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  Playbill Magazine allots a limited number of pages for the information on each production including the title page, scene breakdown, song lists, bios, production credits, etc. With a two person show, the actors can have long bios but when you are presenting a big musical on Broadway, the press agent needs to fit 20 or 30 cast and production bios into the prescribed number of pages. Naturally, stars are usually allowed longer bios than stage managers and chorus members, and producers get more space than sound designers. I sent each of the actors, creators, designers, etc., in DREAM a memo with the specific word count allowable for their bio with a deadline to return it to me.

  Lesley submitted a 3-page bio which began: Lesley Ann Warren is the quintessential actress, mastering a variety of roles with tremendous range. She consistently gives audiences and critics reason to agree with Pauline Kael of New Yorker Magazine who hailed her as “one of the great beauties of the screen and an actress who delivers spectacular performances.

  I gently told Lesley and her personal press agent that, aside from the length, which could obviously be edited, I was concerned that Lesley was setting herself up, because theatre critics know actors provide their own bios. Instead of understanding that I was trying to protect her, Lesley was livid, and refused to make any changes in her bio.

  Another example of a bio gone wrong appeared in the San Francisco program for the musical LESTAT based on Anne Rice’s Vampire Chronicles. Not only did the critics pan the show, several reviewers singled out Rice’s bio for ridicule. Ms. Rice’s bio read: Anne Rice gives herself — her life in full — as a gift to the world in every spellbinding chapter, every carefully turned page, every meaningful word. Mere footprints of a life lived in art. Anne is grateful that these Broadway giants have adapted her creative endeavor in such a mesmerizing and captivating musical. This adaptation stands alone as a genuine masterpiece!

  I recently handled an off-Broadway musical revue where a singer provided this creative but uninformative bio: One of the most diverse and select artists in the world who effortlessly combines musical genres — from Jazz Standards, Pop/Rock, R&B, Love Ballads to Country music — into the same concert — he brings an electrifying, super-charged journey of harmony and musical illusions to the stage. Musical genres and geographic borders do not limit this high-octane vocalist and singer/songwriter. In elegance and mystery, he connects with the fans who have made it all possible every time he takes the stage, delivering songs in a sometimes romantic, comedic and always confident style that is uniquely his own.

  Huh??

  Technical rehearsals on stage for DREAM ground to a halt. During the orchestra’s introduction, Lesley was to slip quietly around a corner of the set, step from the shadow into the light, and begin to sing Johnny Mercer’s much-loved ‘Moon River’ from Breakfast at Tiffany’s. She couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do it. Wayne went on stage, took her hand and walked her through it. She said the light was too bright. They dimmed the light. She said the set turned too quickly. They slowed it down. No good.

  In her simple white shirt and tight black Capri pants, Lesley wanted to appear as much like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s as humanly possible. In the film, Hepburn is discovered seated on a fire escape singing ‘Moon River’ while strumming a guitar. She didn’t step onto the fire escape — she was simply revealed sitting there, quietly singing, lit by Hollywood magic. Lesley wanted the same treatment. Eventually the problem was solved by having Lesley stand on the set in the dark, the set revolved into the light and the audience discovered Lesley as she began to sing ‘Moon River.’ Broadway magic. (When DREAM debuted at Nashville’s Tennessee Repertory Theatre, ‘Moon River’ was beautifully sung by Jessica Molaskey. She received raves and stopped the show. Before the Broadway engagement, Lesley demanded the award-winning song and got it. She did not get raves for her rendition. But Jessica met John Pizzarelli during DREAM and eventually married him. Instead of the song, Jes got the guy and their marriage has lasted far longer than the show. They now have a lovely daughter and are one of cabaret’s top musical duos.)

  Lesley’s first musical number in DREAM was Mercer’s comic ‘Pardon My Southern Accent.’ It introduced, or in some cases, re-introduced Lesley to the audience. Unfortunately Wayne staged the song so that Lesley, playing a flirtatious, oblivious southern belle, continuously tripped people or bopped them in the head with her umbrella. Wayne even had her kick one suitor in the crotch. What should have been charming and funny seemed self-centered and rude. Instead of warming to her and welcoming her back to Broadway, the audience disliked her on sight, and couldn’t wait for her to get off the stage.

