I dreamed last night that I was about to give a performance of Satchmo at the Waldorf in front of an invited audience of a hundred or so people, one of whom was Lucille Armstrong, Satchmo’s fourth and last wife (yes, she’s dead). One minute before it was time for me to go on, I suddenly realized that:
(A) I can’t act
(B) I can’t do Armstrong’s voice
(C) I couldn’t remember the first line of the play
As I ran around the performance space snatching papers out of people’s hands to see if they happened to have a copy of the script, Gordon Edelstein, the director, was rolling on the floor, laughing with utter glee.
Somehow I suspect this won’t be the last such dream I have between now and August 22.
Terry Teachout on the arts in New York City
An ArtsJournal Blog