Tales from the Ville: Under the Big Top-Goosesteps

The wrap-up to the UNDER THE BIG TOP saga, the vaudeville that paired with the revival of DOWNFALL OF THE UPRISING OR WHO DO THE VOODOO?, my first show at the Ville.

So it's time to address the German elephant in the room. 

During our first vaudeville rehearsal, director Phil De Angelo ran down his lineup of the show, mentioning that there would be a big production number smack dab in the middle featuring the entire cast. The name alone gob-smacked me into next Tuesday: "Springtime for Hitler" from Mel Brooks' first movie, the comedy classic THE PRODUCERS. At the time, Brooks was primarily known for BLAZING SADDLES and YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN. His debut had still been pretty of a cult film and it would be almost 25 years before a musical adaptation opened on Broadway.

I love THE PRODUCERS, considering it to be a near masterpiece of film comedies as well as being crazy about the "Springtime" number itself in the film. The fact that this would be considered to be part a Pollardville production seemed to me at least ill advised. It's all a matter of context. The crooked Broadway producers of the source material purposely search for the most offensive and worst stage property they can find in order to raise the money, close the show early and collect what's left over. It's supposed to be gawdawful given the subject matter alone. Would an audience get the obvious parody of the song taken out of its natural element? And not just any audience, but a Pollardville audience?

For some reason, my recollections of the number itself including the rehearsals thereof are sketchy at
best. I don't recall the choreography (though there might have been a goosesteps thrown in for "good" measure) or how it had been staged. I do remember wearing a cheap plastic Nazi helmet along with my fellow cast members and a few odd bits here and there. To introduce the number, Bob Gossett as Groucho Marx began: "Ah, Germany, home of Hansel and Gretel and war!" (the funniest line or bit in the whole thing as far as I was concerned) Out we came singing the opening verse of this satirical song until in walked Hitler just in time for the chorus. In the film and subsequent productions, this part was merely a stormtrooper, but Phil promoted him to the Fuehrer himself. He was portrayed by Vincent Warren, who it should be noted, is African American and wore a dash of white paint to give the appearance of Schicklgruber's mustache or at least a negative version of it. That was basically the big joke of the piece and did garner a decent crowd reaction, though it might have been a tension reliever since they reacted pretty close how the audience did in the movie. While we managed to garner polite applause, it frankly wasn't very enthusiastic.

"Springtime" had problems to be sure which were addressed at brush up rehearsals. At the first run through, Grant Phillips barely made it onstage in time, losing his pants in the process. Phil yelled out, "Leave it in!" He also suggested a kicker to the piece. Hitler and Eva Braun (possibly to be played by  Monica Dale in a blonde wig as I recall) would join Groucho Bob on a side stage and drink a toast to each other as The Karl Marx Brothers. Then Adolph and Eva would keel over dead from their poisoned cocktails. Groucho would then quip: "Well, I always wanted to be a single." It didn't fly, but the dropping of the pants remained since it didn't require a fly.

To the best of my knowledge, we didn't receive any complaints from the audience initially nor did this result in any walkouts. However, during one performance, we finally did get some blow back. Hoo boy, did we ever. Attendance that Friday night was not  the best, maybe a third full, just above the cancellation level. The show moved along swimmingly until the midway point when it was time again for "Springtime for You Know Who". One of the audience members obviously didn't get the joke and utterly blew a gasket. He stood in the fourth aisle and maniacally began thrusting his arm forward in a Nazi salute and yelling, "Sieg heil! Sieg heil! Sieg heil!" From the stage, we could only stare in disbelief and confusion as we struggled through the number. Whoever had accompanied this gentleman attempted to get him to return to his seat, but he was having none of it, remaining standing in the fourth aisle, continuing to holler and saluting his Germanic karate chops. He gave me the impression he might rush the stage at any moment. Thankfully, we got through it and moved on with the rest of the olios, unaware of what happened to our "critic". As it turned out, he managed to last all the way through to the finale, sticking around afterward because maybe he wanted some answers from somebody, anybody for that matter. I believe Phil took it upon himself himself to have a spirited conversation with this gentleman after the show. He found that this guy had no clue in the world about THE PRODUCERS or the song itself, so in his eyes and ears, this was a full blown tribute perhaps? To put it bluntly, this caused him to totally lose his shit. Phil managed to appease him. He went away, maybe not happy, but at least mildly relieved our show wasn't underwritten by the American Nazi Party.  Fortunately that was the only time something like that occurred, but it did leave some of us a little gun-shy, so to speak.