  One of the wealthy DREAM producers wore elegant Brioni suits and, during pre-production, proposed a marketing deal whereby the high-end Italian designer would provide on-stage suits for all the men in the cast in return for some cross promotion. The other producers thought this was a great coup — the musical would get free costumes plus lots of free publicity for this marriage of Broadway and high fashion. The only problem was that the beautiful Brioni suits were not designed to be worn eight times a week by male dancers, leaping and sweating. Between the stress on the seams and the constant dry cleaning, the expensive suits quickly began falling apart. The wardrobe department spent more time and money repairing and rebuilding the Brioni suits than they would have cost if they’d been made by a theatrical costumer. Good idea, bad execution.

  During rehearsals, Margaret Whiting and John Pizzarelli became fast friends. Despite their age difference, they shared a love of songs from the Great American Songbook, including Johnny Mercer’s songs, which both had recorded and featured in their individual club acts for years. They respected each others’ talents, and obviously enjoyed performing together. Their simple jazzy number, ‘In the Cool, Cool, Cool of the Evening,’ with Margaret seated on the piano surrounded by John and the Pizzarelli Trio, became a highlight of the show because of their infectious delight in performing together.

  It was also one of the few musical numbers in DREAM which allowed the audience to really hear Johnny Mercer’s clever lyrics without having it ‘danced out’ for them. That number was also perfect for publicity appearances because it was self contained (ie: didn’t need the context of the show to make sense), didn’t require any additional musicians, and could be performed anywhere. All four of them were smart, professional and easy-going, and they didn’t require $2,500 hair and make-up. Plus they were fun to be around. John, always the pro, even dragged his own antique guitar amplifier to publicity appearances.

  John Pizzarelli had a simple crossover at the top of Act Two, strolling slowly from one side of the stage to the other in front of the curtain, strumming his guitar and quietly singing ‘I Thought About You.’ Because of his years playing in both small cabarets and large concert halls, John is totally relaxed in front of an audience, and often joked with them during this number, or added some extra guitar licks just for the hell of it. It was pure gold and the audience and critics adored him. So did I. Margaret Whiting had two moving solos — the World War II anthem, ‘My Shining Hour,’ and the sad barroom lament, ‘One for my Baby.’ When this veteran performer sang of lost dreams and hopeful futures, the audience truly got the Mercer songs. Dancing was not needed in any of these numbers to illuminate Johnny Mercer’s lyrics.

  At the curtain calls, the dancers bowed first, then the featured singers, followed by the Pizzarelli Trio. Then John came out, grinned at the audience, bowed quickly and moved stage left, followed by Margaret Whiting who bowed and moved stage right. Every night the audience rose to their feet for Margaret, acknowledging their long affection for her as well as saluting her performance that night. They were still standing when Lesley came out for the final bow. Lesley thought they were standing for her and mimed, ‘Oh my, all this applause for me, you shouldn’t have.’ No one told her they had stood for Margaret and happened to still be standing when she came out for her bow.

  One night in previews, while waiting in the wings, Lesley not
iced that John and Margaret had developed a funny little hand gesture they directed at each other from opposite sides of the stage, just before Lesley came out. They subtly pointed a finger at each other as if saying, “You’re the best ... no, you are ... no, YOU.” It was sweet and silly and lasted about four seconds. At the end of that performance, Lesley ordered the stage manager to bring John and Margaret to her dressing room and informed them, they were never to do that ‘finger thing’ again. Lesley wasn’t even on the stage when this little personal salute was taking place. She was out of line, but Margaret said OK and that was that. She didn’t want Lesley to be upset. John shrugged and rolled his eyes.

  Margaret invited her longtime friend, columnist Sidney Zion, to attend one of the early previews of DREAM on Broadway. The next day he called Margaret to tell her how much he’d loved the show and commented that it was the best ensemble he’d ever seen on Broadway. Later that day, Margaret proudly repeated Sidney’s compliment to the company. Lesley marched over to Margaret and said, in front of the entire cast, “Don’t ever say that again. I didn’t sign on to be a member of an ensemble. I’m a STAR.” Margaret said, “Well, Lesley, I’m a star too, but I’m proud to be part of this ensemble.” Lesley replied, “You don’t understand. I’m a BIG STAR,” and walked off. The horrified company went completely silent until Margaret laughed and broke the tension.

