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"All's Well That Ends Well, from William Shakespeare,
the highly acclaimed author of Romeo & Juliet"
Thus ran the promotional banner in the New York Sunday Times shortly before the
R.S.C left the Barbican for Broadway.
It seemed like a good joke at the time, but it was
the herald of all the subsequent mishandling of Trevor Nunn's brilliant production at the
Martin Beck Theatre.
As a matter of interest, there was some pre pre-publicity which started the whole thing
rolling.
Frank Rich, the most feared and respected critic of the New York Times, had seen the show
during it's immensely successful run at Stratford, and had exhorted his fellow citizens to
take out second mortgages on their homes, sell their Atari's, and fly to England to see
us, as their was little likelihood of seeing such wonders on Broadway!
So you see, he
started it. According to some, he finished it too.
It was touch and go from the start. Some of the company were unwilling or unable to go
abroad for any length of time.
The major loss was Dame Peggy Ashcroft, yet such recasting
as had to be done was settled quite smoothly, with Margaret Tyzack
fortunately and happily taking over the role of the Countess. This was by no means a
setback. No, the setbacks really began later. There are two great powers in the New
York theatre; The Schuberts and the Nederlanders. Between them they run Broadway, as near
as damn it, consequently, any show of merit is either presented or rejected by them.
Between them they own most of the theatres, and so, as you might imagine, a sort of
rivalry has developed. Of course there are other producers who have presented fine work
with equal success, but ultimate power rests, or wrestles, with the Schuberts and the
Nederlanders.
Now I can't go into the precise politics of the situation which resulted in our being
told, one week, we were going to Broadway and, the next week, we were not, because I don't
know exactly what kind of deals were either being struck or rejected, but this resulted in
a somewhat nervous though loyal company, with no definite date for departure and clinging
to the brink of having to reject or accept alternative work. The delays experienced
resulted in the couple of theatres which had been earmarked as ideal in ambience and size
for John Gunter's beautiful Edwardian settings, a corner stone of the production, had to
be given up to other productions. Manhattan may be built on rock but Broadway's tectonic
plates had shifted. The landscape had altered and was the same. 'The Broadway shuffle',
left no Schubert or Nederlander house available. 'The Broadway shuffle' - a phenomenon
created by moving a successful show to another theatre, giving the box office another
boost with another opening, and bringing in other shows, waiting in line into a theatre
which had been associated with success. A compromise was reached in the end. The
Schuberts, along with seven independent producers, would present 'All's Well' at
the Martin Beck Theater, a mock Spanish edifice, built in 1924, quite intimate in
feel, but bedevilled by a dress circle which stretches up and away in a steep rake to
infinity, owned and operated by Jujamcyn Theaters, an organisation independent of the big
two.
A series of events known as "Britain Salutes New York" was taking place
during our projected sixteen week run. The Royal ballet was there; there were art
and photographic exhibitions and fringe theatre productions. It was the brainchild of a
group of British businessmen to promote and extol the virtues of all things British in
order to boost trade.
The R.S.C was not officially a part of it but we were there and we
were British. As if this wasn't enough, it would be fair to say that New York had already
surfeited on some notable Anglo goodies; Peter Schaefer's 'Amadeus' was a hit and
still running:; David Hare's 'Plenty' had just closed as had Caryl Churchill's 'Top Girls'
and her play 'Clouds' was still running and Peter Nichol's play 'Passion' was about to
open. Trevor Nunn and the R.S.C had been responsible for the huge success of the previous
season, namely 'Nicholas Nickleby', and Trevor's current Broadway hit, a little show
called 'Cats' was doing 101% business at the time, and as far as I know still is. It
wouldn't have been unreasonable to wonder if Broadway's saturation point had not already
been reached. But you know what they say; "You can't have too much of a good
thing!"
So there we were, the triumph of The Royal Shakespeare Company's season,
directed by the man responsible for Broadway's cause celebre of the season before as
well as it's biggest hit of the present season. What could go wrong?
.Quite a lot. A few things went right, but quite a lot went wrong. As if the posters for
the show were not warning enough! They were headed "Surrender to the romance",
a
fundamental misunderstanding of the play and it's presentation. In the event the romance
was more in the realm of "Brief Encounter" and we had no alternative but to
surrender. And to what? A belief held by our publicists that the team that brought you
"Nick Nick" could not possibly fail to work the trick again? Or their other
belief that Shakespeare was difficult to sell? Indeed, they gave our author an extremely
low profile, to such an extent that many patrons, lured by the title and the pretty
poster, thought they were coming to see a musical! Or did they believe that once our
reviews were published the public would climb over each other to buy tickets? - providing
the reviews were favourable.
