Archives for October 21, 2005

Friday again, and even though I’m not here (I’m off at one of my celebrated undisclosed locations, soaking up silence), Our Girl has been good enough to post the weekly drama-column teaser, in which I gallop wildly from the sublime to the ridiculous.

The trip begins with the Manhattan Theatre Club’s revival of Absurd Person Singular:

Alan Ayckbourn is far from unknown in this country–he’s had one solid Broadway hit and a couple of respectable runs–but the best of his 60-odd plays aren’t nearly as familiar to American audiences as they ought to be. Might that be about to change? Earlier this year, his own production of “Private Fears in Public Places” came to town as part of the “Brits Off Broadway” series at 59E59 and caused a stir, and now the Manhattan Theatre Club, which has long been enthusiastic about his work, has brought “Absurd Person Singular” back to Broadway three decades after its New York premiere, which ran for 591 performances. This revival, directed by John Tillinger, isn’t perfect, but it’s way more than good enough, and if Mr. Ayckbourn’s brand of darkly bittersweet comedy is new to you, it’ll make you wonder where he’s been all your life….

The next and last stop is In My Life:

About a half-hour into “In My Life,” the retchingly whimsical story of J.T. (Christopher J. Hanke), a cute young singer-songwriter who suffers from Tourette’s syndrome and a brain tumor, I turned to my seatmate and whispered, “

Friday again, and even though I’m not here (I’m off at one of my celebrated undisclosed locations, soaking up silence), Our Girl has been good enough to post the weekly drama-column teaser, in which I gallop wildly from the sublime to the ridiculous.

The trip begins with the Manhattan Theatre Club’s revival of Absurd Person Singular:

Alan Ayckbourn is far from unknown in this country–he’s had one solid Broadway hit and a couple of respectable runs–but the best of his 60-odd plays aren’t nearly as familiar to American audiences as they ought to be. Might that be about to change? Earlier this year, his own production of “Private Fears in Public Places” came to town as part of the “Brits Off Broadway” series at 59E59 and caused a stir, and now the Manhattan Theatre Club, which has long been enthusiastic about his work, has brought “Absurd Person Singular” back to Broadway three decades after its New York premiere, which ran for 591 performances. This revival, directed by John Tillinger, isn’t perfect, but it’s way more than good enough, and if Mr. Ayckbourn’s brand of darkly bittersweet comedy is new to you, it’ll make you wonder where he’s been all your life….

The next and last stop is In My Life:

About a half-hour into “In My Life,” the retchingly whimsical story of J.T. (Christopher J. Hanke), a cute young singer-songwriter who suffers from Tourette’s syndrome and a brain tumor, I turned to my seatmate and whispered, “

– Fee paid in 1924 by Warner Bros. to Alfred A. Knopf for film rights to Willa Cather’s A Lost Lady: $12,000

– The same amount in today’s dollars, courtesy of Inflation Calculator: $130,224.65

(Source: Cather: Later Novels)

– Fee paid in 1924 by Warner Bros. to Alfred A. Knopf for film rights to Willa Cather’s A Lost Lady: $12,000

– The same amount in today’s dollars, courtesy of Inflation Calculator: $130,224.65

(Source: Cather: Later Novels)

“Pointing to the briefcase I said: ‘How do you know you are going to reject them?’

“‘If they were any good, they wouldn’t be dropped at my hotel by the writers in person. Some New York agent would have them.’

“‘Then why take them at all?’

“‘Partly not to hurt feelings. Partly the thousand-to-one chance all publishers live for. But mostly you’re at a cocktail party and get introduced to all sorts of people, and some of them have novels written and you are just liquored up enough to be benevolent and full of love for the human race, so you say you’d love to see the script. It is then dropped at your hotel with such sickening speed that you are forced to go through the motions of reading it.'”

Raymond Chandler, The Long Goodbye

“Pointing to the briefcase I said: ‘How do you know you are going to reject them?’

“‘If they were any good, they wouldn’t be dropped at my hotel by the writers in person. Some New York agent would have them.’

“‘Then why take them at all?’

“‘Partly not to hurt feelings. Partly the thousand-to-one chance all publishers live for. But mostly you’re at a cocktail party and get introduced to all sorts of people, and some of them have novels written and you are just liquored up enough to be benevolent and full of love for the human race, so you say you’d love to see the script. It is then dropped at your hotel with such sickening speed that you are forced to go through the motions of reading it.'”

