Tales from the VIlle-Life is a Cabaret (Kinda, Sorta) Conclusion

Wrapping this sad saga up with either a pretty bow or a hangman's noose, here is the blissfully final installment of my Palace Showboat directorial debut.

After the final dress rehearsal and less than 24 hours to go, it was coming right down to the wire. Set pieces we're still being constructed and painted that would hopefully be dry and nailed/glued/stapled/duct taped together by the time the curtain rose om opening night. That didn't stop the reception of another kick to my groin. In finale, set in a heavenly nightclub called Pair O' Dice, I envisioned tables with paper mache' fronts on either side stage painted to resemble clouds, Maxfield Parrish puffballs. My tortured heart sank to anew low when I saw the end result: two giant ice cubes that just tore a hole in the hull of the Titanic. What a metaphor. Too late to redo them, my final directorial decision was that to shit-can them both and keep them as boring cocktail tables. Blah, humbug.

For me, the opening weekend of LEGEND OF THE ROGUE/LIFE IS A CABARET was an absolute blur. Apparently, all was well, for the most part. The melo went swimmingly, a triumph I wasn't able to enjoy with the Sword of Damocles vaudeville hanging over my head. But CABARET, lumbering mess that it was, plodded along without a hitch with the exception that it was so bloody long. The entire show didn't let out until close to midnight, 30 to 45 minutes over.  

DW Landingham. Naturally.

In the following week, damage control was put into place without my participation. In effect, Goldie, in her venerable role as producer, basically took my show away from me, an act of mercy perhaps that should have happened weeks before opening. Instead of being led behind the barn with a bullet put to my head, I chose to suffer the consequences, namely staying with the show as a cast member only. (My director credit remained on the program.) More numbers were sliced, diced and tossed in the trash bin, replaced by a couple of old favorites from the Ville catalog, more irony for me to chew on. The great D.W. Landingham came in to save the day, becoming a special guest star cast member as the top banana in the DR. CURE-ALL sketch and THE HECKLER. Naturally, he excelled, guaranteeing his spot on the Pollardville Mt. Rushmore. This is how it went down for the entire run which continued without major incident or my input. By the show's end at the end of the summer, I was relieved for it to be over and put behind me.

But was it? Here I am over forty years later. dragging myself over the coals, though I'm doing so to gain some perspective and complete this apology tour. In retrospect, LIFE IS A CABARET had its moments, a very adequate second half,  though I know goddamn well that it is nobody's favorite. (In case you haven't guessed, I count myself in the mix) The musical numbers were all fine, throwing a tap number into the finale and a solo spot for our superb drummer Joel Warren playing the conga and singing Kenny Rogers' "The Hoodooin' of Miss Fanny DeBerry". However, there was a big gaping hole I didn't fill and that was COMEDY.  The one thing I had built my reputation upon had been sorely lacking. Two bits I conceived had been given the heave-ho and I had zippity doo dah to replace them. Thank Buddha for D.W. and some classic material at our disposal.

Quite frankly, as if I haven't been, the whole premise of the show was flimsy at best and, under scrutiny, fell apart at the seams. The only word to describe it all would be disappointing. It's like that phrase parents use to cut kids to the quick, "I'm not mad. I'm just disappointed." Among those I let down were Goldie, who gave me this shot, Bill, who I treated poorly as both a friend and never a collaborator, the cast, who always gave their best and elevated the material each and every performance and even the Ville itself for taking my back on its legacy because I wanted to put my own spin on things I knew nothing about. The previous show, GOODBYE TV, HELLO BURLESQUE, was a big step forward while mine barely made it own of the starting gate before tripping over its own feet. 

Mercifully, it wasn't a complete boondoggle. The melodrama did maintain the spirit of excellence that SEVEN WIVES FOR DRACULA (GOODBYE TV's companion) set forth, both on stage and behind the scenes. For that I was grateful enough to keep my head above water. While the cast excelled throughout, I have to award the Most Valuable Player Award to Ed Thorpe for going above and beyond with his contributions to the whole show. Cast as Rhett, one of two henchman of the villain and the smallest role in THE ROGUE, he created a demonic Tasmanian Devil-like character that blew the roof off the joint. I had created a character for him in the second half, a hick stand-up comic named Jim Bob Cornhusker, that he brought to brilliant light but was unfortunately short-lived. To make up for it, he received an important role in DOCTOR CURE-ALL where he once again exploded onto that stage like the seasoned Pollardville pro he was and always would be.

What I have come to realize in reliving this episode of my Ville life is that prior to accepting the role of vaudeville director, things were too damn easy for me and when it became hard, I floundered like a tuna on the deck of a fishing boat. My inherent immaturity overrode my talent. What I failed to recognize is the plain truth (or life cliche', if you must) that it is the hard that makes it good. If putting a show together was so easy, everyone could do it. It isn't, they can't and at that pivotal moment, neither could I. But, hey, wasn't I supposed to be Orson Welles? Uh-uh. Neither was he at first. Orson didn't suddenly appear out of the blue with CITIZEN KANE in his hot little hands. He had years of training and stage experience under his belt before his career took off, albeit at an early age. Me, I'm self-taught at just about everything, which served me well initially, but the arrogance of youth, my own, exposed my shortcomings and damn near did me in for good.

Following THE ROGUE/CABARET came Bob Gossett's melodrama PIRATES OF THE GOLDEN SEA  (or KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF MY CHEST) and Ed's VOYAGE TO PARADISE. I wasn't about to jump into the frying pan again, so I stayed off the stage for quite a stretch. Goldie, bless her lil' pea-pickin' heart, played into my strengths again and allowed me to pen a couple of sketches and gags for it as I did for the next production as well. I kept my feet in the water, but I wasn't ready to go back into the deep end again. Not yet anyway. 

That's a story for another time. Just not this one. 

SEE ALSO;

LIFE IS CABARET PART ONE

and PART TWO

AND THE REST OF THE POLLARDVILLE STORY ALL ONE PAGE ENTITLED

TALES FROM THE VILLE

Tales from the Ville-Life is a Cabaret (Kinda, Sorta) Part Two

The continuing misadventures of my directorial debut at the Palace Showboat Theater at Pollardville. Pardon me as I purge.

Time has never been my friend. In fact, I would venture to say it was my arch-nemesis. This indisputable fact came into play as I scrambled to put my show LIFE IS A CABARET together. By the time auditions rolled around, I had perhaps 2/3 glued together. (Maybe 3/4 if I was being generous, which I'm not) The pressure was definitely on, but my finger hadn't hit the panic button. Yet. 

Tryouts were, unfortunately, rather turbulent. We had a decent turn-out of past Showboat players, many of which were highly complimentary of my melodrama script (LEGEND OF THE ROGUE) which gave me a necessary boost. But egos came to the forefront when one actor we wanted as the villain of the piece gave us (producer Goldie Pollard, melo director Bill Humphreys and yours truly) a set of demands that included being excluded from any cast numbers in the second half of the show as well as a solo specialty number. Since it was my vaudeville, I put the nixed these suggestions and he went on his merry way, a pity since I always liked this guy as a performer and he would have been perfect for the villain. Another actor who really wanted the lead got a supporting role, became butt-hurt in the process and also decided to set his own terms. Goldie met them all because this actor was always an asset, despite being a royal pain in the ass when things didn't go his way. What he walked away with was trivial beyond measure, but he felt victorious, though the chip remained on his shoulder throughout. 

