Thirty years ago, Stephen Sondheim had not yet written his landmark musical Company, and Cole Porter had been dead for five years, but that year
Thirty years ago, Stephen Sondheim had not yet written his landmark musical Company, and Cole Porter had been dead for five years, but that year William Goldman (the man who coined Hollywood's favorite axiom:"Nobody knows anything") declared that "today is the golden age of the musical comedy." And Goldman was right. For about a 15 year stretch, Broadway musicals enjoyed a position similar to the one Hollywood movies hold today. Just as lines like "Show me the money" and "Life is like a box of chocolates" become mimicked, parodied, and merchandised within days of their film's opening, songs such as "Maria," "If I Were a Rich Man," and "I Could Have Danced All Night" were hummed, whistled and sung into the American Zeitgeist.
Recently, due in no small part to what is being politely called the "Times Square Renaissance" (and not-so-politely: the "Disney-fication" of New York), people are paying attention to Broadway again. Old theaters (such as the Ford Center and the New Amsterdam) are being renovated, the Tony Awards are again being televised and overall ticket sales and attendance are up for the first time since before the Eighties - a decade where the ratio of porn shops to legitimate theaters stood at roughly 5:1. Despite these encouraging signs that perhaps a new musical theater community is emerging, I dare anyone to approach a pedestrian at the corner of Broadway and 42nd Street and ask them to hum a few bars from any musical from the past season. In fact, ask them to hum a few bars from any musical written this past decade; remember Cats, Phantom and Les Miz opened at least 12 years ago. Broadway theaters may well be undergoing a renovation, but, sadly, what's being staged inside these theaters is not.
Listing the major musicals of the past ten years -Sunset Boulevard, Big, Titanic, The Capeman - one cannot help hearing a gigantic whoosh, the collective sucking of millions of investors' dollars, hours of audiences' time and the tradition of a once-proud artform vanishing into oblivion. Without Disney film-to-stage transplants and revivals, you can count the number of new works that have actually reached an audience on one finger. Yes, Rent is a sensation, but 1) it is really a "rock opera" more than a traditional musical, and 2) I have yet to meet someone living in New York and under the age of 27 who has seen it, let alone enjoyed it. But what about Ragtime, you ask, or Parade? Yes, these are "new" musicals in the sense that other shows like Footloose are anything but "new;" however, these shows are so calculatedly inoffensive so as not to scare off large demographics that they feel less like real shows and more like mechanized recreations of musicals that you would see in a museum.
And that is sadly what musical theater is becoming, a relic of 20th century Americana rather than a living, breathing artform. No longer is there a substantial audience of knowledgeable and consistent musical theatergoers that a quality show can count on to fill the seats and break even. Therefore, a major production has one choice: Capture the tourist market or go down in flames. Over the past 10 years, this phenomenon has led to the fossilization of the Musical Comedy as an artform. No longer are musicals made by a small group of peers trying to top each other (and in doing so push the limits of the form); instead, musicals are made to appeal to an audience of people going to the theater not out of appreciation, but out of novelty.
Given this blockbuster trend, it should come as no surprise that new shows fail to make an impression in modern American culture. The current generation of theatergoers do not see musical comedy as a form it can relate to. This has led to the formation of the two majority opinions that people hold about musicals: 1.)"people these days are too cynical/sophisticated" or 2.)"people don't act like characters in musicals - no one just breaks into song about anything." While these excuses are easily overheard these days, luckily they are also easily dismissed. Judging by the way mass audiences ingest garbage like Patch Adams and The Scarlet Pimpernel, the argument that musical theater isn't up to America's level of intellect can be dispensed with faster than closing Paul Simon's The Capeman . And the argument that people are too reserved or that breaking into song is innately unnatural is tantamount to not liking expressionist or cubist painting "because it doesn't look realistic."
