Liars and Saints

 Niagara-on-the-Lake is a posh tourist town that traces its origins to the Revolutionary War. According to my husband, Loyalists fled the colonies and built a new life in Canada. But the rebels sought revenge in the War of 1812. Niagara-on-the-Lake was then reconstructed. The town hosts the Shaw Festival--although, in my experience, no one actually likes the plays of George Bernard Shaw. I've yet to meet someone who can't stop talking about "Mrs. Warren's Profession." Those indifferent to Shaw include the Shaw's own former creative director, who turned down the Shaw Festival's job offer several times before saying yes. Over time, the Festival's mandate has become slightly watery; there is now a vague understanding that a Festival play should have a setting that overlaps with Shaw's own era (roughly 1850 to 1950). But Marc and I just saw "Sleuth," which seemed to take place in the 1970s? So who knows. As I grow old, I find myself wishing j...

 The NYT says that "West Side Story" is Bernstein's classic mix of "discord and schmaltz." Bernstein likely believes, deep down, that he is constructing an opera--and that is suggested by his self-conscious song title, "Quintet." We are meant to think of Mozart. I love "Quintet" above all the other numbers because the discord and the schmaltz are right there together. Singing on his own, Tony can be just a bit insufferable: Oh moon, grow bright-- And make this endless day, endless night-- Tonight! But Anita cuts through the nonsense, thinking about her *own* lover: He'll come in hot and tired. So what? Don't matter if he's tired-- As long as he's hot. Sondheim could simply have the rival gang members puffing themselves up, but instead he chooses to look at self-deception. He has the gang members half-acknowledge their plans to use illegal weapons. "Well, IF things start to go too far...." With this kind of writing, S...

  Sondheim writes big iconic introductions--some of the most famous intros in Broadway history. "The Jet Song," "Comedy Tonight," "The Ballad of Sweeney Todd." These songs establish a mood; they tell us what we're going to get.  When you're a Jet-- You're the top cat in town. You're the gold-medal kid With the heavyweight crown! When you're a Jet-- You're the swingin'est thing. Little boy, you're a man. Little man, you're a king! By contrast, the opening of "Sunday in the Park" initially feels small. It's a rare case in which we do *not* start with a choral number. We get two people--one singing, one making bitchy comments. Dot does not want to model so early in the morning. She also has doubts about George's romantic commitment. This doesn't interest George--who is comically over-invested in making a perfect sketch. Given that this is Sondheim, Dot drowns in ambivalence. She finds George's pric...

 Sondheim and Arthur Laurents were often at odds; Laurents was, by most accounts, one of the most hateful human beings in the history of American theater. Sondheim eventually wrote to Laurents, "You have just enough talent to realize how mediocre you are." It's hard to imagine one person saying that to another person. There are moments of mediocrity in "West Side Story"--I'm recalling the adult characters--but Laurents also wrote "Gypsy." Can we think of "Gypsy"'s writer as mediocre? I admire the pendulum swings of "West Side Story," mainly in the Second Act. We start with Maria in ignorance; as far as she knows, no killings have occurred. We then get the brutal truth. We then retreat to a dream world, in which everyone has a restart, a blank slate. Think again: Anita shakes Maria out of her stupor. Think again: Maria melts Anita's heart. But the Jets then assault Anita, causing her to tell a vicious lie. But Tony is giv...

 There is a new book on Sondheim -- considering the writer in the context of his Jewish heritage. Sondheim doesn't often write explicitly about God. But he once acknowledged that his big anthem, "Being Alive," can be seen as a prayer: Make me confused. Mock me with praise. Let me be used. Vary my days. I think that's also true of the song "Take Me to the World," which is about fleeing a sense of stultifying comfort. Let me see the world with clouds-- Take me to the world. Out where I can push through crowds-- Take me to the world. A world that smiles-- With streets instead of aisles-- Where I can walk for miles with you. The speaker craves sensations--walking without boundaries, pushing, seeing clouds and streets. It's interesting to emphasize the word "smiles." The speaker is essentially a mannequin--she rarely has a reason for joy. She imagines something revolutionary outside her store; she will smile, and the entire world will return that fa...

