John Wilson Conducts Oklahoma at the 2017 BBC Proms, Rouben Mamoulian Howls In Protest from His Grave, Part 2

John my bonny, if we ever sit down someday and have a natter like two old friends I’d tell you how in many ways you’re like The Old Man, which you’d better take as a compliment, because Rouben Mamoulian was a freakin genius. I didn’t think so when I worked for him, but then I was only twenty-three and he was eighty-one, and the only movie I knew of his—besides the one with Tyrone Power which I watched on TV when I was a kid—was Queen Christina, the result of cinema art-house hopping in New York in the mid-70s, and which had a special place in my half-lesbian heart on account of The Divine Garbo.

CXG Oklahoma
The most subtle reference ever to Agnes De Mille that was clearly about Agnes De Mille without having to mention her name was on Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, season 4 episode 2: “So now they’re randomly doing ballet?” “I guess so, it’s hard to follow.” (Hip-hop follows.) “That’s not even the correct dance language for this piece.” Bay Area-born Vincent Rodriguez III is the hunk in the red neckerchief who plays Josh Chan, heroine Rebecca Bunch’s pinoy love interest.

But like I said earlier, I’d known coming in that he had directed Carousel and Oklahoma on Broadway because Filipinos damn well know Rodgers & Hammerstein. There are a lot of parts for pinoys in R&H musicals, ever stop to think about that? I’ll bet you never, my Tyneside lad.

So when he finally started to open up to me, after a few weeks of my just coming in every weekday morning and answering his phone, opening his mail—unpaid bills, media people from all over wanting interviews, a few lines from old friends like Armina Marshall…Paul Horgan…Pamela Mason…Ray Bradbury—balancing his checkbook, reassuring Zayde on the intercom over and over that Henry their handyman hadn’t gone home yet etc etc, and basically fooling around during the many dull spots (which is how I ended up playing the Waltz from Carousel on the actual legendary Richard Rodgers piano) it was easy to follow The Old Man’s train of thought because I already knew a lot about the original production of Oklahoma.

“You know, Agnes…” he started right off the bat one day, and we both immediately understood who he was referring to: Agnes De Mille, the choreographer for the original 1943 production.

I sat up attentively, pen in hand, ready to take dictation. My main duty for Mamoulian was supposed to have been as amanuensis for his memoirs, after all. At least that’s what the temp agency had told me. Although they didn’t say amanuensis.

“No, put your pen down and listen!” he ordered. He was, in the weeks and months to come, going to say that a lot.

So I did.

[more later]

Part One here.

John Wilson Conducts Oklahoma at the 2017 BBC Proms, Rouben Mamoulian Howls In Protest from His Grave, Part 1

…and this time I’m siding with The Old Man. But I’m writing this for you, John.

Richard Rodgers Piano

Let me start off with a little story. It’s a true story, and it’s one of the reasons I’m here doing this thing right now.

(I mean, the rest of you didn’t really think this entire blog was just about bonny John Wilson, did you?)

But bear with me a moment. I have to go back in my memory to forty, forty-one years ago, to that sad shabby house up on Schuyler Road in Beverly Hills which I’m not really rarin’ to do, but here goes.

It was a late morning about six weeks into my work assignment and The Old Man hadn’t arisen yet, so there I was in the salon with nothing to do except quietly wait for his appearance and his orders for the day (which letters to answer, which bills to pay, which people to call, etc) before getting down to the primary purpose of my being there, which was, in the agency’s words, “to assist Mr Mamoulian in the writing of his memoirs”. None of that memoir writing actually did transpire in the nearly nine months I was with him—other things did—but let’s not jump ahead. Unsupervised, I was forbidden to handle/read books from his voluminous library, but you know what? He never expressly told me not to play the piano, that big black shiny intriguing baby grand in the middle of the room, and I couldn’t resist. Could you?

There wasn’t a sound coming from any part of the house, although I could faintly hear Henry the daily handyman moving his wheelbarrow out in the yard. I’d had enough of examining in painstaking detail the boring watercolors and Russian icons on the wall. I sat down on the bench.

Sense memory kicking in… At that point it was the closest I had gotten to this humongous piece of furniture. I remember the smooth feel of the wood as I ran my fingers on it, gently lifting up the fall board to get to the keys. The piano was a Steinway. That is, I remember it as a Steinway, because I don’t remember it not being a Steinway. I put the fingers of my right hand down in place and began, ever so softly, to tap out the first tune that came into my mind, which happened to be the waltz from Carousel. Three, four bars in I thought I heard a rustle from the back of the house and stopped cold, put the fall board down and stood up.