Raymond Chandler, The Long Goodbye

Shirley Horn, the great jazz singer-pianist, died last night after a long illness. Here‘s the first obit to hit the blogosphere–there’ll be more soon. In the meantime, celebrate her life by listening to the album that first brought her to the attention of the general public.

This is what I wrote for the Washington Post the last time I saw Horn live, at New York’s Iridium in 2003:

To Washingtonians, Horn is an old friend, but up here in Second City, she’s an Event. None of my friends can remember the last time she sang in a Manhattan nightclub. Her engagement was all the more eventful in light of the fact that it was something of a comeback. Insiders knew that chronic illness had put her in a wheelchair and stopped her from playing piano. It was impossible to imagine anyone else playing for the best self-accompanist in jazz, so when the word got out that she was coming to town, fans marked their calendars, not sure whether to be excited or nervous.

I felt both ways as I waited and waited for Horn to show up. She was a half-hour late, and I was close enough to the bandstand to overhear the members of her trio (including George Mesterhazy on piano, who carried out his unenviable task with skill and discretion) wondering out loud whether she’d go through with it. Finally, she materialized in the wings, and you could almost hear the collective sigh of relief as she was wheeled into place, followed in half a heartbeat by a standing ovation. It was quite an opening–and quite a show. Horn sang in a near-whisper, the whole room leaning on every syllable. “I Got Lost in His Arms” was sly and lustful, “Here’s to Life” almost hurtfully poignant. As for “Yesterdays,” I can’t even begin to tell you what it was like to hear her utter the line “I’m not half the girl I used to be.” All I can say is that you could have heard a tear drop–and plenty did, mine included. I dined with three jazz singers a couple of weeks later, and it turned out that they’d all been to see Shirley Horn, and couldn’t talk about anything else. I don’t know when I’ve heard anything scarier or braver, or more beautiful….

I miss her already.

UPDATE: Go here for more from NPR, including sound bites and links.

Here‘s the bio posted by the National Endowment for the Arts after Horn won one of the 2005 Jazz Masters Fellowships.

The Washington Post beat the New York Times to the Web by a day with its staff-written obit. (Ben Ratliff’s Times obit is here.) Also of interest is this appreciation by the Post‘s Richard Harrington.

Here’s a tribute from the Bad Plus.

Shirley Horn, the great jazz singer-pianist, died last night after a long illness. Here‘s the first obit to hit the blogosphere–there’ll be more soon. In the meantime, celebrate her life by listening to the album that first brought her to the attention of the general public.

This is what I wrote for the Washington Post the last time I saw Horn live, at New York’s Iridium in 2003:

To Washingtonians, Horn is an old friend, but up here in Second City, she’s an Event. None of my friends can remember the last time she sang in a Manhattan nightclub. Her engagement was all the more eventful in light of the fact that it was something of a comeback. Insiders knew that chronic illness had put her in a wheelchair and stopped her from playing piano. It was impossible to imagine anyone else playing for the best self-accompanist in jazz, so when the word got out that she was coming to town, fans marked their calendars, not sure whether to be excited or nervous.

I felt both ways as I waited and waited for Horn to show up. She was a half-hour late, and I was close enough to the bandstand to overhear the members of her trio (including George Mesterhazy on piano, who carried out his unenviable task with skill and discretion) wondering out loud whether she’d go through with it. Finally, she materialized in the wings, and you could almost hear the collective sigh of relief as she was wheeled into place, followed in half a heartbeat by a standing ovation. It was quite an opening–and quite a show. Horn sang in a near-whisper, the whole room leaning on every syllable. “I Got Lost in His Arms” was sly and lustful, “Here’s to Life” almost hurtfully poignant. As for “Yesterdays,” I can’t even begin to tell you what it was like to hear her utter the line “I’m not half the girl I used to be.” All I can say is that you could have heard a tear drop–and plenty did, mine included. I dined with three jazz singers a couple of weeks later, and it turned out that they’d all been to see Shirley Horn, and couldn’t talk about anything else. I don’t know when I’ve heard anything scarier or braver, or more beautiful….

I miss her already.

UPDATE: Go here for more from NPR, including sound bites and links.

Here‘s the bio posted by the National Endowment for the Arts after Horn won one of the 2005 Jazz Masters Fellowships.

The Washington Post beat the New York Times to the Web by a day with its staff-written obit. (Ben Ratliff’s Times obit is here.) Also of interest is this appreciation by the Post‘s Richard Harrington.

Here’s a tribute from the Bad Plus.