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Standing O and way-to-go for that “one, brief
shining moment that was known as….” (no, not Camelot) Broadway, The Golden
Age, a documentary film by writer/director/producer Rick McKay. Focusing on the 1930’s through the
1960’s, the film juxtaposes archival footage, stills, and interviews with living
theatrical legends (performers, writers, directors and producers) who recall the
excitement of a time when Broadway was the sparkplug for incandescent live performances,
the nerve center for a vital community of show people, and affordable to aspiring talents.
Manhattan rents ranged from $19-$50/month; subways, buses, and ferries cost a nickel; and
theatre tickets were little more than a dollar. (If
you were really broke, you could "second-act," that is, sneak in for nothing
after intermission.)
Broadway, The Golden Age pays homage to over 100 brilliantly
talented troopers from a very special time in American theatre. Some of the interviewees
are no longer with us and their memories of thrilling live performances—theirs and
their inspiring predecessors—will vanish with them. Other
performers made a much larger splash in the bigger pond of mass media. Jerry Orbach (El Gallo in The
Fantasticks) turned homicide detective in TV’s Law and Order. Carol
Burnett (Princess Winifred in Once
Upon a Mattress) became Gary Moore’s TV sidekick and host of her own long
running television variety show plus several films. Shirley MacLaine, who made a legendary
leap from chorus to center stage in Pajama
Game went on to at least one of her lives in Hollywood films. And the career of
Bea Arthur (The
Threepenny Opera, Fiddler
on the Roof) matured from the golden age to the Golden Girls. But
they all treasure the magic memories of performing in theatre.
This celebration of the genius of live performance leads to some
surprises. The actor who turns out to be the
inspirational, iconic center for most of the interviewees is Laurette Taylor, who is
almost forgotten today. As the film notes, she was so natural that, ironically, she
flunked her Hollywood screen test (seen in archival footage). While the screen test may have been unexciting,
live onstage Taylor must have been extraordinary. Lyricist Fred Ebb remembers, “I saw
(Glass Menagerie) seven times. Seven times! And Laurette Taylor turned around and
pulled down her girdle, and I have never been that affected by a stage action in my whole
life. It made me weep.”
Magic is evident in the archival footage of a glamorous, breathy Carol
Channing in a feathered hat singing her signature song from Hello,
Dolly. A young John Raitt sings Billy Bigelow’s soliloquy from Carousel.
(Raitt claims that Richard Rodgers found
his inspiration for the melody in an aria from Figaro that he was using to warm up his
voice.) In another clip, Bob Fosse and Gwen
Verdon are seen in rehearsal for Damn
Yankees. She reveals how Bob Fosse
brought out the humor in Lola, the seductress from Hell, by telling the shapely dancer to
play the part as a fat, flirtatious little girl. And
in a heart-wrenching excerpt from The
Member of the Wedding, Julie Harris, as a tomboyish, troubled teenager cries out
her loneliness to deeply compassionate Ethel Waters.
The performers’ anecdotes about their struggle days are
entertaining and informative. Carol Burnett
recalls: “Four of us bought a dress, a dress. Each
one of us put in five dollars, so it was a 20-dollar dress at Bloomingdale’s, which
was expensive. Then, if you had an audition
and you got first claim to it, you got to wear the dress, but then you were responsible
for having it cleaned and put back in the closet for the next person.” Gretchen Wyler remembers being hired as the
understudy to the understudy in Silk
Stockings. Finally, one night in
Philadelphia, the understudy, who had seen the star come into the theatre, took a train to
New York for an audition. When the star collapsed after the first act, Ms. Wyler stepped
into the part, scored in front of luminaries like Cole Porter, and opened the show in New
York.
McKay’s film is a fun,
fascinating tribute to the glamour and giants of a golden era. It was a time of low-tech
electronics and high level acting technique. The
interviewees despise the microphones that are ubiquitous in today’s Broadway. When
Ben Gazzara, as Brick in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, whispered, he could be heard in the
balcony.
Fortunately for all lovers of the great tradition of live theatre, Rick
McKay, an actor-singer with no crew and a tiny budget (at one point he hocked his piano to
fund the film) set out on a Don Quixote-like quest to bear witness to this scantily
documented period of a great American art form. Getting
the interviews must have seemed like tilting at windmills (Angela Lansbury turned him down
four times and McKay had to waylay Stephen Sondheim by smacking him on the bottom on his
way to the kitchen, apologizing and then, one more time, asking for an interview). Fortunately, for all theatre lovers, students, and
professionals, McKay has dreamed his impossible dream, and with one digital camera,
reached the unreachable stars.
- Susan
Horowitz
