Bitches All: Dry Wit and Vermouth

...But then the bar opened; Dorothy Parker would have approved. The poet, short story writer, Hollywood script doctor, critic, and civil rights campaigner is now better known for drinking, partying and quipping her way through the Twenties and Thirties.

She was a founder member of the Algonquin Round Table, the group of writers and critics which met at the same table in the Algonquin hotel, Manhattan, each day. There, she spent countless long lunches and even longer nights with everybody from F Scott Fitzgerald and Edna Ferber to Noel Coward, Robert Benchley and Harpo Marx.

This bitchy coterie of friends, widely known as the Vicious Circle, had New York enthralled - their witticisms, insults and antics reported in the newspapers as slavishly as any Heat spread. And Mrs Parker was always there, ready with a softly spoken knife to the heart - 'a blend of Little Nell and Lady Macbeth', as the venomous critic Alexander Woollcott described her.

Read more!

Bitch Three: Gore Vidal

"I’m on the news a lot but that is completely different from being in the news, and the front page of the Wall Street Journal is another league entirely. Austin Lally has made it from Airdrie to Beijing, to become the general manager of Proctor and Gamble for the whole of China. I know little about business, but even I know that is an astonishing success. China is the biggest market in the world. I was suddenly very jealous - and not just of what I imagine his salary to be.

But why was I not entirely delighted by an old friend’s success? It’s not as though I was in competition for the job. He’s not deprived me of anything because he’s worked so hard to succeed. But, as Gore Vidal famously said: "Whenever a friend succeeds a little something in me dies..." I always like to quote Vidal, because it gives me the opportunity to mention that I once had dinner with him in an Indian restaurant in Soho. Now that’s a story that at least makes me sound successful, even if the truth is that as a journalist it’s easy to meet the rich, famous and accomplished. And those meetings often just serve to remind you that you are not one of them.

Just the other week I bumped into an old friend, who despite being a talented freelance TV producer, was struggling to find work the last time I saw him. "Hi, how’s things? Are you working?" I asked sympathetically. "Oh yes," he replied enthusiastically. "Haven’t you heard? I’m vice president of MTV Europe now."

I often find myself making the mistake of boasting to them that I was a university friend of some government ministers that we interview on Channel 4 News. I suppose I’m looking for that reflected glory again, but this just causes the young producers to look sympathetically at someone who is old enough to be a contemporary of ministers, but still thinks they’re young enough to be considering another tattoo."

Sarah Smith is Scotland Correspondent for Channel 4 News

Read more!

Bitch Two:Dorothy Parker

Where as Ambrose Bierce drew strength from the misery and perils of life, Dorothy (not "Dorthy") Parker allowed herself to indulge in misery while she skewered writers, playwrights, and high society. What made Parker special was the twisted combination of a polite and personable woman with a wit designed for dissection, a pen dipped in blood, and a tongue that worked best when unleashed...
In the early part of the 20th century, Parker wrote for such bastions of literary distinction as Vogue and Vanity Fair. Work as a word slave ended abruptly when Vanity Fair dismissed her for her acerbic prose, a clearly foreseeable event. She launched into a freelance career and shortly penned her first book titled Enough Rope, which showed her feisty side as well as more conventional verse.

Most compelling were her cynical associations. Parker became a founding member of the "Algonquin Round Table" (for those not familiar with this group, it was a motley gathering of the literary, illuminati, and comic that met at the Algonquin hotel and blistered the world with their communal communications). There she traded barbs with the likes of Robert Benchley, Alexander Woollcott and Harpo Marx. Many of those cunning conversations found their way into the pages of the New Yorker, which only furthered her infamy.

Read more!

Bitch One: Capote

For all of you...you know who you are...

Overwhelmed by the lifestyles of the rich and famous, Capote began to work on a project exploring the intimate details of his friends. He received a large advance for a book which was to be called ANSWERED PRAYERS (after Saint Theresa of Avila's saying that answered prayers cause more tears than those that remain unanswered).

The book was to be a biting and largely factual account of the glittering world in which he moved. The publication of the first few chapters in ESQUIRE magazine in 1975 caused a major scandal. Columnist Liz Smith explained, "He wrote what he knew, which is what people always tell writers to do, but he just didn't wait till they were dead to do it."

With these first short publications Capote found that many of his close friends and acquaintances shut him off completely

Imagine a morning in late November. A coming of winter morning more than twenty years ago. Consider the kitchen of a spreading old house in a country town. A great black stove is its main feature; but there is also a big round table and a fireplace with two rocking chairs placed in front of it. Just today the fireplace commenced its seasonal roar. A woman with shorn white hair is standing at the kitchen window. She is wearing tennis shoes and a shapeless gray sweater over a summery calico dress. She is small and sprightly, like a bantam hen; but, due to a long youthful illness, her shoulders are pitifully hunched.

