Read Online Moose Murdered: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Broadway Bomb by Arthur Bicknell - Free Book Online
Authors: Arthur Bicknell
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well. He ended by giving her a big, lingering, idolatrous squeeze that got him another laugh, and compensated somewhat for the long stretches of silence in between.
I knew he hadn’t come anywhere near showing us his best work. But John and Ricka spent many minutes after he left the room commenting on his excellence in
My Great Dead Sister
. It was obvious they were both interested in him, and, so far, no other reading for Stinky had knocked anybody’s socks off.
I told him all this after the auditions, when I ran into him standing with his bike two blocks away from the studio. He was very distraught.
“I know I blew it, “he said. “I was so nervous I was physically ill. I should have had a beer beforehand. I’ve
never
been so nervous.”
“Listen,” I said, “round one is over. You just needed to get this first step out of the way.”
“They
hated
me.”
“They didn’t hate you. They already know how good you are—you should have heard them going on about you. They’re such fans it’s sickening.”
“So I’m getting a callback, right?”
“You know you are. And next time you’ll be able to concentrate on the performance instead of the
event
.”
The next audition wasn’t scheduled until the following Tuesday, which gave John time to fly to L.A. to hear Eve Arden read for the role of Hedda. By this time I’d become anesthetized to the effects of Hollywood chatter, so Stuart’s coup of setting up this meeting didn’t make that big of an impression on me. I was much more excited about a subsequent meeting John was scheduled to take with Dennis at Sardi’s on Tuesday morning before the auditions, the purpose of which was to once and for all smooth out all the rough edges of my production contract. To this day I still couldn’t tell you exactly what those rough edges might have been, but I assume they all had to do with making sure I would be receiving an ample portion of the spoils of Moose. My main interest was in relieving Dennis of his duties as my agent and securing his position as Nelson’s understudy before John beat me to the punch by hiring Brad O’Hare.
Dennis called me from the restaurant late Tuesday morning to tell me that he and John had reached a mutually satisfactory resolution and that my contract was now good to go.
“So,” I said to John when I saw him an hour later at the studio, “I guess I’m now legally yours.”
“Yes,” said John dryly, “and Dennis sleeps with the fishes.”
A little later, when I reached over to help myself to one of his breath mints, John cut me off short by slapping my hand. “I don’t know about this,” he said. “I didn’t speak to Dennis about it.”
Apparently the dust was still settling from this morning’s negotiations. I decided to wait until the hiatus between auditions and callbacks before making my next move in sculpting Dennis’s career.
These last few days of auditions could have provided fodder for a fairly decent “where-are-they-now?” documentary. Tall and skinny Carleton Carpenter, wearing a bow tie and saddle shoes, brought just the right balance of pathos and affability to the character of Howie Keene. Although he’d listed the 1950 film
Two Weeks with Love
on his resume, Marc had to clue me in later that this was where he’d sung “The Aba Daba Honeymoon” as a duet with Debbie Reynolds, a number I’d seen dozens of times thanks to its inclusion in
That’s Entertainment
(the collection of highlights from the golden age of MGM musicals). Grayson Hall, whom I had watched religiously as the beleaguered Dr. Julia Hoffman on TV’s supernatural soap
Dark Shadows
in the 60s, broke all semblance of formality by leaning over to squeeze my cheeks and exclaiming “You, I love!” She elaborated on this a bit by admitting “I’m afraid this is one of those plays that you either love or hate. As for me . . . well, here I am!” Roz Kelly, a.k.a. Pinky Tuscadero, Arthur “Fonzie” Fonzarelli’s girlfriend on
I knew he hadn’t come anywhere near showing us his best work. But John and Ricka spent many minutes after he left the room commenting on his excellence in
My Great Dead Sister
. It was obvious they were both interested in him, and, so far, no other reading for Stinky had knocked anybody’s socks off.
I told him all this after the auditions, when I ran into him standing with his bike two blocks away from the studio. He was very distraught.
“I know I blew it, “he said. “I was so nervous I was physically ill. I should have had a beer beforehand. I’ve
never
been so nervous.”
“Listen,” I said, “round one is over. You just needed to get this first step out of the way.”
“They
hated
me.”
“They didn’t hate you. They already know how good you are—you should have heard them going on about you. They’re such fans it’s sickening.”
“So I’m getting a callback, right?”
“You know you are. And next time you’ll be able to concentrate on the performance instead of the
event
.”
The next audition wasn’t scheduled until the following Tuesday, which gave John time to fly to L.A. to hear Eve Arden read for the role of Hedda. By this time I’d become anesthetized to the effects of Hollywood chatter, so Stuart’s coup of setting up this meeting didn’t make that big of an impression on me. I was much more excited about a subsequent meeting John was scheduled to take with Dennis at Sardi’s on Tuesday morning before the auditions, the purpose of which was to once and for all smooth out all the rough edges of my production contract. To this day I still couldn’t tell you exactly what those rough edges might have been, but I assume they all had to do with making sure I would be receiving an ample portion of the spoils of Moose. My main interest was in relieving Dennis of his duties as my agent and securing his position as Nelson’s understudy before John beat me to the punch by hiring Brad O’Hare.
Dennis called me from the restaurant late Tuesday morning to tell me that he and John had reached a mutually satisfactory resolution and that my contract was now good to go.
“So,” I said to John when I saw him an hour later at the studio, “I guess I’m now legally yours.”
“Yes,” said John dryly, “and Dennis sleeps with the fishes.”
A little later, when I reached over to help myself to one of his breath mints, John cut me off short by slapping my hand. “I don’t know about this,” he said. “I didn’t speak to Dennis about it.”
Apparently the dust was still settling from this morning’s negotiations. I decided to wait until the hiatus between auditions and callbacks before making my next move in sculpting Dennis’s career.
These last few days of auditions could have provided fodder for a fairly decent “where-are-they-now?” documentary. Tall and skinny Carleton Carpenter, wearing a bow tie and saddle shoes, brought just the right balance of pathos and affability to the character of Howie Keene. Although he’d listed the 1950 film
Two Weeks with Love
on his resume, Marc had to clue me in later that this was where he’d sung “The Aba Daba Honeymoon” as a duet with Debbie Reynolds, a number I’d seen dozens of times thanks to its inclusion in
That’s Entertainment
(the collection of highlights from the golden age of MGM musicals). Grayson Hall, whom I had watched religiously as the beleaguered Dr. Julia Hoffman on TV’s supernatural soap
Dark Shadows
in the 60s, broke all semblance of formality by leaning over to squeeze my cheeks and exclaiming “You, I love!” She elaborated on this a bit by admitting “I’m afraid this is one of those plays that you either love or hate. As for me . . . well, here I am!” Roz Kelly, a.k.a. Pinky Tuscadero, Arthur “Fonzie” Fonzarelli’s girlfriend on
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