At the Stage Door: Meeting Angela Lansbury

"Never meet your heroes, because they're sure to disappoint you." 

I've heard that many times over the course of my life, and I always took it to heart. Of course, that never really stopped me from meeting a few of them. I've been so very fortunate to meet many of the Broadway people I love and look up to. And I don't mean in passing at the stage door.  I mean one-on-one backstage.

Today's blog is about meeting my all time hero - though technically this isn't an "at the stage door" story. This is all about the evening I met Angela Lansbury backstage at the Music Box Theatre following a performance of the play Deuce.

It was the summer of 2007, and everyone was thrilled that, at long last, Ms. Lansbury was returning to Broadway for the first time since 1983. (As most of you know by now, that 1983 stint in Mame marked not only my first Broadway show, but the beginning of my fandom of this great actress.) That summer, she was a vibrant 81, and common thinking at the time was that this was likely going to be her farewell to the stage. Of course, since then, she's returned three more times - Tony nominated each time, winning one for Blithe Spirit. But I digress.

So, my very good friend took me to see Deuce for my birthday and to celebrate the star's return and possible farewell. My friend even suggested I take my souvenir program from Mame and we could wait after the show and maybe she's sign it. In hind sight, I should have known something was afoot - my friend has ZERO interest in waiting for autographs.

Marian Seldes and Angela Lansbury in Deuce

When the curtain call was over, and the house was clearing, my friend just sat there. Odd, I thought, so I asked if everything was okay. "I'm fine," she said, "but there's something I need to show you." "Okay..." And she handed me a printed email from someone I didn't recognize. "Just read it."

The gist was this: Angela Lansbury would love help celebrate Jeff's birthday. Please make your way to the stage door following the performance and give your names at the door; the doorman will call for you when she's ready." I started to cry. I mean, wouldn't you?

I was so nervous. As we waited, just inside the stage door, I whispered (as if this was a church or something), "Now I know why you suggested bringing the program." A young woman approached us. "Is this the birthday boy?" she smiled, looking me up and down. I think I mumbled something that indicated I was. "Well, Miss Lansbury is so excited to meet you and say 'Happy Birthday! Follow me!" My friend hung back. I turned to her, "YOU ARE NOT GOING TO MISS THIS!"

We went up a few steps. The stage was to our right; the dressing room to the left, just above stage level. The door opened and there she stood. "Please come in. I'm so glad you came to see me." She extended her hand and we shook. Her handshake was firm, her skin soft. She smiled. "Did you enjoy the show?" "Yes, of course!" "You know, it's a challenge. A lot of lines, and I play a character that isn't much like people expect from me." I nodded vigorously, my tongue tied, as I remember the collective gasp that came when she said the "c word."

She exchanged pleasantries with my friend and turned back to me. "May I ask why you wanted to meet me for your birthday?" I thought, "Oh my God. This is the chance of a lifetime, don't mess this up." "Well, the very first Broadway show I ever saw was Mame in 1983. It changed my life. YOU changed my life. Thanks to you and that show, I found my passion." She looked slightly taken aback. Uh-oh. Turns out she was just surprised.

"You saw that? We weren't on very long." "Yes, ma'am, I did." "Well, it is so wonderful to know that we made such an impact. Most people know me from TV these days..." She smiled, and looked at the program. "Would you like me to sign that for you?" "Please!"  She sat at her table and wrote, "Love, Angela Lansbury". She stood up, smiling, straightening her quilted robe. Looking me straight in the eye, "I'm so glad we met." "Oh, me, too." I blushed. "Be careful when you go out the door. It can be a little...busy."

We all shook hands again and said good bye. It all lasted about five minutes from start to finish, but what a five minutes! We were shown to the door. "She's not kidding about leaving - be careful!" the young woman said. No joke. We opened the door, and the crowd whooped and I remember being very conscious of flashes going off and being slightly disoriented. I will always remember that and feel respect for cast members that are faced with that every day. It took the crowd about 30 seconds to realize we weren't celebrities. It got quiet real fast. We still chuckle that somewhere about 50 people have pictures of two nobodies leaving the Music Box.

I remember meeting Angela Lansbury like it was yesterday, and I think of it often. She was everything I thought she'd be and more - gracious, warm and strong. And you know what was best of all? She treated us so genuinely - like we were the most important people she'd met that day. I'll always appreciate that. No wonder she's my hero. And I wasn't disappointed at all.