Her face is remarkable- -not unlike Lincoln's, craggy like that, and tinted by sun and wind; but it is delicate too, finely boned, and her eyes are sherry-colored and timid. "Oh my," she exclaims, her breath smoking the windowpane, "it's fruitcake weather!" The person to whom she is speaking is myself. I am seven; she is sixty-something. We are cousins, very distant ones, and we have lived together--well, as long as I can remember. Other people inhabit the house, relatives; and though they have power over us, and frequently make us cry, we are not, on the whole, too much aware of them. We are each other's best friend. She calls me Buddy, in memory of a boy who was formerly her best friend. The other Buddy died in the 1880s, when she was still a child. She is still a child...

"I knew it before I got out of bed," she says, turning away from the window with a purposeful excitement in her eyes. "The courthouse bell sounded so cold and clear. And there were no birds singing; they've gone to warmer country, yes indeed. Oh Buddy, stop stuffing biscuit and fetch our buggy. Help me find my hat. We've thirty cakes to bake."

- a christmas memory

Read more!

That's a lot of bull

Okay, maybe it's me.

Don't we deal with enough bull every day?

Running of the bulls in Spanish town injures 63
Associated Press

MADRID, Spain — A Pamplona-style running of the bulls in a Spanish town outside the capital Sunday left 63 people injured, two of them seriously, officials said.

The pair were taken from the town of San Sebastian de los Reyes to hospitals in Madrid to undergo urgent surgery, said Angel Pesquera, spokesman for the town's emergency unit. The others were treated for cuts and bruises, he said.

During the crowded run, people were momentarily trapped in a pileup at the bullring's entrance where the run ends. Some of the bulls then trampled over the mound of people to get into the ring, causing the large number of injuries.

The town holds a weeklong festival each summer in which daredevils run through the streets with bulls weighing as much as 600 kilograms (1,300 pounds), much like the famed San Fermin festival in the northern city of Pamplona in July.

The earliest records of bull runs in San Sebastian de los Reyes go back to 1523 making them roughly as old as Pamplona's version, which gained worldwide fame from Ernest Hemingway's 1926 novel "The Sun Also Rises."

San Sebastian de los Reyes is about 15 kilometers (10 miles) north of the capital, Madrid.

Read more!

DOUBT

Went to see my ol' gal pal Cherry Jones last night in Doubt.

Well, there's no doubt about it - it's a really great play and, no surprise, she's amazing. As is the rest of the cast... I got to spend time with them afterwards and it was surprising how warm and accessible they were. I mean, I knew Cherry would be, but Brian O'Byrne and Heather Goldenhersh hung out in the dressing room and we all just yapped like we'd known each other forever. I was afraid they might be aloof and cool to a guy they didn't even know, but it was just the opposite. So, this made the night doubly-nice; a great play and then a wonderful "last act" with the gang upstairs.

If you haven't seen Doubt, ya gotta go. It's one of those plays we see less and less frequently: a thought-provoking, well-written drama on Broadway with first-rate actors. Of course it won the TONY and Pulitzer, so that should tell ya something...

Cherry plays a nun who's a pretty tough customer - I think you get it all from this picture. And she's so immersed in the part that when she finally came out for the curtain call and got to smile for the first time all night, it was a remarkable change.

Part of what I love about Broadway is getting to see the great old theatres, like the Walter Kerr. As we left her dressing room, Miss J led me across the darkened stage and it was a rush to be standing where they had just done the play, and also to look out onto this beautiful space and see what the actors see every night.

Read more!

My hand just slipped...

Watched the Joan Crawford Festival on Turner Classic Movies last night. First up was Mildred Pierce. Seen it a hundred times but had to check in now and then as I channel-surfed. I must have been pulling whacked-out mothers into my cable box because I went back and forth from Crawford to this one.

Anyway, back to Mildred. Thank God I didn't miss one of my favorite scenes...

Joan's daughter, Veda, gets smacked across the face by Mom, who then tearfully confesses, "Oh, I'd have sooner cut off my hand than done that."

Sure, Joan.

From this point on in her career, her hair got shorter and her eyebrows got bushier, looking like two caterpillars drawn in with black magic marker. I guess her testosterone really started to kick into high gear.

Later on TCM ran the rarely-seen The Story of Esther Costello. This time Joan is the caretaker of a blind, deaf and mute little girl who was traumatized by having detonated a hand grenade in her face. Then she's chained to a rope in a dirt-floored shack by her drunken grandmother.

You know, nothing sensational.

