When he did this role on Broadway, it was one of the of the easiest gigs going. He sat in a booth with a microphone and five monitors, four with views of the stage and plant, and one of the conductor. Because no one could see him, he could read directly from his script, or drink a pitcher of martinis, or plot the downfall of a third world country.
In my humble wifey opinion, I think his voice is stronger then it was on the Great White Way. His chiding "tough titty" thrilled me to my bones, and his "No shit, Sherlock" made my heart do a pitter pat. Never has American musical theatre produced dialog more scintillating.
A peculiar thing happened during intermission when I was taking a leak. I was humming Somewhere That's Green when a man who could have been my grandfather took the urinal next to mine. He was one of those pissers who unleashes the beast and then stands there with both hands on his hips. I worry about splatter with these types. Anyway, he says, "Well, I made it here, now if I can only get it started."
Having trouble peeing hasn't been a problem of mine but give me a couple of decades and just possibly I too will be talking to nearby urinaters. I must say, I wasn't sure of protocol. Was I to respond to his statement? Should I have pat him on the back and said, "Best of luck," or something? I chose to walk away without comment and wash my hands extra good.
I came out of the restroom and noticed one wall of the lobby was covered with encased gold records. This was when I first knew the theater was named after a dead celebrity. And it was only after I studied the song titles...Rainy Days and Mondays, We've Only Just Begun, Close to You...that I made a startling realization...
I just heard my husband sing Feed Me at the Karen Carpenter Performing Arts Center.