With two minor exceptions, the reviews were wonderful; they are on record and no quotes
are needed here, but first things first. After a week of intensive and carefully detailed
rehearsal with Trevor in our New York theatre; tightening up the production; clarifying
and clarifying so that an audience, not used to the intricate language of the play spoken
in our foreign accents, would be helped every step of the way. After ecstatic receptions
by our preview audiences we played our first night. We arrived at
the first night party with a sneaking suspicion that we'd done alright. The vast dining
room was packed with friends and friends of friends of our many producers, and
congratulations were abundant and gratefully received. You might know that the New York
reviews are in print and in the news stands pretty soon after the event. It's quite usual
there to buy the next day's papers at nine o'clock the night before. While we wined and
dined, the TV and radio reviews were relayed to us and they were enthusiastic. Hard on
their heels came the morning papers and they were equally enthusiastic about all aspects
of the production.
A casual observer might have been puzzled by the air of gloom which seemed to settle over
the table at which sat Nelle Nugent and Liz McCann - the two producers who dealt directly
with the company - and to see Trevor rise thoughtfully from that table and leave the
party. This significant incident went almost unnoticed in the predominant atmosphere of
heady delight, for after all, against the odds, we had presented a rarely performed play
in the very citadel of commercial theatre, and the critics (with power to close a
production after one performance) were saying "Welcome and please stay" We'd
done it! Or so we thought.
That was Wednesday. Arriving at the theatre on Thursday, the 'quotes' from the reviews;
the bits they pick out to entice the theatregoer in, and which are displayed outside the
theatre, were only noticeable by their absence. O.K., we thought, early days yet, but
perhaps a little tardy in a city where you can buy tomorrow's papers today. The point is
they help to make a show look like a success; passers by can see that the play has opened
and may be encouraged by the quotes to buy tickets. It's the least expensive publicity you
can buy. Trevor arrived at the theatre to congratulate us. He had to go back to England to
fulfil his other commitments. He told us that we'd all done the right things, but warned
us not to be dismayed by the attitude of our producers who didn't appear to know quite how
to handle this particular production. "However" he said, "If we continued to play the play in the way we had so far, then all would indeed be well"
We drank champagne and bade him farewell.
On Friday, Nugent and McCann posted a notice at the stage door informing us that they were
taking the production off and giving us our mandatory four weeks notice. In response to a
request from the company, Nelle Nugent addressed us in the stalls of the theatre. She was
apologetic and polite. She explained that the vast expense of bringing us and the
production to New York could never be regained by keeping the show on with advance
bookings totaling only a "so -so $250,000"! "Shakespeare" she said,
"is difficult to sell in this city" and although legally, she had to give us
four weeks notice, it did not necessarily mean that we would perform the play for that
length of time, and that they could take the show off even sooner!
We were stunned. We felt that we'd delivered good performances in a good production and
had been given the seal of approval by good notices, - now, surely, if , for reasons
unfathomable, they hadn't foreseen the difficulties of selling Shakespeare, then it
was up to our producers and their publicists to sell the package right now.
She nodded
sadly and said "All that could be done had been done" "What about
advertising?" someone asked, "What about capitalising on our reviews by
reprinting the best quotes in the papers?" - a practice not unusual in the the
theatre world. "There was no money left for anymore paid publicity" was the
reply.
"Could we not, at least, have quotes outside the theatre?"
"Such things were very expensive" replied Miss Nugent, "And
in any case would take about two weeks to be ordered and made." This
was greeted by laughter and disbelief. Clearly something fishy was going
on. "What a pity Trevor has gone back" said another, "He
could give interviews and create interest in the production, and it would
cost nothing." "I think it's just as well that Trevor has
gone!" Miss Nugent replied. "We can do without his face, looking
just like Shakespeare's, appearing in any more articles in the
press!" She was referring to an article which appeared on the front
page of the New York Sunday Times, the week before we opened, in which
Trevor's picture appeared, among others, in which he discussed the history
of the play; it's mysteries; it's difficulties and how they might be
overcome. Clearly she laid the 'so- so' quarter of a million dollars
advance squarely on Trevor's shoulders!
A depressed Royal Shakespeare Company played "All' Well" that
night.