This was the first time my eye was caught by something on the right side of the music rack, some sort of writing actually carved into the wood of the music shelf that lay flat in the cabinet of the piano. It was in cursive—and it was a name:

Richard Rodgers

It still gives me goosebumps to remember (like remembering what it was like to handle a saint’s bones): sitting on the same bench Richard Rodgers sat on, putting my fingers on the same keys… When The Old Man finally did get up an hour later, I was sitting back at my desk in his alcove-cum-office, pretending to read one of the cheap Hollywood magazines I brought to pass the time, although my mind was still on the bars I’d played and where the bars were going musically, and I think I was humming. I must’ve been humming. Because as he came into the alcove I heard Mamoulian exclaim, “Hey, that’s from Carousel.

I looked up. Caught! I was about to apologize when he spoke again, this time it seemed almost wistfully. “You know, I directed that.”

I said softly, as if it were an apology, “I know.”

At that moment our relationship started to take a different turn.

Part 2 here.

A Rodgers & Hammerstein Moment 3: The Gang at Cheers Sings “You’ll Never Walk Alone” to Their Despondent Pregnant Barmaid

Season 1, episode 15, 1982. Said Donna Bowman of the AV Club: “You’ll Never Walk Alone” [in the episode] took me totally aback. I can’t think of very many sitcom moments that hit that exact tone. I kept waiting for the punchline, and there’s no doubt that we’re intended to smile at the parade of patrons mumbling along under Diane’s leadership, but Carla’s reception of the gesture transforms it into the sincere expression of support that was intended. When we see her continue up the stairs, the camera following her through the window, it’s a moment that reassures the audience in a very specific way. We know Carla’s children’s welfare is actually really important, the moment says. Carla’s, too. These people are trying to do a good thing. We’re going to let them do it. You can imagine a million jokes that would undercut that message for the sake of a laugh. But they don’t come. It’s like a Good Housekeeping seal of approval for our emotions: “Invest with confidence.”

cheers sings you'll never walk alone

“June Is Bustin’ Out All Over” from Rodgers & Hammerstein’s Carousel, Played by The John Wilson Orchestra, Conducted by John Wilson, BBC Proms 2010

There was one number in the entire JWO Salute to Rodgers & Hammerstein that was worth a damn—only one, but it’s a doozy.

John Wilson June

“June Is Bustin’ Out All Over”
from Rodgers & Hammerstein At The

An impressive list of orchestrators went into the making of this film musical number, including Nelson Riddle, Earle Hagen (That Girl Theme, The Dick Van Dyke Show Theme, The Andy Griffith Show Theme) and John Williams; you can hear the layers and layers of gorgeous sound in John and his Orchestra’s rendition.

This clip is from the BBC Proms at the Royal Albert Hall, 2010, but really, listen instead to the cut above from The JWO’s 2011 recording.


Lea Salonga and Jose Llana in the 2002 Revival of Rodgers & Hammerstein’s Flower Drum Song with a New Book by David Henry Hwang

Lea Salonga Jose Llana Flower Drum Song

When Flower Drum Song opened on 14 October 2001 at the 739-seat Mark Taper Forum with an all-Asian cast the production received rave reviews from the Los Angeles critics. The show regularly sold out and was so popular it became the first show at the Taper to extend its scheduled run. It finally closed on 13 January 2002.

From Talkin’ Broadway:

The marquee and your Playbill may refer to the show as Flower Drum Song, but this is light years away from the show that Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II envisioned.

It’s also as different as can be from the show they actually wrote (with Joseph Fields serving as Hammerstein’s co­-librettist) that opened on Broadway in 1958. Based on the novel by CY Lee, the original 1958 Flower Drum Song was a fully integrated musical, professionally and intelligently constructed with plenty of humor, a beautiful score, and a one-­of-­a­-kind story about the generational conflicts among the Chinese in late 50s San Francisco.

The Flower Drum Song currently on view is much like chop suey, “everything is in it all mixed up,” to borrow a line from the original libretto which has been completely scuttled in a favor of a new one by David Henry Hwang. Hwang’s 2002 book lacks much of the charm, warmth, and wit of the original, and never takes the high road where the low road will do, but while Hammerstein and Fields created a well-­rounded musical play, Hwang never really comes close.

