversary of Follies with Ted Chapin. A new afterword brings the history of the show forward, diving into recent productions around the world, new recordings, and the continued promise of a film version.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781493065332 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc. |
| Publication date: | 08/15/2022 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 392 |
| File size: | 11 MB |
| Note: | This product may take a few minutes to download. |
About the Author
Ted Chapin was president of The Rodgers & Hammerstein Organization for more than thirty years, having been hired by the two families shortly after Richard Rodgers passed away. His career has ranged from assistant director on the original production of Neil Simon's The Sunshine Boys to being one of the founders of the Encores! series at New York City Center. He sits on several boards and is the co-chairman of the American Theatre Wing and chairman of the Kurt Weill Foundation for Music. Producing two well regarded seasons of Lyrics & Lyricists at 92Y, and three seasons of NJTV's American Songbook for NJPAC, he is a frequent speaker at colleges and has made several film and television appearances.
Read an Excerpt
Chapter 1
". . . Walking Off My Tired Feet"
The week before rehearsals begin, January 3-8
Over the New Year's weekend (1971) I got a phone call from production stage manager Fritz Holt. He asked whether I could show up at the studio at ten a.m. on Sunday, January 3rd. I didn't think rehearsals were to begin for another week, but since I was just hanging around at home, I agreed. The show was rehearsing at the American Theater Lab, which filled the entire second floor of a two-story building on West Nineteenth Street, just off Seventh Avenue, above a tire shop. It had been created for Jerome Robbins, one of America's most talented choreographers and directors, who wanted to experiment with a European-style workshop. The experiment didn't work, but it left a workable space in which Harold Prince liked to rehearse his shows. The quarters were spare, but more than adequate: one large rehearsal room big enough to represent an entire Broadway stage; a second room half its size, large enough for dance rehearsals; and a third one even smaller, for music. Support facilities included a couple of offices in the front, changing rooms in the back, and a commons room with some slightly ratty sofas and chairs.
Few people were around when I arrived. As I came up the stairs I heard a piano and a number of feet thumping a steady rhythm. I reported to the first open door I came to-the production stage manager's office, where Fritz Holt greeted me as "our production assistant." First day, first defeat-or so I thought. "Production assistant" is the theater euphemism for "gofer," and that's not what this experience was supposed to be. Sure, I had done it twice before, andenjoyed it both times. But this was to be different; even though I had agreed to be a general assistant to Ruth Mitchell, this time I simply wanted to observe the process. That's also how I had sold it to Connecticut College, which was giving me credit for observing a show being assembled. I hadn't proposed an independent study of fetching coffee and sandwiches. The journal I agreed to keep would show an observer's objective eye, not the musings of an errand boy, so when I heard myself referred to as the "production assistant," my heart sank. But in short order I realized I was wrong. While I still had plenty of time to observe, being the gofer gave me a real position, albeit a minor one, within the company. It also, frankly, gave me things to do, and as the weeks went on, I ended up with some pretty responsible tasks, including maintaining up-to-date scripts with all the constantly changing dialogue and lyrics. I was made to feel a part of the experience, and felt accepted by the company in a way I might not have been had I just been watching. And being the gofer gave me license to wander into rehearsals without people feeling as if a stranger were in their midst. It provided a great position from which to observe the goings-on.
Fritz introduced me to the two other stage managers: first assistant and dance captain George Martin, a lithe and tidy, well-groomed gray-haired dancer who seemed a model of efficiency and discretion; and second assistant John Grigas, an ex-dancer, somewhat older, stern faced, and with a caustic quip for every situation. Clearly not a man to cross. His first words to me were: "We want you to go out and get us some coffee." So I pulled out my pad, took the orders, and out I went. If a job is worth doing, I figured, it's worth doing well-and I had learned during my first gofer experience that in New York, "regular" coffee means coffee with milk and sugar, not "regular" as in plain. There is no such thing as plain-black means black, regular means regular, and those who prefer regular are sorely disappointed to open a cardboard cup and find black liquid inside. I'd made that mistake.