Trevor's departure from the first night party was, in fact, a difference
of opinion about how good the reviews were. He was up against hard
business heads - "The Money". They read the reviews for what
they saw them to be, - not good enough to make people buy seats. They
thought that, generally, the reviews just might have the desired effect,
but, the most important, and the last to arrive, was the review by Frank
Rich, the most powerful critic in New York at that time. Now of all the
favourable reviews, and there were many, Frank Rich's was not only
favourable, but, in my opinion, extremely well written. It was lengthy,
but it went into great detail about the play; the production and the
performances. He had, after all, already written one rave review which had
brought us to New York in the first place. Now, he was reviewing us at
leisure and with hindsight, but because of his calm and benevolent
appraisal in which no phrases like "Super Colossal Triumph"
appeared, our producers turned their thumbs decidedly down, and Trevor
left the table.
We could have been forgiven for crying tears of frustration into our beer,
but we didn't. Everyone, including the American musicians, came up with
scheme after scheme to acquaint the public with the news of our (critical)
success. A parade was organised to march through the theatre district,
headed by the band, and ending at TKTS, the half price ticket booth in
Times Square. Leaflets were printed, at the cast's instigation, with the
best quotes from our reviews, and were handed out, daily, to the general
public in and around Broadway. Interviews in the press, on radio and TV,
were given by any of us thought to be newsworthy enough by the media.
Speeches were made from the stage, urging our rapturous but dwindling
audiences to pitch the show to their friends. In short, we were doing most
of the things our producers should have been doing.
The only thing we
couldn't do was run ads in the papers, which our producers had signally
failed to do.
After two unsettling weeks, Mr. Bernie Jacobs of the Schubert organisation
called a company meeting. Not too tall in stature; silver haired; tanned;
wearing an immaculate dark suit; he waited quietly, leaning against the
stage and facing the stalls in which we were to assemble. He waited until
it seemed to him that enough people were present and then he addressed us
in a quiet assured voice. His gaze was steady. He was a man who exuded a
classy kind of confidence. Perhaps the kind of man whose ancestors may
have sold the Brooklyn Bridge, many times over, to previous innocents
abroad.
The 'All's Well' company, in a state of revolutionary fervour and a belief
that our cause was just, were in no mood to be sold short, but we fell
silent under his gaze. This man had charisma. He also knew his stuff. He
told us that he liked the show. It was a 'cachet' for his organisation. He
wanted to keep the show on, but he was not a charity. Business was
indeed picking up, but, because this was not one of his theatres and
consequently not plugged into his computer grid, he had no way of knowing
if the business was genuine or merely the same customers re-booking their
seats because the show had not closed yet. "Leave it with me" he
said, "There is only one favour I would ask of you and it is this
-" And then he asked us if instead of him having to give us four
weeks notice, it would help him enormously if we would agree to reduce it
to two weeks!
Many members of the company were in financial difficulties by this time.
This was brought about mainly by the fact that living in hotels was very
expensive and that renting apartments, more economical but difficult to
find at short notice, involved stumping up a month's rent in advance, plus a
month's rent as security. We had not even been there for a month yet, so
most of us stood to lose money by the premature closing of the show. Mr.
Jacob's request was therefore more like the offer of a straw to a drowning
person, none the less an offer that we couldn't refuse. Some of us were
heartily sick of the whole fiasco. Some of us were getting premature
attacks of home sickness and would have welcomed an early return. Some of
us, myself included, were outraged at the way we had been treated and felt
strongly that the reneging of our contracts was the final insult. Genista
McIntosh, the RSC's administrator and Trevor's right hand woman, had
arrived like a breath of fresh air. She confirmed that we would in fact be
tearing up our contracts and that, for the new proposals to go forward,
our acceptance would have to be unanimous.
After some heated and some
resigned deliberation, all dissent was quelled and Mr. Jacobs got his new
deal.
The 'cachet' - the 'feather in the cap' of the Schubert organisation was
never sported to the New York theatre going public. No visible
effort was made to refloat our ailing vessel. The show folded eleven weeks
short of it's projected run because of lack of business.
The day after we closed, 'All's Well That End's Well' was nominated for
five Tony Awards, enough in Broadway terms, to keep the show doing well at
the box office for, at least, the interval between announcing the
nominations and the ceremony, about $100,000 per week., a fact that could
not have been overlooked by our producers, some of whom were on the
nomination committee. back to All's Well
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