 One bright note was a hearing impaired actor who absolutely crushed his audition and had been cast in a supporting role in the melo. I saw him as a potential breakout star. He had dramatically interpreted a song that I don't recall utilizing ASL (American sign language) and I felt this would make a great number for my show. Unfortunately, he reconsidered and dropped out before the first rehearsal. Goldie  insisted I take over the role which I reluctantly accepted. There's nothing I love more than being on stage, but I needed to focus on the second half and saw this as an unnecessary distraction. And I wrote the goddamn thing! As a result, the decision for the cast was set in stone and turned out to be all heavy hitters, as good a bunch as to ever set foot on the stage, a winning combination of the past, present and future.

Even though he was already directing THE ROGUE, I chose Bill to act as my assistant AD because I needed a safety net, even though my insecurity began to take hold, causing me to keep him at arm's length and pretty much in the dark. His experience was far greater than mine and I thought he'd take over. Was I being a control freak or merely a neurotic fool? You make the call! On a rare positive note, I had a musical director in my corner who interpreted everything I heard in my head. I couldn't read music, but I could point to what I wanted. He validated my instincts enough to show I had been on what I considered to be heading in the right direction. Unfortunately, he disappeared, POOF!, never to be heard from again. I have no idea what occurred only rumors that have never proven to be true. All I knew was he was gone and replaced by another musical director whose second guessed just about absolutely everything in my original arrangement. On top of that, I had to provide the new guy a dreaded solo number that had to be jerry-rigged into the show. My choreographer also wasn't too keen on my concepts either and attempted outlandish ideas that went nowhere, especially the girls performing their number on roller skates. My ode to female sexuality became a slapstick roller derby number. Mother of Mercy, was this the end of Cherney?. The roller skates mercifully went bye-bye in short shrift since it was a ridiculous notion and, you know, potential injuries, lawsuits and the like. The can-can number and my slapstick 10 Tango were both scrapped, the latter right after I cast myself as a bumbling waiter, but not before I took a fall off-stage smacked the back of my noggin with a curtain weight. A couple of other pieces dropped by the wayside as well including my ode to English music halls and a salute to Marlene Dietrich's rendition of "Lilli Marlene". 2/3 of a show line-up had become 1/2. The word dire became part of my vocabulary.

Creatively, I had hit a brick wall hit head first and came to a screeching halt. Confronted by people who still considered me as their friend for some unknown reason, I was taken to task for my inability to deliver the goods and keeping my cards close to my chest because I knew damn well I had nothing in my hand.  This was indeed an intervention. It was the moment that many people in the creative arts, be they actors, writers, directors, artists, what have you, dread most in their lives: when you have been exposed as a fraud. Your ego had been writing checks that your meager talent and lack of experience couldn't cash. I found myself breaking down and tearfully confessed to Goldie that I was in over my head. Without mollycoddling me, she talked me off the ledge with straight talk and cold-hard facts. What I had was enough to put on some kind of a show because, as it turned out, I actually had too much material. It was unwieldly and a frickin' mess, but a show nonetheless. 

Hell Week of rehearsals lived up to its name in more ways than one. The melodrama played quite well and, not surprisingly, Bill did a bang-up job along with the excellent cast and a spectacular set design by the brilliant Karen Van Dine. On the other hand, the vaudeville was a shambles. The cast had less faith in me as each passing rehearsal. Two of my former collaborators had completely turned against me and began working on their own show, but the worst was yet to come. Four days before opening, my father had a major stroke. While it didn't kill him, it was enough to change the remaining years of his life to their very worst. Understandably, I missed a couple of rehearsals and returned with two days to spare, a shell of my former self. My heart wasn't in it as it was and this only served to confirm that horrible reality. It didn't matter. For better, for worse or both, opening night was happening no matter what. 

The show must go on, don'tcha know?

TO BE CONCLUDED

SEE ALSO:

PART ONE OF LIFE IS A CABARET (KINDA, SORTA) 

 THE REST OF THE POLLARDVILLE STORY, ALL ON ONE PAGE TALES FROM THE VILLE

Tales from the Ville-Life is a Cabaret (Kinda, Sorta) Part One

As I continue to chronicle my time at the Palace Showboat Theatre at Pollardville, I have to be as true to myself as I possibly can and admit to my own failures, this one in particular. These next few posts are pretty much of a purge, but necessary to my story.  

Because I was (am) a moony eyed dreamer, one of the early heroes I claimed in my creative development was Orson Welles. Using CITIZEN KANE as a benchmark, I aspired to achieve what he had with that classic film, that is, write, produce and star, by the tender age of 25. The title of wunderkind had appealed to me as well. Little did I fathom that I couldn't claim that for myself, but to have it bestowed upon by others. (There's a parallel here with the first appearance of a delusional Wile E. Coyote in a Bugs Bunny cartoon referring to himself as a "super genius".) This wasn't the only misconception I had about either myself or Mr. Welles at this point in time. To paraphrase Junior Soprano, what I didn't know could fill a book...or at least a couple of blog posts. 

Following my stage debut at the Ville, I unwisely opted out of auditioning for the next show, SEVEN BRIDES FOR DRACULA/ GOODBYE TV, HELLO BURLESQUE for a couple of fairly valid reasons. The first was my commitment as Entertainment Director for a second year at then titled Tule Flats Ghost Town. The second, I wanted to create my own show for the Palace Showboat stage. Though Ed Thorpe and I wrote LA RUE'S RETURN, I wanted to go off and thus my first solo melodrama, THE LEGEND OF THE ROGUE, was chosen for the next show, another feather in my cap of growing plumage. But that wasn't all, as I soon found out. Producer extraordinaire Goldie Pollard granted me the honor of directing the vaudeville portion of that same show. Therefore, the next production was to be a Scott Cherney joint from top to bottom. This incredible leap of faith on Goldie's part was insurmountable. Destiny itself had blown its majestic trumpet as I had been given the keys to the kingdom...at the age of 25. Orson who?

Over the moon and back again, I dove in head first. Following the current show would be a daunting effort to say the least. DRACULA/GOODBYE TV had pretty much changed the landscape of what was possible on that stage, ushering in a new era. I felt up to the challenge and set out to do it all by myself. After all, I wrote THE ROGUE in a week's time, so how hard could it be? 

Reality check, please! 

#1: This would be my directorial debut. On stage. I was a babe in the woods. I had staged a few gunfights in the ghost town the summer before, but what else? Zippity-doo-dah. 

