This column reminds me that, when I was still an adolescent, I fell in love with the novels of Thorne Smith—why? Humor, it seems, has a very short and specific life span.
My father, a screenwriter, fully endorses the depiction of an actor as a man who, in exchange for professional success, would allow Satan to rape and impregnate his wife. I always vaguely assumed that the title Nobody Loves an Albatross is a reference to The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, but I assume you considered and dismissed this possibility?
I mean, I presume that it goes back somehow to the Rime; I just don’t get the journey. (And I’m unlikely to read this play again for a while.) (Or ever.)
It's also quite a thing, which I realized the last time I read the novel, that Guy makes his deal with Roman Castevet THE VERY FIRST NIGHT HE MEETS HIM.
Actors, man. But now you've got me thinking about the surname Woodhouse, which in literary terms must refer to either P. G. Wodehouse or Austen's Emma Woodhouse. My guess is that it's a glance at the myth of the woodwose, but maybe it's about the Three Little Pigs. Whatever, I'm just groping for something I can feel erudite about, since the albatross thing remains a mystery.
Seriously, though: don't marry an actor, kids. Even if he has an apartment in the Dakota.
Richard Mulligan used to be such a fixture at the bar of Chandara Thai Restaurant in LA's Larchmont Village that they put a plaque up to honor him after he died. We lived 11 blocks from there from 1996-2011 and saw him frequently when we'd go in to pick up our takeout. (After he died in 2000, we saw him much less frequently.) I'd recommend a pilgrimage now that you're living out there, but Google Maps informs me it's closed permanently.
The Chandara bar was tiny and his favorite stool (edited) sat awkwardly near the door. I don't remember the waitresses being particularly provocative, so why that became his local was another of life's great mysteries.
Can you not click on the three dots at the lower right hand corner of your comments and edit them? I can certainly edit mine (though not anyone else's).
I don't know anything about anything and yet I enjoyed this. So I guess it wasn't just for you. I hope you can somehow mash all of this theater knowledge into a book.
My mom (born 1921 in NYC) used to say "Ready when you are, CB!" all the time and I never thought to ask her why. I never heard this joke until tonight!
My mom loved Broadway plays and loved musicals in general (including "The Music Man"), and was just filled with little sayings she got from radio shows, plays, poetry, and books. She was one of a kind and though she died 9 years ago, I think of her and miss her every day. Thanks for the story and for rekindling a memory for me.
The OED tells us that 'pace' means "With due deference to (a named person or authority); despite." Equating it with 'despite' certainly makes it easier to read it as a preposition.
And by the way: They also say "Used chiefly as a courteous or ironic apology for a difference of opinion about to be expressed." Your gloss has its fans.
To the best of my knowledge, when used as a legal term, or in non-ecclesiastical English-language academic circles, the Anglicized pronunciation “pay-see” is most common. “Pa-chey” is the pronunciation in what is often called “ecclesiastical Latin,” so of course that’s how I say it! “Pa-kay” is I believe the pronunciation in what is often called, perhaps misleadingly, “classical Latin.” No idea who says it that way except classical Latin teachers!
I think I’ve been saying, whenever I’ve thought to say it, pah-chay, because, knowing nothing of Latin, that’s what I’d figure a Latin word spelled “pace” would sound like. I wouldn’t have guessed pay-see in a zillion years, I think.
You may have written this post largely to amuse yourself, but it amused the hell out of me! I had always wanted to know more about this show. And it was great to see photos from it as well. More, please!
Extra points for “gone on to inescapability”, possibly the most blithe sideswipe I have ever met.
Also: existing solely to make the audience feel clever is a condition that other, more celebrated dramatists, sometimes suffer from and yes, T Stoppard, I am (sometimes) looking at you.
I *adore* this, and now am asking myself why I never researched those oft-remembered (??hyphen??) plays myself.
I’m obsessed with the commercial US theater of the 1950s and 1960s, though I’m not sure why. (I think that obsessions are best not quite understood.)
Dying is easy, but comedy … comedy’s hard!
This column reminds me that, when I was still an adolescent, I fell in love with the novels of Thorne Smith—why? Humor, it seems, has a very short and specific life span.
I read a couple of Thorne’s novels last decade or so when we published them in the Modern Library and, as I recall, was quite charmed by them.
But I would be, wouldn’t I.
My father, a screenwriter, fully endorses the depiction of an actor as a man who, in exchange for professional success, would allow Satan to rape and impregnate his wife. I always vaguely assumed that the title Nobody Loves an Albatross is a reference to The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, but I assume you considered and dismissed this possibility?