Previously on "At the Stage Door": Meeting Scott Bakula   Meeting the Cast of Pippin

#1924

At the Stage Door: Passion

I'm pretty sure I've shared with you that I was not particularly fond of Passion the first time I saw it. But as a life-long fan of Sondheim, I knew I could never fairly judge a piece of his by just one viewing. And so I returned - and I loved it. I loved the beauty of the score, the intrigue of plot, and the challenges of understanding the motivations and actions of Fosca, Giorgio and Clara. As I saw it over the course of its run (and it was SEVERAL times), one thing each performance shared was an uneasy audience, laughing in odd places, many leaving in the middle of the show. In short, there were basically two types of audience members: those who adored it and those who abhorred it.

This was well before the organized (and crazy) fandom, and stage-dooring was an easy thing. With Passion, it was even easier. There weren't a ton of eager fans waiting for the stars to leave. Well, it so happens that my friend (who saw it each time with me) and I decided we wanted to stay after a matinee just to offer our support, sure that the lack of positivity in the house that afternoon was at an all-time low.  It was a bright, warm afternoon, and the street was pretty clear.

Slowly, the cast filed out, smiled at us and went on their way. When Marin Mazzie, Jere Shea and Donna Murphy came out, it was different. Each stopped and talked to us (there were about half a dozen of us there), shook hands and talked with us about their experiences. It was lovely. They offered autographs, which we all accepted (none of us actually asked). We continued chatting while they signed, when all of a sudden, a new fan came into the picture.  I'll never forget it.

All of us - cast and fans- turned as one when we heard a loud shriek from woman at the edge of the sidewalk. "Oh my God! YOU have to sign my program!" We all looked at each other. Who was she screaming at? Next thing you know, she is literally pushing all of us aside trying to get to the object of her shrieks. (Imagine anyone elbowing Donna Murphy out of the way...) She honed in on Jere Shea with the pinpoint accuracy of a laser beam. He blushed.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! You were so fantastic! I loved you so much! And you were so FUNNY!" His mouth dropped open. The rest of us sort of gasped and looked at each other like, "Is this lady drunk?" Next thing we knew, she thrust a magic marker and a Playbill from Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat into his hand and continued to gush, "You were just fabulous as the Elvis impersonator." I don't know how he kept it together...

Maybe it was the sideburns?

Jere was kind. He paused, and said, "Thank you, ma'am, but you have the wrong actor. I'm in this show." He gestured to the theater. "No, sir! I know I just saw you as Elvis." "Ma'am, really.  I'm in this show. Look!" He pointed to the display window clearly showing him bare chested and holding onto Marin Mazzie. The woman looked visibly upset. We all, I think it safe to say, expected her to apologize and walk away. No.

"Well! If you don't want to sign my book, just say no. But I know what I saw!"

"Fine," he said calmly, "I just wanted to be sure you really wanted my autograph." And he signed it. She left happily, and we all stood there dumbstruck.  Somewhere there's a lady with a Joseph Playbill signed by Jere Shea - that fabulous Elvis impersonator.

#1893

At the Stage Door: Pippin

A few weeks ago, I shared my stage door story of meeting Scott Bakula outside the Helen Hayes Theatre after Romance/Romance. Today, I thought I'd share a pair of experiences Mike and I shared one late spring weekend a few years ago.  

The scene: the sidewalk in front of the Music Box Theatre on W.45th Street.  Pippin was all the rage, and we were seeing it for a second time that weekend.  The matinee had just ended, and we were just standing around, trying to decide where to eat. (I don't know about you, but we frequently plan New York trips, but never seem prepared with meal plans...) 

Anyway, we were milling about, and some of the cast re-emerged, free of the autograph and selfie crowd.  Among them was one of my all-time favorite actresses, Charlotte d'Amboise. We smiled at each other, and she offered, "Andrea [Martin] doesn't come out between shows." I told her we weren't waiting for anyone in particular, but that I was thrilled to get the chance to speak with her. Our brief chat included talking about seeing her in A Chorus Line, Cats, and Damn Yankees. She seemed both surprised and pleased that I saw her in Jerome Robbins' Broadway. She laughed, "That was quite an experience!" She was particularly pleased that I remembered her playing Anita in the West Side Story suite. 