#2: I wanted to re-invent the wheel...again, namely the concept of a Pollardville vaudeville show. Bill Humphreys had done this with GOODBYE TV and I chose to follow in his footsteps until I headed down my own path.  My arrogance (and ignorance) prompted me to turn my nose up to what I considered to be the cornball Pollardville formula. After all, I knew better, didn't I? 

#3 My theater experience overall was pretty slight, especially in terms of music and choreography. What the hell did I know? I had been a bit player in a high school production of DAMN YANKEES and struggled through the singing and dancing portions of  UNDER THE BIG TOP. I certainly couldn't read music and as for dancing, my closet was full of left shoes. 

Yup. The odd were against me, but what did I care? I'd show 'em. I'd show 'em all.  But first, I had to pass GO, with or without $200.

All summer long, I delved into the research and development of my show . In those pre internet days, my best friend was the public library for the wealth of information at my disposal. Initially I considered to go with a vaudeville centered around my favorite subject-the movies. I had no idea why I decided against it, probably because it was too easy. I went in to deep dive of material and soon, my concept became thus: A show that celebrated the elements of a Palace Showboat vaudeville from various venues around the world such as British music halls, Paris' Folies Bergere, American nightclubs, Germany's cabarets and so on, and so forth. Following that last piece of the puzzle came the title LIFE IS A CABARET. 

Despite this rather vague, unformed concept, my creative juices began overflowing with ideas. As a fan of THE MUPPET SHOW, I wanted puppets to serve as a background chorus for a voodoo number. A can-can dance was a necessity. I conceived a slapstick tango number to go to the tune of Ravel's Bolero. (Blake Edwards' 10, was a major film at that time). The guys' number was another rock and roller ala "Hot Patootie" from the current show. I wanted Spencer Davis Group' "Gimme Some Lovin'",  featuring Chicago gangsters for some reason I don't recall. I wanted the girls' number to be the absolute epitome of hot, a combination of  "Fever" and "Steam Heat". The opening of course had to be John Kander of Fred Ebb's "Cabaret". The finale I actually derived from a very racist Warner Brothers cartoon called GOIN' TO HEAVEN ON A MULE. In it, a lazy worker drinks a jug of hooch, passes out  and dreams he lands in heaven, which turns out to be a nightclub called Pair O' Dice. I kept that same setting with the addition of the numbers "This Joint is Jumpin'" and "It Don't Mean a Thing". Sounds horrible in a 21st century context, doesn't it?  I justified it all in the belief that whitewashing we'd apply would make all that nasty racism go away. In retrospect, I didn't have a fucking clue. However, no one else called me on this either. Not many years before, the Ville staged their own Caucasian minstrel show, so my ignorance ran concurrent with past productions. Unintentionally offensive is still offensive, but that was then, this is now. Can't change the past, but I sure can own up to it.

Let the cancellations commence. 

To Be Continued

See also: GOODBYE TV, HELLO BURLESQUE TALES FROM THE VILLE-HI YO, SILVER! 

                THE LEGEND OF THE ROGUE THE LEGEND CONTINUES

                 THE REST OF THE STORY, ALL ON ONE PAGE TALES FROM THE VILLE

Tales from the Ville: Tule Flats-Happy Trails

The Final Chapter of the Tule Flats Saga

Preparation for the 30 hour marathon weekend, the grand finale of the first season of the Tule Flats Ghost Town, were well on their way. We didn't add much more than we already had entertainment-wise, and, in retrospect, we should have done a lot more. Live music should have been an option and since it was Halloween, we could have had some sort of haunted attraction. But we had the rides, such as they were, movies in the hotel and of course, we had the gunfights scheduled to going we into the night. The thought of an after-midnight show really appealed to those of us who would have been partying heartily ourselves.  

For the last street shows of the year, I came up with a couple of newbies, the first written specifically for Grant-Lee Phillips as the Russian gunfighter character Two Gun Boris. ("I am Two Gun Boris"  "You on have one gun."  "Ha! Joke is on Boris!") It was a perfect showcase for Grant and I knew he would run with it. (I used this same character in my melodrama Song of the Lone Prairie, now Song of the Canyon Kid) The other was called The Return of the Gunfighter, a Halloween themed piece that had a pair of bullies picking on some town folk including a little kid whose father was a gunfighter who had been shot down a year before. When the kid cried, "You wouldn't do this if my pa was here!", that dead pa in question rises from the grave and shoots the two bullies down. He kisses his daughter goodbye and exits into the night. Now we needed a spectacular special effect for his entrance and subsequent exit, so Bill Humphreys came up with an idea that involved a line of gunpowder on a pair of 2x4s on either end of Main Street. When ignited, the first looked like a curtain and the zombie gunfighter (Jim Cusick dressed all in black as always) stepped through the smoke. When he left, the pyro went off after him, closing the curtain behind him. Awesome. Perfect for an evening performance. The main problem was that there wasn't a completed script because, given the time constraints, I ran out of time and felt the show could be an improv since one of our regular shows, The Boss, started that very same way. After a couple of rehearsals, I was confident enough that it would work. 

Another factor in this marathon weekend was the acquisition of a temporary license to sell beer in the town. It seemed like good idea at the time and certainly those of us that enjoyed a brew or several had no qualms about it. But when you're dealing with the general public, hoo boy. Watch this space.

That Saturday, the gates opened and we were well on our way. Attendance was way up and things went smoothly right up until about sundown. The debut of The Return of the Gunfighter went off with a lot of hitches. I was dealing with a pair of non actors in the roles of the bullies, one of which had a snoot on from dipping into the beer supply, a right he believed he had since he was one of the town's partners. As a result, the both of them had no clue what to do, jumped in far too early and basically made it a confusing mess, a major error on my part. The only things that saved it at all were those bloody special effects which got a rousing cheer from the large crowd but wasn't enough to appease my anger, mostly at myself for not being better prepared. 

Kid Blurry and Sheriff Max after hours (honest!)

As the night wore on, the brewski on tap was taking its toll on the patrons as they swiftly grew a little too rowdy and overbearing for us to wrangle.  When we staged our 10pm gunfight, the streets were packed with suds swillers left, right, over and above. We had to yell our lines at the top of our lungs to be heard, not by the audience but each other. Once that debacle was blissfully over, the decision was made to break up these boozehounds and even close to town at midnight, ending the 30 hour marathon concept. Most fols left peacefully, but the saloon was packed with inebriated owl hoots and had to be cleared.  This meant all hands on deck, so every cowboy available was ready to rustle this herd out the front gate, easier said than done. Ed Thorpe, now wearing Sheriff John's badge, thought it best to get everyone's attention by firing his pistol inside the building. Well, it sure brought everything to a halt alright until someone made an announcement along the lines of "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here. It's closing time!" But once Ed holstered his weapon, a drunken yahoo behind him confiscated it. Cocking it, he waved the six-gun at everyone grinning like the goon that he was and backed out of the saloon onto Main Street, many of the cowboys stalking him, particularly Ed who seemed like he was ready to pistol whip this hombre once he retrieved his weapon. I had slid out behind this dipsy desperado, realizing like everyone else that this was spinning out of control fast. I have no idea what got into me but once he stepped out of the saloon and onto the street, I jumped onto his back pinning his arms to his side. He flung me back and forth, trying to throw me off but I held fast. Yee=ha! Ride 'em cowboy! This gave the other gunfighters enough time to finally snatch the gun away once and for all and said varmint was escorted off the premises along with the rest of his boozy compadres. The gates were locked for the night we went into lockdown until the regular opening time of High Noon for Day 2. 