A musical as large as Follies needed its three stage managers. Fritz Holt, as production stage manager, was ultimately the boss of the stage and everything behind the curtain. It was his responsibility to schedule the overall rehearsal period and to coordinate all technical aspects of the production. He was also the liaison with the shops-costume, props, scenery-and with all the other support personnel who were contributing to the show. During the rehearsals, he would stay with Hal in the large room whenever possible, marking down the blocking and scene shifts in his master script. It would become the map by which the show would be run once in the theater, and since he would be responsible for all understudy and brush-up rehearsals, his script needed to be up to date and accurate. George Martin, as dance captain, would stay with Michael, and he would notate the dances, both as a reminder of what had happened in prior rehearsals as well as to create a choreographic map for the whole show. John Grigas was stationed in the office, and so became the conduit for company problems and concerns. He was also assigned the small acting role of a chauffeur. Once the show got assembled onstage, Fritz would call the show from the stage managers' desk on stage right, George would man his desk on stage left, and John would float backstage and assist any performer who needed guidance or a helping hand.
During rehearsals, the stage managers were clearly in charge of logistics. Schedules were their responsibility, not only of who would be using which room, but who would be needed for what rehearsal. As I was shown around, each room's use was described to me. Today the midsized rehearsal room was Michael Bennett's domain, as evidenced by the sounds of dance rehearsals already in progress. The music room was empty, with only a piano and a couple of chairs placed about. When we got to the large rehearsal room, John said, ". . . and this is where Mr. Prince will be working, so always check first with Fritz before coming in here." I was shown where I should park myself in the common hallway while waiting for tasks, always making myself available, never in anyone's way, but near the bulletin board and the pay phone. "Get yourself a clipboard and always be poised for action," he said. The whole place looked organized, and the stage managers' office was most organized of all-desk, typewriter, phone, cups of pens and pencils, stacks of current scripts, neat piles of music, etc. There was also a two-drawer filing cabinet. "This is where Mr. Prince keeps his stuff," John said, and then, pointing to the lower drawer, ". . . and this is where he keeps his Courvoisier." (It wasn't Courvoisier; it was Fernet-Branca, a digest if that had been recommended to Hal as a cure for his anxiety-prone gut, or what he referred to as "JBS-Jewish Boy Stomach." Once he found out it contained alcohol, he stopped having it around.)
Through the wall I heard a piano playing one particular section of one song over and over while several voices sang, repeatedly: "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the saddest gal in town?" The dancers were working with Michael Bennett and his long-time assistant Bob Avian. John Berkman, the dance-music arranger, was at the keyboard. Paul Gemignani, the show's percussionist, was at the trap set. "Who's That Woman?" was being created. More on that later.
Harold Prince arrived at noon. He greeted me warmly and said that the day before, he had turned to his ever-present associate Ruth Mitchell-called Ruthie by one and all-and said: "Where's Ted? Get him down here now, for God's sake. We can always keep him busy!" The place seemed far too empty for Hal; he was anxious to get rehearsals going. He wandered around, trying to find things to do. Walking into the empty large rehearsal room, the one I had been told would be his, he said, "I just want to start! Give me some actors, please!" Outlines of the intricately tiered set had been taped out on the floor; it passed his inspection. By week's end there would be movable platforms approximating the levels of the set, but for now the traditional masking tape would have to do. Back in the stage managers' office, he pulled out a transparency of the poster for the show and proudly taped it to the window, declaring it to be "the best poster I have ever had." Colorful and striking, it had been created by David Byrd, a longhaired young artist whose distinctive style was first noticed in his psychedelic poster for the Fillmore East-sometimes called nouveau art nouveau. He had walked into Hal's office one day and said, "I want to do posters for you." Hal said, "Sure," and luckily his initial take on Follies led to this artwork, which both Hal and the advertising agency felt was the best idea presented. It bore a superficial resemblance to his poster for Godspell, with one central face as the focal point. But the figure in Follies was bolder and more striking, an austere face with droopy and prominent eyelids-presumably a woman-looking up and out, wearing the rest of the poster, including the bold lettering proclaiming the title of the show, as if it were a headdress. (A stark black-and-white photograph of Marlene Dietrich was said to be an inspiration.) Running from her lower right cheek, across her stone face and continuing up her left cheek through the "E" of "FOLLIES," was a long, widening crack. Something was clearly amiss in the image of this American icon. The colors were very strong, with shades of orange in the space below where all the credits would ultimately go, and dark blues at the top with nighttime stars shining through. The long hair was drawn with pop-art detail, similar to the Godspell poster but in vivid colors, and around the outside was a border of orange and blue. It seemed appropriate, yet very strong.
