THIS IS NOT A REVIEW OF STEPHEN SONDHEIM'S
SWEENEY TODD
The Demon Barber of Fleet Street: A Musical Thriller,
By Christian Leopold Shea, although it is © 1999 by Christian Leopold Shea, and all rights are reserved.
I attended the final dress rehearsal of Sweeney Todd, presented by Reprise! at the Ahmanson Theatre in Los Angeles. The production, which ran through March 14th, starred Kelsey Grammer as Sweeney Todd, Christine Baranski as Mrs. Lovett, David Gaines as Anthony Hope, Dale Kristien as Johanna, Neil Patrick Harris as Tobias Ragg, Ken Howard as Judge Turpin, and Melissa Manchester as the Beggar Woman.
Unfortunately, because I am merely a film and television critic and attended only the final dress rehearsal (and not an actual performance), I was told in no uncertain terms that I would not be permitted to write a review of this production of Sweeney Todd. Therefore, gentle readers, I shall simply share with you my thoughts on attending a live stage performance (as opposed to a motion picture or television program screening), and my experiences backstage. Accordingly, if Reprise! reprises this production and some ticket scalper offers you a seat for their production of Sweeney Todd for several hundred dollars, under no circumstances should you base your decision to spend anything it might cost you to get into the Ahmanson to see this show upon anything written here, because this is NOT a review.
One of the things which separates attending live theatre from watching a film or television show is the usual presence of those involved in the creative end of the production. If one had attended the Reprise! performance of Sweeney Todd, for example, one might have had the opportunity to see -- and possibly even speak to -- its director, Calvin Remsberg, who played the Beadle in the national touring company of the show twenty years ago and appeared in the television showing of it. If one had such an opportunity, one might well have praised his work on this production -- which is not to suggest that this writer did so, because to either confirm or deny such behavior might lead the reader to think that this is a review of Sweeney Todd, which it certainly is not.
Also, unlike films or television, live theatre permits the actors, and the music directors, such as Larry Blank, and choreographers (if any), such as Kay Cole, to hear an audience's response to a particular piece immediately. For example, if one were to think a particular bit was truly extraordinary (such as, "Vesti la giubba" from I Pagliacci, or the duet "Not While I'm Around," which is performed in Sweeney Todd by Tobias and Mrs. Lovett), one might be forgiven for shouting, "Encore!" after the piece. However this writer attended a dress rehearsal of Sweeney Todd, and it is very, VERY bad form to interrupt a dress rehearsal with such outbursts -- even the most uncouth, arrogant, evil S.O.B. of a film critic knows that. (Which is not to confirm or deny that this particular film critic was at any point tempted to shout, "Encore!" during the final dress rehearsal of this production of Sweeney Todd, because such a confirmation or denial might possibly be construed as a review of this particular production, and this is not a review.)
Another thrill of live theatre is its unpredictability. Technical glitches aside (because these may happen even during film screenings, as I well know, or during television broadcasts), live theatre is indeed live, and it is also spontaneous. A song or joke which might have fallen flat in a thousand previous performances may be delivered during one performance (or rehearsal) with such verve or wit that even veteran actors onstage -- even Emmy® and Tony Award® winners -- may be reduced to quivering masses of gelatin, trying to keep from rolling on the stage in uncontrollable laughter while the audience applauds the number. By no means should the reader think that anything like that ever happened during this production of Sweeney Todd; such an inference might lead one to think that this essay is a review, which it most certainly is not.
At the conclusion of the rehearsal I rose very quickly to my feet (naive readers should not infer from this statement that I was leading a standing ovation -- on the contrary, I was heading out of the theatre to go to the stage entrance, only to find my way blocked by several hundred other theatre-goers, many of whom had arisen simultaneously with me), and slowly made my way outside. I simply had to get the autograph of Christine Baranski, who had played Maryann, the mother of Justin (Danny Masterson) on "Cybill."
The mob of stage door Johnnies (and Janes) at the backstage entrance was quite large -- the last time I had seen such a crowd at a stage door at the Music Center, Placido Domingo had just conducted his first performance of the L. A. Opera. Eventually, however, I managed to worm my way inside the building and began the lonely vigil which shameless autograph hounds such as I know too, too well. I waited patiently for Christine Baranski to appear so that I might obtain her autograph on a press photo from the new film Cruel Intentions, in which she co-stars (and is very amusing). After what seemed the better part of an hour, a group of teenaged girls near me began to be very excited.
"It's him! It's him!" They whispered to each other. Not readily impressed by mere celebrity, I innocently asked them why they were so excited. They told me that Neal Patrick Harris was coming, and could they please borrow some pens from me for his autograph?) I immediately sensed danger. The last time I had loaned a pen to someone (Tate Donovan, if you must know), it had been lent to someone else and I never saw it again. Still, I could live with the threat of losing a pen or two, but the threat of Neal Patrick Harris being so close to me was an altogether different matter.
Please understand, gentle readers, that long before I ever wrote a film review, I was a poet. Read more than once in public, and published in not one, but two collections of my poems, is my tawdry paean to television celebrities, "Ode to Doogie Howser, M.D.," which someone once showed to Mr. Harris -- while he and I were in the same room. He did not seem amused. I began fearing for my personal safety and began praying for Christine Baranski to come out so that I could slip out quickly before a much too strong and healthy young man who knew altogether too much about surgery could get close to me.
No such luck. Neal Patrick Harris, all joyous smiles after the performance . . . er, rehearsal . . . managed to get within an arm's length of me, signing autographs and posing for photographs with his fans. I felt the cold sweat of certain doom creeping over me, until I realized that he didn't recognize me. Thanking my lucky stars, I made a daring play: I told the girls that they should ask Harris to sing "Mr. Sandman" (the song which a dream Doogie Howser once crooned to his insomniac friend Vinnie Delpino). Harris heard me. The jig was up. I was forced to confess my identity to him. He didn't remember me. While I stood awash in sweat and relief, Harris seemed amused that anyone had remembered his singing of "Mr. Sandman," but I had -- in fact, for years I had told people that Neal Patrick Harris was a good singer, but those who knew him only as Doogie Howser never believed me -- but that was before he starred in Rent. Delivered from peril, I was delighted when Harris signed my autograph book. It was certainly better than having him kick my ass for having written "Ode to Doogie Howser, M.D."!
Kelsey Grammer came through next, and so many people grabbed pens from me to get the autograph of the evening's Sweeney Todd, that I didn't get his autograph for myself. Frankly, however, this was not as great a disappoinment to me as it would have been to others. Grammer appears so often in Emmy® nominated television shows that I fully expect our paths to cross again quite soon. (After reading this he will probably accompanied with a process server with a restraining order obliging me to stay at least 500 feet away from him, but . . . hey! this is Hollywood, after all; autograph hunters get used to that sort of thing around here!)
Finally, the grand diva Christine Baranski herself appeared. Had my suit not been so tight (too much free food at too many receptions), I would have fallen to my knees at her feet. As it was, the best I could manage was a half bow, presenting her with a photo of herself and Selma Blair from Cruel Intentions for her to autograph. As I watched, entranced, she struggled vainly to sign the photo with the pen which I had handed her. Nothing. I sighed. Molly Ringwald and Brian Kerwin had emptied the pen when I had asked for their autographs two weeks earlier at the Mark Taper Forum's production of How I Learned to Drive, (which plays through April 4th, 1999).
I scrambled for another pen and found one before my idol could leave. She signed the photo. I had Christine Baranski's autograph! My loyal readers can see it posted with my on-line opinions of her film Cruel Intentions, which is a real review.
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