Ebenezer VanderScrooge's Parade

One of my nerdier hobbies is daydreaming about missing scenes and filling in dramatical (dreamatical) gaps. Most recently, such a gap gaped during A Christmas Carol's many incarnations this past Christmas season. I saw a lot of them, from Mr. Magoo's to Albert Finney's.

But now that I have finally seen the stage version at Ford's, I'll focus on the Scrooge portrayed by Edward Gero, who is now playing the Scroogey Horace Vandergelder in Ford's Hello, Dolly.

So the missing scene from Dickens's Carol (and dang if I can find a copy of the book in this place) is the one that shows how Scrooge got so scroogey after he was engaged to Belle. There he was dancing in the shadows of Christmas Past, all cheery and bright, and then suddenly he's counting coins and Belle is chucking the old engagement jewelry back at him.

What happened? How did money become so important to him? Was he kicked out by the landlord? Lose big in an unfortunate gambling debacle? Get a taste of jealous rivalry with some other clerk?

And where did Belle go, never to be seen in that town again? Had she no relatives, leave no forwarding address? Are these questions answered in the book? (Don't make me re-read it. Not my favorite Dickens book in print.)

So poor young Ebenezer let his parade pass by and never looked up to see it go. Even after he found redemption, post-ghosts, there was no Belle yet available, waiting to give him another chance. Sob.

From my little chair in the Ford's balcony last Saturday afternoon, I smiled as Edward Gero got to hand his Ebenezer a second chance to catch the parade--this time as Horace Vandergelder, the Merchant of Yonkers. You know the story, so I don't need to retell it in details. While looking for a new wife (i.e., a housekeeper, not a householder), Vandergelder is beguiled into a different parade and into the matchmaker's own arms.

Edward Gero as Horace Vandergelder and Nancy Opel as Dolly Levi in the Ford’s Theatre and Signature Theatre co-production of “Hello, Dolly!” Photo by Carol Rosegg.

It's a great show. The voices are strong, the dancing is vibrant. Just all good fun. Aside from Gero, I didn't recognize the other Ford's regulars, though it seems to be a bit of a reunion for some of the players from 1776, Parade, and Liberty Smith.

I can hardly wonder why my own parade has passed me by without a trace of confetti when I spend my mind's time thusly preoccupied with fictional characters' happy endings. But I confess I greatly enjoyed ogling the eye candy that is the singing/dancing waiter chorus line of the present Ford's Dolly, and most particularly the hoo-hah-handsome Alex Puette.

Photo of Nancy Opel with Jp Qualters, Harris Milgrim, Kyle Vaughn and Alex Puette by Carol Rosegg.

Alex Puette, via ModelMayhem.com 

So why is it I am spending my daydreaming time thinking this would be a great match for my Clay Aiken? Hee! There I go again, following someone else's parade.

Love, hosaa

Matchmaking for complete and total strangers....

Edited to add (Aug. 17, 2013) that Alex is, coincidentally, performing in the same company as Clay Aiken for Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat this summer. AND he posted this video, obviously filmed sometime during the above production of Hello, Dolly:

"Ama-Deus"

Edward Gero (Salieri), courtesy of Round House Theatre


Blogger's been down since I got to see the Round House Theatre production of Amadeus on Thursday, so my reflections are no longer fresh.

Long play, short recap: Excellent. (Which is ironic, since the story is about the torment of knowing one's own mediocrity and being the only one to recognize pure genius.)

I practically know the movie version by heart, and as tempted as I was to dig out my Milos Forman video before seeing this production, I refrained in order to let the stage version inform me anew, and it did.

The most mind opening moments, for me, were when Edward Gero as Salieri repeatedly pronounced Mozart's middle name to emphasize the "god" half (deus). I don't know Latin, but I know "amo, amas" etc. are conjugations of "to love." So I got that what Salieri was saying here was that Mozart was God's beloved. I never picked up on that in repeated viewings of the movie, and I never understood why the Peter Shaffer play was called "Amadeus" and not "Wolfgang" or "Wolfie" or even just "Mozart."

Duh.

Upon further reflection of the story line, I found the theme compared very well with two previous RHT productions, The Talented Mr. Ripley and A Picture of Dorian Gray: the tragedies of envy, vanity, and artistic hubris (though I guess Mr. Ripley had no artistic ambitions per se). Salieri's aspiration to become the voice of a god he loved turned toxic and menacing; as with Ripley, his envy turned homicidal.

This does not say much for those who wish to be artists or for the impulse to communicate one's soul to the masses. I think we can still do that without denying the genius of others when we recognize it.

Sometime ago, well before hitting ponderously reflective middle age, I recognized that my artistic talents were close to nonexistent: unpublished novelist, unproduced playwright. I sketch because I enjoy stopping to observe my environment and move my hand in feeble traces of the world's marvelous contours. I put pieces of video together to capture different angles of a moment in a singer's performance.

I sing, but softly, so no one has to hear. I dream, and occasionally turn daydreams into plot developments, amusing myself with the idea that one day they will compile themselves into stories and even books.

I take the same approach in my career, to recognize and support the talents of others on my team and make it my occupation to bring them due recognition (and glory to our organization).

If God or nature or the happenstance of cosmic forces granted others (but not me) the talents I admire, why should I make myself miserable with envy? It serves my own happiness better to be both Salieri, the recognizer of genius, and the Emperor, the ignorant patron.

love, hosaa
moving up from the second to last row of the balcony, cheering madly