With only one dance number actually in rehearsal, Hal didn't know what to do. He tried to get in touch with anyone he could find via phone. First was Florence Klotz, the costume designer. "Where is she? She could be designing a costume now and could bring a sketch down at the end of the day!" Because it was Sunday, there was no one at his office in Rockefeller Center to tell him what the box-office grosses had been for the week just ended for his other two shows then running on Broadway: Fiddler on the Roof ("it did $29,000 for the first two performances, so I hope we did over $70,000 for the week") and Company. He called Stephen Sondheim: "I'm having a nervous breakdown. I'm down here with nothing to do and I've lost all enthusiasm for the show."
Then Ruthie, his calming influence, arrived. A former stage manager, she had worked with Hal for years and knew him better than anyone. Sensing his restlessness, she told me, "Wait until next week when everyone is here. It's easier when everyone is working. This week is just piddling around." In fact, there was a lot of piddling around to do in this final week before the full company rehearsals began.
Once Hal Prince took on The Girls Upstairs it became Follies. Although he had said offhandedly that the first title sounded to him like "a bunch of hookers," the change to Follies was profound. He wasn't sure that a murder-mystery musical would work, and wasn't interested in finding out. But he was intrigued by the psychology of a reunion of old chorus dancers, and loved the play on the word "follies"; in addition to the obvious Ziegfeld Follies connection, he was intrigued by the notion of a "folly," something frivolous and silly, as well as the madness inherent in the French word folie. Operating, as it was, on many different levels, the show was the kind of musical that interested Prince, the director. He found inspiration in a black-and-white photograph he saw in a book about old movie palaces, which had originally appeared, albeit in a slightly different pose, in full color in the 1960 election-day issue of Life magazine, with the caption: "Swan Song for a Famous Theater." The photograph was of Gloria Swanson standing amidst the rubble of the half-demolished grand foyer of the Roxy Theater, looking upward, with her arms outstretched, dressed in black, but dressed to the nines-"gowned in a Jean Louis sheath, a feathery boa, and $170,000 in jewels"-and standing on a steel I beam. Her glamour stood in stark contrast to the surroundings. What's left of the Roxy Theater looks as if it must have been spectacular, with elements of the gold filigree still gleaming, although everything is half destroyed and beyond repair, with broken concrete, dangling wires, and bricks strewn about. Swanson, who had starred in The Love of Sunya, the movie that had opened the Roxy thirty-three years earlier, looks triumphant. Or is she pleading for something? Clearly it's too late to stop the wrecking ball. Is she somehow embodying show business from the viewpoint of someone with a glamorous past dealing with the harsh realities of the present? Is this a show-business precursor to Greenpeace? Whatever its true meaning, it is an extraordinary photograph, filled with romance, heartbreak, glamour, pathos, and drama. It was, Hal felt, a key to what he wanted the show to be about. It provided him with a tool to use with his collaborators as they reinvented Follies from the elements of The Girls Upstairs.
Hal decided he wanted to use ghost figures. Some would be ghosts from the Follies of the past, reminiscent of the grandeur of the Ziegfeld showgirls, who would haunt the shadows of the present, almost as part of the scenery. But he also wanted specific ghost characters to portray many of the principal characters as they were back then. The present-day characters would not necessarily be aware of their ghost counterparts, although they might be. He challenged Steve, Jim, and Michael to come up with ways to make the two realities play off each other. Characters and their ghosts could exist side by side, and conversations could take place that were part present and part past. Ghosts could act out what the present-day characters are remembering-sometimes accurately, sometimes not. Present-day characters could try to go back in time to change the outcome of what happened, and so on. Michael had the thought that the ghosts haunting the theater would move very slowly, drifting throughout in their own rhythm as lurking memories. He was conjuring ideas for "Who's That Woman?" a musical number in which the various possibilities of past and present would play off each other. And it was his idea that all ghosts would be dressed in black and white-characters as well as showgirls. All characters in the present would be in full color.