We finished the show with a gospel finale, quite the turnabout from that earlier number. Wiping off his white moustache and leaving Hitler behind, Vincent came out on top regaling one and all with his spectacular rendition "His Eye Is On The Sparrow" while the rest of us joined in, banging our tambourines in the name of the Lord. Maybe it was enough to redeem ourselves and soothe our angry patron or anyone else for that matter enough so as to not rejoin the French Resistance.

As a post script, I should add that ten years later in my last show, the olios were ALL THIS AND WORLD WAR TWO directed by Carmen Musch. In it was another Hitler number, this one DER FUEHRER'S FACE, an old Spike Jones parody song also featured in a anti-Nazi propaganda Walt Disney cartoon featuring Donald Duck. The context of this song was immediate, involving a lot of wet raspberries spit into the lead singer's face, me. The audience, immediately in on the joke, ate it up. And as for me, I just realized that my time at Pollardville was bookended by Nazis. Oy vey.

So ended UNDER THE BIG TOP, a roller coaster of a vaudeville that served, along with the melodrama DOWNFALL OF THE RISING, as my debut on the Palace Showboat stage. As tumultuous as the experience had been,, I couldn't have had a better or more memorable experience as my first show. Sure, there was drama o' plenty, a lot of slapstick, some injuries, but also a whole lotta laughs and, for me, wish fulfillment. I always said that Pollardville allowed me to do everything I ever wanted to do in show business and this show was only the beginning of a wild ride. So, in essence, this is my origin story.

PART ONE OF UNDER THE BIG TOP-BE A CLOWN

PART TWO-THE ADVENTURES OF CRASH POLLARD

MORE TALES FROM THE VILLE

Jingle Balls...uh, Bells

Seasons Greetings and all that humbuggery to you and yours. I’m surprised we’re even celebrating a holiday Wasn’t there supposed to be some kind of War on Christmas?

this year.

“Look out! The Virgin Mary’s got a gun!”

My mood fluctuates from day to day. To keep from plummeting into what Robert Crumb used to call “The Dreaded Depths of Despair” is a full time job and frankly, I just don’t have the time. It’s amazing I found time to rustle up some spare minutes to crank out another entry for this exercise in futility. How the hell do people manage to blog each and every day? Oh, that’s right. I’ve read their stuff.

“Which would you rather have-air or water? Discuss.”

It’s not as if my shit is any better. My archive is chock full of nothing more than a collection of comments, snide, snarky and superficial, supposedly under the guise of “sharp criticism”. Right. I’m about as sharp as Nicole Richie on Celebrity Jeopardy. Recently I was accused of being a “smart guy”. Don’t you believe it. It’s all smoke, mirrors and misdirection. Hell, I couldn’t even muster up a few sentences to memorialize one of my personal heroes, Robert Altman. The man and his work had an impact on my life but I’ll damned if I could muster up a syllable to explain why and how. The only thing I could think of was to paraphrase what Billy Wilder and William Wyler said about Ernst Lubitsch.

No more Robert Altman. Even worse. No more Robert Altman films.

(I don’t so much create as much as I memorize.)

You want a tribute to Altman? Watch his films. His work speaks for itself as he spoke through his work. I would suggest NASHVILLE, CALIFORNIA SPLIT, BREWSTER MCCLOUD, THE PLAYER and to my mind, one of the best films ever made, MCCABE AND MRS. MILLER. As for me, I halfway expect Ol' Bob to make another of his signature comebacks in a couple of years. Talk about denial…

The reason for this funk o’ mine can’t be blamed on the season. It’s just coincidental that these doldrums across the Mohawk are blossoming right here and right now during the most wonderful time of the year. I even got to the point where I was rustling through my pockets for Zusu’s petals. All I could come up with was an unwrapped Ricola covered in lint.

BUT…

Amazing Grace…how sweet the sound…that saved a wretch like me….

Last week I took in the annual Gospel Christmas concert with the Portland Symphony and the Northwest Community Gospel Chorus and had the spirit move me. Hallelujah!

This was Gospel Authentica, a roof raising experience that I had been wanting to experience for years. By night’s end I was on my feet, clapping my hands and ready to testify! Symphony conductor Charles Floyd and choir director Gary Hemenway at the helm of a superb group of singers and musicians will be forever in my debt for rescuing me from a total meltdown that day. I can’t honestly say the Christmas Spirit suddenly possessed me, but the therapeutic results of that show has lasted for a solid week so far. Praise the Lord and pass the mistletoe.

As for y’all out there, I guess all that I want to say is what I’ve been saying for the last couple of years.

Be good to each other and for your own sake, be good to yourselves.

You deserve it.

We all do.

Merry Christmas to all
and to all
good night and good luck.