You Used To Be Big...

I AM big. It's the pictures that got small.
--Norma Desmond, "Sunset Boulevard"

Week 86: Los Angeles, CA

My week started with a rare Sunday night off and an opportunity to see the final LA performance of the "Fiddler on the Roof" tour.
I went because two friends are in the company, but the experience was far more exciting than I had anticipated. First, the theatre itself, the Pantages, is a legendary venue. Built in 1930 as a vaudeville theatre and movie palace, it is one of the most riotous and splendid art deco interiors I have ever seen. The building underwent a renovation in 2000, and the restoration of the gold, bronze and copper encrusted deco panels, statues and ornaments is breathtaking. It's like stepping into the world of the old silent film "Metropolis." This venerable auditorium was the site of the Academy Awards ceremonies from 1949-1959, and has been one of LA's premier venues for touring productions since the late 70s.

This production of "Fiddler on the Roof" is the farewell tour for Topol, the great Israeli actor who portrayed the starring role of Tevye in the wonderful film version of the musical, directed by Norman Jewison, in 1971.
Topol created the role in the London production (Zero Mostel was the original Tevye on Broadway) and over the years has performed the part over 2,500 times. So much for my crowing about reaching 600! The excitement and energy in the packed, mostly Jewish audience on Sunday night could be compared to that of a rock concert audience--an excitement generated by both the feeling of pride Jews have about "Fiddler," which has become such a part of Jewish cultural life, and also the respect and admiration they have for Topol. And this wonderful actor did not disappoint. In fact, it was a brilliant, vivid, powerful performance every bit as splendid as his film performance 28 years ago. At almost 75, Topol is nimble, rich-voiced; his comic timing and ability completely undiminished, relaxed and in command. In short, I got to witness a star performance of the kind that we rarely ever see anymore. I liken it to seeing someone like Richard Kiley do "Man of La Mancha," or Yul Brynner do "King and I" (neither of whom I ever got to see, alas), and I feel privileged to have been in that audience, clapping along with him, cheering for him, and secretly, praying that someday I am granted as rich and glorious a role that I can put my personal stamp on. All in all, the production was terrific, and I urge you to see it if it comes to your town. The theatre has so few real stars left; don't miss your chance to see Topol.

Before the show, I had some time to kill so I took a stroll up and down Hollywood Boulevard and its legendary walk of fame. Pink granite stars embedded in the sidewalk are emblazoned with the names of actors, actresses, radio personalities, musicians, directors, producers and other celebrated people whose contributions earned them a place on this elite walkway. Hollywood Boulevard itself is in transition. While lots of investment has been made in recent years to revitalize the area, including the Hollywood and Highland shopping center, the Kodak Theatre, and tourist attractions like Madame Tussaud's and Ripley's Believe It Or Not, there is still a seedy element. Grimy hot dog joints, tacky souvenir shops and sex emporiums abound, and the alleyways off the main drag reek of urine and are home to all manner of undesirable types. This gritty aspect of the street added a sort of pathos to my stroll, as I read the names of stars, coated in grime, that are largely forgotten today.
Names like Ramon Novarro, the Mexican actor who rivaled Valentino as the heart throb of silent films, who starred in the original "Ben-Hur", and who acted with Greta Garbo, Norma Shearer and Joan Crawford; or Sabu, the East Indian actor who won the hearts of America as the star of the great fantasy classic "The Thief of Baghdad" and who distinguished himself as an air force hero for the US in the Second World War; or even more obscure names like Slim Summerville, a gangly comedian who started in pictures as a "Keystone Kop" and played character roles in films like "All Quiet on the Western Front."
All of these stars were important enough and famous enough in their time to be granted a permanent star in the sidewalk firmament of Hollywood Boulevard. Yet most of the tourists and residents of LA that trudge across their names every day will never know who they were, never see a film they were in, never remember them. As Hollywood's perhaps most iconic star, Marilyn Monroe, once said: "Fame is fickle, and I know it." I think about my spine tingling experience of seeing the great Topol perform and I think, how many people even know who he is, this living, working actor--and how many will remember his magical contributions when he is gone? I guess it is up to those of us who cherish the work of these people (and theatre and old movie dorks like myself) to keep the flame alive in our memories of them. For we too, shall pass, someday. This is a keen and profound thing to contemplate, especially for an actor whose work has been mostly on the stage--no celluloid record of the things I have created exists, only the memories of those who have witnessed my efforts. We think of motion pictures as being somehow immortal, yet many have been forgotten, along with the artists whose passion and labor brought them into being, and countless old movies lie crumbling in dusty warehouses. Shakespeare wrote a great deal about the immortality of his poetry and how it would live forever--how could he have known that? And by declaring it, did he somehow will that immortality into being?

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o'er-sways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack,
Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
O, none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.


Continuing in this introspective vein, this week I have to say farewell to one of my favorite people and best friends on this tour. Tim Connell, one of our ensemble knights and my understudy, is departing the "Spamalot" tour to pursue the continuation of his education in New York.
Tim has decided to train to be a drama therapist and his talent and his unique sensitivity and compassion more than qualify him for the work. When I joined the tour, Tim was my first friend, reaching out to me at a time when I felt overwhelmed by the work and out of step with the company. Since then, we have forged a true friendship. He has been a confidante, a generous helpmate and someone I have shared much laughter and good times with. Tim was even my first driving teacher, giving of his time and patience to help me get over my driving phobia. Even with the tour coming to an end in a couple months, I will miss Timmy's positive energy and gentle spirit. I know that we will be friends for years to come. Happy trails, Tim, and best of luck in your new endeavors. More from Los Angeles next week.