  It was a surprise to see the NYT piece on Sondheim yesterday. My favorite mini-essay was from Renee Fleming, who reflected on "Not While I'm Around." This song--like so many others--has been mistreated by Barbra Streisand. By removing the song from its context, Streisand drains the song of some of its power. What moves me in "Sweeney" is that Tobias is making a "victim outcry." He is complaining. Because the nature of Tobias's complaint is so disturbing, the words do not flow from his mouth. He also feels that he has to *solve* the problem--though the necessary steps are well beyond his capability. (Because I'm watching "The Pitt," I'm weirdly aware of this kind of subtext right now. The woman who is trafficked seems to communicate with her eyes. The victim of molestation seems to have a conversation with herself--before getting upset and walking out the door.) Not to worry, not to worry. I may not be smart, but I ain't dumb...

  If there is one substantial flaw in "Merrily We Roll Along," it's the failure to look closely at the character of Frank, Jr. Yes, Jr. is approximately six years old in his final scene--but six-year-olds have wild and colorful interior lives. Ask Beverly Cleary. Since we don't get to know Frank, Jr., we have to do our own work to imagine what it's like to experience Junior's absence (year after year after year). I blame George Furth. The omission is important, because a big part of Mary's final meltdown has to do with Frank, Jr. In a sharp exchange, Mary "casually" mentions that Junior has thanked her for attending "the big high-school graduation." When Frank, Sr., peevishly observes that he wasn't invited, Mary has the right response: "Neither was I." She doesn't have to say anything more. This particular moment is the "apex" moment: It's the height of Senior's monstrosity. The entire show is an eff...

  Today, people connect Sondheim's "Assassins" to January 6th. They see Sondheim's work as a kind of prophecy about white rage. That's correct--but the work is also just a series of great sentences. Where's my prize? They promised me a prize. What about my prize? I want my prize. I deserve a fucking prize. It's part of the gospel of Sondheim that syntax should match sentiment--form should match content. When the Count sings in "Night Music," he uses short declarations--because he is capable of thinking only in short declarations. That's also the case for the assassins. Syntax reproduces the feeling of a tantrum--with the repetition of "prize," you imagine someone picking and picking at a hangnail until the blood starts to spill off the finger. I just heard on the news Where the mailman won the lottery-- Goes to show--when you lose-- What you do is try again. You can be what you choose... From a mailman to a President. There are priz...

 Amazingly, Joanna Gleason is *not* the final case of a performer winning a Best Actor prize for an original Sondheim work. Donna Murphy won for "Passion." "Assassins" did not make it to Broadway until 2004, and Michael Cerveris won the Tony for "originating" the role of John Wilkes Booth. But people tend to think of "Into the Woods" as the last "major" Sondheim work. Both "Passion" and "Assassins" have a "minor" quality. Joanna Gleason's astonishing performance--which helped her to snatch a Tony from the hands of Patti LuPone--is centered on the song "Moments in the Woods." For this song, it's helpful to hear "wood" as "would." Was I wrong? Am I mad? Was that all? Does he miss me? .....Wake up! Stop dreaming! Stop prancing about the woods... It's not beseeming... What is it about the WOULDS? The Baker's Wife is trapped in her own head, second-guessing herself, ...

  One lesson Sondheim discussed was this: "Not everything needs to be the National Anthem." In other words, not every song needs to be enormous. There is room for a small song. A little variety makes the evening more fun. My favorite example is "Mr. Goldstone" from "Gypsy." This is a song that doesn't really need to exist. Certainly, it doesn't need to be dazzling. But there is just as much care here as in "Rose's Turn."  The song has a message: "I'm so happy." But--as in actual life--the happiness pops up in the white space between giddy declarations. Have an egg roll, Mr. Goldstone! Have a napkin, have a chopstick, have a chair. Have a spare rib, Mr. Goldstone! Any spare that I can spare I'll be glad to share! Other writers might stop here, but Sondheim now takes off. He understands that Rose actually feels nothing for Mr. Goldstone--it's just her monomania that is triggering her happiness. So he lets the monom...