But it matters not whether musical theater is inherently unsophisticated or unnatural; what matters is that, for whatever reason, it is perceived that way. Many critics and theater historians have offered various diagnoses for musical theater's condition: The result of a diminishing theatergoing clique in New York, the rise of rock as "popular music," or simply the expense of paying for live performers night after night (as opposed to television, film, or now something called "multimedia"). While these symptoms are all certainly responsible, what is at the heart of all of these and the many other theories is that what is truly killing musical theater - and has always been ailing it - is the lack of an iconic hero-artist at the center.
While the Musical Comedy is often referred to as the one uniquely American art form, it is very un-American in the sense that it does not allow for one individual to stand out as the author/celebrity. Musical theater is such a collaboratory art that with rare exception, there is never one person responsible for the success. With a hit show, audiences are confused as to who deserves their applause: the composer, the lyricist, the playwright or the director? Usually all of these roles are filled by different people, and because it takes a vast knowledge of the histories of each individuals' career for theatergoers to pinpoint which collaborator is responsible for which element (Was it the music that made the song, or the lyrics, etc.), so most often no one gets the credit. This is why the history of musical theater is filled with names like Rodgers & Hammerstein, Lerner & Loewe, Andrew Lloyd Webber and Boubil & Schönberg. These multiple-named entities, which sound more like insurance companies than artistic collaborators, are successful because, like a good corporation, they have achieved a brand name status. But it is only a name. While all of the afore mentioned artists are well-known, their likeness and lifestyle are not well-known; their celebrity status does not extend to their person, but is limited to their brand name.
This is in bold contrast to the two other American art forms which established themselves this century: painting and literature. Authors from Ernest Hemingway, Jack Kerouac to Raymond Carver and artists from Jackson Pollack, Andy Warhol to Jean-Michael Basquiat, became not only brand names; they more importantly served as role models to the next generation of artists. Not just role models in terms of talent, but role models in the sense of lifestyle. These artists have been portrayed as people whose lives were eccentric, but whose art was simple and honest. This ideal of the stoic artist and his naturalistic art is, incidentally, perfect for perpetuating the great American myth of opportunity. Which is why it is not surprising when you look at how many celebrated American artists of this century are individuals who come from relatively unprivileged lower to middle class upbringings, who then, by virtue of their unadorned art, go on to earn great sums of money and become celebrities.
Cole Porter and Stephen Sondheim, perhaps the two most influential artists in musical theater (and subjects of new biographies by Knopf), do not fit this mold. Both were born rich and stayed rich. They faced few external hardships, and they got attention, not through honesty or simplicity, but by being smart-alecks. Through self-conscious rhyme schemes and infectiously clever wordplay, Porter and Sondheim drew attention to the songwriter and became the omniscient "stars" of their shows. This flamboyance may have quietly revolutionized musical theater and earned them devoted admirers, but it went against the laconic naturalism which has made so many other American artists. No doubt, this is why their names, "Porter" and "Sondheim," while sacred in small circles, do not carry the same recognizable ring of other American icons of music such as "Gershwin," "Joplin" or "Bernstein."
However, the fact that each is the subject of a 400-page biography, written outside of academia, shows that neither Cole Porter nor Stephen Sondheim are considered underrated, overlooked or forgotten. Anyone who reads these books will be given ample proof of how many millions of people have heard their music. Sondheim and Porter both enjoyed international fame, yet the most interesting thing about these books is that neither biographer tackles the dilemma of their subjects' enduring fame. William McBrien's Cole Porter ends with the composer's death in 1964, and Meryle Secrest's Sondheim: A Life ends with nothing more than her subject's status at the time of publication. While it may not be the biographers' official duty to look into the future, it seems odd, given the fact that these two men's work will no doubt be heard for years, that neither author offers an opinion on whether music-history books will view these two men as composers or songwriters.
While this point may be argued for years to come, there is no argument that both McBrien and Secrest have done their research and render portraits that, while not radically different, seem fresh and timely. Besides providing a greater depth to the well-known events of their lives, these two books focus on Porter's and Sondheim's personal lives, presenting many incidents and details that have been previously unprinted or only rumored about. While many of these things are hardly of any historic note or even of much surprise, they are handled frankly, yet politely.