But the kid's definitely in need of a rich, lonely woman (guess who) to sweep her away from the squalor and give her the tender care she needs to heal. You're ahead of me now, aren't you? No sooner does JC move Esther into her sumptuous pad, she ends up smacking the shell-shocked little girl in the face. In the next scene she goes to see the physician and Joan says, "I didn't mean to hit her, Doctor, but I had to."

And people wonder where she got that reputation, Well, thank God it was only in the movies and she didn't take that kind of behavior home to her own kids.

Read more!

Read my Lips

Oh sweet Jesus. Whether we like it or not Ashlee Simpson is BACK!

LOS ANGELES -- Ashlee Simpson will confront her "Saturday Night Live" debacle head-on with her new album.

She said she's done a song called "Beautifully Broken" and it's about how it's OK to fall on your face.

Simpson admits she's made some dumb decisions but she believes she has "a great conscience."

What she may not have is great hygiene. Simpson has a role in the upcoming movie "Undiscovered," and she had trouble getting out of character. She said her character was kind of boyish, so she wore men's deodorant and stopped showering.

okay...

BOSTON -- It wasn't the Janet Jackson wardrobe malfunction, but fans were not pleased with the Orange Bowl half-time show Tuesday night in Miami featuring singer Ashlee Simpson.

As she wrapped up her half-time show act, Simpson was loudly booed by fans in the stadium.

In October, Simpson was caught lip-synching on Saturday Night Live.

During that debacle, as Simpson and her band began their second song, the sound of a pre-recorded vocal could be heard -- to the song that she'd already done earlier in the show. Simpson stopped, and paused, and then tried a few exaggerated dance steps, before leaving the stage. She later blamed her band for playing "the wrong song." Then Simpson's father, who's also her manager, said his daughter used the extra help from a voice track because acid reflux disease had made her voice hoarse.

I feel some reflux even as we speak. Ashley, read my lipsynch: (go away!!)

Read more!

Greenwich Village

You can't go home again. That's what they say. I sat around mooning yesterday (and how often does one "moon"?) about how much I missed NYC (having relocated to Philly 5 years ago.

This house above is one of the very few woodframe houses standing in New York City, and this was my view of it when I lived at Grove and Bedford Streets in the West Village.

I was on the fourth-floor walk up of a 100-year old private home. The Village is a marvelous place to live and I got a great deal on the rent which made it even sweeter.

The building on the right was the other corner (looking out my kitchen window) used for the exterior of Monca's apartment in "Friends." That bit of building on the right was my apartment.

Cool, eh? Just the views alone made it fun even to look out my windows. To say nothing about my bedroom fireplace and a backyard patio. Being a history buff (especially of New York), just walking around the neighborhood was a trip back in time. To say nothing of the big stars of the day who lived nearby. (Okay, Debi Mazar and Andrew McCarthy). The building on the left was once where Ms. Mazar lived. It's called Twin Peaks (you can see it peaking out from behind the first picture.

Okay, maybe not who'd you expect to live in a stoic, old building - but hey - who ever knows?

Anyway, back to Mooning. I had a major case of nostalgia, wanting to return, to go back to a time that was innocent (and I was ten years younger, dammit) and pick up where I left off.

Then as I ruminated I started to remember plodding up all those stairs, how goddam hot it got in Summer, and the crazy woman who lived behind me, coming in at all hours and slamming her door. And it was a studio apartment and I was forever tripping over something, and I longed for a one-bedroom. So when one appeared as instantly as this one had, I grabbed it.

A big beautiful place on West End Avenue. But the best decision? I don't know.

Sitting around trying to recapture my time in the Village -- the best idea? No.

Read more!

Hey Jude

Poor Jude Law.
Not very happy, is he?

Well, can you blame him? The man goes to do a little nude sunbathing and the tabloids get a picture that explodes over the Web like the shot heard 'round the world. Or at least a shot that is seen 'round the world.

I, for one, would never sink so low as to post that now-infamous naked picture of him, as a thousand other bloggers have done. What's the fascination, anyway?

What can be so interesting?

What's the hubbub? I dunno

Read more!

Wicked Stage, Part Deux

I am at a crossroads, trying to decide if I should re-mount my play "Isn't it Sarcastic" and try to shop it around, or put it aside and just return to my idea of becoming a "personality." Before this project turned into an actual Play, I was just going to create a cabaret forum where I come out and sing a little (parodies) and dish a little like Kathy Griffin.

That choice seems easier. But I've worked really hard in writing/producing three plays in the last 15 months, and none of them have gone on to longer runs or have any plans to remount them. It's a lot of work to just write 'em and then move on.

So I'll do the show once more in our Fringe Festival and then see what happens.

Read more!

Mary Poppins for the New Millenium

When I was a kid we had no nannies. We didn't live in England for one thing; New Jersey nannies would have seemed like an oxymoron. And there were no families pretentious enough to have one - not like today, when frantically overtaxed Mommies are so pressed for time that they'd "just die without her." We had babysitters. And they usually just made out with their boyfriends and let us run wild.