A good steady flow of (blissfully sober) customers entered through the front gates of Tule Flats that last day of 1979. All went swimmingly after the near-boondoggle of the night before. The street shows in particular were going beautifully, especially the one (and only, for some reason) performance of Two Gun Boris. The success of that gunfight more than made up for the mess of the other new show the night before. That one may have had some spectacular fireworks to make up for its lack of anything else, but Two Gun Boris had Grant-Lee Phillips in the title role, the best special effect of all.

The last gunfight of the day and season was to be Saddle Drop, a gunfight that had been performed since day one of the original Ghost Town. I thought it was time to give this show a decent burial, a chestnut that had pretty much worn out its welcome as far as I was concerned, no matter what we added to it over time. For example, we added a bit when the sheriff gives his adversary a fighting chance by allowing him three free shots, knowing full well that he would miss which, of course, he does. The gags were usually a bell ringing for shot number one, a rubber chicken falling into the middle of the street for number two and a cowboy falling off the hotel onto a rigged wagon behind the bad guy for shot number three. But for the final shot that afternoon, bodies fell everywhere, the rest of the cowboys who weren't in the show and a few spare Ghost Town employees as well, one end of the street to the other all the way down to the hotel where, of course, somebody fell off the balcony one last time. Then everyone, the entire cast and then some, gathered together in the middle of the street in a circle, arms around each other and sang the great Roy Rogers classic "Happy Trails" for the audience, for ourselves and for the Ghost Town itself. 

And with that, Tule Flats Ghost Town rode off into the sunset after season numero uno. And while it reopened the next year, several changes had come down the pike. The four partners basically split up and a few key cast members had moved on, so the magic of 1979 had worn off, settling back into the way things used to be once again. Eventually, the town reverted back to the ownership of Neil Pollard, changing the name back to the original Pollardville Ghost Town as it remained until finally closing down altogether in 2007.  

The inaugural season of Tule Flats was actually a coda of my Freshman year at Pollardville University. So much of what I learned on the dusty streets of that town gave me the necessary tools to move on to the next chapter of my "academic" life including crowd work, comedic timing, character building, not to mention Writing and Directing 101. If it wasn't for the Ghost Town, I wouldn't have been able to accomplish what I did going forward. I still have my hat, holster and six-gun stashed away to remind me of who I was and always will be, a weekend cowboy through and through.

Happy trails to you until we meet again in the Ghost Town of my memory

The first five chapters of the Tule Flats saga, as well as other Pollardville stories from the Ghost Town and Palace Showboat can be found at:

TALES FROM THE VILLE

or individually:

THE BEGINNING

IN THE SUMMERTIME

THE ELECTION

I SHOT THE SHERIFF

OH, BLACK WATER

Not on This Night

As I watched NOT ON THIS NIGHT, the latest offering from Stage Wright Films, it brought to mind a time when plays were a mainstay on television screens and, therefore, more accessible to the public eye. While the Golden Age of Television with its Playhouse 90 presentations, among others, featured A-listers before and behind the camera honing their craft in a new medium, was before my time (a claim I can still make, thank you very much), I do recall later shows like the Hallmark Hall of Fame which did the very same thing, albeit in color. Stage Wright brings that format back and updating it in the process with its emphasis on the fusion of both theater and cinema rather than a filmed performance of a play. 

NOT ON THIS NIGHT is a fine example of this, shot within the confines of a theater stage (in this case, the Rochester Opera House in Rochester, New Hampshire) utilizing cinematic techniques that go beyond the fourth wall of the theater. Primarily set at the end of World War II, an opening battle sequence best illustrates this style, both minimalistic and impressionistic, making the experience much more personal and dream-like-or rather, that of a nightmare. 

The plot of NOT ON THIS NIGHT, adapted from the play by Evelyn L.Y. Jones, is simplicity personified yet is almost secondary as the underlying emotions and philosophic ramifications give it a complexity that lies underneath the entire piece. In the midst of the Battle of the Bulge, two soldiers from opposing sides-one German, one American- are separated from the units and confront each other in the home of a young French woman, living alone amidst the horrors lying outside her door.  The night in question is Christmas Eve and the grace shown to these two by the woman cause them to lay down their arms for an ad hoc ceasefire, finding solace in the heat of battle and, eventually, regain their humanity in the process. These three represent the casualties of war, each experiencing the loss of innocence, comrades and loved ones, disillusionment and witnessing events that would bring them to the breaking point until, in the calm, they find the hope to not only survive, but to thrive. 

Director Bill Humpheys combines these elements together to create a piece that lingers long after its telling. At one point, Jacqueline, the French woman relates a tale to the two soldiers that occurred on a similar Christmas Eve during the First World War when enemy combatants came together as one just as they had that night. Unfortunately, the fighting resumed the next day as though it never happened. The question of whether history will repeat itself in this instance lends a subtle element of suspense, adding yet another layer that sustains throughout. The strong cast of Judith Feingold, Preston Mead and CJ Voteur all shine in individual moments while ably supporting each other to make this an exemplary three-hander. Production values are exceptional all around, elevating the film even higher.

There are a few bumps along the way, primarily in the last third. A transitional montage begins with an unnecessary recap of previous scenes. There is also a time-jump in the story that is not reflected in the actors or set dressing. But if its purpose is to avoid unconvincing age make-up, it's a pretty fair trade-off.

The strengths of NOT ON THIS NIGHT override those quibbles with its compassionate storytelling and convincing portrayals to delivers its message in a profound, touching and humane manner, one that transcends its time period. Its subject matter is as current as today’s headlines and could be transplanted anywhere in the world since war is still a way of life, a way of death and peace that can be achieved anytime of the year, not just on Christmas Eve. NOT ON THIS NIGHT could have been a perfect fit for a Golden Age of Television anthology program and perhaps could have been a perennial offering, though it can-and should-be viewed anytime of the year.

To buy or rent NOT ON THIS NIGHT, please visit STAGEWRIGHT FILMS

And if I can't convince you, check out how many accolades NOTN has thus far.

Tales from the Ville: Tule Flats-The Election

The Fourth of July in 1979 fell on a Wednesday, but Tule Flats Ghost Town would be open for
business even though it was normally a weekends only operation. Therefore, we had something extra special planned for this holiday extravaganza.

