Razzle Dazzle

by Michael Riedel

  The creators of Annie (left to right): composer Charles Strouse, lyricist and director Martin Charnin, and bookwriter Thomas Meehan in front of the Watergate Hotel in Washington, D.C., where the musical played its out-of-town tryout. After opening to enthusiastic reviews at the Kennedy Center, producer Mike Nichols took the team to dinner and said, “You’re going to be here six weeks. You’ve gotten good reviews and you’re going to be a hit here. But if you do nothing and bring the show in as it is, you are going to have one of the biggest flops in history. So get to work.”

  Tommy Tune (left) getting advice from his friend and mentor Michael Bennett at a rehearsal for the 1980 Tony Awards. Bennett gave Tune his first shot at choreographing in the 1973 musical Seesaw. But when Tune’s first show as a director, Nine, went up against Bennett’s Dreamgirls for the Tony Award in 1982, Bennett turned on his protégé. He called Tune up one night and threatened him in a voice that sounded like a mobster’s.

  Bernard B. Jacobs (center), president of the Shubert Organization, looks adoringly at Michael Bennett, the director of Broadway’s two biggest hits, A Chorus Line and Dreamgirls. The father-son relationship between these two powerful men affected everyone on Broadway. “If anyone said anything against Michael, they’d be in trouble with Bernie,” said set designer Robin Wagner.

  David Merrick on the set of 42nd Street with one of the show’s stars, Lee Roy Reams. 42nd Street was Merrick’s Broadway comeback. He had gone to Los Angeles to make movies but discovered that the studios controlled Hollywood. Only on Broadway could he run the show.

  One of the last photographs of Gower Champion (left), the director of 42nd Street. His arm is around Lee Roy Reams. Champion was suffering from a rare blood disorder during the tryout in Washington, D.C. He died the morning the show opened in New York, on August 25, 1980. Merrick announced Champion’s death at the curtain call, putting 42nd Street on the front pages of newspapers around the world.

  Jack Benny, James M. Nederlander, and Elizabeth I. McCann celebrating a contract Benny signed to play some of Nederlander’s theaters in 1971. McCann was one of the few producers who could shuttle between the Nederlanders and the Shuberts. “You were either a Shubert man or a Nederlander man,” said producer Emanuel Azenberg. McCann managed to be both.

  The final curtain call for the Tony Award–winning The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby at the Plymouth Theatre on January 3, 1982. Director Trevor Nunn and leading man Roger Rees are in the front row, far left. The Shuberts and the Nederlanders coproduced Nicholas Nickleby, though they remained suspicious of each other throughout the run. Every aspect of the show was negotiated “like the Treaty of Ghent,” said press agent Josh Ellis.

  Hey, Mr. Producer! Gerald Schoenfeld (left), Bernard Jacobs (center), and Philip J. Smith (right), wearing Styrofoam hats, celebrate an American Express ad from the 1980s spotlighting Broadway producers. Smith was Jacobs’s right-hand man for more than thirty years. Jacobs did not make a decision without consulting him. Producer Scott Rudin called Smith “the Tom Hagen of the Shuberts.”

  William Ivey Long’s costume sketch for Anita Morris as Carla in Nine. After the first preview, every show queen in New York was on the phone talking about “the redhead in the cat suit,” said Long. Tune wanted Morris to perform her sultry number “A Call from the Vatican” on the Tony Award telecast, but CBS censors forbid “nipple rubbing” and “audible sounds of ecstasy.”

  William Ivey Long’s costume sketch for “The Grand Canal” in the second act of Nine. The number was an homage to rococo opéra bouffe, but “it was longer than Aida!” said press agent Judy Jacksina. The creators of Nine had barely finished the second act when the critics came to see the show. Clive Barnes wrote that he could smell the paint drying on the set.

  Judy Jacksina, the press agent for Nine, knew the show had to make a splash if it stood a chance against the season’s big hit, Dreamgirls. Her greatest weapons were the twenty-one striking women in the cast. She covered the front of the 46th Street Theatre with life-size photos of them in their black costumes. “I wanted to seductively represent what was going on inside the theater,” she said. “I didn’t want cute little tap-dancing photos. I wanted sex.” The day the photos went up, traffic ground to a halt along the block.