We did have a maid, or so I'm reminded by my brother. She must not have lasted long enough to make an impression - which meant that she and mother musn't have cottoned to one another. But we didn't really need a maid anyway - not when we had our own version of Joan Crawford, lurking just below Mom's surface. ("I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at the dirt!") Mom had different channels she could switch on as needed; Betty Crocker came out for dinner (thank God!) and La Crawford emerged on Saturdays to give the house the once-over.

So who needed a maid? Let alone a nanny! Disney's Mary Poppins was the closest we ever got to seeing one, and Julie Andrews didn't look like she could do an honest day's work.

Not like the gals on another show I watch (instead of going out and having a social life, as we've seen in previous posts) : Nanny 911.

Now, if you didn't think it was pathetic enough watching Fear Factor or Hell's Kitchen, this oughta push your opinion of me over the edge. But the perverse thrill I get watching Chef Ramsay curse out his chefs, I also get watching a family of five screaming brats get worked over by a no-nonsense nanny.

My favorite of these tough broads is "Nanny Deb" (pictured here, the sweet darling).

Nanny Deb wears this outfit as she walks briskly down the street into the homes of each family she counsels. If the outfit alone didn't traumatize the children, she turns their whole world upside down by having their parents "do a 180" and enforce some discipline. But not before each child has a Major Meltdown, which is great entertainment, especially since you can Mute the TV and just watch the brats as they (literally) climb the walls.

What's endearing about Nanny Deb is that she blows in like a juggernaut with her firm and brusque demeanor, but she always ends up breaking down into a lake of tears by the time she has to leave the children at week's end. Mean Nanny/Sobbing Nanny - which is more upsetting for the little dears to process all in one week's time?

The other nanny show on TV is called Supernanny. The caregiver this time is the lovely Jo Frost, whose name sounds like some kind of stripper for the Ice Capades. And if you want to see what you'll look like in 15 years, take a good look at Nanny Deb, Jo.

What I love about Supernanny is that she has abolished the whole "time out"concept (which was so "90's" anyway) in favor of what she calls "The Naughty Spot."

This is a spare room or even a corner of the kitchen or a step on the staircase - anywhere that errant child will be placed until he "learns his lesson."

SO: If your little Dickie misbehaves, you come down to his level and say, "This behavior is unacceptable, and now we're going to put Dickie on his Naughty Spot."

Ahem.

Read more!

Rehab

Why is it that certain actor's performances seem bland or misguided, but as soon as they do something really self-destructive they suddenly become much more interesting? Hmmmm. Is it just me?

And I don't like to mention any names.

Or be tacky and post their pictures up.

Drug busts. Naked bongo playing. Car crashes. "Rehab," the new fragrance by Calvin Klein.

Read more!

Life upon the Wicked Stage

I just finished the first run of my new play, "Isn't it Sarcastic," at Society Hill Playhouse in Philadelphia. A one-man show. Jesus. If I'd known what an undertaking that was - I might have thought twice. Three times, even. But still I would have forged on because I wanted to write it and do more than just another "cabaret" show.

This picture oughta show you what a crazy night it was. Definitely not a serious drama. But much more so than I thought it was going to be. You start out writing a semi-autobiographical piece about a guy who's too funny for his own good, and damned if you don't get a lot more pathos than you meant to.

Here's a link to my theatre company:
http://www.philly-cabaret-theatre.com

I created it in January 2004 as a place to write and develop pieces that were a little off the beaten path, to break that Fourth Wall and let the audience join in. Since I moved to Philly from NYC 5 years ago, I thought that was a unique idea for a company - one that could add something to the arts community here.

Well.

Seems it's hard to get anything new off the ground, but at times this has felt like pushing an elephant through a port hole. And I've tried that. Getting audiences to come is just as tough here as it was in NYC, although it's a smaller scene and people said that fewer companies to compete with would equal more exposure. Could I be any more exposed? Not for lack of trying - but I'd have to be naked and walking down Broad Street to have the kind of exposure it'd take to get people into the joint.

Well, what did I think? There's no biz like showbiz and boy ain't that the truth. Since I moved here I have not had to toil in the Land of Temps, and that's been a good thing. I've created and been part of my own projects and been cast in two mainstage musicals at two of the biggest theatres in town -- so quit whining, eh?

http://www.yourvoicecoach.com

This is how I make my bread and butter. Much better than working FOR anybody else. Although not so hot when the clients don't come. But I'm workin' on the "glass half full" idea.

Fill 'er up!

Read more!

Friend, or ----

Seems like I've become the
"friend most in need of a hook-up" to my pals.
One of The Most Needy Cases.

Not that they've been much help.

