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Put your lips together and blow
I can’t believe I’ve never seen this movie! The whistling scene is certainly one I know by heart, but I’ve never caught the movie in its entirety. To Have and Have Not was on PBS last night and it wasn’t even interrupting it, to beg me for money. Usually, they save all the good stuff for that time of year when they are hoping to raise funds. It’s been something I’ve wanted to donate to for years, but I’ve never had any extra dough. Oh, to be rich and be able to give money away, instead of a performer who has to be a miser to stay afloat!
Anyway, the movie stars Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. Let’s start with him. I’ve always thought he looked like my Grandpa. There is an everyman quality to him, a gruffness that comes out even in his walk. He looks beaten down by life, by age, by circumstances. He was 45 years old. He looks every year his age. But, you can’t deny his ease on screen. He takes his time and, a decade before Brando, delivers a very “real” take on his character.
Bacall was 19 and it was her first film. You would never know it. She is simmering, sexy, understated. There is a sense of humor that is constantly bubbling on the surface. I smiled every time she came onscreen, wondering what was next. What line had Faulkner written to pass through her gorgeous lips next?
it's an art
Last weekend, I went to see Drury Lane Oakbrook’s production of Ragtime. It was just amazing. I think I cried about 10 minutes into it and didn’t really stop till the end. The script is based on a fabulous book. The music and lyrics were just perfect. The direction was spot on. The cast was at the top of their game. But, what I cried about most of all… was the opportunity that was being presented to everyone on that stage and how lucky I was that I was there to see it.
Back in 1987, 150 Hoosiers went to NYC for the first time. I was one of those high school seniors. I had saved up, I think it was, $500 dollars for me to go for the week….my parents paid the other half. We stayed in the Milford Plaza in the very seedy (at the time) Times Square. I saw my first prostitute, my first porn on the “normal” channels broadcast into our rooms and my first Broadway shows. We saw Broadway Bound, A Chorus Line, The Fantastiks, Blithe Spirit with Geraldine Page (she would go home after the matinee we saw and pass away in the night!) and we saw Les Miz.
send in the clowns
This week, I was reminded of my brush with Donna McKechnie. It was back in 99 or 2000, I think. I was still living in New York and had just had my brush with the dreaded C word. I didn’t think I would ever sing again. But, my friend Bob Cline called me up and told me he had signed me up for an audition and he would not be taking any excuses, I had to go. Bob is a casting agent and was casting for the Cleveland Playhouse’s production of A Little Night Music.
Years before, I had played Petra. I knew what she was about and was confident that I would be able to pull The Miller’s Son out of my head with ease. I hadn’t sung in about 6 months and was nervous as all get out! Auditions have never really been my friend. I find them difficult, at best. Not having done any singing at all for 6 months, was not making my nerves any better.
Anyway, I arrive early and sit on a folding chair in the hallway outside the studio. I put down my bag, get out my headshot and make sure my music is in order. It’s only then that I glance at the woman sitting next to me. It’s Donna freakin McKechnie! She is there to audition for Desiree. Let me say that again…Donna McKechnie was there to audition for Cleveland freakin Playhouse’s production of Little Night Music.
let the sunshine in
If you want a little music while you read, click on the title above!
I just read on Playbill.com that the line was wrapped around the block twice for a Hair audition in New York City. The first one got on line at 1 am. 963 people were on line by 8:30.
Ah, auditions in NYC. Glamorous. Oh, how I remember getting on line during the trash strike at 5:30 on steamy spring mornings. The smell of rotting something in the air, as I sat on the urine stained sidewalk until the doors opened at 9:30. Good times, good times.
But, this isn’t about auditions. This is about Hair. Back in, oh I think it was 1997 or 1998, I was on that line. Yes people… I auditioned for Hair. I had an audition that morning and didn’t feel like schlepping back to Brooklyn yet and read about the audition for the European tour of Hair. On a fluke, I went. There I was in my flowered dress with my hair curled and shiny, standing next to a “flower-child” wanna be. There were kids there in wigs, in costumes, in drag. There were kids with face paint, playing instruments. It was a tad surreal and I could not have felt more out of place. But, damn it…I was going to audition.
just one of those lists
So, you know how everybody does those end of the year lists. I thought I would do one myself.
The ten best things I saw this year.