Table of Contents
Foreword Frank Rich xiii
Introduction: "… At Least I Was There" xvii
1 "… Walking Off My Tired Feet" 3
2 "Hats Off, Here They Come, Those Beautiful Girls" 28
3 "Girls Looking Frazzled and Girls Looking Great" 54
4 "But Every Height Has a Drop" 73
5 "Clicking Heels on Steel and Cement" 96
6 "Why Am I Here? This Is Crazy!" 125
7 "Everybody Has to Go Through Stages Like That" 147
8 "That's What You've Been Waiting For" 166
9 "The Choices That You Make Aren't All That Grim" 196
10 "I'm So Glad I Came" 238
11 "What Will Tomorrow Bring?" 264
12 "In a Great Big Broadway Show!" 288
Afterword: "… Still here" 311
Acknowledgments 317
New Afterword 321
Index 335
What People are Saying About This
“It is not only the best book about the musical theater I’ve ever read, it was so vivid that I couldn’t wait to see how everything turned out” – high praise from none other than Stephen Sondheim himself upon the book’s initial publication
Interviews
A Conversation with Ted Chapin
author of EVERYTHING WAS POSSIBLE: The Birth of the Musical FOLLIES
Q: For those who don't know the show as well, what makes/made Follies such an important musical? As you say in the book, “Follies is now considered a legend, a cult, a landmark.” Why do you think it became all that, especially when the reviews were of the love it or hate it variety?
A: Follies isn't a love story. Most classics are, in some form, love stories. Follies is instead a mosaic of portraits tied together by a group experience. It is a show business story, told in an innovative and episodic fashion. It's a reunion, which is, right away, an emotionally risky event. The fact that it's a show business reunion allows for reference to be made to old-fashioned styles of entertainments that were popular and extravagant—styles that Sondheim captured in his score brilliantly. The show deals with the psychology of memory, regret, hope—emotions that we are all forced to deal with in our own lives. Youth, middle age, and old age are all represented, and because of its theatrically innovate style, sometimes it's the same characters seen simultaneously at different ages. The youthful ones are optimistic, the middle aged ones are disappointed, and the older ones are resigned, so audience members can't help but connect with one or more of the worlds those characters inhabit. Sometimes they react badly to the truths that are depicted on stage. I was 20 when I worked on the show – and I was certainly an optimistic youth. I'm now 52, so I can now identify a lot more with the characters who are middle aged. And it was also breathtakinglytheatrical.
Q: Why this book now?
A: I thought I'd write about my Follies experience someday, but synchronicity, as much as anything played a big role in my doing it now. At a cast party for one of my daughters' school productions, I got into a conversation with a fellow parent who is a big fan of Sondheim musicals. When I mentioned my Follies experience, she looked at me and said, simply but pointedly, “You should write a book about this, and you should write it now.” No one had ever gone that far with me, and I thought, “Why not? What have I got to lose?” She sent me to a book agent friend, who guided me through the process. When I had all the material assembled for submission to publishers, the agent said, “Bob Gottlieb has got to take this book for Knopf!” Luckily, she was right.
Q: You were a 20-year-old kid when you got to work as the one and only production assistant (a.k.a. gofer) on this Harold Prince/Stephen Sondheim/Michael Bennett/James Goldman production in 1971. How did that happen?