Yes, there is the basic story at the center of the libretto of Mei Li (Lea Salonga), who escapes Communist China for a new life in San Francisco. She arrives at the Golden Pearl, a theatre owned by Wang (Randall Duk Kim) and specializes in Chinese opera, only to become enamored with his son Ta (Jose Llana). Ta, however, has little interest in the less thoroughly modern Mei­ Li than the enticing Linda Low (Sandra Allen), who headlines ­ and strips ­ at the theatre’s once a week “night club night.” She catches the eye of theatrical agent Madame Liang (Jodi Long), who, so disconnected from her heritage, she has no qualms about changing the theatre into a trashy nightspot (the Club Shop Suey), capitalizing on Ta’s yearning for mainstream acceptance and Wang’s insatiable desire to perform.

What’s never made clear is why Hwang felt it necessary to reduce the original, uniquely colorful story into just another backstager with a love triangle and lame jokes. One sample: “You know how most jobs involve money? This one doesn’t.” Another: “In China, courtship is easy. You simply marry the man before he gets to know you.”

But the primary failing of the new libretto is that it never feels like an attempt to tell a story, but rather to just string songs together. Functionally, this Flower Drum Song is identical to Mamma Mia!, but this show, unlike that one, doesn’t revel in reversing six decades of musical integration. It just never acknowledges that songs not written for situations in which they’re used are never going to really work right in an entirely different story.

Some songs appear just misguided, as in Mei­ Li’s philosophy song, “A Hundred Million Miracles,” staged as her trip to San Francisco or “My Best Love,” cut before the original production’s opening and assigned here (nonsensically) to a relatively minor character, Chin (Alvin Ing). Some songs are poorly cued from the dialogue, like “Grant Avenue,” becoming Madame Liang’s cheesy vision of the future or “I Am Going to Like It Here,” (with its references to “the father’s first son,” though Wang apparently only has one). Others aren’t really cued at all, like the nebulously positioned “Love, Look Away,” a gorgeous song put over well by Salonga, but which makes no sense in the context of this story. The two numbers making up the night club sequence at the end of the first act do work well, though it’s perhaps ironic their positioning has changed least from the original libretto.

Two other numbers, though, are flat­-out embarrassing, Hwang and director Robert Longbottom forcing them into a parody of Rodgers’s music and Hammerstein’s lyrics. “I Enjoy Being a Girl” has become an embarrassing, overly long strip number for Allen, while “Chop Suey” finds Wang making his second act entrance in an enormous cardboard Chinese takeout box joined by women wearing light-­up costumes and men dancing with giant chopsticks. But, as Wang has already been changed from a venerable father figure into a lazy comic device, none of this is really surprising.

Longbottom’s direction and choreography are generally adequate but never exciting, despite echoes of his earlier and better work in Side Show and The Scarlet Pimpernel. He’s allowed for a great deal of gaudy color, reflected mostly in Gregg Barnes’s often striking costumes and occasionally in Robin Wagner’s strangely staid sets and Natasha Katz’s lighting, but it’s never enough to make up for the flaws of the book.

But this Flower Drum Song does have two major assets. The first is its cast, led by Salonga, singing well and demonstrating the warmth and vulnerability necessary to make her character work. Llana is likable in a difficult role, and mismatched vocally with the music until his late second act solo, “Like a God.” Long’s keen comic sense is an asset to every scene she’s in, adding lots of value to many of the cheap jokes, and Allen’s Linda is attractive, if a bit underpowered. Kim, Ing, and Hoon Lee as Mei­ Li’s old­-world friend are saddled with difficult roles but do fine by them, while only Allen Liu, playing the shamelessly stereotypical gay Harvard has real difficulty rising above the material.

The second asset is the most important, and the one that makes this Flower Drum Song enjoyable (at least in part), despite all its problems: its score of delightfully tuneful, varied songs. Though Don Sebesky’s new orchestrations pale in comparison to Robert Russell Bennett’s originals, the songs all bounce and lilt, lifting up the show in its dreariest moments—no one writes songs like these any more. Even if the songs themselves have been treated as chess pieces to be moved about indiscriminately, hearing them sung in a theater by a good cast serves as a strong reminder of the power of good musical theatre writing.

You need reminders like that in this production of Flower Drum Song, perhaps the most visible example of the revival climate of 2002 Broadway. Perhaps appropriately, some of Hwang’s words in the new libretto strike agonizingly true: “To create something new, you must first love what is old.” Hwang and other writers seeking to revise or “improve” on the material of their predecessors should take those words to heart.