Here goes, in the order in which I saw them:
In February, I was lucky enough to work for the touring company of Movin Out. I worked on the original tour years ago and this production was just as great. The first time, it was with Elizabeth Parkinson. She was amazing, plus she was older than I was and had just delivered and was still amazing to look at and to watch. This time around, it was kids. A non-equity tour, the average age was probably 26. They had an energy that I hadn’t had for years and it was infectious. The band was hot, the show was a joy. Well worth the ticket price and something everyone should catch!
In March, I caught Carla Gordon at Katerina’s. Not my favorite venue and not someone who I had thought would do well in a piano bar setting. Piano bar is a different animal from a show on a stage with lights and a theme. Everyone is milling around, eating, drinking, talking and Carla isn’t a wall flower who is meant to be background music. But, Carla was fun and had the crowd in the palm of her hand. Her music choices were varied, her guest singers a great compliment to her. Carla does her burlesque ballsy material one minute and then she reminds us of her heart the next.
!?!
Today, I want to talk about the lady without a face. You saw her on Oprah. She was an employee for this imbecile who owned a chimpanzee. Well, the lady never felt comfortable around this thing, even when it was a baby it just seemed aggressive. The owner asked her if she would help get the chimpanzee back into its cage one night and against her better judgement she agreed. The chimpanzee attacked the woman, ripping off both her hands, removing her eyes and lips and pretty much leaving her for dead. Except she didn’t die. She managed, because of the “amazing doctors”, to survive and is walking around with one finger, blind, with no nose, lips or eyelids. Thank you “amazing doctors”.
The woman doesn’t want to know about anything. Not what her face looks like, or what things are missing from her. She only found out she didn’t have eyes, cause she went to the doctor and asked him how long she would remain without sight and at that time he informed her ALWAYS…YOU DIDN’T HAVE ANY EYEBALLS!
thanks for the mime-ories
Lately, I’ve been thinking about mimes. The rope pull into crazy fast winds. The trapped in the box thing. Mimes make me think of my childhood. I was a huge product of the variety show. For those of you too young to remember, the variety show was a mixture of music, dance and skits. Kind of like Saturday Night Live, but funny. It was usually hosted by a television star, musician, or a strange straight man with no actual talent of his own. To most of you Ed Sullivan would come to mind. But, that was way before my time. I am from the golden age of variety shows, the 70’s. These shows featured amazingly talented performers, gowns by Bob Mackie, special guests that were exciting and featured up and coming stars. I lived for these shows and I watched them all.
Here are three of them that I couldn’t miss growing up and they aren’t who you think:
Tony Orlando and Dawn. Now we first have to discuss that “Dawn”, was in fact, two women. Not sure why it wasn’t called Tony Orlando and the Dawns, but it wasn’t. And the women, the Dawns… their names weren’t Dawn. Isn’t that weird? Why wasn’t it called Tony Orlando, Thelma and the Dumb One? Still, they were the best par t of the show. Tony always played the semi square guy, while the girls…especially Thelma Hopkins, were the funny ones. She would sass him and, as you’ll see in one of the other shows I loved, I loved a woman with sass. Anyway, Tie a Yellow Ribbon and Knock Three Times, I had both of them on 45’s. Oh and we mustn’t forget how much Tony looked like Freddie Prinze, that started my love affair with the Latin’s…but, that is a different blog.
messy lives
Last night, Eric brought home Grey Gardens. Not the documentary, but the new HBO movie starring Jessica Lange and Drew Barrymore. I’ve seen the documentary about the Beale’s, part of the Bouvier family. Well, I’ve seen about an hour of it. It was too much for me. I couldn’t make it through. To this day, it is hard for me to put into words what I saw in that film. The mansion was a horror! It made the biggest impression on me. It is hard to describe their living situation to someone who hasn’t seen it. It pains me to think of what it must be like to live with a hoarder, but these ladies were not hoarders. They were just too broke to clean up!
The director of the new movie chose to show the lives of the ladies in flashback. It helped me see where they came from and gave me insight into how they could have gotten here. I really appreciated having the history. You see, before I quickly wrote the two women off as nut jobs. Now, I had a clear picture of the pain these women were in and how that pain led to the destruction all around them.
collection obsession
Yesterday, I did a gig at an amazing place. The Sanfilippo mansion in Barrington, Illinois is amazing. You have to see it to believe it. To say the owners of this amazing estate are collectors, is an understatement. The room, or barn, that I performed in was filled with fairground band organs, street organs, steam locomotives, train cars, cabooses, clocks, side show banners, unicycles and an amazing carousel. Everything was in tip top shape, beautifully restored and in working order. The whole room had this opalescence gold hue. It was like performing in a mirror ball. There was so much to look at; your eyes just couldn’t quite take it all in.
