This Singular Best Performance I Have Ever Seen on a Broadway Stage

In the seven times I saw Les Mis it wasn’t until I saw Ricky Martin playing Marius Pontmercy that I understood and respected that character. Here’s why: In A Little Fall of Rain Eponine dies in Marius’ arms. Shortly after, he has to reconcile this death with the love of his life moving away. In my experience, no one in film, or on stage, ever pulled this off with delicacy and precision. Then, there was Martin.

Martin navigated this sensitive transition seamlessly without ever seeming one-dimensional. He was extraordinary and successfully awoke an emotion others failed to evoke in that role.

That was over 20 years ago and since that day it has reigned as the single most moving scene I had experienced on a live stage.

That is, until a week ago last Saturday.

By no means am I an expert on Broadway but I know what I like and I like to think I can hold my own in conversation. I have made more than 60 visits to nearly 40 different shows and of those I found Martin’s performance the most notable of the lot.

Again, that is, until a week ago last Saturday when I sat three rows from the foot of God and St. Peter in the worst seats I have ever had for a Broadway show. It was there I witnessed the single greatest performance of any show I have ever seen in my 48 years.

Picture from Playbill.com

It was all because of Glenn Close.

She was extraordinary. Just extraordinary. The stage presence, the command, the believability. She would have startled Billy Wilder and have made Gloria Swanson swoon with envy.

Glenn Close, now 70, revived her role as Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard after opening the show in Los Angeles, then NYC 23 years ago. She had greater than 1,700 people in that theatre in the palm of her hand and there was no place else any of us would have rather been.

From the desperate loneliness of the opening scenes, when she buried her pet chimpanzee, to captivating the attention of a down on his luck Hollywood hack with her spellbinding “With One Look.” Drilling into the core of our soul her brilliance as an actress, we knew as the last note played she was the greatest star of all …. then had us all beside ourselves with the beautifully dismissive “now, go…”

That command of the stage continued through two acts and believe me when I tell you she owned it. She owned it all.

Then in Act II, Norma visited the Paramount lot. Admittedly I looked forward to this scene if for no other reason than I love the song and what it represents. Then, I was blown away, and it is the very reason I felt like writing a blog about it. This performance by Close, that I already thought terrific, launched into this unexpected enormity of greatness.

I knew what was to come, but I had no idea what was to come.

When the opening notes of As If We Never Said Goodbye began to play, everyone from the Saturday matinee crowd in the Palace Theatre felt the hairs on the back of their necks rise at once.

I don’t know why I’m frightened. I know my way around here.
The cardboard trees, the painted scenes, the sound here.
Yes, a world to rediscover, But I’m not in any hurry
And I need a moment …

This woman, who 20 years prior was abandoned by the very same 30 million people who gave her life meaning, was again where she was born to be.

Over the past 20 years she has experienced a loneliness that would break us all. Living the life of a reclusive and detached former star, Norma Desmond slowly slipped into madness.

I’ve spent so many mornings just trying to resist you
I’m trembling now, you can’t know how I’ve missed you,
Missed the fairy-tail adventures in this ever-spinning playground
We were young together

Then, if only for a few moments, she climbs out of the darkness of this profound sadness and feels a light of joy and euphoria she hasn’t felt in a generation.

We couldn’t be happier for her. We saw her pain. We felt her loneliness. We hurt for her. It didn’t matter that she could buy and sell half the town with the money she had, she was agonizingly alone and for this one moment she was alive.

I don’t want to be alone
That’s all in the past,
This world’s waited long enough,
I’ve come home at last!

She was home at last and man, did she deserved this.

Picture from Playbill.com

When that last note played I looked to my left and saw my girl wipe her eyes. I looked to the right, and this stranger sitting beside me was doing the same. I felt no shame in doing so myself. Why deny myself?

This has never happened to me before. Not even 20+ years ago when Marius Pontmercy’s feeling of loss for his childhood friend then the love of his life within minutes tears the heart apart.

No. Not like this.

Then all at once, all us “wonderful people, out there in the dark” stopped for half a moment, breathed in, and did the only thing we could do.

We applauded.