Those looking for gossip luckily will be disappointed, both in personal matters as well as name-dropping. Both Cole Porter and Stephen Sondheim were around celebrity royalty from an early age (owing first to their social positions and second to their innate ability to charm and impress at high-class gatherings), yet both Secrest and McBrien impressively keep the biographies from becoming extended society roll-calls. Interestingly, only the Sondheim book makes mention of the meetings between Sondheim and Porter. The story of Ethel Merman dragging Sondheim to perform his lyrics to Gypsy in Porter's Waldorf Astoria Penthouse has been recounted many times, but it is not so widely known that 10 years earlier mutual friends arranged an invitation for the then 19-year-old Sondheim to Porter's country house, where he performed a score he had written in college. Sondheim's memories of these influential meetings are well documented in the Secrest book, but sadly there is no mention of either of these events in the Porter biography so it is unknown whether Porter was aware of his influence on Sondheim or even if he remembered the kid at all.
The main criticism of McBrien's book is that he has difficulty keeping the timeline of Porter's life straight. He shifts between times and locations in ways that often confuse; however, this cannot be blamed entirely on McBrien, as his subject was rarely, during his productive years, in the same city for over a month.
The Sondheim biography is more linear, which is fine until about halfway through, when Ms. Secrest falls into the pattern of "another chapter, another show" - a very predictable form, more appropriate for a book dedicated to breaking down his works than for one that presenting his life - which oversimplifies the composer's later years. Still, this the first major biography to be written on Sondheim, and given that he is still composing, it will probably be some time until a definitive work arrives.
While neither of these men's lives were filled with the struggle that is usually considered to make good drama, their lives were nonetheless fascinating, and these two books, while not major works of biography literature, do an excellent job of conveying this. Secrest and McBrien provide an excellent history of the last 80 years of Broadway history, but sadly they cannot provide any answers of what is to come. Right now there is not a single Sondheim or Porter show running on Broadway. These two men represent the best of American musical theater. Even if you can't see their work performed, read about them, listen to their recordings. You will understand why people appreciate musical comedy as an artform. Musical theater may be dying, but at least these two gave it life.Thirty years ago, Stephen Sondheim had not yet written his landmark musical Company, and Cole Porter had been dead for five years, but that year William Goldman (the man who coined Hollywood's favorite axiom:"Nobody knows anything") declared that "today is the golden age of the musical comedy." And Goldman was right. For about a 15 year stretch, Broadway musicals enjoyed a position similar to the one Hollywood movies hold today. Just as lines like "Show me the money" and "Life is like a box of chocolates" become mimicked, parodied, and merchandised within days of their film's opening, songs such as "Maria," "If I Were a Rich Man," and "I Could Have Danced All Night" were hummed, whistled and sung into the American Zeitgeist.
Recently, due in no small part to what is being politely called the "Times Square Renaissance" (and not-so-politely: the "Disney-fication" of New York), people are paying attention to Broadway again. Old theaters (such as the Ford Center and the New Amsterdam) are being renovated, the Tony Awards are again being televised and overall ticket sales and attendance are up for the first time since before the Eighties - a decade where the ratio of porn shops to legitimate theaters stood at roughly 5:1. Despite these encouraging signs that perhaps a new musical theater community is emerging, I dare anyone to approach a pedestrian at the corner of Broadway and 42nd Street and ask them to hum a few bars from any musical from the past season. In fact, ask them to hum a few bars from any musical written this past decade; remember Cats, Phantom and Les Miz opened at least 12 years ago. Broadway theaters may well be undergoing a renovation, but, sadly, what's being staged inside these theaters is not.
Listing the major musicals of the past ten years -Sunset Boulevard, Big, Titanic, The Capeman - one cannot help hearing a gigantic whoosh, the collective sucking of millions of investors' dollars, hours of audiences' time and the tradition of a once-proud artform vanishing into oblivion. Without Disney film-to-stage transplants and revivals, you can count the number of new works that have actually reached an audience on one finger. Yes, Rent is a sensation, but 1) it is really a "rock opera" more than a traditional musical, and 2) I have yet to meet someone living in New York and under the age of 27 who has seen it, let alone enjoyed it. But what about Ragtime, you ask, or Parade? Yes, these are "new" musicals in the sense that other shows like Footloose are anything but "new;" however, these shows are so calculatedly inoffensive so as not to scare off large demographics that they feel less like real shows and more like mechanized recreations of musicals that you would see in a museum.
