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They called him “the Man Who Owns Broadway.” And not just because he
owned or controlled seven theaters. In his day, George M. Cohan
(1878-1942) dominated American theater to an extent never duplicated by any other
individual, before or since. Born into a poor family, and with virtually
no formal education, he rose to the top of his field as an entertainer,
songwriter, playwright, director, and producer. He wrote or co-wrote
some 50 shows, produced or co-produced some 80 shows.
And he pretty much invented the Broadway musical. Oh, there were “extravaganzas”–shows featuring assorted variety acts, presented in grand
style.
And there were European operettas, often dealing with the experiences of
royalty in mythical countries. But Cohan’s book musicals, like “Little
Johnny Jones” and “Forty-five Minutes from Broadway” were something new,
and different. Cohan gave Broadway its pace, its beat, its snap. In the
early 20th century, his fast-moving, well-constructed, and thoroughly American
musical comedies replaced European operettas as the most admired and
influential musical shows of the era. In his youth, he made Broadway–not
Europe–the pace-setter for musical theater.
And because he was writing the book, music, and lyrics for his shows–as
well as starring in them, directing them, and producing them–he was able
to create shows more unified than shows had been before. Master theater
critic George Jean Nathan marveled that Cohan’s musicals were “as
carefully constructed as the plays of Euripides.” That may sound extreme today, but
it shows just how revolutionary Cohan’s work seemed at the time. His
musicals were more integrated than musicals had been before. The plots
mattered. He wanted audiences hanging onto every word of the script until the final
curtain. With many extravaganzas or operettas, Cohan said, audience
members could–and often did--leave early and not feel they’d missed
much.
Irving Berlin, Oscar Hammerstein and others would take musicals much
farther, and Cohan appreciated their achievements--but they all built on
Cohan’s foundation. And acknowledged their debt.
After his death in 1942, Irving Berlin and Oscar Hammerstein led a campaign
that resulted in the placement of Cohan's statue on Broadway (at 46th
Street). It remains to this day the only statue of an actor on Broadway.
Cohan has been a source of endless inspiration for me since boyhood. I
was nine when I first chanced to see, on TV, James Cagney’s Oscar-winning
portrayal of Cohan in the film “Yankee Doodle Dandy.” I wrote a
10-page report on Cohan for school–the beginning of a life-long fascination. As
I grew older, I sought old Cohan photos, writings, and recordings. I
amassed a sheet-music collection that included hundreds of Cohan songs. I managed
to meet people who’d known him. I researched his life every way I could.
Over the years, I’ve written books, plays, and articles dealing with
diverse subjects–everything from David Cassidy to Bessie Smith, to F.
Scott Fitzgerald. But recurringly I’ve been drawn back to Cohan. I’ve
actually written and directed six different shows about Cohan; not a line of
dialogue is duplicated in any of the six plays; all are available for licensing.
My one-man show, “George M. Cohan Tonight!,” which opens September 21st
at the New Players Theatre, on the West End in London, has been produced in
numerous American cities (not to mention places like Edinburgh, Scotland, and Seoul, Korea)
since its debut in 2006, at the Irish Repertory Theatre, Off-Broadway in
New York.
Often times, if you research someone thoroughly, you find flaws that lower
your opinion of them. Cohan had his flaws, as all people do, but the more
I researched him, the more my admiration grew.
And I’ve learned things from Cohan’s work methods that have certainly
helped me. Cohan believed in putting a show into rehearsal as quickly as
possible. If he had an act written–or sometimes just a few scenes-- he’d
often go into rehearsal with just that beginning of a script, trusting he’d
finish the script before opening night. And boy! If you ever have a
chance to do that, that’s a great way to work. When I decided to write my first Cohan show
(with a cast of 16), I secured a theater on 42nd
Street in New York, spent one afternoon auditioning for possible Cohan’s.
Once I found the actor to play the role for that first production (the
great Jon Peterson), I began writing the script--and we opened three weeks later. The last
lines were written just before our first performance. Our audience (including Sarah Jessica
Parker and Matthew Broderick) loved the show; a representative of Samuel
French Inc. also came, to my surprise--and offered to publish the script. I told
him I could write a much better show about Cohan if I had more time--I'd
written that script in just three weeks, while rehearsing the show (and a
couple others at the same time). He told me to write all the Cohan scripts
I wanted; but for starters, he wanted to publish THAT script. Samuel
French Inc. soon published that script ("George M. Cohan: In his Own Words"):
their subsidiary, Baker's Plays, published the next one ("The George M. Cohan
Revue"," written for a cast of eight); and we were off. I like writing
different scripts, to explore a subject from different angles, for different
cast sizes.