I mean, I presume that it goes back somehow to the Rime; I just don’t get the journey. (And I’m unlikely to read this play again for a while.) (Or ever.)
It's also quite a thing, which I realized the last time I read the novel, that Guy makes his deal with Roman Castevet THE VERY FIRST NIGHT HE MEETS HIM.
Actors, man. But now you've got me thinking about the surname Woodhouse, which in literary terms must refer to either P. G. Wodehouse or Austen's Emma Woodhouse. My guess is that it's a glance at the myth of the woodwose, but maybe it's about the Three Little Pigs. Whatever, I'm just groping for something I can feel erudite about, since the albatross thing remains a mystery.
Seriously, though: don't marry an actor, kids. Even if he has an apartment in the Dakota.
Richard Mulligan used to be such a fixture at the bar of Chandara Thai Restaurant in LA's Larchmont Village that they put a plaque up to honor him after he died. We lived 11 blocks from there from 1996-2011 and saw him frequently when we'd go in to pick up our takeout. (After he died in 2000, we saw him much less frequently.) I'd recommend a pilgrimage now that you're living out there, but Google Maps informs me it's closed permanently.
I've always taken it as one of life's great mysteries that one of his wives was Joan Hackett.
Also: Ha! (For the parenthetical, natch.)
The Chandara bar was tiny and his favorite stool (edited) sat awkwardly near the door. I don't remember the waitresses being particularly provocative, so why that became his local was another of life's great mysteries.
OH, FOR AN EDIT BUTTON: Surely "his favorite stool SAT awkwardly near the door" is an improvement over "was".
Can you not click on the three dots at the lower right hand corner of your comments and edit them? I can certainly edit mine (though not anyone else's).
Turns out you CAN edit comments, even almost two months later.
Victory!
I don't know anything about anything and yet I enjoyed this. So I guess it wasn't just for you. I hope you can somehow mash all of this theater knowledge into a book.
Hi. So looking forward to seeing you!
You have, as they say, mail.
Nudes, I hope !
Keep 'em coming, sir. A treat for my tired mind!
There's plenty more where that came from! Thanks for liking this one!
My mom (born 1921 in NYC) used to say "Ready when you are, CB!" all the time and I never thought to ask her why. I never heard this joke until tonight!
My mom loved Broadway plays and loved musicals in general (including "The Music Man"), and was just filled with little sayings she got from radio shows, plays, poetry, and books. She was one of a kind and though she died 9 years ago, I think of her and miss her every day. Thanks for the story and for rekindling a memory for me.
Apparently “Ready when you are, C.B.!” is originally the punchline of an anecdote told about Cecil B. DeMille.
I’m glad that I helped send you a fresh version of an old thought about your mother.
The Music Man, yes. We agree!
Tie with Guys And Dolls?
Another great favorite of mine, and a nearly perfect creation.
Just watched Stubby Kaye. Revived my spirits!
Or How to Succeed. Love Frank Loesser.
The OED tells us that 'pace' means "With due deference to (a named person or authority); despite." Equating it with 'despite' certainly makes it easier to read it as a preposition.
And by the way: They also say "Used chiefly as a courteous or ironic apology for a difference of opinion about to be expressed." Your gloss has its fans.
To the best of my knowledge, when used as a legal term, or in non-ecclesiastical English-language academic circles, the Anglicized pronunciation “pay-see” is most common. “Pa-chey” is the pronunciation in what is often called “ecclesiastical Latin,” so of course that’s how I say it! “Pa-kay” is I believe the pronunciation in what is often called, perhaps misleadingly, “classical Latin.” No idea who says it that way except classical Latin teachers!
I think I’ve been saying, whenever I’ve thought to say it, pah-chay, because, knowing nothing of Latin, that’s what I’d figure a Latin word spelled “pace” would sound like. I wouldn’t have guessed pay-see in a zillion years, I think.
And of course pah-kay is a kind of margarine.
This may possibly mean that you are culturally closer to thinking in Catholic than to thinking in lawyer! Make of that what you will, I guess.
As in "requiescat in pace."
You may have written this post largely to amuse yourself, but it amused the hell out of me! I had always wanted to know more about this show. And it was great to see photos from it as well. More, please!
Will do!
And thank you!
I almost love the comments more than the original essay…almost.
Extra points for “gone on to inescapability”, possibly the most blithe sideswipe I have ever met.
Also: existing solely to make the audience feel clever is a condition that other, more celebrated dramatists, sometimes suffer from and yes, T Stoppard, I am (sometimes) looking at you.
Ugh. Pardon that appallingly misplaced comma.
❤️
🫶🏻