They had some dancers at the event who danced to the fairground band organ’s music. I was amazing to hear the Teddy Bears Picnic out of a piece of machinery from the turn of the century. It was an awe inspiring sound. Loud and joyous, it was fully orchestrated, every pipe and drum playing their part. It was also a beautiful piece of eye candy. Adorned by 6 semi naked Greek goddesses, mothers would have shielded the eyes of their sons and daughters.
score one for the underdog
In college, I decided to take a film class I had and turn it in to a soundtrack appreciation course. Every time we had to turn in a paper, mine would focus on how the music made me feel, why the choice of instrumentation yielded certain emotional outcomes and how the scene was changed when there was a lack of soundtrack. I am not sure why the teacher let me focus on that, it certainly wasn’t what he was teaching or even focusing on, but it was something that fascinated me and maybe he was bored with reading the same plot driven themes because he never seemed to mind.
Last night, on the 4th of July, TCM was playing Rocky, the very first one. Did you know that there are six Rocky films? He fights Apollo Creed in the first two, Mr. T in the third, some Russian dude in the fourth…and then my mind draws a blank. All I know is, if he is still fighting in number 6 we got problems. What is he now, 72? Why would anyone want to see their Grandpa in the ring, getting pummeled by some 26 year old heavyweight? Isn’t that old man abuse?
The inevitable
You know what’s crazy? Getting to be an age where death is starting to enter into the equation.
When you are a kid, maybe your grandparents die and some random kid, some random way throughout your schooling, might pass away. But, rarely does anyone super close to you. As a kid you are indestructible, immortal, a daredevil who seeks danger and laughs in the face of death. The older you get, maybe it’s because of a breakdown in our bodies that we feel more and more every day, the more you must deal with the inevitable. Someone you know will die.
Personally, I have been very lucky so far. My parents are young. I haven’t had to make any major decisions about their health. I haven’t watched them deteriorate before my eyes. Just a few grey hairs, really…the same ones I have covered up every 3 months. In fact, my family is just starting to grow. With nephews and family planning taking place, the family is expanding rather than dwindling.
But, when I was a teenager, my Mother’s parents died. I wasn’t very good at helping out. I was a teenager…I was involved in my own life with its “huge, important” problems. I barely even remember my Mother grieving. But, I know she did. I know it was really hard for her to lose them in a short span of time, to deal with family dysfunction in the midst of it all and to make hard, hard decisions about someone else’s life. I wasn’t there for her at all. As an adult, I’m ashamed I wasn’t present enough to think about someone else and how much they were hurting. I’m embarrassed that I was a child.
when your fat jeans become your skinny jeans
Everybody has a vice. Some people have got many. I used to smoke. Not a lot, never more than half a pack a day really. But, it was still something I did for about 10 years, off and on. Then I quit for about 5 and then I started back up. Stayed smoking for about 2 years and then, about a year ago, quit again. I never really had a hard time quitting once I set my mind to it. I never really missed it. I don’t think I was ever really addicted to them; I just enjoyed the social aspects of it and the prop of the cigarette itself. I loved the feel of it in my hand. Loved the way it looked out of the corner of my eye when I spoke with my hands. I loved the way you could be bored out of your mind at a party, not talking to a soul…but, the minute you went out on the porch to smoke, everyone out there was your immediate best friend. There was this ease and this friendly banter with the ones banished to the outside. I just loved it.
I have quite a few friends and loved ones with the crutch of alcohol propping them up. Drinking was never really my thing. Oh, I had moments in my life where I drank more than others. But, it was never something I needed. I have a thing about drinking my calories. Just can’t do it. Plus, it is so expensive…you are just going to pee it out. Much smarter for the cost, to inhale something and let it live in your lungs for years. Smarter. Right.
small fish, big pond
I’ve been thinking a lot, the last few days, about marketing. About marketing me, specifically. How does one market themselves? Am I marketing me as myself or me as a product and is there a difference? If it is the same thing…do you assume that everyone is dying to know about you and your life and bombard them with information, using every available technological communication device out there? MySpace, Face book, Twitter, Email, YouTube, etc. etc? Or do you do it the old fashioned way, by getting out there and shaking a few hands. I know it is probably a combination of the two, but how much is too much? When does it become annoying? Do your people really want to know “What Friends star you look like?” or “What are your top 5 breakfast items?” Does anyone really care? Is it just important to stay talked about or in front of people as much as possible? Is publicity and marketing the same thing?