Then we applauded some more, and applauded some more. And when it is customary for the applause to subside, and let the show continue, we didn’t.

We continued.

It was a show ending applause that happened with 45 minutes to go.

She owned it. She owned it all and I half wonder if I will experience anything like it again.

When I got home and I thought about it, it was one of the very few times I really and truly wished I was a man of financial means. I wanted to turn around and buy tickets for that night’s performance, then the next day’s and then next week’s worth.

But, I am not complaining. If I never experience anything like that again, it will be alright, because I had it at least this once.

All it took was just one look.

Broadway Shows Seen: 42nd Street • A Bronx Tale • A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum • Animal Crackers • Beauty & the Beast (2) • Chicago (4) • Crazy for You • Damn Yankees • Grease • Guys and Dolls • Hedwig and the Angry Inch • How to Succeed in Business Without Really trying Jekyll & Hyde (3) • Jersey Boys • Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat • Kinky Boots • Les Miserables (7) • Mama Mia • Memphis • Million Dollar Quartet • Miss Saigon (3) • Moon Over Buffalo • Phantom of the Opera (4) • Pippin • Promises Promises • Ragtime • Rent (2) • Rob Becker’s Defending the Caveman • Showboat • Sunset Boulevard (4) • The Book of Mormon • The Front Page • The Producers • The Scarlet Pimpernel (3) • The Who’s Tommy • Titanic • Victor Victoria •

Today is World Book Day

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Sunday, April 23 is World Book Day, and why not?

If they can have a Hug a Shed and Take a Selfie Day, or Tuba Day or even No Pants Day, they sure as heck should have a World Book Day.

World Book & Copyright Day (that’s the full name) is a yearly event organized by the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO), to promote reading, publishing and copyright. The UNESCO website teaches me that it “is an opportunity to highlight the power of books to promote our vision of knowledge societies that are inclusive, pluralistic, equitable, open and participatory for all citizens.”

That, is grand.

You know what else I find grand?

Booksgiving Day. I love Booksgiving Day.

thebloggessheader What is it? It is the experimental brainchild of author Jenny Lawson from Let’s Pretend This Never Happened and Furiously Happy fame. The gist is this: On Booksgiving Day Lawson will post about the event on her blog. People who are struggling – often financially, but not always – comment on her Booksgiving post. In their comment they provide a secure link to their Amazon.com Book Wish List and an understanding of why they’re not in a position to buy books they’d like to have. Then, people who are so inclined, may click that link, buy them a book (or more) on their wish list and Amazon ships it (we are not told their full name or address).

This year it was on February 7th and I didn’t stumble upon it until a day or two later. But, neither The Bloggess, her readers nor I, feel kindness should have an expiration date, and it continued for a couple of days.

I read through the posts, found someone, and bought them a book.

It felt great.

Then, I did it again for someone else.

Then it started to feel amazing and here is why:

Everybody loves to get fun mail, right? And who doesn’t love presents? Well, put them together and BOOM someone you never met will stroll to their front porch one day and gasp “what’s this?!”

Just like that you have made someone you never met smile. You just gave someone you never met has the ability to step away from their headaches and troubles of the day when they open their book. Maybe for a little while they forget about their illness or escape, albeit momentarily, from their caregiver responsibilities of someone they love’s illness. Maybe, just maybe, it transports them to a place – any place – from where they are in their life at that moment.

And just like that someone you never met has just felt the kindness and generosity of someone they will never meet.

That is the power of a random act of kindness and books. That, dear friends, is Booksgiving Day.

So, maybe, a fun way to celebrate World Book Day is to surprise someone you love with a brand new copy of a book you have read and loved. Just don’t tell them it is coming. The surprise is the thing. I know I am going to and I already love knowing they’re getting a great book and they have no idea it is on the way.

By the by, Hug a Shed and Take a Selfie Day, Tuba Day and No Pants Day all fall on Friday May 5. Heaven help those who come in receipt of someone predisposed to observe all three simultaneously.