 Sondheim's "Sunday in the Park" taught me a few things about painting. "Color and light" -- these can be major subjects, or even *the* subjects, of a work of art. The light can be more important than the faces or the hands. "Why should I paint like you or like anyone else?" The job of the artist is to absorb the world and shine out whatever he or she has taken in. The work of art isn't an attempt to document facts. It is half-world/half-artist -- you can't disentangle the subject from the person who has observed and recorded that subject. "Mademoiselles, I and my friend, we are but soldiers..." The artist melds with his subjects -- becomes a ventriloquist -- before he is able to make something truthful and new. Beyond La Grande Jatte, the Art Institute of Chicago had two great features last week: a Frida Kahlo self-portrait and a doodle by Jean Cocteau. The Kahlo made me think of Nan Goldin bravely confronting her own scars -- showin...

 I was introduced to "Some People" via Bernadette Peters on VHS. Sondheim claimed not to write autobiographical material--but I think this was disingenuous. Sondheim himself said, "I never grew up," and his portrait of Rose--a creative force pushing against misogyny and ageism--is a portrait of someone who never grows up. Notice how easily Sondheim slips into the lingo of the 1920s. "That's peachy for some people--of one hundred and five." "Get an agent--and in jig time--you'll be being booked in the big time." "Good riddance to all the socials I had to go to--all the lodges I had to play...." Rose's ranting syntax makes her desperation palpable. In the song's famous bridge--with wonderful detail--she spells out exactly what she wants. There I was in Mr. Orpheum's office... And he was saying to me...Rose... Get yourself some new orchestrations... New routines and RED VELVET CURTAINS. Get a feathered hat for the baby-...

 Seeing "Mufasa," with its Lin-Manuel flavor, I was reminded of one of my favorite movie scores, for "Dick Tracy." I have no idea why Sondheim consented to write the music, but his writing is much better than the film he is involved with; it seems effortless, and it seems to say,  Go ahead and give me an Oscar if you feel like it.  (Sondheim did win an Oscar.) In his "I Am" song, Dick Tracy bubbles with happiness. Live alone and like it-- Free as the birds in the trees... High above the briars... Live alone and like it-- Doing whatever you please... When your heart desires... Free to hang around or FLY...at any old time... Dick is a delighted bachelor--unentangled. In an apparent nod to his mentor, Hammerstein (king of sparrow/lark/wing analogies), Sondheim writes of a "bird above the briars." Channeling Bobby, from "Company," Sonhdeim goes on to use a series of "sound" metaphors: No equivocation-- Most of all, no guarantees: ...

  *The song "Some People" begins on a low note--a famously difficult way to start a song. Schoch suggests that this is because Rose is digging something up from the depths of her soul. *Schoch and I have slightly different readings of "Send in the Clowns." Schoch sees this as an honest statement; Desiree is baring her soul. But I see this as a performance--a kind of lie. Desiree is comparing her humiliation to a moment of disaster in a misconceived play, but of course Desiree's suffering is much, much more important than one bad night at the theater. I think Desiree's real pain is mostly kept just beneath the surface. I'm not sure who is "right" here. *I never knew this, but there is a reason the rhymes toward the end of "Passion" seem too "neat." Fosca is dictating a fake letter; Giorgio is writing the letter. Fosca uses rhymes that are too tidy; in this way, Sondheim emphasizes the artifice, the discomfort, in the scene. F...

  "The Glamorous Life" is an extraordinary Sondheim number in which a small child lies to herself. She is lying about her mother. She wishes her mother were around--but it's too painful to admit this, so she instead glorifies her mother's theatrical profession. (Audra McDonald has explained that she likes this song because it's kind of a horror story; it's what she sometimes imagines that her own daughter thinks about her.) Sandwiches only-- But she eats what she wants when she wants! Sometimes, it's lonely-- But she meets many handsome gallants! The little girl contrasts her own lonely life with her mother's adventures. When she approaches something like honesty, she interrupts herself. ("BUT she eats what she wants when she wants!") Sometime this summer-- Meaning SOON-- She'll come traveling to me! Sometime this summer-- Maybe JUNE-- I'm the new place she'll see! The girl has received a vague letter from her mother, and she inte...