And that is sadly what musical theater is becoming, a relic of 20th century Americana rather than a living, breathing artform. No longer is there a substantial audience of knowledgeable and consistent musical theatergoers that a quality show can count on to fill the seats and break even. Therefore, a major production has one choice: Capture the tourist market or go down in flames. Over the past 10 years, this phenomenon has led to the fossilization of the Musical Comedy as an artform. No longer are musicals made by a small group of peers trying to top each other (and in doing so push the limits of the form); instead, musicals are made to appeal to an audience of people going to the theater not out of appreciation, but out of novelty.
Given this blockbuster trend, it should come as no surprise that new shows fail to make an impression in modern American culture. The current generation of theatergoers do not see musical comedy as a form it can relate to. This has led to the formation of the two majority opinions that people hold about musicals: 1.)"people these days are too cynical/sophisticated" or 2.)"people don't act like characters in musicals - no one just breaks into song about anything." While these excuses are easily overheard these days, luckily they are also easily dismissed. Judging by the way mass audiences ingest garbage like Patch Adams and The Scarlet Pimpernel, the argument that musical theater isn't up to America's level of intellect can be dispensed with faster than closing Paul Simon's The Capeman . And the argument that people are too reserved or that breaking into song is innately unnatural is tantamount to not liking expressionist or cubist painting "because it doesn't look realistic."
But it matters not whether musical theater is inherently unsophisticated or unnatural; what matters is that, for whatever reason, it is perceived that way. Many critics and theater historians have offered various diagnoses for musical theater's condition: The result of a diminishing theatergoing clique in New York, the rise of rock as "popular music," or simply the expense of paying for live performers night after night (as opposed to television, film, or now something called "multimedia"). While these symptoms are all certainly responsible, what is at the heart of all of these and the many other theories is that what is truly killing musical theater - and has always been ailing it - is the lack of an iconic hero-artist at the center.
While the Musical Comedy is often referred to as the one uniquely American art form, it is very un-American in the sense that it does not allow for one individual to stand out as the author/celebrity. Musical theater is such a collaboratory art that with rare exception, there is never one person responsible for the success. With a hit show, audiences are confused as to who deserves their applause: the composer, the lyricist, the playwright or the director? Usually all of these roles are filled by different people, and because it takes a vast knowledge of the histories of each individuals' career for theatergoers to pinpoint which collaborator is responsible for which element (Was it the music that made the song, or the lyrics, etc.), so most often no one gets the credit. This is why the history of musical theater is filled with names like Rodgers & Hammerstein, Lerner & Loewe, Andrew Lloyd Webber and Boubil & Schönberg. These multiple-named entities, which sound more like insurance companies than artistic collaborators, are successful because, like a good corporation, they have achieved a brand name status. But it is only a name. While all of the afore mentioned artists are well-known, their likeness and lifestyle are not well-known; their celebrity status does not extend to their person, but is limited to their brand name.
This is in bold contrast to the two other American art forms which established themselves this century: painting and literature. Authors from Ernest Hemingway, Jack Kerouac to Raymond Carver and artists from Jackson Pollack, Andy Warhol to Jean-Michael Basquiat, became not only brand names; they more importantly served as role models to the next generation of artists. Not just role models in terms of talent, but role models in the sense of lifestyle. These artists have been portrayed as people whose lives were eccentric, but whose art was simple and honest. This ideal of the stoic artist and his naturalistic art is, incidentally, perfect for perpetuating the great American myth of opportunity. Which is why it is not surprising when you look at how many celebrated American artists of this century are individuals who come from relatively unprivileged lower to middle class upbringings, who then, by virtue of their unadorned art, go on to earn great sums of money and become celebrities.