  Jerry Schoenfeld and Albert Poland at the opening of the Off-Broadway play Modigliani in 1978. As a young producer in the 1960s, Poland used Schoenfeld and Jacobs as his lawyers. He was in their office one day in 1972 and found Schoenfeld “impossible to deal with.” A few days later he picked up the New York Times and read that Schoenfeld and Jacobs had staged a coup to take over the Shubert Organization.

  Albert Poland with Bernie and Betty Jacobs at the opening of Modigliani. Poland was a frequent visitor to Jacobs’s office above the Shubert Theatre. After Marsha Norman’s play ’night, Mother, about a lonely woman who kills herself, opened at the John Golden Theatre in 1983, he stopped by to ask Jacobs how it went. “It was fine,” Jacobs replied. “But the depth of the suicide audience remains to be seen.”

  Emanuel Azenberg (left) with Neil Simon, Broadway’s most successful playwright. Azenberg produced many of Simon’s plays, including Brighton Beach Memoirs, Biloxi Blues, and Broadway Bound. He got his start in the theater as the company manager for the national tour of I Can Get It for You Wholesale. The first stop was Detroit, where he met D. T. Nederlander. Azenberg arrived at the theater the first night and found D. T. screaming at the show’s star, Lillian Roth. She was entering the theater through the lobby. “Actors go in the stage door!” D. T. shouted.

  Celebrating the 1983 Fred Astaire Awards are (left to right) Liliane Montevecchi, Michael Bennett, Vivian Reed, Charles “Honi” Coles, and critics Clive Barnes and Douglas Watt. Coles was appearing in Tommy Tune’s hit musical My One and Only that year. Bennett tried to help Tune in rehearsals, but fueled by cocaine and vodka, he was turning a lighthearted romp into something dark and raunchy. He was asked to leave.

  The men behind Les Misérables: (left to right) French writer Alain Boublil, producer Cameron Mackintosh, director Trevor Nunn, and Herbert Kretzmer, who did the English adaptation. They’re celebrating their win for Best Musical at the 1987 Tony Awards. Les Misérables didn’t look like a winner when it began performances at the Barbican Theatre in London in 1985. Kretzmer watched a run through and “my heart sank to my boots,” he recalled. “Overplotted” and “interminable” were the words roiling in his head. “Disaster was staring us in the face,” he said. “We’d really bought it this time.”

  Curtain call for the opening night of The Phantom of the Opera, January 26, 1988, with (left to right) Michael Crawford, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and Sarah Brightman. Lloyd Webber got the idea for the show when he picked up a secondhand copy of Gaston Leroux’s 1910 thriller at the Strand bookstall on Fifth Avenue and Fifty-Ninth Street. “It was a sort of confused book, but the thing that struck me was this big love story going through it,” he said.

  David Merrick, after his stroke, attends the opening of The Phantom of the Opera with Etan Aronson, to whom he was twice married. Merrick had lost the use of his dagger-like tongue and could only grunt in approval or disapproval. But he knew a hit show when he saw one. He sent producer Cameron Mackintosh a telegram: “The torch has passed from me to you.”

  Andrew Lloyd Webber with his second wife, muse, and leading lady, Sarah Brightman, at the opening night party for The Phantom of the Opera. Lloyd Webber exploded that night when he read what Frank Rich wrote about Brightman in his New York Times review: “She simulates fear and affection alike by screwing her face into bug-eyed, chipmunk-cheek poses more appropriate to the Lon Chaney film version.”

  Broadway opening nights can be long, especially if you’re a kid. Bernie Jacobs trades in his usual scowl for a smile as he gazes down on his sleeping grandson at the Phantom opening. He’d be smiling the next day, too, when the show broke box office records despite Frank Rich’s tough review.

  The opening night invitation for the Chess
party at the United Nations. For the first time in years, the Shuberts were the lead producers of a major Broadway musical. Their partners were the show’s creators: Benny Andersson, Björn Ulvaeus, and Tim Rice (3 Knights LTD); and British producer Robert Fox. Everybody lost a fortune.

  The opening night marquee for Chess at the Imperial Theatre. The advertising agency struggled to create an image for the musical, which was about a chess tournament set against the backdrop of the Cold War. “We tried to build it around the U.S. vs. the U.S.S.R.—Gorbachev had just come in,” said ad executive Rick Elice. “We tried to make it relevant. Nobody gave a fuck. We couldn’t sell it.”