Hello?
Dinner parties? Arranging blind dates?

Either they have a serious
lack of candidates for me,
or else I've turned into
the Elephant Man
and nobody told me..

But there is somebody I've become interested in. Problem is: we're Friends. And that's been cool for a few months. But the more time we log in, the more that line between "friends-or-something more" starts to blur. And my friends are all pushing me at him. I think they're hoping to be released from the Matchmaker category.

But I don't want to blow this friendship.
Er --- you know what I mean. Timing is everything.

Read more!

Say "Ah"

Daily Tip: Yawn.

The throat needs to be open and feel wide in order to produce a bigger sound. Most of us speak from a tiny, shut down space inside the mouth and throat. Hence, a meek little squashed sound. What yawning does is give you a sense of expansion. It creates more room, and more room = more resonance.

Resonance is what moves the voice forward and gives it a kick. Not shouting. So open up your mouth, have a bit of a yawn, and then try speaking from the feeling of an open throat. It'll increase your sound immediately...

Daily Dish:

I come from hearty New England stock. Think Katharine Hepburn, jumping into the freezing ocean every day to do laps. (Although personally I think all that aquatic shock treatment is what made her head shake. Just a thought.) Cold I can deal with. Put a blanket on and shut up.

But this sweltering swamp of a Summer is rackin' up my electric bill along with my nerves.

I may have to go jump in the river...


http://yourvoicecoach.com

Read more!

Singing

Daily Voice Tip:

Singing higher.

Most people can go up a few notes until their voice breaks. Where it falls apart is in the transition from what's called "chest" voice into "head voice." Chest voice resonates in -- guess where? Put the flat of your hand on your sternum and sing. You can feel the vibration. As you go up the scale, the resonance shifts upwards into your head.

Voice training shows you how to go from chest to head without cracking or yodeling. Nothing can take the place of one-on-one coaching, but there are a few tricks to help you work on by yourself.

One is, as you climb higher, take it easy. Contrary to popular belief, PUSHING is not the way to sing the high notes. Use less strain -- don't let your throat tighten. After a while you'll feel the higher notes start to come more easily.

More tips later if y'all want them.

Any questions?

Daily Dish:

"So You Think You Can Dance" is on FOX. Oy. So you think you can keep me awake?

Read more!

Nerves

No matter how many years you get up and speak, getting The Jitters always comes with the territory. Here are some ideas. Feeling nervous is natural but there are things you can do before you start to speak to help control your nerves and make you feel more relaxed.

Take deep breaths in through the nose and out through the mouth, before you begin.

Clench your hands and then shake them out. This helps to release tension and to control any shaking that can occur when nervous.

If you're giving a speech or doing a presentation, walk around the area before the audience arrives to help you to become more familiar with the space. When you start your presentation, you will look and feel more confident.

To reduce any tension in the face, practice chewing. Massage your cheeks and jaw.

Be positive. A good mental attitude is essential. To help achieve this, think of three reasons why your audience should listen to you and say these to yourself before you start. Focus on your message and it will help immensely.

Read more!

Payin' the Bills

I've designed a life wherein I can Make Money From Home. No, it's not a Pyramid Scheme, but it's the consulting service I developed, which can be done by phone. Potential clients call me, and once they've wrapped their brains around the concept, they see how it works.

Hey, it's better than an office gig. Something to do between performances.

THE JOB. But with an office job you get paid every week, get insurance, get free coffee in the company kitchen. The occasional muffin basket after a conference meeting is done.



Here I have to scare up the clients myself, which can lead to some p-r-e-t-t-y thin weeks. Like this one. I also teach singing -- and right now I was waiting for a student to show up. Still waiting. Still waiting. Oy.

I saved a little nest egg a month ago (granted a small, fragile egg - maybe Egg Beaters) and then I turned around and it was gone. How did it happen? It's wonderful when income Comes In - but it blows when it BLOWS OUT.

Eh. It'll come around again. I'll just go sit on another egg.

Read more!

Sondheim, Part Three

So he takes me out to Dish of Salt, a fancy-schmancy restaurant in mid-town. We walk in and the pianist starts to play "Send in the Clowns." I'm in heaven. He's in hell. Takes my arm and practically pulls me through the crowd being seated. I feel like a huge celebrity, like I have died and gone to the Oscars. I want to wave and sign autographs. "Hello, hello - yes, it's us."

Celebrity by proximity...

Read more!

Voice Coaching

One aspect of this site is to share what I've learned (mainly to answer questions) about voicework, either speaking or singing.




Books like these are a good starting place, but to speak one-on-one and get specialized coaching, feel free to bring your questions here...

Read more!

And nuke for 5 minutes...

Hottest Day in Human History.

At least here in Philly.

Ye gods.