  One day, Michael Riedel called and said he’d heard that Lesley had thrown a chair at producer Mark Schwartz. I laughed and said, “Oh Michael, there you go again.” I called the production stage manager and learned that Lesley had, in a fit of pique, thrown a chair at producer Mark Schwartz — in front of 20 people. The item ran in the New York Post the next day. DREAM was now Riedel’s favorite show.

  Lesley sensed that the cast did not adore her, because she posted a note on the backstage company board sending the cast a ‘psychic hug.’ The next day she received an anonymous, hand delivered letter at the theatre suggesting it would take a lot more than a psychic hug to earn the respect and affection of the DREAM company. As the mysterious letter specifically referred to Lesley’s posted note, only seen by members of the cast and crew, the sender was clearly an insider. A cast member told me Lesley was hysterical. The company spent days debating who had sent the poison pen letter. Some thought Leslie sent the note to herself to generate sympathy. If so, it didn’t work. After endless discussion, we realized the letter could have come from any of the 50 people in the DREAM company.

  Meanwhile every Thursday, checks were bouncing. The producers were stiffing large and small vendors all over town. Payroll checks bounced three weeks in a row. Everyone raced to the bank to cash their checks before the account hit zero. In his delightful musical memoir, World On A String, John Pizzarelli said the ads should have read “Come meet the cast of DREAM – at Chase Manhattan Bank.” The stage hands and musicians finally announced they would not do the show unless they were paid in cash. From then on, the company manager appeared at the theatre every Thursday evening with fat envelopes stuffed with cash. DREAM continued.

  Oblivious to the money problems, Lesley hired an interior designer to re-do her tiny two room ‘star’ dressing room. When the $5,000 bill arrived, Lesley sent it to the producers. As they had not pre-approved or even discussed this expense, they refused to honor the bill. It was not paid.

  Broadway dressers are responsible for seeing that ‘their’ actor is dressed and ready to go on stage. They often perform many functions not specifically involving costumes, and some dressers become dear friends and advisors to ‘their’ stars. During rehearsals each dresser writes out his or her ‘track’ so that they know what they need to do when, where they need to stand, what they must have in their hands every second of the show. Lesley’s dresser’s ‘track’ included such unusual notes as ‘hold Lesley’s underpants open so she can step in.’ But my favorite note on Lesley’s track was, at one specific moment in the show, ‘ask Lesley if she needs to pee.’

  DREAM finally opened to lousy reviews. The Hollywood Reporter said: “Warren, making her first Broadway appearance in many years, strains for effect; her discomfort is palpable. She tries too hard on nearly every number from the campiness of ‘Pardon My Southern Accent,’ which must be seen to be believed, to her mannered and overwrought versions of ‘Moon River’ (a song that must be delivered simply to be effective) and ‘That Old Black Magic.’”

  As I feared, Lesley Ann Warren’s star billing sold few tickets and her poor reviews did not help. Despite a call from John Pizzarelli, she refused to appear for the show’s post-opening performance and her stand-by, Jane Summerhays, went on in her place.

  When we culled all the reviews for favorable quotes to use in ads and for display outside the Royale Theatre, we were unable to find any quotes praising Lesley Ann Warren. Margaret Whiting and John Pizzarelli got raves but few critics appreciated the dance show celebrating Johnny Mercer’s lyrics. DREAM struggled along for 109 performances and closed on July 6, 1997. At the final performance, I sent Lesley a complete set of all the reviews with a note saying, “I wanted you to have this.” I never heard from her again.