I haven't a clue who came up with the idea, but it was decided that we would have an election that day to name the Mayor of Tule Flats. The field for candidates was wide open-anybody and everybody could run if they so desired, provided they run for this prestigious office in character. We all had been given free rein to create a town character for ourselves. Bill Humphreys became Humphrey Williams (clever boy), the town banker. Ed Thorpe was Ned Tate who ran on the Law and Order ticket. I had a couple of different characters, one of them being Al Jennings, a real-life western train robber who later became an attorney. (look it up) But in the gunfight known as "Poker Chip", I played the Storekeeper role as a Swede named Sven Bjorn Bjorg Gunther and he is who I chose to throw my hat into the ring with. 

So those became the main three vying for town mayor. We were to run our campaigns throughout the day on the Fourth, culminating in some fancy speechifyin' in the gazebo out before our potential voters. Grant-Lee Phillips wrote Bill's-or Humphey's, rather-campaign song that he sang as they paraded down throughout the town.

Humphrey Williams

He's our man

Best darn throughout the land

Humphrey Williams

Rah Rah Rah

And best of all he wears no bra!

In a nutshell, meaning his amazingly creative head, that was our Grant-Lee.

As we all stood on the gazebo, ready for our campaign speeches, a dark horse candidate entered the picture. Accompanied by a bevy of bombastic beauties all dressed to the nines in hotsy-totsy saloon girl costumes, here came Goldie Pollard, all decked out in full regalia as though starring in a Mae West one-woman show. She took the stage by force of her sheer personality and announced to the crowd that she indeed was running as a write-in candidate for mayor. Her campaign promises included no restrictions on gambling, the sale of alcohol and...wait for it...open prostitution. 

Goldie won by a landslide.

There was no way any of us would attempt to contest the results because I think we all voted for her ourselves. Maybe some of the townsfolk and one of the business partners took issue with the "open prostitution" line, but that's politics.

Later that night, we all celebrated Goldie's win and it was the first time the ghost town and the Palace Showboat merged together as one. It wouldn't be long before some of us would take up residence there, but right then, we were two separate entities that found common ground and that is due to the one person who brought us all together, the one (and only) duly elected Mayor of Tule Flats Ghost Town, the Honorable Goldie Pollard. 

As we partied long into the night in the saloon that night, one person joined us who never had before, our very own Sheriff John. In, all the years I had known him up to that point, he had always kept to himself, the lonesome cowpoke he had always bee. Here he was though, drinking, laughing and celebrating with the rest of us. In fact, at one point, we spouted lines from our gunfights, adding a plethora of swear words to not only spice things up, but to crack ourselves up until the cows came home.

Sheriff! Sheriff! Have you seen the sheriff?

What the fuck do you want, you little asshole?

High comedy indeed and a perfect end to the holiday, or any other day for that matter.

That Fourth of July, we didn't need fireworks. We made our own.

Next up: Chapter Four-I SHOT THE SHERIFF

MORE TULE FLATS AND POLLARDVILLE STORIES AT:

TALES FROM THE VILLE

Tales from the Ville: Tule Flats- The Beginning

The past can sometimes catch up with you. As time passes, it can make a clean getaway all together. This is somewhere in the middle. If I get some of the facts wrong, blame my aged brain. After all, this happened 40 years ago.

The Pollardville Ghost Town wasn't always such. For a brief period of time, it went under the name Tule Flats.

Back in 1979, four business partners, consisting of Greg Dart, Jim Cusick, Steve Wright and Dave Black, approached Neil Pollard with the idea of running the Ghost Town as a separate entity. They would revitalize the town with improvements, new attractions and more gunslingers than you can shake a stick at. Along with this came a re-branding and a name change. Thus, Tule Flats Ghost Town was born...or re-born as the case may be. What the other names these guys came up with before they settled on Tule Flats, well, ya got me. How about Feral Cat Junction?

As I said, they hired a whole crew of gunfighters for the re-launch. I had been asked to join, but I was reluctant. At the age of 24, I felt I had move past the Ghost Town, having spent much of my teenage years out there. I stayed until I was 19 when all that remained was Sheriff John, Fast Fester and myself.  When I left, I tried to make it as an actor in San Francisco with mixed results and actually returned to Stockton a year later to enroll in Delta College. (Yeah. Go big or go home. Guess what I did?) In the years that followed, I found myself in a very bad state of mind, a bout of crushing depression that I stupidly kept to myself. I had nothing going on in my life at that time, a chip on my shoulder because of it and a head full of dreams that were beginning to make me light headed. After much soul-searching, which I did with a metal detector, I acquiesced and headed back to the mean streets of the Ghost Town.

I figured, "Hey, I'm a veteran cowpoke. I know these bits inside and out. As I soon as I walk onto Main Street, I'll be back in the saddle again in no time." Not so fast there, Slim Jim.

The gunfights and fighters therein were being directed by the one and only Dennis Landingham aka D.W. He had brought in Jimmy Walsh, Bob Gossett, Terry Ross and some kid named Grant Phillips as well a couple of other day players. Some of this group had come over from the Palace Showboat, though Dennis and Bob had previous Ghost Town experience when I wasn't around. I think Dennis knew who I was as well, though we never met until the day I arrived. Naturally, the man who got me involved with the entire Pollardville experience in the first place, my best friend, Edward Thorpe had also joined the group, a major comeback for him  after his stint in the Navy. Last and never least, Sheriff John still held down the fort, even if that fort had been taken over by somebody new. I sure was glad to see him again and he, in his own ornery cuss way, might have felt the same way....without saying it, of course. He didn't say much of anything and sometimes that spoke volumes.

So there I was, watching Dennis put together some of the gunfights, bringing back some that hadn't been performed in ages because they required bigger casts. But some of the "classics", such as they were, were on the docket as well like "Poker Chip" and the ever popular "Saddle Drop". His style lent a little more on the action side. The wagon below the balcony of the hotel had new padding, perfect for a fall from above.  Naturally more stunt fights were added, though one took me aback with what considered to be an out-of-place, though well executed, judo flip. Hey, what did I know? I was just a hired hand and boy, did I begin to feel it.

D.W. Landingham

Then D.W. began to cast the roles and...uh...what do you mean I have one line and I die first? Or I don't have any lines and I still die first? Or I don't have any lines but I don't die first cuz I ain't in the damn thing at all? Whut? Hey, wasn't this my stomping grounds? My turf? My town? It was as though my years of experience meant diddly squat and another thing, I had done a play in San Fran-goddamn-cisco, okay? Yeah, that was fours ago, but...shut up! Who asked you? I didn't need this....

Bitch. Moan. Gripe. Repeat.

I'd watch the others with an overly-critical eye. I had quibbles to be sure. Bob and Jimmy were all fine and dandy to be sure. So was Dennis, who cast himself in everything because, well, he could. He threw himself into everything and I quite honestly was impressed. Inwardly, anyway. I couldn't quite figure out Terry. Something was...I just didn't know. Kept trying to direct me or how to take a fall, suggestions I readily ignored. As for Grant, I had more scrutiny. He was all over the place,really manic and seemed to be trying too hard. The truth of the matter was he was what I wanted to be again. I wasn't much different when I first came out there and now this kid had taken my spot. Observing him with my jealous eye, my insecurity wasn't about to give him a break. That is, until he made me laugh. More than once. Then I realized he wasn't me at that age. He was better. Damn it.