I've parked my ass in front of the A/C and prayed for rain. A hailstorm. Anything cold.

It's Tuesday, so now that I've finished coaching a man from Burma on the phone, my mind leaps ahead to What's On Telly tonight.

It isn't Hell's Kitchen or Nanny 911 because they were on last night. And Six Feet Under was Sunday. Did you see that episode? I'm not going to spoil what happens in the last minute - but try and find it in a rerun.

Yes, Nanny 911. Or boxing. As some of you read from earlier posts, that's the bizarre gamut of my nightlife. Two men smacking each other in the ring, or triplets smacking each other in the crib.

You see why I've been single for so long? Well, no - I do have a meaningful relationship. It's a threesome, actually. Me, my TV and my VCR.
Anybody else feel like a shut-in at night? Not being a "bar person," I find it all too easy to crash and grab the clicker. Not that clicker. My universal remote. Lately I do feel remote, and I wonder: is it universal?

Ye Gods!

Read more!

You can Dance...if you want to

Well, maybe.

How the hell did I get hooked on another show from the people who brought us "American Idol"? Is it just that I have no life and the hypnotic call of summer television has me under its spell?

It's certainly not that I'm appreciating the aesthetics of it. We are presented with a coterie of "dancing personalities" from whom some lucky winner will win....what?

The dubious title of "Yes I CAN dance" champion? And then what, become the Kelly Clarkson of the dance world?

Oy.

Read more!

Houston, we have a problem

I mean.

If "Being Bobby Brown" was supposed to help Whitney Houston's image - somebody's smokin' crack. And of course it can't be Whitney, right? 'Cause "crack is whack." But what's really whack is the show. Whitney shuffles her way through each episode, looking like she just woke up and sounding like she's half in the bag. If she wants to redeem herself in the public eye, she should fire the director and announce to the press that some crazy woman has been impersonating her. Then she should fire Bobby Brown and start fresh.

And speaking of BB, what makes this show doubly pathetic is that he runs around each week trying to explain to people who he is. He gets no recognition until he tells them he's Whitney Houston's husband. And this is the premise for good TV? Doesn't mean I won't tune in (because lately I've sold my soul to trash TV) but it just makes me sad.

Their poor little overweight daughter is obviously reaching out for something, besides a Big Mac. Handing her rolls of twenties to impulse-shop ain't the answer, Whit. Plus, therapy is going to cost her a lot more than that.

Quit talkin' about your bowel movements, put together one complete sentence, remind people what made you great; your talent, and your apparent joy in delivering great songs. Come back to the Five and Dime, Whitney Houston, Whitney Houston.

Read more!

Kathy Griffin

You love her, you hate her, but somebody who's found her own particular voice is comedian Kathy Griffin. Her new show, "The D-List," premieres this month on BRAVO and I am counting the minutes.

When I was envisioning my own one-man show I thought I'd just come out and "channel" her, and piss off all of the Philadelphia poo-bahs. Then it turned into a play and that idea went out the window. Now I think I'll return to it because her brand of gleeful vitriol is just up my alley.

Of course if she didn't like me, I wouldn't want to be in that alley alone with her!

Read more!

Cherry Jones, Part Two

DA: Do you ever worry about being openly gay - that it might affect getting work?
CJ: Absolutely not. Never.
DA: Even in films?
CJ: If I were always looking for the next big Hollywood break, then I'm sure it would give me some pause. But since I'm not concerned with that, it's never been a problem. I do wish, of course, that everyone who is gay could be "out", because then it would be an ideal world.
DA: When people who are out gain notority - like you --I think it moves us all along. It chips away at that big wall of ignorance and prejudice.
CJ: Oh, tremendously. And of course being out has never been a problem with theatre roles. I don't think it's an issue - even if I were always playing the heterosexual leading ladies in comtemporary pieces.
DA: Any interest in that?
CJ: Oh, sure! I love and adore men. And you know -- I am an actress. I have played a few heterosexuals in my time!
DA: Do you ever have a bad case of nerves onstage?
CJ: I had one terrible night during The Heiress. One of the actors "went up" for a few seconds. Now, he came right back and found himself quickly, but for some reason it shook me. I was so panicked trying to think how I was going to help him that when he finally threw the right line at me I almost didn't come in!
DA: I asked Julie Harris how she deals with stage fright and she said she just thinks of how wonderful it is to share the playwright's words with an audience.
CJ: Right. You're telling a story.
DA: How do you elicit emotions that you need in a scene when they just don't come?
CJ: As I've gotten older it's much easier. I found what worked with The Heiress - where I had several tearful moments - was the the thought of the loss of (her then lover) Mary.
DA: That worked 371 times?
CJ: I could have used her every night. Some nights when I needed a break from killing Mary off, I'd use my family. I just need a springboard to get me to a heightened emotional state.
DA: What else makes you cry? I'm not trying to play Barbara Walters --
CJ: I can't cry over the past because I haven't had a difficult past. What I could cry over is the future. It's unknown. Old age and the future, to me, is something to conquer. The loss of loved ones. I can't imagine living without them. I'm a puppy! I want to be able to run and ride my bike and just play heroines forever. And I know at eighty I probably won't be able to do all that.DA: Finally, Miss Jones, what is unique about you.
What do you think you bring to the Party?
CJ: I do know that I have a presence. And I know that I have a kind of dignity that people respond to. I'm not a quick, brilliant person - so I guess it's a softer, slower, slightly quirky "take" that I bring to my work. And I do know that when I play my women, they exist. I'm not saying that in a mystical way, but for those two hours every night, they're absolutely real to me. And it's such a privilege and such a joy to be able to bring these great, beautiful words and thoughts to life every night. For me, it's just heaven on earth.