A: My father Schuyler Chapin has spent his entire career in and around the arts, and as a result I was introduced to theater, music, opera, film, dance etc. at an early age. My parents entertained a fair amount, and many of their guests were friends who worked in the arts: actors, writers, musicians, directors, producers, managers, etc. So I was lucky enough to have met both Stephen Sondheim and Harold Prince through my parents. I knew I wanted to work in the theater in some capacity—exactly what I wasn't sure—and when I saw Company I knew the people who created it were people I wanted to be around. I read about Follies, and when I realized its rehearsal period paralleled the spring semester of my junior year of college, I figured I could make myself an independent study course by following the rehearsal process of what I knew would be an exciting new American musical. Of course, I had to convince both Harold Prince and the administration at Connecticut College that this was a worthy project, which took some doing. I wrote to Prince, who was moderately receptive. The college was agreeable, mainly because of my obvious passion for the project, which did seem a little peculiar to some members of the faculty. (When the show opened on Broadway and made the cover of Time magazine, several naysayers became a lot more intrigued…) With a little tenacity and as much charm as I could muster, I finally got both to agree. But I was planning only to observe; my good fortune was that the show was so over budget there was no money to hire a production assistant, so by default, I took on the job of gofer—unpaid, of course.
Q: Although you were initially keeping a journal for college credit, did you realize at some point during the experience that you were recording theater history?
A: Yes and no. We Sondheim fans were a small but strong group in 1971—he had not yet been embraced as his generation's premiere composer and lyricist, but those of us who had already seen the light were excited about Follies from the beginning. We knew this show was extraordinary and would probably be important. The resonance the show took on once it opened in New York, became more public, and could be discussed and examined in a bigger context was gratifying and exciting. As it became the source of divergent opinions—always passionately felt—it became clear that it had become a seminal work of art. And as the years went by, more and more people in the business discovered I had worked on the original production, and were eager to hear stories. What was it like? How were decisions made? Did the collaborators like each other? But it was really when I looked through my notes years later and found the number of quotes I had written down—many of which I had forgotten I had documented—that I realized the potentially historic importance of what I had captured. Seeing Michael Bennett's prediction that he wouldn't live beyond his mid-40's was pretty chilling (knowing that he died at 44 of AIDS). And the more Sondheim became the focus of scholarly examination and theatrical acceptance, the more historically important Follies became—and the more I became aware that my story might be a slice of theatrical history.
Q: Was your father, Schuyler Chapin, instrumental in helping you discover your love for theater and if so, how?
A: I was lucky to grow up in a pretty culturally enlightened household—my mother was a member of the Steinway family and my father's career took him into many areas of the performing arts. In the early 1960's he was the head of the Masterworks division of Columbia Records, which was where all their cast albums were placed. He would bring home test pressings of new albums and talk about the shows. The one that I remember embracing with the greatest enthusiasm was Bye Bye Birdie. I loved that score, although I do remember resenting when the kid sings about “what's wrong with this kids today…” Noting my enthusiasm, my father took me to see the show when I was 10, and it opened up a whole new world for me. He likes to tell the story that I turned to him at intermission and said, “Where has this been all my life?” A little precocious, perhaps, but from then on I went to as many shows as I could. And then when I began to realize I wanted to be a part of the Broadway theater, my father was helpful both in making calls to open doors, but also teaching me and my brothers that once he had made the introduction, the rest was up to us. I first became aware of Sondheim's work in A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum which I loved. I was taken to a Saturday matinee and insisted that I go back the next week to see it again - and bought a standing room ticket. Those songs were funny in a way I'd never heard before. I still love when the courtesan sings “lovely is the one thing I can do.”
Q: You mention being inspired to work on the show because of the Harold Prince/Stephen Sondheim collaboration of the show Company. What was so special about that show to you?
A: By the time Company came along, I had been introduced to Anyone Can Whistle, so I was excited about what a new show would be like written by the same man who had twisted and turned his creative genius through the innovations of that score. What I hadn't been prepared for, however, was the whole modern feel of the show—the sleek glass and chrome unit set (a musical in which the set didn't really move!), the contemporary characters, and generally the free-form style of the whole thing. It was abstract at the same time it was very realistic. There were characters whose foibles and problems seemed taken right out of modern day life—the couple who smoked grass, the stewardess whose relationships were fleeting, the bachelor who couldn't make up his mind whether he wanted a wife after seeing what all his married friends are going through—things like that. So instead of being taken to some far off place, I was thrust right into the middle of that time and that place, with songs that were clever, tuneful, emotional, funny, and seemed to create a style all their own. And then something about the way the numbers were staged—highly stylized yet not dance-y—made me take notice of the choreographer, Michael Bennett.
