Liars and Saints

  In the conditional love song, two people have to pair off *without* pairing off. We in the audience see their chemistry--even if they themselves do *not* see their chemistry. The two halves of the song can be mildly antagonistic ("People Will Say We're in Love"). Or the duet can be reasonably peaceful--but with a "this-is-just-pretend" theme ("They Say It's Wonderful"). It's worth noting that Oscar Hammerstein wrote a disproportionately large number of conditional love songs. And--though Irving Berlin *apparently* wrote "Annie, Get Your Gun"--there is a persistent rumor that Hammerstein was "Gun"'s ghostwriter. My own favorite conditional love song is "I'll Know," from "Guys and Dolls." Ostensibly, the two leads are arguing. Sarah Brown insists that her lover will be a version of Ned Flanders. Sky suggests that love should be a bit less predictable. Sky quietly mocks Sarah, making reference to a...

 Sondheim had sympathy for the devil; some of his iconic characters (Sweeney, the Witch) are murderers. Sondheim also had strong feelings about the architecture of a song. There should be "movement" from A to Z. Sondheim's mentor--Oscar Hammerstein--had similar ideas. In his first Pulitzer winner, "Oklahoma," he gave special attention to his villain, Jud. (The one time in history any male actor has ever won a Tony Award for "Oklahoma," the role in question was Jud.) The floor creaks. The door squeaks.  There's a field mouse a-nibblin' on a broom. And I set by myself, Like a cobweb on a shelf,  By myself in a lonely room. Jud is trapped in his own head; we sense this because two words, "by myself," get underlined and italicized in one deliberately awkward sentence.  Next, a dream starts "dancing" in Jud's mind: And all the things that I wish fer Turn out like I want them to be. And I'm better than that smart-aleck cow...

 Tipping a hat to Oscar Hammerstein, who is currently "buzzy" because of Gavin Creel. Sondheim said Hammerstein's best song was "What's the Use of Wond'rin," but I think the winner is "Something Wonderful," from "The King and I." This isn't really an empowering or triumphant song; it's about being with an occasionally-disappointing man, and living with ambivalence. He may not always do What you would have him do. But now and then he'll do-- Something wonderful. It's possible that the King's wife is trying to persuade herself of her own argument, even as she presents the argument: He'll always need your love-- And so he'll get your love. A man who needs your love Can be wonderful. It's a sad and painful song, and I can imagine young Sondheim, the future "Dark Prince of Broadway," studying the words. "You're sorry, grateful. Regretful, happy. Why look for answers where none occur?"...

The highlight--maybe the one and only highlight--of last night's dull Tony Awards presentation was "I Cain't Say No." Three thoughts from the Sondheim Bible: (1) God is in the details. "Fer a while I ack refined and cool, a settin on the velveteen settee. Nen I think of thet ol' golden rule, and do for him what he would do fer me!" You sense Annie's wit and subversiveness: She is doing something with the "Golden Rule" that certainly doesn't match the intention behind her teacher's speech at Sunday school. (2) Let form match content. The lines I'm obsessed with: "Whatcha gonna do when a feller gets flirty an' starts to talk purty? Whatcha gonna do? S'pposin' that he says that your lips are like cherries, or roses, or berries. Whatcha gonna do? S'possin' that he says that yer sweeter than cream and he's gotta have cream or die? Whatcha gonna do when he talks that way? Spit in his eye?" Not...