  Sondheim hated intermissions; he felt they sucked energy out of the evening. "Follies," "Passion," and "Assassins" all have (at least) versions that unfold without an intermission. When Sondheim did use an intermission, he tended to use the Hammerstein template. Get to the curtain with a loud crash: "Climb Every Mountain." Start Act II with something sort of disposable, for the people who are still in the restroom (the von Trapp children gather to rehearse a less-than-urgent reprise of the title song). Sondheim's "Sweeney Todd" concludes Act One with a major twist; the two leads commit to a life of cannibalism. The song is witty and canonical--but, curiously, it left Sondheim himself somewhat disappointed. He wanted a bigger bang. In any case, the Act Two opener--"God, That's Good"--beautifully describes a day in the murder house/pie shop (and it's free of substantial emotional moments, again as a tip of the hat ...

 Sondheim's musicals are such treasures, there exists a special set of consumer material, the "making of" library. So far, we have a book about the origins of "Follies," a book about the origins of "Sunday in the Park with George," and a lengthy (lengthy) podcast about "Into the Woods." If you're truly obsessive, you can spend forty minutes listening to Patti LuPone--who really has nothing to do with "Into the Woods"--sharing her thoughts on "Into the Woods." (Who would miss this opportunity?) My special devotion is reserved for "Everything Was Possible," an account of the birth of "Follies." Just one year after "Company," Sondheim was back with "Follies." Initially, the show was to be a murder mystery, entitled, "The Girls Upstairs." (Hal Prince thought the rough-draft title evoked visions of a whorehouse.) A well-connected undergrad--perhaps oblivious to how privilege...

  A favorite subject of Sondheim's was unrequited love; we see it in Mary ("Merrily We Roll Along"), Lovett, Sally Durant, Fosca, John Hinckley, Jr. A standout in this canon is Charlotte, who is possibly both the wisest and the dumbest character in "A Little Night Music." She has married a straying brute, and despite her formidable strength, she just can't stand up to this guy. She loves him. He smiles sweetly, strokes my hair... Says he misses me. I would murder him right there-- But, first, I die. He talks softly of his wars-- And his horses--and his whores... Charlotte's "little death" is the death of pride; she is humiliated, on a regular basis. But a little death is also an orgasm; Charlotte feels an erotic charge in her spouse's company. The song evokes thoughts of Chekhov--how the private life runs parallel to "the river of public behavior." Charlotte contrasts the superficial details of her morning with the storm that is h...

  One trick of Sondheim's is to dissect each and every word in a common phrase. "Could I Leave You?" ....Sondheim looks at "could" vs. "will".... (Yes, I *could* leave you--but, for an end to this story, you'll have to wait and see....) Could *I* leave you? ("How could *I* leave....when I left long ago?") Could I *leave* you? ("No, the point is....could you *leave* me?") Could I leave *you* ....and *your* shelves of the world's best books...and the evenings of martyred looks, cryptic sighs....? A similar magic is on display in "Old Friends," from "Merrily We Roll Along." What is a friend? Most friends fade... Or they don't make the grade.... New ones are quickly made-- And, in a pinch, sure, they'll do.... What does it mean to be "old," in someone's life? (Maybe you learn an answer by contrasting "old" with "good" ....) Good friends point out your lies-- Whereas O...

  When Sondheim wrote “Losing My Mind,” he was thinking of Ira Gershwin: Someday, he’ll come along— The man I love…. And he’ll be big and strong— The man I love. You can see a similar approach to structure, in Sondheim: The sun comes up— I think about you. The coffee cup— I think about you…. In his bridge, Gershwin plays with the idea of time: Maybe I will meet him Monday— Maybe Sunday, maybe not. Still I’m sure to meet him one day… Maybe Tuesday will be my “good news” day…. In a similar way, Sondheim takes us from sunrise, to a stagnant afternoon, to 12 am: I dim the lights and think about you… Spend sleepless nights to think about you…. The fun twist is that Sondheim—in a Gershwin style—is repudiating Gershwin. The subtext of Gershwin is that love wins; once you find your “man,” you get your Jane Austen ending. But Sondheim suggests that—regardless of the path you take—you are doomed to a life of ambivalence.  Sondheim ends with a question mark. The singer loo...