Q: As you were already a fan of Stephen Sondheim's work in shows like West Side Story, Gypsy, and A Funny Thing…, how did that change/grow as you worked alongside him?
A: My awe of his talent and of him as a person began the moment I met him in my parents' living room, and continues to this day. Early on I realized he was not someone whose time should be wasted, but at the same time he was always receptive to and appreciative of people who “got” his work. So I went into Follies respectful and careful. As he played through the score on the first day of rehearsal, I realized this score had both numbers drawn from styles of the past—what he called pastiche—as well as those with his unique style of modern song. Then as the rehearsal process continued and he had the 7 songs left to write, I was amazed as each one came in, as good if not better than the ones that had come before. Each new piece of the puzzle fit perfectly. What also amazed me was the way in which he continued to refine the songs—clarifying and perfecting lyrics and altering music to make certain everything was of a piece. And as I was given responsibilities—like picking up his manuscripts from his home to take to the copyist and orchestrator—I began to feel that he was trusting me to be a team member. That was very rewarding.
Q: What did you think of the leading ladies: Alexis Smith, Yvonne De Carlo and Dorothy Collins?
A: I got along with them all well, although my relation with each was different. Alexis remained somewhat cool: cordial, but only rarely would she take me into her confidence and treat me like a member of the same club. Dorothy Collins was as nice and sweet to me as she was to everyone—she knew how important it was for the group to get along and she'd do whatever she could to keep everyone happy. Yvonne was the eye-opener for me. Even though I felt myself a fairly experienced and sophisticated 20-year-old, I had never experienced a Hollywood creature who both liked to be the center of attention and liked to flirt with any guy she thought was a possibility. I became one of her possibilities, but ultimately I became little more than a friend, escort, and support figure. Of course Dorothy Collins saw to it that she kept her distance, telling her to “keep your hands off that nice young man.”
Q: The story for Follies, or The Girls Upstairs as it was initially called, evolved from the notion of a high school reunion to that of a reunion of ex-Follies girls. What was the inspiration for that and for the show's title? And can you describe the photo of Gloria Swanson that served to inspire Hal Prince?
A: When Jim Goldman and Steve Sondheim first talked about writing a musical together, Goldman had been toying with the notion of a high school reunion. Early on he and Sondheim changed the focus of their discussions to something more theatrical, and when they attended a bona fide reunion of ex-Ziegfeld Follies girls (a reunion that I believe still takes place every year, although the ranks are thinning out…) they became intrigued by that idea. Then the idea of a murder mystery came up, and they thought about combining the two. Acknowledging that musicals are perhaps the most collaborative artistic ventures, Follies went through many more drafts than most musicals – at least seven complete drafts, one untitled, four as The Girl Upstairs, and two as Follies. The change of title was Hal Prince's idea, partly because he thought The Girls Upstairs sounded like the story of a house of prostitution, but also because he loved the multiple meaning of the word “folly”—in addition to the connection with the world of Ziegfeld, there was the French word “folie,” which means “madness.”
When he saw the famous photograph of Gloria Swanson standing among the ruins of the Roxy Theater, he suddenly saw a metaphor for the show he wanted to create. In the photograph, a modern, glamorous woman of a certain age is seen against the rubble of a golden showplace being destroyed. That became the guiding image: The glamour of the old days and all it represents contrasted with the harsh reality of today. And that's when several important ideas began to emerge: The ghosts haunting the old theater, glamour—who holds on it and who does not—and the sense of regret of seeing something beautiful that lingered so memorably turning to junk before your eyes.
Q: What intriguing role did you play on Sunday, March 7th, 1971?
A: That was the day, midway through the Boston tryout of the show, when the new song Sondheim had been working on for Yvonne De Carlo's character was finished. He handed me his manuscript so I could extract the lyrics for the stage managers' script. I walked up to the dressing room on the fifth floor of the Colonial Theatre and put the 9 carbon paper sets into an old IBM electric typewriter and began to type out the words to the song we know today as “I'm Still Here.” It was pretty exciting to be the first person other than Sondheim and Prince and Bennett to see the words, “Good times and bum times, I've seen ‘em all and, my dear, I'm still here.” I had no idea how anyone else was going to react, but even without hearing the music, I was quite blow away by how brilliant the song was.