Tule Flats Ghost Town opened to a decent, but not especially crowded group of patrons, not as many as anticipated but a helluva lot more than in recent years. The place certainly looked better with a major clean-up and paint job on certain buildings as well as some new additions like an ice cream stand near the front entrance. The train was up and running, definitely spit and polished with a tune-up thrown in for good measure. Naturally, the gunfighters were the main attraction and the shows frankly didn't disappoint.

Me back then. Nice hat.

While I still had some issues with this new regime, I had invited Bill Humphreys to come out and join the crew. I had only recently met Bill through a mutual friend but we found a common ground almost immediately. He had been off in the world of Big Time Showbiz working in television in Oregon and Hooray for Hollywood. I'm not sure why he decided to hang out with us at the Ville. Maybe he was attracted to the same thing we all were.

But as for me, relegated to minor roles of one line or none, not to mention dying first on the far side of town away from the action, the frustration escalated. This continued over the next couple of weekends, making me doubt my extra added value to these proceedings. But I did get an interesting perspective on things from this vantage point, particularly on Easter Sunday. The patrons were better dressed than usual after church services and lunch at the Chicken Kitchen, but they did dwindle to only a few in the mid-afternoon. The skies clouded over indicating there might be a storm on the way.

We were performing a gunfight called "Wanted: Dead or Alive". D.W. had cast himself as the villain who found himself locked up in jail in the early moments. When his crew busted him out, the wind started to pick up, blowing a sizable cloud of dust down Main Street. Dennis exited the jail at this point ready for the final gunfight between he and the Sheriff. Lightning flashed overhead followed by a rumble of thunder as the two faced off to the inevitable conclusion. The audience and various on-lookers erupted in cheers, making up for their small size. The gunfighters rose from the dirt and, realizing some kind of Divine Intervention had just occurred. It was either that or the entire Tule Flats special effects budget for the entire year was blown in one fell swoop. All I know is that a sudden kinship between this new wild bunch was beginning to form from that moment on. Even Sheriff John had to smile. At least, I think it was a smile. Hard to tell.

I'm not saying this Miracle on Main Street is what caused me to re-evaluate myself and stop acting like a petulant child in the first days of Tule Flats, but it sure didn't hurt. In the following weeks, I moved into some better roles and the rest is Ghost Town history. (stories forthcoming) Starting over again wasn't a consideration when I decided to to go back, but it was necessary. I had to hit the re-set button and when my twenty four year old pride wouldn't allow it, my ego got a most deserved good kick in the huevos. Such is the arrogance of youth. This youth, anyway. It took a long time to accept the cold hard truth about the Ville in my life.

In order to move forward, I first had to step back.

Next up: Chapter Two-IN THE SUMMERTIME

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TALES FROM THE VILLE

Tales from the Ville: Bohemian Rap City

The recent release of the Queen biopic BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY reminded me that once upon a

time, we at the Palace Showboat damn near beat them to the punch. Well, sort of.

Being that we had some many creative folks in and around the Ville at any given time, we had certain side projects that utilized not only members of our artistic community but the magical little play land we found ourselves in. many a video had been shot there in one form or another such as Bob Gossett's CITIZEN KANE parody CITIZEN PLAIN and several more by Tom Amo such as BACKSTAGE PASS, both projects that I not only collaborated on but appeared in as well.

But it was Bill Humphreys and Grant-Lee Phillips who joined forces to come up a short film based upon Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody". Music videos were in the infant stage and I don't think MTV debuted yet, so they were ahead of the curve in the USA by a smidge. (Queen filmed their own video of the song that aired on Britain's "Top of the Pops" TV show)  Even better, the project was to be actually shot on 16mm film, borrowing a camera of Neil Pollard's that hadn't seen the sight of day in many a moon. (Yes, you read that right.)

As I recall the basic premise, Grant was to play a young soldier getting sent off to war. It was all bits and pieces, much like a regular video scenario that we're all familiar with now, but back then it seemed innovative as hell. Script-wise I was able to put my two cents in, which was about what my contribution was worth. During the Galileo (Galileo) section, I thought several shots of  the famous astronomer should be included, finishing with a single shot of Figaro the cat from PINOCCHIO. Like I said, two cents worth. Other than this and a too-complicated 360 degree shot (summarily shot down), that was about it for my input. Mostly it was a Humphreys/Phillips joint.

A fantasy sequence was created featuring soldiers from different eras and since we had access to costumes from the theater, it looked quite promising. We found  a perfect location way in the back of the Ghost Town, an area we called the Back 40. There had been a crane on the property that Neil had been using for one thing or another. That Pollard guy was always up to something. Since it had a basket, Bill thought he could utilize this for the video...with Neil's permission, of course. So during a night shoot, we had what John Candy's legendary Johnny LaRue character from SCTV always dreamed of...a crane shot! When Bill went up in the crane basket with the camera, I could see why Jphnny coveted this. The rest of the shoot went well into the night without incident with the exception of John Himle, dressed as a Revolutionary War solider, simultaneously splitting and losing his pants.

Another scene filmed on stage at Stagg High School auditorium featured Goldie Pollard as Grant's anguished mother, sending her boy into battle. I wasn't present for that shoot, but according to Bill filled me in. He set up an extreme close-up of Goldie staring straight into the camera with a solitary tear falling down her cheek,  a heart-breaking image that positively nailed.

That was a wrap and unfortunately, that was that. We had no budget with the exception of what was spent on film, a totally rookie mistake for a bunch of broke-ass artists that didn't realize that someone had to pay to not only develop the raw footage we shot but also to put the bloody thing together in an editing room. While it was a sweet novelty for this to be shot on film, this wouldn't have been an issue had we used video. Unfortunately for everyone concerned, the Pollardville production of BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY was in limbo. The last I heard, Grant ended up with the footage when he moved to Los Angeles and somehow was misplaced over time

So this became a lost project of ours. It would have terrific if it had been completed. Now it would a real piece of nostalgia, a time capsule from that period of time. It didn't, but so what? The fact that a group of us wanted to stretch our artistic muscles and try something different was everything that we were all about back then. The effort itself, even if it came to naught, proved our mettle  and the memories remain even if the film does not.

Like the song says, "Any way the wind blows..."

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The Legend Continues

Rising from the ashes...or emerging from a pile of papers...is THE LEGEND OF THE ROGUE, yet another western comedy melodrama in the grand tradition of SONG OF THE LONE PRAIRIE.

Grand tradition, my Aunt Petunia's pooting patootie. Boy, two productions of the same script in one year and all of a sudden, it's OUR TOWN. Never mind that it took 27 years for even a second show to get off the ground...

SHUT  UP, YOU! Ignore that snarky naysayer in my head. How the hell did he find his way into this blog?