  Tim Rice (left), with Björn Ulvaeus, is defiant at the Chess opening. But in fact 1988 was the lowest point of his life. “My father died, and I was almost broke . . . because my outgoings were huge because of Chess, which hadn’t really made any money in London,” he said. Rice invested heavily in the New York production. “I took another hit there.”

  Producer Robert Fox, preparing himself for the reviews with several glasses of wine, at the Chess opening with his new wife, Natasha Richardson. As he left the party, the press agent handed him Frank Rich’s blistering attack. “I read it, and laughed like a lunatic,” he said, “because if you’re going to get a bad review, this one is it.

  The most powerful men in the American theater: Gerald Schoenfeld (center) and Bernard B. Jacobs (right) at an event with Mayor Ed Koch. Schoenfeld handled government relations for the Shuberts, often sparring with city officials who, he felt, were not committed to cleaning up Times Square. When he badgered Koch, the mayor responded: “Where’s Broadway going to go? New Jersey?”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As with so much in life, timing—especially for a book like this—is everything. I was lucky enough to stumble on a story that could be put together from interviews with people who lived it. They had vivid, often hilarious, memories of Broadway and its personalities in the 1960s, ’70s, and ’80s. But enough time had gone by so that they could also be candid and reflective about some of the more painful parts of the story I have tried to tell. This book could not have been written without their help.

  The first person I interviewed was Albert Poland. I spent several hours with him at his house in Dutchess County as he regaled me with tales of Gerald Schoenfeld, Bernard Jacobs, and the world of the Shubert Organization. Albert loved Bernie and Jerry, and they loved him. He understood what I was trying to accomplish with this book, and encouraged me throughout the reporting and writing. He read every chapter, providing thoughtful comments and correcting grievous errors. A writer could not have a better source or friend.

  I have nearly twenty hours of interviews with Philip J. Smith, the chairman of the Shubert Organization. He was a participant in, or had a ringside seat at, almost every event that takes place in Razzle Dazzle. As Scott Rudin likes to say, “Phil Smith is the Tom Hagen of the Shuberts.” Phil remembers everything and tells it with flair. He is also a wise and generous friend. I hope this book gives him the credit he deserves for his part in saving the Shuberts and Broadway in the 1970s.

  I had many fun lunches with James M. Nederlander, who like Phil Smith has an astonishing memory. He can tell you how much he paid, to the dime, for every theater he owns. I would also like to thank James L. Nederlander (“Jimmy Jr.”) and his wife, Margo, for their friendship and support.

  Three other friends were great sources. Elizabeth I. McCann, also possessed of a sharp memory, poked fun at all the characters in this story, but never minimized their accomplishments. Emanuel Azenberg understood better than anyone the complex and often ridiculous rivalry between the Shuberts and the Nederlanders. And John Breglio, over the course of three long interviews, helped me grasp the brilliance, charisma, and tragedy of Michael Bennett.

  I would also like to thank the following people for their time and their memories: John Barlow, Clive Barnes, Sidney Baumgarten, Joseph Berger, Ira Bernstein, Arthur Birsh, Don Black, Mark Bramble, Betty Buckley, Barry Burnett, David Clurman, Lawrence Cohen, Robert Cole, Nancy Coyne, Judy Craymer, Alan Eisenberg, Rick Elice, Josh Ellis, Dasha Epstein, Robert Fox, Merle Frimark, Jeremy Gerard, Bernard Gersten, Roberta Gratz, John Heilpern, Shirley Herz, William Ivey Long, Judy Jacksina, Betty Jacobs, Geoffrey Johnson, Robert Kamlot, Ed Koch, Herbert Kretzmer, Henry Krieger, Lionel Larner, Susan Lee, Francine LeFrak, Jerry Leichtling, William Liberman, Paul Libin, Andrew Lloyd Webber, Cameron Mackintosh, Richard Maltby Jr., Robert McDonald, Thomas Meehan, Alan Menken, Trevor Nunn, Elaine Paige, Harold Prince, Kathleen Raitt, Lee Roy Reams, Tim Rice, Arthur Rubin, Harvey Sabinson, Nick Scandalios, Peter Schneider, Richard Seff, Peter Shaffer, Michael Sovern, Herbert Sturz, Joseph Traina, Tommy Tune, Norman Twain, Edward Foley Vaughan, George Wachtel, Robin Wagner, Carl Weisbrod, Franklin Weissberg, Barry Weissler, Jon Wilner, and Bobby Zarem.