Stars are apparently Twittering these days. Someone is advising them that being out there in any way is good for their careers. Still, do they really have nothing better to do? I mean most of them should be busy with highly interesting and demanding careers, peppered with all of the charities they fight for, high profile dates they are on, and reality shows they are a part of. It seems like they should just be too busy to Twitter us that they are online at Trader Joe’s. And are there actually people who care? Do they care more when Patrick Swayze is on line then they do Aunt Maude, when her status says the same thing? Maybe he has more interesting things in his cart then Maude, but, really aren’t they living the same life at that moment?
the day has just started
Well, for the past four weeks now, every Friday night, I have learned something about myself as a performer. You see, I created a show around Doris Day and her life and music. Sentimental Journey…the music of Doris Day, has taught me a lot.
First, it taught me to breath. I have always been caught up with pacing. You can’t have dead time on stage with nothing happening. It can drive an audience member crazy! But, it can also give an audience member time to breath. It gives them time to digest what they just heard, to get a drink, to whisper to their date what they thought of that last number. Silence can give everyone a moment to think.
Second, it taught me to accept applause. Hearing applause has always made me a bit uncomfortable. It’s so much easier to accept criticism, than it is praise. Praise is so foreign, when you hear rejection every day. They wonder why actors are so neurotic and insecure. Every day we hear no…you’re not what we want…you’re not young enough, pretty enough, thin enough, odd enough, tall enough…good enough. It’s hard. You would think to hear praise then, would be a welcome change. But, it seems false and is hard for me to hear. With this show, I let the applause come to me and I take it in and breath.
he said, she said
“Wanna watch a movie?
Sure, what?
Midnight Meat Train.
Ugh. I don’t like to watch scary movies at night!
You won’t be watching it alone. I’ll be here.
Fine.”
In goes Midnight Meat Train. And so begins my night of terror. As I sit on the couch, watching a butcher hone his craft, I wonder why boogie men have ceased to be monsters. Where are the days of Godzilla’s and Mothra’s? Gone are the creatures from space or black lagoons. You can’t even find a bad guy who kills for moral reasons. Using his killings to knock off the evil, pre-coital, cheating, lying bastards of the world, he serves a true noble purpose.
Now they are all psychopaths. The killings are random. Plus, you can’t just kill someone and move on…no, you must torture them, dismember them, show their entrails to the folks. It is way more disturbing to me then monsters.
There I am, with my hands in front of my eyes.
“What is he doing?
He’s removing his teeth.
All of them? Why?
I don’t know.
Now what’s he doing?
He’s pulling out their fingernails.
look for the silver lining
So my fancy gym has TV’s on every piece of cardio equipment. It’s pretty cool and it really passes the time. (Although Eric would tell you he hates them and prefers his IPOD.) You just stick on headphones, plug in and start surfing the channels. Well, last week I surfed right into a fabulous movie…got so sucked in that I ended up staying on the Elliptical for one hour, just so that I could continue watching the movie. You know it had to be good for that to happen!
It’s called The Legend of 1900. Tim Roth plays this jazz pianist who was born on a ship and never gets off. There are some of the best piano sequences I have ever seen on film, in this movie. At one point, Tim is challenged to a duel by Jelly Roll Morton…to find out who was the real voice of jazz. It was so exciting…could have been beyond dull…the camera raced around the pianos, through the crowd, back to the keys, the fingers, the faces…it was so enthralling. And the music they played was just beautiful. The sound track by Morricone, who else, was lush and it captured a moment in time, without sounding dated and passé. The cinematography was gorgeous. The lighting, the set decoration…the movie spans 3 decades starting at the turn of the century. The movie rarely leaves the ship, so we see the different classes represented in dress, language, music, hope.
raise your right hand...
It’s been years, but this week… I, (Laura Freeman) used my equity card. This is huge. Not everyone works all the time. Most people don’t. Plus, I didn’t have to sing the whole 2 days. I was an actor type. Not a singer type. Pretty cool.
The two day, equity card using, event was a program that a big law firm puts together, to give their beginner lawyers court room experience. Well, a pretend adjudicated court room experience. They hire a bunch of actors to be on the stand and then the lawyers have to lead a direct or cross, depending on what side you are on. It was so much fun. Basically, you are participating in a large 2 hour improve session. Luckily, there were parameters. You were given the witnesses’ deposition and you had to memorize those facts. But, you had no idea what most of the lawyers were going to ask you and how your testimony was going to be used against you…if you memorized incorrectly or didn’t have that information as fact and you were now improving on something a lawyer was going to turn around on you. That part was weirdly scary. “What if they find out I’m lying?” Boggles the mind, it does.
