A customer!
Wait!
What's your rush? What's your hurry?
You gave me such a...fright! I thought you was a ghost!
Half a minute, can't ya sit?
Sit ya down!
Sit!
All I meant is that I haven't seen a customer for weeks.
Did ya come here for a pie, sir?
A story begins when a stranger comes to town. Sondheim needs to craft the meeting of Mrs. Lovett and Sweeney, his two iconic characters, so he decides to avail himself of an odd setting. He imagines Mrs. Lovett's decaying pie shop--and, all of a sudden, the wind is in his sails. Mrs. Lovett will be holding a rolling pin; she will use it to beat her dough into submission, and to murder tiny insects; the pin will become a kind of percussion instrument; the wielding of the pin will convey Mrs. Lovett's aggression, her excitability. (I'm told that this song is a beast to learn, because you have to memorize all the precise moments when you are to pound the table with your rolling pin. Each rolling-pin smash is carefully thought-through, like a comma in a Harold Pinter play.) Right away, we have a dynamic established between Lovett and Sweeney; Lovett, the brainy chatterbox, will soliloquize; she will fill the space anxiously with her blather. Sweeney, less in love and more deeply mysterious, will remain silent. Part of the humor of the song is that Lovett seems unaware of Sweeney's silence; she's content to do the talking for both of them. (That's part of the tragedy, too; she loves Sweeney so much, and will work hard for him, when he will do very little for her.) Rapid-fire questions convey Lovett's curiosity and intelligence: "What's your rush? What's your hurry? Can't ya sit? Did ya come here for a pie?" Like Mama Rose, Lovett is a titanic force wasted on an undeserving world. Her initial response to Sweeney--"I thought you was a ghost," "You gave me such a fright"--foreshadows the fate she'll later meet at Sweeney's hands.
Do forgive me if my head's a little vague.
Ugh!
What is that?
But you'd think we had the plague.
From the way that people
keep avoiding!
No you don't!
Heaven knows I try, sir!
But there's no one comes in even to inhale!
Right you are, sir, would you like a drop of ale?
Mind you I can hardly blame them!
These are probably the worst pies in London.
I know why nobody cares to take them!
I should know!
I make them!
But good? No.
The worst pies in London
Even that's polite! The worst pies in London!
A good writer shows without telling. So Sondheim never announces to us that roaches are crawling all over the table. But we infer it--in a delicious way--from Lovett's interjections: "What is that?" "No, you don't!" Lovett's campaign of conquest continues; she will offer Sweeney her ale; she will offer him the product of her labors; he will inhale her through his sampling of her baked goods. The twist of the song is that Lovett fully acknowledges the awfulness of the pies; she isn't presenting much of a sales pitch. But, then, *everything* about the Lovett/Sweeney relationship will be a perversion. Sweeney will do little to conceal the fact that his primary interest in Lovett has to do with her ability to aid him in avenging the death of his first wife, whom he still loves. Lovett will not bother to confess that she actually knows the first wife is still alive, and in the neighborhood; like Sweeney, Lovett is evil, a predator. A fundamental "empathy cog" is lacking. Lovett's self-absorption runs alongside her genuine love for Sweeney in a striking, unique way. (Part of the show's greatness is its use of backstory. There's a genuine mystery to solve, here, and the revelations in Act Two are indisputably devastating. These characters have histories; they conceal things from one another. We're not in lite-revue Gershwin terrain, here; we're not dealing with two, shiny, young, cardboard-ish figures, imploring each other to "drop that long face" and get out and dance. Sondheim's ability to put two troubled, Shakespearean figures front and center in a Broadway musical is the stuff of legend, and the intelligence behind the work can't be overestimated.)
Wait!
What's your rush? What's your hurry?
You gave me such a...fright! I thought you was a ghost!
Half a minute, can't ya sit?
Sit ya down!
Sit!
All I meant is that I haven't seen a customer for weeks.
Did ya come here for a pie, sir?