THE LEGEND OF THE ROGUE was my first solo effort as a melodrama playwright after Ed Thorpe and I wrote LA RUE'S RETURN for the Palace Showboat Theater stage at Pollardville. This is my homage to the masked western hero sub-genre which includes The Lone Ranger, Zorro and Marvel Comics' Two Gun Kid. Coincidentally enough, I had penned a Lone Ranger sketch for the previous show at the Palace, GOODBYE TV, HELLO BURLESQUE.

The Rogue had been a character I created out in the Pollardville Ghost Town but never got the chance to bring him to life on those mean streets, so I featured the character in another script called THE WRATH OF THE ROGUE or WHO IS THIS GUY ZORRO ANYWAY? It landed with a thud after I unsuccessfully submitted the script to Goldie Pollard, the producer and Mother of Us All at the Ville. The Rogue was more of a Zorro type complete with cape, mask and sword that glowed in the dark. It wasn't much, except for this exchange between the hero Brian Ryan and the heroine Georgia Washington after she discovers his secret identity. These were meant to be asides to audience.

BRIAN: If only she knew.
GEORGIA: If only he knew
BRIAN: If only she knew that I know that she knows.

Eat your heart out, David Mamet.

But I gave it another go a few months later, turning the new script into an origin story instead and a plot similar to a movie from my youth: THE LONE RANGER AND THE LOST CITY OF GOLD. However, I needed a major element that THE WRATH sorely lacked: A good villain. What's an evil trait not seen in most melodrama bad guys. Well, I hear racism's pretty bad. How about a good old fashioned bigot? Alright, but what kind? Hey, it's the Old West, what say we have an ex-Confederate officer, a Foghorn Leghorn type, who wants to fight another Civil War and set things right again? And he can oppress the Indians at the same time? But what to call him? A name hit me from the deep recesses of my demented creative soul...Randolph Hitlear. Of course! A Kentucky Fried version of the worst villain of all time!

Once I had my villain, I was off and running. I knocked out a first draft in four days time. Within another week, I handed it off to Goldie and, saints be praised, it green-lit as the next production. I didn't have a sub-title at the time and reluctantly settled for GOOD GUYS WEAR BLACK, also the name of a Chuck Norris film, one that my mom once mispronounced as BLACK GUYS WEAR GOOD, another concept entirely.  

(The saga of this particular production where I was chosen as the writer/director of the vaudeville section as well, is a tumultuous tale to be told another time. Let's just say in the most cliched of terms, "Be careful what you wish for.")

However, I will say that THE LEGEND OF THE ROGUE, directed by Bill Humphreys, had its one and only run at the Palace Showboat for the first six months of 1981. I never got a chance to see it because I was in the cast. It has not seen the light of day since.

The personal triumph of SONG OF THE LONE PRAIRIE this past summer has given me the initiative to revisit this story that I had felt was beyond help. But a fresh perspective works wonders and I realized that I hadn't given the material enough credit. There was enough here for salvation and development, so I went ahead and expanded the story and characters to make more it more of a well-rounded story instead of an elongated sketch. Hence, THE LEGEND OF THE ROGUE lives again and this time with a different sub-title: MASK ME NO QUESTIONS. I'm still only half-sold on this, but I have a feeling Chuck Norris might come after me for copyright infringement. Sure, he might pull a ham-string kicking me in the face at his age, but then again, I didn't need my face rearranged into a Picasso either.

Here's the story and yes, it's full of very obvious spoilers:

Hard times have fallen on the Clayfoot Indian tribe with the arrival of Randolph Hitlear, an ex-Confederate general obsessed with idea of starting a second Civil War under his leadership. To finance this effort, Hitlear searches for the Clayfoot's mountain treasure, the Tomb of Gold. With the help of his dastardly henchmen, Ashley and Rhett, Hitlear forces the tribe into slavery to dig for the gold including the Clayfoot leader, Chief Boyardee. His daughter, Fawn, is a mystic who has the ability to speak to the Great Spirits. From them she learns of a prophecy that states that "the dark cloud of evil shall ride a warrior of good who shall become a savior". With that thought in mind, Fawn seeks the help of Brian Ryan in nearby Parched Throat, Arizona, a handsome young lawyer who moonlights as sheriff of this one lizard town. Brian falls in love with Fawn at first glance, raising the ire of saloon singer Sugar De Spice who wants to put her claws into the novice lawman herself. When the sheriff agrees to help, a jealous Sugar, along with the weasely corrupt Indian agent Percival P. Pestt, inform Hitlear. Laying in wait for the sheriff, Hitlear gets the upper hand upon Brian's arrival and in the fracas, Fawn is killed. When Brian is left for dead himself in the desert, Sugar has a change of heart and rescues him. Back in town, Fawn's spirit comes to him in his delirium and empowers Brian with special abilities given to him by the Great Spirits since he is indeed the warrior of good in the prophecy. Brian dons a mask and adopts the persona of the masked avenger known as The Rogue. He catches up to Hitlear just as he enters the fabled Tomb of Gold and thwarts his plans once and for all, saving the Clayfoot tribe and the nation from this vicious war criminal. And the rest is legendary... 

Now THE LEGEND OF THE ROGUE has been published by Off the Wall Plays. Performance rights are available.

CLICK HERE FOR A FREE PREVIEW OF LEGEND OF THE ROGUE AND TO INQUIRE ABOUT PERFORMANCE RIGHTS

Like the title says, the legend continues...

Tales from the Ville: Hi Yo, Silver!

Nostalgia’s a funny thing. It usually puts a warm golden light on our memories to conveniently make our past a lot more significant than it really was. That really doesn’t apply in this case. It’s hard not to look back at Goodbye TV, Hello Burlesque as a pivotal moment in time for everyone and everything involved with the Palace Showboat at that point. GTV, HB, the vaudeville The Lone Ranger Rides Again was written for, set the standard for just about every show that followed it. For one thing, it represented a definite changing of the guard at the theater. Many of those who had been responsible for the development of the standard Pollardville formula decided it was time to move on. That’s when the new kids on the block moved in and with them (or us, as the case may be), a new sensibility. As a result, the bar was raised for on what this theater was capable of with just a little bit of imagination and throwing off some of the shackles of the past.

There should 3 more around here somewhere.

   
Bill Humphreys, who conceived and directed this show with Goldie Pollard, brought some of his professional experience in stage and television production to the Ville and turned the olios into a full multi-media experience combining both film and video elements with live-action for the very first time on that stage. Like moths to a flame, this show, as well as the melodrama that preceded it, Seven Wives for Dracula, a better than usual script by Tim Kelly and directed by D.W. Landingham, attracted pretty much what I would call an artists’ collective of actors, writers, musicians and, well, artists. We all congregated in a harmonious convergence in what I unashamedly refer to this as our “Renaissance period”. (Whew!) Okay, maybe some of that is nostalgia speaking again, but the truth of the matter, or the proof in the pudding, was what ended up on that stage and that end result was sensational. We all went to the next level. The music was better. The choreography was better. The makeup, the costumes, the sets-painted by an actual artist, Karen Van Dine…all better than they ever were before. And the cast matched them every step of the way. On top of all that, it was the first show to not only utilize original material but also actually encouraged the creation of such material. That’s where I came in. It all stemmed from the previous production when I helped Bob Gossett punch up the melodrama The Downfall of the Uprising or Who Do the Voodoo? with a bunch of new gags. I tried to do the same with the vaudeville, but, with one exception, was shot down every time. When GTV, HB came along, I was welcome with open arms by both Bill and Goldie, the rest being history.