  Although much of this book is drawn from interviews, I have also relied on several secondary sources. Foster Hirsch’s The Boys from Syracuse is the best book about the Shubert brothers and their rise to power. It is scholarly but readable, and it was by my side as I wrote the early chapters of Razzle Dazzle. Jerry Stagg’s The Brothers Shubert is fun and gossipy, but its sourcing is vague, so I only took from it what I could confirm elsewhere. Brooks Atkinson’s Broadway is an excellent overview of the Great White Way from 1900 to 1970. My friend Ken Mandelbaum’s A Chorus Line and the Musicals of Michael Bennett is indispensable when writing about Bennett. And Michael Walsh’s Andrew Lloyd Webber: His Life and Works is a well-written and insightful biography of the composer.

  For background on Times Square, New York City, and the financial crisis of 1975, I am indebted to Lynne B. Sagalyn’s Times Square Roulette, Anthony Bianco’s Ghosts of 42nd Street: A History of America’s Most Infamous Block, Vincent J. Cannato’s The Ungovernable City: John Lindsay and His Struggle to Save New York, Ken Auletta’s The Streets Were Paved with Gold, and Roger Starr’s The Rise and Fall of New York City.

  I am grateful to Christopher Bonanos, a senior editor at New York, for digging out several articles from his magazine that I could not find on my own.

  Many friends supported and encouraged me throughout the three years it took to write this book. Eric Fettman, a member of the New York Post’s editorial board, talked me off the ledge when I felt overwhelmed by the project. He was also an excellent guide to the history and politics of New York City. Scott Rudin read early drafts of chapters and kept my spirits up with his enthusiastic responses. Barbara Hoffman, my editor at the New York Post for more than fifteen years, was always patient when I was up against a deadline. Clive Hirschhorn, a friend of twenty-five years, put me up at his apartment and country house while I conducted interviews in London. He was also an invaluable source about the musicals that appear in these pages. Wendy Kidd always made sure I had a quiet place to write when I was her guest at Holders House in Barbados. And Tita Cahn looked after me in Los Angeles. It was a great thrill to work in the garden where her husband, Sammy, wrote many of his incomparable songs.

  My thanks also to Col Allan, Rob Bartlett, Stefanie Cohen, Stewart Collins, Margi Conklin, Clive Davis, Steven Doloff, Jonathan Foreman, Amanda Foreman, Susan Haskins, Katie and Peter Hermant, Charles Isherwood, Hugh Jackman, Linda Kline, George Lane, Imogen Lloyd Webber, Dagen McDowell, Patrick Pacheco, John Simon, Kevin Spacey, David Stone, Jan Stuart, Robert Wankel, and Fran Weissler.

  Michael Kuchwara was one of the kindest people I have ever known. He was also a great reporter and critic. Jacques le Sourd made me laugh every day for twenty years. And Martin Gottfried gave me the best advice about writing a book: “Take your time. Do the research, and you’ll find the story.” I wish they could have stuck around to attend the book party.

  David Kuhn invited me for a drink and changed my life. He asked if I’d ever thought of writing a book. I hadn’t, but after a couple of glasses of Sauvignon blanc, I threw out a vague idea. “That’s a book,” he said. He is a great agent, editor, and friend. Thanks also to his ass
ociate Becky Sweren, who kept on top of things that had slipped my mind.

  I am grateful to Jonathan Karp at Simon & Schuster for taking a chance on a newspaperman who had never written anything longer than 1,200 words. He has been a champion of Razzle Dazzle from the moment he read the proposal. Ben Loehnen was my editor and became my friend as I worked on this book. “You have a mountain to climb,” he told me over drinks at the Lambs Club after I signed the contract. I would have fallen off that mountain long ago without his help. His red pen made me a better writer than I ever imagined I could be. I am also indebted to Jonathan Evans and Anthony Newfield, copyeditors who asked all the right questions.

  Christina Amoroso came into my life the day I started working on Razzle Dazzle. God knows why, but she stuck with me the whole time, never complaining when weekends that might have been devoted to bike riding or wine tasting on the North Fork of Long Island were consumed with work. She is more than I deserve.

  My sister, Leslie Riedel, and her husband, Scott Friend, took care of me when I had doubts about my ability to write Razzle Dazzle. I sat on their porch in West Newton, Massachusetts, for a week in the summer of 2011, read some short stories by F. Scott Fitzgerald, cleared my head, and went to work. Their love and support was, and always will be, essential to this book and anything else I try to do.