A Run-in with Stephen Schwartz

Stephen Schwartz spoke to me today!

I'm as giddy as. . .well. . .as I always am when I run into a Broadway celebrity. (Imagine a scientist meeting Stephen Hawking or a tween meeting [insert pop icon], and you'll start to get the idea.) My giddiness shot through the theater roof and left me completely speechless when Bernadette Peters signed my playbill in 2010. The next year, as I walked into the Strouse home and shook the hand of the man responsible for Annie, I couldn't do a thing but smile and pray that his razor-sharp composer's ears wouldn't pick up the sound of my pounding heart. And now here I am in 2012, running into Stephen Schwartz. . .literally! That's right; the man whose genius gave rise to a little show called Wicked actually bumped into me tonight, looked deeply into my eyes, and said, with great feeling, "Excuse me."

True story.

I was sitting on my backback at the time, successfully blocking the aisle between chairs in a little room on the 10th floor of the Ripley-Grier studios in NYC. The room was packed with music theater enthusiasts, and there weren't enough chairs to go around. As half of the workshop auditors shuffled uncomfortably on their feet, I set down my bulging backpack (I'd just stepped off the bus from Boston) and--with an apologetic look that masked my secret, inner satisfaction--plopped down on my makeshift seat. The woman in the chair next to me glanced a few times in my direction. I wondered if she was going to ask me to move. Finally, she turned and said, "Okay--I've got to ask: Are you the actress from Newsies?" I grinned inwardly as possible responses flashed through my mind. Part of me wanted to rise from my awkward perch in a dignified way and proclaim, "I am! Offer me your chair, you commoner." Instead, I smiled and shook my head. "Oh. Well, you look like her. Great show, by the way; you should see it if you get the chance."

I was soon glad that I wasn't sitting on a chair, though, because my middle-of-the-aisle seat gave me both a perfect view of the workshop and the aforementioned opportunity to brush knees and exchange pleasantries ("Excuse me!" "Sorry!") with the man of the hour. The panel consisted of Stephen Schwartz, Dick Scalan (the lyricist for Thoroughly Modern Millie--my all-time favorite musical and the first one I ever saw on Broadway!), and a producer who shall remain nameless. . .mostly because I don't remember his name. :-) In my defense, I wasn't the only one who didn't catch it! The elderly ladies in my corner kept poking each other and whispering loudly, trying to figure out who the producer was. They never did.

The show being workshopped was a clever re-imagining of Jane Austen's Emma, set in 1964. The tunes were catchy, the dialogue was snappy, and the actors were incredible (all seasoned Broadway veterans). As Stephen Schwartz pointed out later, it was the best free show in town! I don't think I stopped grinning from beginning to end. As it turns out, though, what I thought was a nearly-perfect book and score was actually a solid concept that suffered from cluttered execution. The panelists suggested clarifying the character arcs, steering away from musical pastiche, and re-storyboarding (yes, Broadway recognizes that verb even if Webster doesn't!).

During the panel discussion, Stephen--we're totally on a first name basis after brushing knees, right?--related a story from the early workshopping phase of Wicked. "We had a lot going on in the show back then," he said. "There were secondary characters. . .magical creatures. . .you know. Glinda and Elphaba did all sorts of things in little scenes on their own, and it just wasn't working. After awhile, we finally made a sign for ourselves that said, "It's the girls, stupid!" We had to remind ourselves that when Glinda and Elphaba were onstage together, they made theater magic. When they weren't, the show died." All three panelists agreed that a musical can't just be about an idea, a historical setting, or a political agenda--it has to be about a shared human experience, and it has to zoom in on a particular relationship. If it doesn't, the audience won't invest.

I wonder if my new buddy, Stephen Schwartz, might be able to get me into a showing of Wicked. (At this point, it seems like a personal "in" might be more successful than the lottery! I've entered 14 times now and never won.)

I left the workshop inspired to re-work Weaver. As I walked towards 42nd street, I discovered, to my delight, that both Crumbs Cupcakes and the Shake Shack were within easy walking distance of the studio! It was a good discovery and also a very, very bad one. I think I might have impose a single trip limit during my week here! After perusing 8th street, I crossed over to Broadway and said hello to Times Square.

I've missed you, you big, noisy city!

I felt a sudden rush of fondness as I stepped onto the subway with a huge crowd of theater-goers and headed uptown to the apartment where I'd be staying with a church friend and her roommates. (Mama: You'll be happy to know that my commute takes me directly from Times Square to Adrienne's apartment, no transfers or long walks involved!)

I ended the evening by researching current Broadway shows, looking up free things to do in the city, and chatting with the four amazing girls in this apartment. They're all friendly and fun. . .almost as friendly and fun as my own roommates in Boston. ;-) Now I'm drifting off to sleep with the sounds of the city reminding me that, in New York, things never really slow down. My own pulse is starting to match the pulse of this city again, and the excitement is invigorating.

So where should I live this summer? Although I've been in a dedicated, long-term relationship with Boston, when I returned to visit the Big Apple today, all of my old feelings rushed back. Sitting on the top deck of the Megabus and watching each familiar street slide by, I remembered my first Megabus entrance to New York last summer. I was an outsider then, and everything was unfamiliar. This time, I was making a triumphant, top deck return to my home turf!

I love you both, Boston and New York, in separate but equal ways. *Sigh* What's a girl to do?