A story begins when a stranger comes to town. Sondheim needs to craft the meeting of Mrs. Lovett and Sweeney, his two iconic characters, so he decides to avail himself of an odd setting. He imagines Mrs. Lovett's decaying pie shop--and, all of a sudden, the wind is in his sails. Mrs. Lovett will be holding a rolling pin; she will use it to beat her dough into submission, and to murder tiny insects; the pin will become a kind of percussion instrument; the wielding of the pin will convey Mrs. Lovett's aggression, her excitability. (I'm told that this song is a beast to learn, because you have to memorize all the precise moments when you are to pound the table with your rolling pin. Each rolling-pin smash is carefully thought-through, like a comma in a Harold Pinter play.) Right away, we have a dynamic established between Lovett and Sweeney; Lovett, the brainy chatterbox, will soliloquize; she will fill the space anxiously with her blather. Sweeney, less in love and more deeply mysterious, will remain silent. Part of the humor of the song is that Lovett seems unaware of Sweeney's silence; she's content to do the talking for both of them. (That's part of the tragedy, too; she loves Sweeney so much, and will work hard for him, when he will do very little for her.) Rapid-fire questions convey Lovett's curiosity and intelligence: "What's your rush? What's your hurry? Can't ya sit? Did ya come here for a pie?" Like Mama Rose, Lovett is a titanic force wasted on an undeserving world. Her initial response to Sweeney--"I thought you was a ghost," "You gave me such a fright"--foreshadows the fate she'll later meet at Sweeney's hands.
Do forgive me if my head's a little vague.
Ugh!
What is that?
But you'd think we had the plague.
From the way that people
keep avoiding!
No you don't!
Heaven knows I try, sir!
But there's no one comes in even to inhale!
Right you are, sir, would you like a drop of ale?
Mind you I can hardly blame them!
These are probably the worst pies in London.
I know why nobody cares to take them!
I should know!
I make them!
But good? No.
The worst pies in London
Even that's polite! The worst pies in London!
A good writer shows without telling. So Sondheim never announces to us that roaches are crawling all over the table. But we infer it--in a delicious way--from Lovett's interjections: "What is that?" "No, you don't!" Lovett's campaign of conquest continues; she will offer Sweeney her ale; she will offer him the product of her labors; he will inhale her through his sampling of her baked goods. The twist of the song is that Lovett fully acknowledges the awfulness of the pies; she isn't presenting much of a sales pitch. But, then, *everything* about the Lovett/Sweeney relationship will be a perversion. Sweeney will do little to conceal the fact that his primary interest in Lovett has to do with her ability to aid him in avenging the death of his first wife, whom he still loves. Lovett will not bother to confess that she actually knows the first wife is still alive, and in the neighborhood; like Sweeney, Lovett is evil, a predator. A fundamental "empathy cog" is lacking. Lovett's self-absorption runs alongside her genuine love for Sweeney in a striking, unique way. (Part of the show's greatness is its use of backstory. There's a genuine mystery to solve, here, and the revelations in Act Two are indisputably devastating. These characters have histories; they conceal things from one another. We're not in lite-revue Gershwin terrain, here; we're not dealing with two, shiny, young, cardboard-ish figures, imploring each other to "drop that long face" and get out and dance. Sondheim's ability to put two troubled, Shakespearean figures front and center in a Broadway musical is the stuff of legend, and the intelligence behind the work can't be overestimated.)
Ugh!
Is that just disgusting?
You have to concede it!
It's nothing but crusting!
Here drink this, you'll need it.
The worst pies in London
And no wonder with the price of meat
what it is
when you get it.
Never thought I'd live to see the day.
Men'd think it was a treat
findin' poor
animals
what are dyin' in the street.
Mrs. Mooney has a pie shop.
Does a business, but I notice something weird.
Lately, all her neighbors cats have disappeared.
Have to hand it to her!
What I calls,
enterprise!
Poppin' pussies into pies!
Wouldn't do in my shop!
Just the thought of it's enough to make you sick!
And I'm telling you them pussycats is quick.
It's nothing but crusting!
Here drink this, you'll need it.