Not wanting to take any more of her time, we turned to go, and we literally bumped into the original Pippin, John Rubinstein. I was so surprised I kinda mumbled something like, "You're the original Pippin!" He chuckled and said, "I sure was! Did you love this show?" He pointed to the poster on the wall.  We nodded. "That was really something.  I loved it, too!" We shook hands. I stumbled away, very excited and thrown.  Weeks later, he joined the revival, this time as Charlemagne.

As we headed toward Times Square, talking excitedly about how nice and unexpected that was - and still not decided on where to eat - we had another surprise encounter. Patina Miller was walking toward us, holding hands with a guy. We sort of paused in our tracks and smiled at her. "Did y'all like the show?" We both exclaimed, "Yes, we did!" And we all laughed. We congratulated her on her Tony Award, and she introduced us to the man she was with, David Mars. Turns out, it was the man she'd end up marrying and having a family with. To be honest, I'm not sure who enjoyed that chance meeting more - me and Mike, Patina Miller, or David Mars. She seemed genuinely pleased to talk to us, we clearly adored her, and he looked so proud to have her be recognized. She is one of the nicest people I've ever met.

Meeting these people was the icing on the cake - that revival of Pippin is one of my all-time favorite productions.  And just as with Mr. Bakula years before, it was the way it casually happened (and probably because I didn't ask for anything from them) that made it special and way more personal than standing against a barricade waving a Playbill in their faces.

As great as that was, though, my all-time most thrilling stage door encounter also happened at the Music Box Theatre. But that is a story for another time...

At the Stage Door: Meeting Scott Bakula

Much has been written recently about the stage dooring experience these days on Broadway, and I suppose I'll get around to adding my two cents' worth eventually.  But for now, I'll share a few stories of my stage dooring experiences that are nothing like what is done today.

It was early summer 1988. The Tonys were over, and The Phantom of the Opera and Into the Woods were all the rage. I, like many theater fans, got my glimpse of Broadway shows from the Tony Awards, and that year, the show that really surprised me was the one I hadn't seen or really heard much about: Romance Romance.

To be completely honest, I was really interested because I saw Alison Fraser listed as being in it during the opening credits, and I was a fan of hers since she was a replacement in The Mystery of Edwin Drood, one of my (still) all-time favorite shows. When the number from R/R came on, though, I was immediately smitten with the guy in the tux and then in the jeans and purple shirt.  Man, was he hot!  And what a great singer!  I HAD to see this show.

Of course, I'm talking about Scott Bakula, a largely unknown actor, whose major stage credit at that point was an off-Broadway show called 3 Guys Naked From the Waist Down.  This was still a couple years away from Quantum Leap and just under a quarter century before his current hit, NCIS:New Orleans.

So, I booked my tickets, and my grandmother - a spry, sharp lady - and I went to see a matinee. We both loved the show, and exited the Helen Hayes Theatre on a musical high.  We stopped just outside the door and noticed that one of her favorite comedians, Joan Rivers, was playing in Broadway Bound, right across the street. She wanted to wait and see if we could see her coming out the stage door. So we stood there across the street, just waiting.  Mind you, we didn't want autographs, we just wanted to see her.

Now, in those days, the cast exited the Helen Hayes just like the audience did - through the house and out the front doors.  That little side alley they use today was not in use then. As we are standing there, my grandmother drops her Playbill.  I bend over to get it, and there's a shoe gently holding it down. I look up, and there's Scott Bakula, looking down at me. "Don't want that to blow away, right?" He smiled that crooked smile of his, and my heart was pounding. I was speechless.

Grandma wasn't. "You are that nice young man in that show we just saw!" "Yes, ma'am." "Well, you were wonderful. This is my grandson. He's a big fan of yours." I was beat red, but loving it still.  "Well," he said, "it's always nice to meet fans.  Thanks for coming." I thought that was the end of it. Nope. He stood there and talked to us for a good ten minutes about other shows, where to eat for dinner, and that he was looking forward to an audition for a TV show.  We shook hands; he hugged my grandmother (her turn to blush). And we parted ways.

No crowd amassed, no police barricade. No pressure.  Just theater lovers and an actor sharing a few minutes of  commonality and kindness.  It never occurred to me to ask for an autograph. But I will never forget that wonderful memory. Neither did my grandmother. She was a huge fan of his until the day she died, and frequently recalled that warm afternoon.

We never did see Joan Rivers.