May 3, 2010
“The Fantasticks” 50th Anniversary and Me
Okay, I’m confused. That wonderful show The Fantasticks had a 50th Anniversary moment the other day in New York. As an alumni of the show, I was invited, but couldn’t make it.
The previous year, however, there was what was called a 50th Anniversary bash, and that one I happily attended. The following is my piece on that experience, posted originally on May 14th, 2009.
A quick check of dates should have told me that if the show opened May 1, 1960, then May 1, 2009 didn’t add up to fifty. But they called it fifty and I went along with it.
No big deal. Just a clarification on my part and a re-posting of … the 49th Anniversary of The Fantasticks. I hope you enjoy it.
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Just two weekends ago, on May 3, 2009, The Fantasticks held a 50th Anniversary Reunion for alumni and friends in New York and I was part of the celebration. This musical icon opened on May 3rd, 1960 at the 152 seat Sullivan Street Theater off-Broadway. It closed forty-two years later in January, 2002, after 17,231 consecutive performances, of which I played El Gallo approximately five hundred times in two six month stints in 1965 and 1967.
A revival is happily in place at the Jerry Orbach theater at 50th & Broadway, named for the equally iconic actor, singer, dancer and entertainer who was the original El Gallo.
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The current cast is superlative, each actor playing his part with the perfect blend of whimsy and reality that is the hallmark of the show. It is no slight to any cast member to single two actors out for special mention. Ramona Mallory, the Luisa, was luminescent in the role, a part written so observantly that it explores the countless emotional colors of youth. An ordinary actress does very well in this role; an exceptional actress like Ms. Mallory elevates it. She was alive every moment on stage and even when still, one could always see in her eyes the wheels of the character’s mind always turning, listening, thinking and reacting.
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The best actors do that, of course. They’re always present in the moment. Ms. Mallory takes her proud place among the Luisa’s I worked with, B.J. Ward, whose Luisa seemed more world savvy, Leta Anderson, more naive and, most notably, Carol Demas, who offered all those qualities and a vulnerability that matched her innate exuberance. Happily, Carol was there Sunday and Monday, as beautiful as ever.
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Michael Nostrand as The Indian was brilliant in a role that many actors have overplayed in their attempts to extract all of its available comedy. Nostrand seems a true clown and played every moment with surgical precision, effortlessly, instinctively and continuously funny. Not a false or forced comedy moment in sight. And he made us laugh.
The theater was the central meeting point for the two-day celebration, which was effectively organized by DBS Press, with the very capable and gracious John Krug and John Capo efficiently handling the details. Many of the alumni and friends were invited to the Sunday matinee before marching down to Duffy Square where we all gathered to sing the show’s legendary song Try To Remember. Other invitees saw the Sunday evening performance, after which all was in place for the party after the performance Monday night.
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It was a surprisingly emotional experience for me. I’m a nostalgic kind of guy and certainly knew I’d feel a strong pull from those years spent doing the show at Sullivan Street, but I hadn’t expected the depth of feeling I experienced. Certainly much of it can be attributed to age — after all, it was for me close to forty-five years ago.
On reflection, I realized those feelings had much to do with the nature of the show, a simply rendered tale of love and youth and wisdom that runs so much deeper than its skin. It meant so many different things to many people, like all the different refractions of light a diamond gives off when you turn its many facets face the sun. It’s as if all our experiences and feelings were crystallized in this one show the way carbon atoms do when they form the diamond itself.
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The story is simple. The parents of The Boy and The Girl pretend to feud, so that their children will rebel and fall in love. But they already passionately love one another. The trick now is to override the “feud,” which they do by hiring a professional bandit, El Gallo, to abduct the girl so the boy can ride to the rescue. He does and all are happily united. But in the cold light of day, the lovers and the formerly friendly parents find fault with one another. The parents’ feud becomes real and the boy leaves to discover the world. He returns beaten and disillusioned. El Gallo shows the world to the flighty girl and she is likewise disenchanted. The two reunite, knowledgeable and wiser, with the maturity needed to sustain a love over the years.
The story encapsulated science fiction writer Gregory Benford’s Law Of Controversy, which states that “Passion is inversely proportional to the amount of real information available.” Just like our two lovers … and, I learned, me.
As I watched the show with new eyes, I realized that this was the process of my own life in all its aspects of work, love, family, friendship, all started with fiery bright bloom in the eye, burnished with experience but re-flowering in a less vibrant but deeper, longer lasting color. My life had more information to go with the passion.
Was this just me getting old and foolish about everything? I’ve seen productions of many shows I’ve been in and none of them evoked the wistfulness I felt watching The Fantasticks. It’s not me, it’s the power of the show itself, the essential truth of life at its core. It’s why during my stay in the show countless members of the audience returned and returned, each time bringing a loved one or friend to see what they saw, all having said, “there’s this show on Sullivan Street. You’ve got to see it.” The show still speaks to all of us.
Sadness marked the event because I learned there of the death of Keith Charles, the El Gallo I replaced. Early in our lives and careers Keith and I anonymously passed one another on the long sixth floor hallway where we had rent-controlled apartments in a walk-up at 60th & Amsterdam. Our toilets were in the hall and our bathtubs were in our kitchens. He had the apartment at one end of the hall, I at the other, and we usually nodded to one another going down the stairs, which were in front of the toilets.
Now, the first order of business when one is cast in a show is to go watch it. I went that first night and saw my hall mate, Keith, as El Gallo. Both of us were surprised to see who and what we were. He had a long, successful career and will be missed. I’m glad I had a chance to see him over a year ago when I was writing a show in New York. RIP, Keith.
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The bittersweet truth of the coming and going of lives was beautifully summed up by Tom Jones, the show’s writer and lyricist, in his heartfelt toasts at the end of the Monday night party. He first toasted the indefatigable original producer of the show, Lore Noto, who, despite the show’s mixed reviews, kept it open over the summer of 1960 with his last bit of savings.
But it was Tom’s second toast that brought the lump to my throat. He told of playing The Old Actor at the beginning of the show’s legendary run and referred to his exit line, “There’s not much left of the old company anymore.” Tom gave us his line reading in those early performances — a solid, interpretive delivery. He then demonstrated how he read that line some fifty years later when he played the part in this current revival. Thinking of all the alumni who weren’t with us, Jerry, Keith and so many others, he delivered the line again, this time with a different interpretation, one that carried the weight of a life lived.
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I felt Tom’s sentiment and the understanding that prompted it myself, most strongly while watching Bradley Dean, the actor who played a wonderful El Gallo. The single thought running through my mind was a sense of how differently I’d now play the role compared to how I played it originally, infusing it with whatever wisdom and intelligence and, yes, folly, I didn’t have forty years ago. I found myself aching for another shot at the part, fantasizing some kind of Faustian bargain for the opportunity to get on the stage and do the show again with what I know now. Where’s the devil when you need him?
That was the kind of experience the reunion was. Happily bittersweet, with a little prayer of thanks to Lady Luck that I was part of that wonderful show. It was just a job at the time. Now, it’s a treasured memory.
The final word must go to the enormously talented artist and musician, Harvey Schmidt, Tom’s partner, who wrote the music for The Fantasticks. Every song is a gem, tuneful, memorable and perfect, like the show and like Harvey himself. A sweet, good, gentle man. Harvey couldn’t make it from his home in Houston, but his magical presence was felt each time we heard the beautiful melody of Try To Remember.