  Thanks to my friends Diana Vere and Gary Sherwood, married principal dancers with The Royal Ballet, I was occasionally invited to watch performances of the famed ballet company from the wings of the Metropolitan Opera House. Dame Margot Fonteyn and Rudolph Nureyev were performing ‘Marguerite and Armond,’ a duet created for them to celebrate their world-renowned artistic and, seemingly, romantic partnership. My strongest memory is of both of them sweeping past me into the wings during a performance, Rudy panting, pacing around, bent over at the waist saying loudly, “fuck ... fuck ... fuck,” which sounded like, “fook ... fook ... fook” in his heavily accented English. The elegant Dame Margot gracefully ran off stage with him. Bent over, sucking in air, she said crisply: “Well, we are certainly crashing about out there, aren’t we?” Backstage at the Met, following the performances, I overheard one of the dressers say casually, “Rudy’s stuffing his twinkie again.” As I said earlier, dressers know everything.

  HOW RAUL JULIA AND I NEARLY KILLED RAY BOLGER

  During the 1970s, the four top leading men in Broadway musicals were Raul Julia, Kevin Kline, Barry Bostwick and Treat Williams. They all exuded charm, charisma, good looks, a graceful athleticism and strong singing voices. They followed each other in the romantic leading roles in shows like THE PIRATES OF PENZANCE and THE ROBBER BRIDEGROOM.

  Puerto Rico-born Raul Julia began his theatre career in classical roles rarely if ever played by Hispanic actors. While best known as Gomez in the film, The Addams Family, Raul made an indelible first impression on Broadway audiences in 1972 jumping from trampoline to trampoline, wearing a skin-tight silver jumpsuit in the ill-fated musical VIA GALACTICA at The Uris (now The Gershwin) Theatre. But he gained real prominence in straight plays and musicals at Joseph Papp’s New York Shakespeare Festival, shattering ethnic typecasting by starring in plays by Shaw, Coward, Sartre and Shakespeare. He got his first Tony nomination playing the love-struck Proteus in the musical TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Talented and versatile, Raul was also adorable, funny and a harmless flirt, hiding his heavy-lidded bedroom eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses. Raul was devoted to stopping world hunger and always included information about The Hunger Project in his Playbill bios.

  In 1974, Raul was cast as the cross-dressing Charley Wykeham in the Circle in the Square production of George Abbott and Frank Loesser’s WHERE’S CHARLEY? — the musical that made Ray Bolger famous with his popular audience sing-along ‘Once in Love With Amy.’ Raul had already appeared in several Circle in the Square productions so, as I was the press agent for the theatre, we already knew each other. Raul was wonderful as Charley, and relished performing in the wrap-around Circle in the Square Theatre, which allowed him to interact with the delighted audience.

  One day I learned that Ray Bolger wanted to see our production of WHERE’S CHARLEY? I arranged his complimentary tickets and asked if he wou
ld like to join Raul on stage and lead the audience in singing a reprise of ‘Once in Love with Amy’ at the curtain calls. He and Raul loved my idea and agreed.

  I ‘tipped’ the press, and several photographers, theatre columnists and TV crews confirmed they would arrive at the theatre at 10 pm to cover the curtain call.

  ‘Once in Love With Amy’ comes at the end of the first act of WHERE’S CHARLEY? That night, Raul got carried away during the song and dance number, stopped the show and told the audience he was thrilled to introduce ‘the REAL Charley Wykeham.’ Bolger bolted out of his front row seat, grabbed the spotlight and proceeded to lead the audience in his signature song. Raul happily relinquished center stage to this legendary performer best known as the Scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz. Bolger was truly a show stopper — funny and endearing, and the audience loved him.

  But it was 9 pm, and the only people experiencing this special theatrical moment were the 500-plus ticket holders in the Circle in the Square audience. There was no press. The photographers and TV crews weren’t arriving until 10 pm. At the end of the song and of the first act, Bolger and Raul ran off into the wings together to a roar of approval from the audience. As the house lights came up for intermission, I ran after them. I found Bolger slumped in a chair just off stage, red-faced, sweating, gasping for air and clutching his chest, surrounded by very concerned stage managers. It looked like he was having a heart attack.

  I thought, “I’ve killed Ray Bolger.” The Stage Manager was about to call for an ambulance when Bolger managed to rasp out a few words, assuring us he was OK. It took the entire intermission for him to catch his breath, resume a normal color and return to his seat. Before he did, I told Raul and Bolger that the end of the first act had been thrilling but, as there was no press in attendance, I wondered if they could possibly do it again? Without missing a beat, both of these savvy troupers grinned and agreed.