Cohan believed in getting scripts before live audiences as quickly as
possible; the audience will teach you what works. (He’s right; I always
try to do that.) He also believed that when you started writing a script, don’t watch the
clock; stay up all night if need be, but get it down on paper. I love writing through the
night.
Cohan said you have to listen to your actors. He often got lines, bits
of business, ideas for future scenes, from actors while rehearsing early
scenes of plays. Right again! I can look at scripts I’ve written for
different shows, such as “The Seven Little Foys” and “Song-and-Dance
Kids,” and identify lines that started out as ad libs by talented actors like Peter
Charney and Jack Saleeby. Cohan also said that if an actor has trouble
remembering certain lines, ask yourself if you need those lines; I’ve
often found that lines actors have trouble with simply don’t belong there. Cut!
Cohan wrote without outlines, from beginning to end. Sometimes songs
followed in quick succession. But if he needed a book scene to last 20
minutes, he wasn’t afraid to do so. In Cohan’s great hit “Forty-five
Minutes from Broadway”–a three-act musical-- he had no songs at all in the
second act. I found that knowledge liberating, too!
Cohan said that if need be, run numbers right through the applause; don’t
permit audiences to applaud if it interferes with the pacing you’re trying
to establish. Again, invaluable advice! (I got extra reinforcement in
believing that Cohan was correct when Elaine Stritch offered the exact same
advice, independently, after coming to see one of my shows.)
Cohan believed that audiences need to cry, sometimes, no less than they
need to laugh. He is best remembered for his high-spirited numbers. But
he was not afraid to mix in–when needed-- moments of quiet reflection, like
his bittersweet “Life’s a Funny Proposition After All.” He loved that
song, and tried in vain to get Warner Brothers to include it in the film
about his life, “Yankee Doodle Dandy.” They declined his request,
preferring to stress his upbeat songs. But I’ve included that quiet, little-known
song in “George M. Cohan Tonight!” and it’s a high point of the night.
Cohan didn’t lead a perfect life. His actors saw more of him than his
family. His children sometimes felt they had to make an appointment to
really talk with him. (I winced a little when I came across a letter from his
son to him, asking his father if he could have a little time to talk.)
His work often seemed a higher priority for him than his marriage. (He
married twice, and was married throughout his adult professional career. But he
wrote a treatment for the proposed film of his life in which–perhaps
wishful thinking on his part–he did not get married at all until he retired.)
But he was generous to a fault. And he was extraordinarily well-loved.
Walter Huston, who played Cohan’s father in “Yankee Doodle Dandy,” had
previously worked for Cohan as an actor in New York. He spoke for many
actors who’d known Cohan, when he wrote him, from the film set, that Cohan “was
still my favorite guy.” And he believed you needed to create something every
day. He was always working on the next project. I have in my collection
bits and pieces of the unfinished musical he writing at the time he died.
I’ve learned a lot–and am still learning from–George M. Cohan.
-- CHIP DEFFAA
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CHIP DEFFAA The author of eight published books and five published plays, Chip Deffaa's "George M. Cohan Tonight!" opens at the New Players Theatre in London, September 21st. His newest show, "One Night with Fanny Brice," will be produced by the American Century
Theatre Company of Arlington, Virgina, in November, while plans proceed for
its New York debut. Among Deffaa's other shows--all of which are
available for licensing--are "The Seven Little Foys," "Theater Boys," "This Time
the Dream's on Me," and "Song-and-Dance Kids." For 18 years, Deffaa wrote
for The New York Post, covering jazz, cabaret, theater. He has written liner
notes for many Grammy-winning recording artists, including Miles Davis,
Ruth Brown, Diane Schuur, Ray Brown, Benny Goodman, and Tito Puente. He is
a member of the Dramatists Guild, the Stage Directors & Choreographers
Society, NARAS, and the Drama Desk. He is represented by the Fifi Oscard
Agency, NYC. For more info, please visit: www.chipdeffaa.com
http://www.chipdeffaa.com
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