This is For the Birds…

For those who prefer to listen, than read, I offer this:

* * * * *

CamdenPan

As a Catholic, it is a big no-no to have any other Gods before me. I get that and I should be clear that I don’t have any. I don’t have any before me, behind me, beside me or any others. So I would then respectfully request you not misinterpret what I am about to write as taking the Lord, His name or His church in vain.

Hell, I love me some Jesus just as much as the next Christian does. I pray and I talk to Him every day. Am I a good Catholic? Mmm. No. No. But, my faith is important to me and it is a big part of my life.

That being said, you can believe me when I tell you there are few places on earth where my spirit will rise to the heavens like it does when I am inside a cathedral that houses the church of baseball.

Someone, I don’t know who, once said “90 feet between bases is the closest man has come to perfection.”

They’re right.

Last Saturday, a church opened its doors to me; a cathedral I’ve longed to visit. Clad in vestments of orange and black, their opponents in gray and navy, there was a congregation of 38,000 strong readying themselves for a religious experience. I grant you there may not have been any laying of the hands, or kumbaya’s, but there was a warm sun and no there was no threat of rain.

The service begins as it usually does, with a hymn and a prayer. In our case the hymn was the Star Spangled Banner, the benediction was a cry from the pulpit behind home plate, letting the the boys know it was time to “Play Ball.”

For communion I had a soft pretzel, a hot dog, a bag of peanuts, four pints of Miller Lite … don’t judge me, I was at a game. And all of this was complimented by the Baltimore faithful singing Take Me Out to the Ballgame.

Me and Stacy

Three-plus hours later, and in spite of a 5-4 loss, my heart was singing Hallelujah and Praised be to Jesus … and at the risk of full-blown blasphemy, Praise be to Cal Ripken, Jr. and the house he built too.

For the first time since Oriole Park at Camden Yards opened 25 years ago, I stepped through its gates. Immediately I was impressed. Inside the stadium and out, its cleanliness was eye opening. The concession staff greeted patrons with smiles, even late in the game when they were tired. Lest I forget the kindness of Baltimore baseball fans. Holy cow. One thing was for sure, I was not in the South Bronx.

I mean, come on. Look at that face? How can you not love it?

As a kid, as I am now, I was and am a Yankee fan. But the Orioles have always my “second team.” Quietly, my second team. To explain this would deserve its own blog post at some point. Just not here and now. Nevertheless, it began when I was a kid. It may have been the colors, or it may have been their logo. I will tell you, to this day, The Oriole Bird is my all-time favorite logo in sports.

But win or lose, on this day it didn’t matter. It was spending an afternoon in the sun at Camden Yards, right next to my girl, and a handful of her friends from college, all making for a great day at the ballpark; a great day of baseball.

After I wrote that last line it reminded me of something a friend of mine once told me close to 30 years ago.

“Every day is a great day for baseball, Patrick. It’s just some are better than others.”

Amen, brother. Amen.

CORRECTION: In the audio I mistakenly said 23 years ago … it is 25 years ago.

For Me. For Me I Lucubrate These Words

Well, no. Of course not. Hell, I did not learn what lucubrate means until this week either. I purposefully sought out a $0.50 word for my post title. Why? Keep reading, we’ll get there.

Among the books I finished reading this weekend was a memoir of poet and author Kathleen Rooney.

foryouforyou For You, For You I am Trilling These Songs is a collection of articles and short stories of a bright, twenty-something wife/professor/senate aide exploring her life. Not exactly a genre most men in their 40’s gravitate towards, however, I wanted to experience more of her writing so I picked it up.

You see, I loved her recently released novel Lillian Boxfish Takes a Walk. I became an immediate fan of Rooney’s and I needed to read more of her writing.

It is important to note, however, that For You, For You is markedly different from her novel.

For instance, Lillian is a story of an early-to-mid 20th century Advertising writer who reminisces on her past. For You, For You opens with the true story of our young and attractive twenty-something author, shortly before her wedding, splayed about to have the hair from between her legs hastily torn from the follicles of which they first made their appearance.

So, yeah, that’s like, ya know … different.

To be frank there were only a small handful of stories that I could connect with/empathize with, as a reader because – again – middle aged male here reading about a woman half his age. There were some I found completely entertaining and laughed out loud. But that wasn’t what I got out of the book. In addition to the joy I get from learning about someone, and something, new, there was more than just that here.