Goodbye TV, Hello Burlesque traced the world of entertainment back in time from the television age through radio and ending up in the burlesque era. The Lone Ranger Rides Again obviously fit into this middle section. As far as the origin of this sketch, I honestly do not remember. It’s the only one that I’m a little hazy about how it actually began. Perhaps it had been the result of just another idea jam session. I don’t know. But, a few years ago, I caught a rerun of an old Dean Martin Show on TV Land or something. On this episode, Dean and Orson Welles were recreating a radio show. Orson read the script leaving Dean with all the sound effects. Now this must have stuck in my head because I remembered seeing this sketch as a kid. In case you’re wondering, the only thing I retained was a variation of the stairs gag, so I didn’t really steal anything.

 
Everything clicked on this sketch and it evolved into something even more wonderful than what existed on the page. It began with a kid listening to the radio and changing the channel as a medley of radio show themes and commercials played. When it ended up on “The William Tell Overture” (AKA The Lone Ranger Theme), the audience went nuts every single time. Then the curtain opened on that great set of a radio soundstage from the 1940s and that superb cast took my words and spun their own magic for the next ten minutes. I can say without hesitation that this was the best sketch I had written and certainly the best produced.

The cast-Bob Gossett as The Lone Ranger, Ed Thorpe as Tonto, Cory Troxclair as McGuirk, Lisa Smith as Annabelle, Paul Stolberg as Zorro (who originally came out of the bathroom in the end, a gag I never liked which is why I changed it) and Bill Humphreys as the Director all contributed to its great success each and every performance. Of course, I would be remiss if I failed to mention the real star of this bit. Jim Walsh became an absolute superstar in my eyes as the Sound Effects Engineer. His timing was immaculate and his energy non-stop. When he got to the aforementioned stair gag, he ran in place, counting down with each finger. The biggest laugh of the night. This was Jimmy’s best show all around from his performance as Renfield earlier in the Dracula melodrama to singing “Hot Patootie” (from The Rocky Horror Show and the very first rock ‘n roll number at the Ville) to just about everything he contributed to this production-on and off the stage. Small wonder why we used to call Jimmy “The Hardest Working Man in Show Business”. Never mind no James Brown.

Without a doubt in my mind, Goodbye TV, Hello Burlesque remains one of the best experiences I’ve ever encountered in this business we call show. More than that, it solidified for me that Pollardville was more than just a theater, but a way of life. It became a surrogate family not only for me, but pretty much for all of us who stayed there throughout the years: One big nurturing, often dysfunctional but ultimately supportive family.

How could we not? After all, we had a place to call Home.
And that ain’t nostalgia talkin’ neither.

Post Script: In my infinite wisdom, I didn't audition for this show, but I did fill in for my friend Tom Amo one weekend so I was able to touch the stars on stage with this fine production for a fleeting moment.  

Ladies and Gentlemen...The Palace Showboat Players (2010 Edition)

It's been close to a month since the magical land known as Pollardville ( or what was left of it) has been demolished into history, lock, stock and barrel-or theater, ghost town and restaurant. All that remains is the tower that once a mighty chicken stood at its tip like an angel on a giant Christmas tree. It's the end of the Ville as we know it.

As an ex-Ghost Town gunslinger and former Palace Showboat Player, I found it sadder that Pollardville sat in decaying ruins for the past several years than when it was finally put out of its misery. After the last Pollardville reunion in 2007, it was tough to say goodbye, but I made my peace with it and walked away, never to return. I wasn’t there for the demolition either and didn’t really want to watch any news footage since I thought it might be like watching the autopsy of a close relative. Curiosity won out and I relented, observing the process online from the Stockton Record website while fellow Pollardvillian Tom Amo, one of the few who witnessed the event, gave the last words on the matter to the various media outlets on the scene, like this one here.


But rather than give yet another obituary on the Ville, I recalled that back in 2006, I posted another blog, not about the past, but more about today and the accomplishments of my comrades in arms. (That post, if you are inclined to read it is archived as: There's No People Like Show People) I've noticed that. as of late, my friends are in a very creative period and I for one want to not only applaud them but toot their horns like the Tijuana Brass.


In recent months , I've mentioned our first Oscar nominee, Jeremy Renner of THE HURT LOCKER as well Grant-Lee Phillips, now touring the Planet Earth as a real-life traveling troubadour, kind of a riff on his character on GILMORE GIRLS while promoting his latest work
LITTLE MOON.


Here's an update on what some of the rest of that ol' gang o' mine is up to these days:

Our first Emmy winner, Bill Humphreys, has made his big screen directorial debut with JUST SAY LOVE, now hitting the festival circuit across the country.


Christian Berdahl continues to have considerable success in the Christian market. (Yes, Christian the Christian. I get it. So does he.) His latest release is THE APPEARING-HEAVEN'S LAMB.

Kim Docter Luke is quite an excellent writer in her own write (boy, can I turn a phrase) with 2-count 'em-2 one act plays (ALL SKATE and THE EDGE REVISITED) in 2-count 'em-2 separate theaters in San Francisco. Check out some of her recent blog posts at her spot on the dial called
MADAME LUKE . That is, unless she's out on the roller derby track as her alter-ego Mildred Fierce, a proud member of the Santa Cruz Rollergirls.

Charlee Simons has just scored the coveted afternoon drive DJ gig at Sacramento's FM country station 101.9-The Wolf as well as running his own production company Good Boy, Buster Productions.

Jim Walsh is helping put together the Peace and Justice Network (PJN) ins Stockton.

Matt Kenney's still rockin' SoCal venues with The Matt Kenney Band.

In Northern California, bassist extraordinaire A.J. Joyce and John "Wizard Fingers" Wilder are kickin' up the jams with their various respective gigs.

Then sometimes something comes out of the blue that you never expected but it makes you immediately rise to your feet and start cheering. Our own Scott Duns has pulled off what most of us have dreamed about ever since we were able to dream at all. He has just completed his very first starring role in a feature film, BAD FAITH, a film that he also written, directed and produced. This is the epitome of a true labor of love that you not only have to admire, but to also respect. To top it off, the Duns kid is having a private screening at the classic cinema known as the Crest Theater in Sacramento. Nothing could be better than that.

This is but an sampling of the few, the proud, the talented that passed through the Pollardville portal at one time or another. There are several others that have performed in one form or another since their stay at the Ville and have had their own triumphs that are equally well-deserved. They only need to stand up and be counted so they too can get the applause they deserve as well.

As the Ville no longer exists on the physical plane, its spirit still lives on thanks to its ongoing legacy known as The Palace Showboat Players.

Long live the Ville.