Q: How important were the sets and costumes to the show?
A: The sets and costumes and lighting—the co-called physical production—were enormously helpful and important to the overall impression of the show. When a good musical works, all the elements complement each other, and in the case of Follies—where as Hal Prince told me they were flying by the seat of their pants with only instinct to guide them - the fact that all the designers were in complete sync with the authors and directors made the show much more than it might have been with more conventional designs. Boris Aronson, the set designer, and Tharon Musser, the lighting designer, both created a ghostly atmosphere that changed all night long, but always with the feeling that the theater was beginning to come down. They allowed it to be filled with memories, images, ghosts, and music from the past. And the fact that we got to rehearse on the actual set in the scenic shop in the Bronx made it feel like a real home for the company—and gave us all a first hand look at how a Broadway set gets put together. Florence Klotz, the costume designer, made beautiful replications of bona fide Follies showgirl costumes from the past as well as contrasting them with appropriate modern-day clothing for the ex-follies girls and their husbands, who, of course, were, in the present, of varying financial status. But when the show needed to go Ziegfeld, whether in ghostly black and white or full technicolor, it went Ziegfeld big time!
Q: Follies received an amazing amount of publicity, including David Frost devoting all 90 minutes of his TV show to it, and cover stories in Time and Forbes. Was that highly unusual for the times?
A: As the years have gone on, Broadway has become less and less the focus of major nation-wide publicity. Today, for example, few of the Entertainment gossip shows and magazines deal with Broadway as a regular feature. In the early 70's it was more in evidence, but still, the amount of publicity Follies got was extraordinary. For example, both Time and Newsweek were planning cover stories, and though Time ran theirs, Newsweek cancelled. But at the time I wrote to the editor of Newsweek who sent me a copy of the cover they never ran—and I'm thrilled that they have allowed me to use it in the book. I don't think it's ever been seen. Even the New York Times, both of whose main critics panned the show, acknowledged that Follies was a work of art worth discussing within its pages. The combination of a season that included other works dealing with “nostalgia” and the Hollywood names involved helped get it coverage. And the fact that Sondheim, Prince, and Bennett were coming into their own as major artists helped as well. But ultimately I think it was the number of people in the entertainment industry—people who make the decisions about what gets coverage—who became champions of the show that did the trick. David Frost must have loved the show or I doubt he would have devoted an entire 90 minutes to it. The only other time I believe he did that was with Cabaret.
Q: Could you ever imagine a Broadway show about the making of a Broadway show, as you've described in your book?
A: Broadway loves show business stories—look, for example, at two of the biggest hits playing on Broadway today, The Producers and 42nd Street. They're both about people who want to put on or be in a show. Whether anyone would have the guts and gumption to dive into the psychology—the darker underbelly?—of the people who are part of making Broadway shows, that I don't know. When you look at Follies, it was a pretty risky and courageous show for anyone to attempt in any moment in Broadway's history, actually.
Q: Stefan Kanfer predicted a mid-80's revival of Follies and it came true in the concert staging at Lincoln Center. In your opinion, how do the revivals compare to the original?
A: That's a tough question for any of us who were involved with the original. Frank Rich poses the thought in his foreword that this show is still waiting for the kind of revival that has redefined other musicals from the past. Maybe he's right—and that would be amazing to see. I've always enjoyed seeing Follies, but it is hard for me not to favor the original. Let's face it—I felt part of it back then, and I still do. Seeing any other production of the show today is simply about seeing a show I love. It's a different feeling.
Q: Do you have a favorite song or moment from the show?
A: There are many: The moment the women walk down the Miss-America staircase to the song “Beautiful Girls”—knowing that the staircase looks to the audience like it's a bunch of rubble. The moment in “Who's That Woman?” when the mirror image of the women appeared upstage mirroring the tap dance steps. The Follies drops coming in and the stage transforming into a true Ziegfeld extravaganza. “Broadway Baby” as performed by Ethel Shutta. Dorothy Collins defining simplicity with “Losing My Mind.” Ask me tomorrow—I'll have an entirely different list!