The worst pies in London
And no wonder with the price of meat
what it is
when you get it.
Never thought I'd live to see the day.
Men'd think it was a treat
findin' poor
animals
what are dyin' in the street.
Mrs. Mooney has a pie shop.
Does a business, but I notice something weird.
Lately, all her neighbors cats have disappeared.
Have to hand it to her!
What I calls,
enterprise!
Poppin' pussies into pies!
Wouldn't do in my shop!
Just the thought of it's enough to make you sick!
And I'm telling you them pussycats is quick.
These are maybe my favorite lines in the show. So much is happening here. "Mrs. Mooney does a business, but I noticed something weird. Lately, all the neighbors cats have disappeared." Again: show, don't tell. Sondheim dramatizes the act of inference, discovery; alongside Lovett, *in real time*, we can connect the dots and conclude that Mrs. Mooney is baking stray cats into her pies. (And what a great twist! A musical with an aside about cat-meat pies! Where do these ideas come from?) When Mrs. Lovett spells out the truth for Sweeney, it's with a touch of stylish irony and some memorable alliteration. ("What I calls enterprise! Poppin' pussies into pies!") Lovett later will ask Sweeney to do some similar deductive work; she prefers not to state the ugly when the direct statement can be avoided. ("I've been thinking with the price of meat what it is--if you get it...Good. You've got it." "If you get it" seems to work on two levels; "if you even manage to get your hands on some meat, which is unlikely, then, even then, you're still going to have to pay through the teeth for it." But, also: "If you get my point...which I can't bring myself to say....which is that I think we should be baking human corpses into these pies.....") And then my all-time favorite moment in "Sweeney," and in maybe all of Sondheim: "Mrs. Mooney? Wouldn't do in my shop. Just the thought of it's enough to make you sick. And I'm telling you, them pussy cats is quick." This is such a fine dramatization of hypocrisy. Mrs. Lovett wants us to believe she would never consider baking a cat into a pie. But then she gives herself away: "Actually, I've tried, but cats are too fast. I'm getting old." (Don't you recognize this from actual life? When a person wants the pleasure of feeling high and mighty--but then, in the next sentence, reveals she is acting from lowly motives that are a half-secret even from her herself? Does this make you think of the Steve Carrell character in "The Office"? If you haven't seen this kind of behavior in actual life yet, you should come work where I work.)
No denying times is hard, sir!
Even harder than the worst pies in London.
Only lard and nothing more-
Is that just revolting?
All greasy and gritty?
It looks like it's molting!
And tastes like...we'll pity.
A woman alone...with limited wind
And the worst pies in London!
Ah, sir
Times is hard.
Times is hard.
Only lard and nothing more-
Is that just revolting?
All greasy and gritty?
It looks like it's molting!
And tastes like...we'll pity.
A woman alone...with limited wind
And the worst pies in London!
Ah, sir
Times is hard.
Times is hard.
Sondheim uses a homonym. "Hard" can mean "insurmountable." "Hard" can also mean "like a brick." I love that Lovett uses this pair; the flourish emphasizes her intelligence and wit, once again; we wouldn't hear these words from the Count in "Night Music." Sondheim delights himself--and us--by really imagining the pie: "only lard," "it looks like it's molting" (imagine a layer of grease sliding off the gray bubbly slop underneath), "gritty." "It tastes like" -- and the sentence can't be finished; it's best, here, to interrupt oneself. Mrs. Lovett asks for pity (an odd choice for a song of seduction); she is "a woman alone." A writer wants us to see characters struggling with problems; Sondheim has given us a sui generis diva wrestling with an economic difficulty that had never before been dramatized on stage. (And it's safe to say we'll never again see another woman on Broadway worrying about cannibalism w/r/t her meat pies.) This song is a total masterpiece, and everyone knows it, and now I have a clearer idea of why. I hope it will make a reappearance in "The Prince of Broadway." Also, Halloween is around the corner; now is as fine a time as any to dust off your Tim Burton DVD and spend a few hours with Helena Bonham Carter's version of Lovett!
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