2005, all rights reserved

Read more!

Cherry Jones, Part One

When I was living in New York City's West Village, I got the chance to do an interview with Cherry which turned out to be the cover story of a magazine called Upstages.

Back before she won her second TONY award for Doubt, she'd become the
toast of Broadway for her first TONY award-winning performance in a play called The Heiress.

(excerpt):

"I'm outside a downtown cafe waiting for Cherry Jones. Scanning the horizon I'm not quite sure who to look for. After years in regional theatre and short-lived New York productions she has finally achieved Broadway Star status with her role in last season's The Heiress. Since chances are good that she won't come gliding down Seventh Avenue in a hoopskirt and bonnet, I'm not sure I'll even recognize her.

When Cherry does arrive I'm a little shocked to find her so tall, striking and, well, contemporary. She's immediately engaging and focused, with a smoky trace of a drawl from her childhood in Paris, Tennessee. Shiny sky blue eyes, set in translucent, lightly freckled sin, crinkle up when she laughs. Underneath her lanky, athletic grace I glimpse a mischievous child. We talk about the long run of The Heiress.

DA: It was a year, wasn't it?
CJ: Just under a year - something like 371 performances with just one day off a week. And I didn't take vacation and I didn't miss a show, so it was really 371 performances.
DA: I loved the first image we had of Catherine, coming down the stairs, so erect.
CJ: I wanted Catherine to have one thing that she did really well. I imagined that when she was a little girl she saw some beautiful woman, who she wished had been her mother, floating down a staircase. And from that moment on she practiced over and over to get it.

...on going in as a replacement in Angels in America:

CJ: I'm a pretty athletic person and I don't have a fear of heights. That said, I didn't have enough rehearsal time to get completely comfortable up there. In one of my first performances as the "angry angel" in the black costume, I had to do a flip. Well, I got halfway through it, to where my head was pointing straight down and my feet straight up, and got stuck. My girlfriend said I looked like this huge bat from hell, hanging there upside down. I finally had to just grab the wires and pull myself up. Just a little humiliating. The real nightmare was just trying to fit into a piece and never feeling really comfortable and strong and true. "Nightmare" is too strong a word. I got that from Maureen Stapleton.

When I first moved to New York I went to see her in The Gin Game. The next day she came into a restaurant where I was working and I said, "Oh Miss Stapleton, I saw you last night in The Gin Game and I just thought you were fantastic." And her eyes just rolled around in her head and she went, "Ahhhhh! It was a nightmare!" and she flew out of the place. So ever since, when I find myself in difficult positions, I just think of Maureen and it's like, "Well, ma'am, now I know what you mean."

2005, all rights reserved

MORE CHERRY TO FOLLOW

Read more!

Portraits on Page: Uta Hagen

From my book-in-progress on actress Geraldine Page:

I ran into an old friend yesterday and she wanted to know what I was up to.

Me: "Among other things, I'm doing a book on Geraldine Page."
Her: Oh, I loved her in that movie with Bette Davis."
Me: "She never made a movie with Bette Davis."
Her: "Yes she did. The one where she gets a brain tumor and walks up all those stairs to her bedroom and then dies."
Me: "That's Geraldine Fitzgerald."
Her: "Oh."
Me: "Geraldine Page died in 1987. I'm writing this so people won't forget her."
Her: "Oh, of course. Now I know who you mean. She did all those O'Neill plays with what's-his-name, Robards."
Me: "That's Colleen Dewhurst."
Her: "Oh. Then I have no idea who she was."

That was typical of conversations I had with people who wanted to know what I was up to. But I had the time of my life interviewing her colleagues.

Today's interview: legendary acting guru Uta Hagen.