I found reading her books thoughtfully, and with patience, yields unexpected rewards. Inspiration for one. A treasure trove of words, words, words for another.

First, the inspiration. I finished reading The Great Gatsby for the umpteenth time this past week also. Early into it Nick introduces us to his cousin Daisy. In his narration there was something he said that immediately made me think of Rooney.

I’ve heard it said that Daisy’s murmur was only to make people lean toward her; an irrelevant criticism that made it no less charming.

That is her. That is her writing. She makes me want to lean in.

Lean in and learn.

This leads to part two, which is the treasure trove of words.

I can’t say with any certainty this is true, but I think she left out of her memoir the time when she was three and swallowed whole the family’s Roget’s Thesaurus. Dear God, this woman’s vocabulary is … is … oh what’s the word ….

(See what I did there?)

The truth is I love seeing so many words I don’t know. New words to learn. New words to use when writing stories. New words that I will hopefully use in their correct context. New words while speaking to others and hope it produces a slight tilt of their head, kind of like my dog does when I say “treat? treat?”

Why? Because they’re not sure they know what that word means, or if they have heard it before, and I do know what it means, and I have heard it before, and I’m using it in a sentence now bitches, and at that exact moment, for just a fleeting moment, I feel the teeniest bit superior. Granted they are probably are thinking “wow this guy is a completely pretentious asshole” and for the next moment or two I am like “I am soooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ok with that” and then moments later I come to grips with reality and stop being a complete tool.

And that, my dear friends is why it is for me, for me I tell you, that I lucubrate these words … because she inspires me to want to learn …

… not so much to be an asshole.

BTW, lucubrate means to write or to study, especially by night, or to write learnedly.

… and I am getting more learnedly every day 🙂

# # #

Words Learned While Reading: If you have seen any of my other blog posts there are those that have a number of words and their definitions that follow. These are words I had no idea existed; words I had seen but didn’t know and words I could infer enough of their meanings in context to get by. Here are some more words I learned from Kathleen Rooney’s For You, For You I am Trilling These Songs. They are:

Commodification – the action or process of treating something as a mere commodity.

Sotto voce – intentionally lowering the volume of one’s voice for emphasis

Basso profundo – the bass voice subtype with the lowest vocal range

De rigueur – required by etiquette or current fashion

Aegis – the protection, backing, or support of a particular person or organization.

Rictus – a fixed grimace or grin.

Hegemony – leadership or dominance, especially by one country or social group over others

Pauvre – Poor (french)

Apercus – a comment or brief reference that makes an illuminating or entertaining poin

Filigree – ornamental work of fine (typically gold or silver) wire formed into delicate tracery

Balustrades – a railing supported by balusters, especially an ornamental parapet on a balcony, bridge, or terrace

Postprandial – during or relating to the period after dinner or lunch

Gelid – icy; extremely cold

Oneiromancy – the interpretation of dreams in order to foretell the future

Scrivener – a clerk, scribe, or notary.

The Perfect Book Group Experience

Three people. Three books. Couple bottles of wine. An indescribably sumptuous chorizo meatloaf with Manchego cheese.. A spirited and engaging discussion. All this came together one night this past week and made for the perfect book group.

Our friend Evy joined Stacy and I in reading and discussing Hillbilly Elegy by J.D. Vance, The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper by Phaedra Patrick and The Winter in Anna by Reed Kiram. Three books. One month. All worth our while.

In Hillbilly Elegy we chatted about Vance’s exploration of the Rust Belt culture, white working-class Americans, social and class declines, and the critical role family and loyalty played in his life. Mind you, by no means can I wax eloquent on the topic, but I can say I walked away with a much better understanding of that world than I did when I started. Will this inspire me to learn more about it, to become more socially conscious? Perhaps, but if I am being fair, it is not likely. I have a number of personal causes I contribute to financially and emotionally. I am not prepared to take on another.

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It took us about 20 minutes of discussion to cover all we needed to. As good as it was to read, and interesting as it was to learn about, it did not really move any of us. At the same time, we were glad we invested the time in reading it. I am not sure if that makes the right amount of sense, but either way, it is no less true.

