Well, as I’ve literally been camped at Sardi’s since Wednesday night’s final Ars Nova curtain call and haven’t been handed word one from the mainstream press as goes a review, I am once again writing my own. One wonders anyway at the true efficacy of the mainstream press any longer, in the youtube era. I mean, did the Times interview Friday-singing celebrity Rebecca Black? No, that task fell to Funny or Die. Has the mainstream press really mattered since the days of the Saturday Evening Post?
I am still of course available for an interview should the Times change its tune.
Meanwhile, to sum up this week’s stellar performance, I’ll use my favorite word: Sellout. Yes, I sold out Ars Nova! I believe that’s 85 tickets - or at any rate that’s the number of seats I counted in the audience during the tech rehearsal when I was counting to see just how many people might be there if I indeed sold out. Which I did. Apparently, though I was sequestered in the Green Room deep in pre-show prayer and so cannot corroborate this, there was a line down the block to get into the theater and a veritable clamor for tickets. I believe it!
For some the clamor continued into the show, as one elderly female theatergoer continued to exclaim “Oh my God!” at multiple of the show’s shocking revelations - and even repeated some of her favorite lines to her apparently even more elderly seatmate, whose hearing aid batteries must recently have died. The pair added just the right dash of pluck and “cabaret flair” to a theater event that by its very definition could easily verge on august overearnestness. Thank heaven for their casual contributions!
Words cannot describe my achievement - except almost any word that ends in “-est”! I even outshone my first Ars Nova show on March 16 (see the last blog post for a review). As my (regrettably) Mormon director suggested just prior to the show, I went onstage in the spirit of “hosting a party” - despite the fact that many of the “guests” present would never be invited to any actual party I might throw and were only there by virtue of their having paid $15 - and a party I did host! As in days of old, we enjoyed slides from some of my most memorable vacations - including sun-dappled boat photos from one of my favorite Greek islands, Milos. How I adore Greece. I think of the Greek gods I am most like Apollo - or whichever one was very good-looking and the center of attention!
Thankfully there were no noticeable technical gaffes this time - my stage manager had learned her lesson after the last review singled out her gross ineptitude regarding the correct time to begin playing These Are a Few of my Favorite Things. I enjoy being in the spotlight, and in this show I get to literally be in the spotlight quite a lot - again, I am grateful that it was aimed accurately and turned on and off at the appropriate moments. Ideally, no one should really notice the technical elements of a show (they should notice the star); and one only does notice these elements when they are done wrong. I suppose the life of a stagehand must be quite lonely and self-abnegating in that sense - but then, we don’t all have a face for the stage. And my stage manager, while “sweet as pie,” definitely does not.
As a reward for leading my audience through an unforgettable journey of discovery, I was given a standing ovation. It is hoped even some of the several talent agents who had been hounded into attendance might have stood - although none has yet phoned to offer congratulations or to suggest a casual contract-signing over coffee at an adorably chic West Village cafe. However, as for myself I know that by Thursday I am ready for the weekend and any business has to wait till Monday - so I can only imagine they are the same.
This time I felt like giving even more to my admirers so after a quick pee I darted out into the lobby and organized an impromptu receiving line, which I think everyone appreciated. Most people don’t have the chance in their workaday lives to interact so closely with fame. One suburban attendee even asked for an autograph! And I was so glad to be able to give him one. That autograph may be the most lasting gift I was able to hand out this past Wednesday evening - framed and hung as it no doubt is by now in some sad Mt. Kisco kitchen, where in a way I may watch over and bless the surely rather menial little lives that eat their Corn Flakes underneath it, crying silent tears of obscurity that nobody hears. Except me! I hear my fans - and I love you!
What a triumph!