DA:"You said she'd picked up a lot of bad habits in summer stock. What were they?"
UH:"Well, you tell me. 'Indicating.' Ready-made, preconceived, conventional habits. But she was always talented. Tons of emotion, that she had. And she learned to discover a role instead of settling for what she saw off the top of her head. I think she was unbelievably original, ultimately, in her selections. The selections are what make a great artist, which she certainly was. But also, the biggest mistake in her career was her inability to recognize a good play."
DA: "And she turned down "...Virginia Woolf."
UH: "She didn't turn it down! That's a total fiction! Did you ask Edward (Albee) about that? He'll laugh right in your face. I was always their first choice!"
DA: "Well, what about 'Sweet Bird of Youth'?"
UH: "GOD! I hated that play so, and I hated her in it. I think it's a soap opera. I think the whole play is on the moon!
She got me tickets. Afterward she said, 'Oh, Tennessee told me I was the greatest actress since Laurette Taylor.' I told her, 'He says that to everyone. He said it to Tallulah Bankhead for Christ's sake.'"

2005, all rights reserved

Read more!

Sondheim, Part Deux

So, we hung out together for a couple of years, doing things periodically. Things -- not "THINGS."

He was extremely generous and taught me a lot about songwriting (and life), and it was a magical time. Seems like a dream now, but it did back then, too. To spend time with your Idol -- tricky stuff. Negotiable, but tricky.

One night we went out to a Broadway show - big musical, famous diva star. We were seated left of center. So the chorus comes out and starts doing their tap-dancing, and I swear to you, after a minute or so they all started to shift slightly to their right, tip-tapping in our general direction. You could almost hear their inner monologues beating in rhythm with their tap shoes.

"Sondheim's in the house - Sondheim's in the house."

They practically played the whole number right to him - putting more into it than they probably ever did before. It turned into one big audition. "Sing out, Louise! Smile, baby!" I'd never seen anything like it.

Isn't it rich??

Read more!

Sondheim, Part One

Well, it all started with a letter.

I wrote to him WAY back when, in the late 'Eighties, and asked if he needed anyone to be his assistant. Why I thought he'd answer, I have no idea. But three days later I got a note back, saying he didn't use assistants on shows, but would I like to come in and meet him?

Uhhh - yeah! Hello!

So I schlepped in from New Jersey to his place on the East Side and there began a friendship that would influence me all my life. You do have to be cautious "meeting your gods," but I'd rather have gone down that road than not.

More to come...

2005, all rights reserved

Read more!

Watch out - falling rocks

Maybe I need to sand down some of my sharp edges.

The protection devices you assemble growing up can be hard to take down, and sometimes I think my tongue is too sharp for its own good.

It's fun to be the life of the party and toss off all the witticisms and barbed remarks, but when someone comes in your direction with amorous intentions - someone's gotta get through the barbed wire. Not always easy.

The last guy I had sex with was fifteen years my junior. Maybe that should have been a clue. Red flag, anyone? And we had met on AOL. RED FLAG, anyone? It's rare to find a kindred spirit but despite our age differences we really had a lot in common.

He loved acting and the theatre. That was my whole life.

He had a rather gimlet-eyed world view. Ditto, me.

He had a girlfriend.

.....

Say WHAT??

Ah yes. Haul out all the red flags and slap me in the face with them.

We had talked on the phone for weeks, developing that quasi-intimacy that AOL relationships foster. Turns out he was coming to NYC (where I lived at the time) to house-sit. Actually to dog-sit, for an opera queen and his two standard poodles.

Could this "straight" boy have stuck his toe in gayer waters??

We met one stiflingly humid night and we hooked up at an outdoor mexican joint downtown. Right away I thought, "Help me, Jesus. I'm a-fallin'," but just as quickly thought, "There is no way he's gonna want to sleep with me. He's gorgeous. And there's just too wide a gap."

Well it's funny what a couple margaritas will do. We ended up going back to the apartment (right where John-John Kennedy was living as the time his plane crashed) and ended up lying on the bed. "But nobody will touch anybody. We'll just lie here."

That lasted about two minutes. He stuck more than his toe into gay waters. What followed were three weeks of intense, soul-shaking encounters wherein Straight Boy fell in love "for the first time," and I found myself ready to cash in my Sarcastics Union card.

But after he went home to Miami there were about 2 or 3 days of thrashing about on the phone Should me move here? Would he tell his girlfriend? And finally, inevitably, he reverted back to his old way of life. And left me wondering why I had let myself open up to such a loaded situation.

Then I thought, that's life, isn't it? You let yourself fall in love no matter how treacherous it seems, because love comes so rarely. Okay, you might want to die for a while after it breaks up. But you had a period of time were you felt alive and attractive and vital. Looking back on it, most days it's wrapped up in that kind of philosophical padding.

Other days I want to call his girlfriend and say, "Red Flag, honey. Red flag."

Read more!