The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper garnered a bit more energy to the group dialogue.

Our titled protagonist was as charming as the jewelry that hung from his now deceased wife’s bracelet. The people he met, the adventures he went on, the discovery of this life lived before he and his wife met. All of it made for a fun read. Yes, predictable at times, but not unforgivably so.

There is something special about a story of someone in the autumn of their years that I love. It could be the look back. It could be that I see them just as flawed as any of us. It could be because they were young once too, with their own plans and schemes all lined up for their life, and nothing went they way they expected it. That always triggers a bit of a crooked smile in me when I read it. But above all else I love how there is a deep and loving kindness in their hearts. They may not have seen it all, but they’ve seen a great deal, and with that comes a peace and wisdom I find myself craving as a middle-aged man.

Yes. I liked The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper … mostly because of Arthur himself. Such a dear man.

Then….it came. The discussion that took us twice as long as any other. Impassioned. Frustrated. Understanding. Thoughtful. Did I say frustrated? Reed Karaim’s The Winter in Anna.

It’s the story of a woman, narrated by a man she knew and called friend. It opens with her death, a horrific and body shuddering suicide in a motel room and ends with a better understanding of why.

It was dark. I often thought of the writer at his computer or typewriter and imagined the depths of pain and darkness he slipped into in order to write something so tragically compelling. I wondered how hard it must have been to climb out of that same darkness and resume a normal life when it was time for dinner and time to socialize with flesh and blood human beings in his presence. Man, how do you flip that switch? Or do you not and your family needs to cope and accept you as is?

I digress, but, I did love it. I truly loved it. It did what I want every piece of fiction to do when I read it. Make me think it is non fiction.

Mr, Karaim nailed it for me.

Evy loved it too. Much for the same reasons, I believe.

Stacy? Well, she repeatedly spoke of how beautiful the writing is, but how she loathed both Eric and Anna. We agreed on our dislike of him as a young man but I felt he was likable as an adult. She did not. Anna drove her up a tree. Her suicide was borderline unforgivable and aggravatingly selfish. I cannot say too much because I don’t want to give anything away but suffice it to say what I heard was Stacy felt Anna lacked the courage she needed to do the right thing … and not choose to die.

I can understand where she is coming from. I can.

With your indulgence, I would like to help you understand where she is coming from, too. Stace works with the elderly. She has for (nearly) 19 years. Most live with dementia. This is a woman who fervently believes one’s life choice is their own. She has told me a hundred times she is planning an escape route of her own if she becomes confused in her older age. I totally get it. Dementia and Alzheimer’s is such a destructive disease. Stacy lives and works with it every day and has for nearly two decades. Yes, I think she is a saint, but that’s not the point in this blog. She is a woman who deeply understands and respects life. She also believes it is our own to make the choices we feel is best. If you are suffering and if you are dying or deteriorating, then the choice ought to be yours. At least, that has always been my interpretation of her beliefs.

That was why, after reading and discussing the events of this book, that I was shocked – completely and utterly shocked – that she wasn’t nearly as forgiving of Anna as I thought she would be.

But this is why we read, isn’t it? To be taken away? To be transported? To give us a great story to discuss, debate and reflect on with those we connect closest with?

Yeah. This was the perfect book group. Such great stories. Such compelling and heartfelt arguments. Such a deep and fervent love of reading. Such incredible women I surround myself with.

It’s OK to be a little envious. Hell, if I weren’t already me, I would envy me too. I am surrounded by really smart people with Stacy and Evy, and nothing could be more beautiful.

PS NOTE: There is one major difference in the reading of The Winter in Anna I think is worth noting. I read this believing the age difference between the two was eight years (Anna 29, Eric 21) while Stacy thought Anna was late 30’s early 40’s. If I perceived the age gap that large, I would read it a little differently too. Anna is still Anna and she owns a piece of my heart. But my feeling(s) toward Eric likely would have changed and probably not for the better. They would have mirrored Stacy’s more.

Next Month’s Books are: Himself, Idaho and Lincoln in the Bardo

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