A "special" kind of music...
I don’t know much about the blues. Well, I mean, I’ve had them and will probably have them again, but the musical genre of “the blues”…not so much. When I lived in Alabama, that’s a whole nother story, the guy I dated took me to see some very prominent blues musicians. But, it was all the same to me. It all sounded like…”ba, ba, da, ba, da, one night my baby, ba, ba, da, ba, da, she took my dog away, ba, ba, da, ba, da, one night my baby, ba, ba, da, ba, da, she took my dog at play”….you get the picture. But, last night, I saw someone special.
Pete Special is a Chicago Blues man, unlike any I have ever heard before. There is no huge band behind him. There is no typical lament in his lyrics. He, dare I say it, performs blues in a cabaret type style. That’s right, all you poo-pooers. He put the lyric first. The delivery is understated. There is hope even in his sadness. He delivers a song like it is a story to tell. A story he tells to a petite, big bosomed blonde he is trying to seduce. He growls to her about his needs, with a twinkle in his eye. And he wraps his well trained hands around the neck of his guitar with tender affection. The audience was his.
Jennifer's Nose Knows
Since Hollywood came on the scene, Broadway has added it to its list of muses. New York has taken themes from books and music, headlines and folktales. Why it’s only a matter of time when The Adams Family does its pre-Broadway try out in Chicago.
Why was Dirty Dancing so distasteful? It’s not like Hollywood romantic comedies haven’t been tried before. We’ve had The Wedding Singer, Legally Blonde, and High Fidelity. Well, the last one didn’t exactly have a long life…14 performances? For god’s sake, Shrek just opened. Theatrical pieces out of movies have been tried, with various levels of success, for years.
Is there a person in the world who hasn’t seen Dirty Dancing? It is one of those guilty pleasures. TNT can be showing it and I can be flipping the channels and if the last 10 minutes are all that’s left, I’ll watch it. It was sweet and fun. Swayze was at his hunkiest. Jennifer was pre-op. It was a great film.
So why was the play so bad? Probably because, it was EXACTLY like the movie…there were no new characterizations. No new developments or new responses even. Ok…maybe that is what people came to see. People love those sing along musicals you can see at Art Houses around the country. Sing along Rocky Horror, Sound of Music, and Mary Poppins. You know, they have a few actors show up and stand near the screen and act out the movies, in costume. Then everyone sings along with the songs. Fun. But, at most, one ticket costs you $15.00. This is a Broadway show…we’re talking $80.00 for the cheap seats. Let me reiterate…you can rent the movie from the bargain bin and watch it at home for $3.00 or you can get dressed up and watch the movie…I mean the play…for $80.00.
what me worried?
I have always been a rehearsal freak. I love rehearsal. I love the trial and error of play practice. The shaping of character choices you can only accomplish with hours of hard work and repetition. I love that time. In fact, truth be told, I actually love it more than the actual performance. Then the baby has been delivered. The nine months of incubation has come to a close. It’s always been kind of a letdown for me.
On Tuesday, I got called by a friend to see if I would be game to do some caroling at a country club on Sunday. Being that I am a whore for money, and that I really don’t know how to say no…I said sure. I love Christmas songs. I start to listen to them in early November. No problem. She told me that someone would be contacting me to give me the music and a cd of a few of the songs, so I could see what they did. Oh, and did I sight read. Again, no problem, I can rely on the piano, to give me a clue on what to sing.
Friday night, the girl I’m going to sing with drops off the music. Into the CD player, I pop the cd. Out come this intricate, 3 part harmony, acapella, do-wop songs. Most of which I had never heard of. Where was the Upon the Housetop? Missing was Rudolph, the red nosed reindeer. Frosty the Snowman was nowhere to be seen. Even Silent Night wasn’t on the record. I felt my blood pressure rise. What had I signed on for? The gig was Sunday. I already had a show scheduled for Saturday, so I wasn’t going to be rehearsing on Saturday. Was I was going to carol in front of people with NO REHEARSAL? Not just no rehearsal…I had never met these girls, let alone had ever sung with them. Could I hold the book? Did they expect this to be memorized? I had to run out and get a turtleneck, for god’s sake; it was part of my costume. If there was costumes, than this wasn’t something that we could just slap together. The audience was going to expect it to be good. Right?