Cole Porter and Stephen Sondheim, perhaps the two most influential artists in musical theater (and subjects of new biographies by Knopf), do not fit this mold. Both were born rich and stayed rich. They faced few external hardships, and they got attention, not through honesty or simplicity, but by being smart-alecks. Through self-conscious rhyme schemes and infectiously clever wordplay, Porter and Sondheim drew attention to the songwriter and became the omniscient "stars" of their shows. This flamboyance may have quietly revolutionized musical theater and earned them devoted admirers, but it went against the laconic naturalism which has made so many other American artists. No doubt, this is why their names, "Porter" and "Sondheim," while sacred in small circles, do not carry the same recognizable ring of other American icons of music such as "Gershwin," "Joplin" or "Bernstein."
However, the fact that each is the subject of a 400-page biography, written outside of academia, shows that neither Cole Porter nor Stephen Sondheim are considered underrated, overlooked or forgotten. Anyone who reads these books will be given ample proof of how many millions of people have heard their music. Sondheim and Porter both enjoyed international fame, yet the most interesting thing about these books is that neither biographer tackles the dilemma of their subjects' enduring fame. William McBrien's Cole Porter ends with the composer's death in 1964, and Meryle Secrest's Sondheim: A Life ends with nothing more than her subject's status at the time of publication. While it may not be the biographers' official duty to look into the future, it seems odd, given the fact that these two men's work will no doubt be heard for years, that neither author offers an opinion on whether music-history books will view these two men as composers or songwriters.
While this point may be argued for years to come, there is no argument that both McBrien and Secrest have done their research and render portraits that, while not radically different, seem fresh and timely. Besides providing a greater depth to the well-known events of their lives, these two books focus on Porter's and Sondheim's personal lives, presenting many incidents and details that have been previously unprinted or only rumored about. While many of these things are hardly of any historic note or even of much surprise, they are handled frankly, yet politely.
Those looking for gossip luckily will be disappointed, both in personal matters as well as name-dropping. Both Cole Porter and Stephen Sondheim were around celebrity royalty from an early age (owing first to their social positions and second to their innate ability to charm and impress at high-class gatherings), yet both Secrest and McBrien impressively keep the biographies from becoming extended society roll-calls. Interestingly, only the Sondheim book makes mention of the meetings between Sondheim and Porter. The story of Ethel Merman dragging Sondheim to perform his lyrics to Gypsy in Porter's Waldorf Astoria Penthouse has been recounted many times, but it is not so widely known that 10 years earlier mutual friends arranged an invitation for the then 19-year-old Sondheim to Porter's country house, where he performed a score he had written in college. Sondheim's memories of these influential meetings are well documented in the Secrest book, but sadly there is no mention of either of these events in the Porter biography so it is unknown whether Porter was aware of his influence on Sondheim or even if he remembered the kid at all.
The main criticism of McBrien's book is that he has difficulty keeping the timeline of Porter's life straight. He shifts between times and locations in ways that often confuse; however, this cannot be blamed entirely on McBrien, as his subject was rarely, during his productive years, in the same city for over a month.
The Sondheim biography is more linear, which is fine until about halfway through, when Ms. Secrest falls into the pattern of "another chapter, another show" - a very predictable form, more appropriate for a book dedicated to breaking down his works than for one that presenting his life - which oversimplifies the composer's later years. Still, this the first major biography to be written on Sondheim, and given that he is still composing, it will probably be some time until a definitive work arrives.
While neither of these men's lives were filled with the struggle that is usually considered to make good drama, their lives were nonetheless fascinating, and these two books, while not major works of biography literature, do an excellent job of conveying this. Secrest and McBrien provide an excellent history of the last 80 years of Broadway history, but sadly they cannot provide any answers of what is to come. Right now there is not a single Sondheim or Porter show running on Broadway. These two men represent the best of American musical theater. Even if you can't see their work performed, read about them, listen to their recordings. You will understand why people appreciate musical comedy as an artform. Musical theater may be dying, but at least these two gave it life.
