When I first moved to Los Angeles, I really thought I would miss the whole Broadway show experience. The true New Yorker snobbishness.
I soon learned just how civilized and pleasant theater going can be in the City of Angels. Oh, sure, we generally wind up with national companies of shows that may have opened two years ago on the Great White Way. Sometimes, there are one or two performers from the original cast. Other times, you're dredging the bottom of the casting barrel. One friend of mine recently saw the national touring company of the latest "West Side Story" revival at the Pantages Theater. He was aghast at how horrible the dancing was. Jerome Robbins has died several times since.
But, you take your chances if you live in Los Angeles and want to experience theater. You're rarely disappointed. Once in a blue moon, you get something before it even lands in New York as was the case when the wonderful "Drowsy Chaperone" was conceived and originally mounted at the Ahmanson Theater. And, beyond the little jewels you have to seek out, there are so many other perks that give Los Angeles the leg up when you compare it to the New York City theater scene in 2012.
No need to run down 44th Street when your show lets out at 10:55PM and the Metro North express train to Yonkers is at 11:15PM.
No need to sit alongside tourists from all the anal portals of this country who show up for their night of culture in t-shirts, jeans, and flip flops.
No need to suffer through severe knee pain from a lack of leg room in whatever row I am seated in.
No need to endure a ten-deep line in the parking garage where there's only one attendant and he doesn't speak English.
No need to walk out from a darkened theater into garish Times Square where the neon advertising can literally give you Lasix surgery if you stare at them too long.
No need to endure slobs ambling around the Broadway promenade looking to snack on something they can easily buy in their shopping mall back in Bumfuk, Iowa.
Yeah, there are pluses.
And when something like "Follies" comes to the Ahmanson Theater fresh from its Broadway run and just before it shows up at the Tony Awards on June 10, that is the biggest plus of all.
I've never seen the show in any of its previous incarnations, so I had nothing to compare it to. All I know is that this was virtually the entire cast that just played Broadway, save for Bernadette Peters in the lead. And, for me, that's a double win as my expiration date on her Betty Boop act happened back in 1979. There was one other replacement in one of the smaller roles---Sammy Williams who I saw years ago in the original cast of "A Chorus Line."
If you don't know the "Follies" story, it's pretty simple. A bunch of aging Ziegfeld-like show girls gather in an old theater for one last reunion before the dump is torn down for a parking lot. Husbands are in tow and marriages are unraveling around some pretty nifty tunes by Stephen Sondheim. Old broads tap dancing with abandon. How good does this get?
All in all, a stellar night on Broadway. Well, three thousand miles from Broadway.
Beyond the marvelousness of the show, I savored all the aforementioned perks. The audience was really divided into two distinct camps. The older folks from Beverly Hills. And the over-40 gay crowd. And then there was me. But, as I surveyed the throng, there wasn't a torn shirt or a flip flop in the house. And, thankfully, nobody from either Nebraska or Oklahoma.
I had gotten to the show with simply a single ticket. All by myself and I was tenth row center. No aisle seat needed here. Plenty o'leg room as the Ahmanson, thank goodness, was built after 1940. I played with my phone as we all waited for the overture to begin. Two gals on one side of me were busy chattering about their latest TV auditions. Blah, blah, blah. Relatively uninteresting.
The seat on the other side of me was empty. The woman next to that was also apparently by herself. A bad blonde dye job and wearing huge glasses from the Carlo Ponti collection. She reminded me of somebody, but I couldn't pinpoint who. And the clunky eyewear made it impossible to really recognize her. Hmmm, maybe that's why she was wearing them.
She conversed with me rather innocuously. I was friendly, but, not too much, as I didn't want to turn this into a theater pick-up on either end. As the light dimmed, I commented on the glory of the empty seat between us. We could stretch out. I added...
"It's like when the middle seat next to you on a plane is empty."
She laughed heartily. But, why not? I can be damn funny if I have to be.
Miss Clunky Glasses followed me out to the lobby at the act break. As we ambled down the row, I noticed that some of the gay musical comedy queens in the audience were acknowledging her.
"I love your work."
"You're fabulous. We adore you."
"Please come back to Broadway soon."
Okay, who the fuck are you, lady? These gay guys know. I don't.
I listened to her voice and noticed some familiarity, but still, I didn't have a clue. I probably could have asked, but my first rule of Hollywood existence has always been not to bother famous people.
We returned to our seats for Act Two. I watched the show with one eye and stared at her with the other. She was not always responsive to the musical numbers, but was particularly effusive with certain performers. Friends? Maybe former co-stars? Or perhaps you were both presenters at the Tonys?
It was killing me that I couldn't figure out who Miss Clunky Glasses really was.
When the show ended, I flipped on my phone and immediately did my Google search of the possibilities I had run through the filter of my brain. I settled on one.
Faith Prince.
Except for the crappy blonde hair and ugly specs, this could have been her. Looking at IMDB, I noticed she'd been LA-based of late with some TV work. Okay, I was 75% sure now.
"Maybe Faith Prince" walked out the exit that I know leads to the stage door. Ah, she was going backstage to congratulate whoever.
Me? I hopped on the escalator and was at my car in five minutes. A half hour later, I was already home with a bedtime glass of milk and a chocolate chip cookie. Except for my inability to recognize a celebrity, it was a wonderful and stress-free evening.
And, so, that's why I like theater in Los Angeles.
Dinner last night: Wyagu Roast Beef with grilled broccolini at the Whisper Lounge.
1 comment:
The Drowsy Chaperone was neither conceived nor originally mounted in Los Angeles. Both those events occurred in Toronto, Canada, where the show had 3 developmental productions before the penultimate one in LA and the final one in NYC.
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