My life’s a musical comedy

JONATHAN CHARLES FOX
Posted 6/28/17

A long time ago (aka the 1970s) in a galaxy far, far away, I was a professional actor, which proved to be a decent training ground for my career as a theatre critic, among other dubious achievements. …

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My life’s a musical comedy

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A long time ago (aka the 1970s) in a galaxy far, far away, I was a professional actor, which proved to be a decent training ground for my career as a theatre critic, among other dubious achievements. During that time, I appeared in an Off-Broadway musical titled “I’ll Die If I Can’t Live Forever,” which has been called “The poor man’s ‘Chorus Line’” (www.samuelfrench.com) and “fresh, witty and sharp as a tack.” Undoubtedly, I would have used different words to describe a show that quickly faded into obscurity, but during the run, I performed a song called “My life’s a musical comedy,” and the lyrics have stuck with me across the decades, often echoing my day-to-day experience, even after all these years.

“My life’s a musical comedy, I’m singing every day. Each evening’s a performance, each noon’s a matinee. My life is never boring, for there’s never a repeat. I play a different role for every person that I meet.” Fortunately (?) the words stick with me, since no amount of Internet searching dredged them up. I heard them in my head as I made my way to see “Funny Girl” (www.fbplayhouse.org) with my pal Lynne, who was visiting for the weekend. The fact that we’ve known each other for 50 years is a different story for a different time, but reminds me that before there was a film version of “Funny Girl,” there was the 1964 original Broadway musical of the same name. And although Barbra Streisand starred in both, there are fundamental differences between the two, and it’s kind of cool to see the show on stage, which contains songs cut from the film and vice-versa. Based on the life of Fanny Brice, the musical comedy is highly entertaining, but also laced with pathos, as Brice’s personal life was anything but funny. This show is nothing without its star, so fortunately for us, Kaitlyn Frotton made the role her own, with a powerhouse voice and acting chops to match. Meanwhile, her leading man Dan Fenaughty (as real-life swindler Nick Arnstein) added nuance to the character that is somewhat lacking in the movie.

 One of the many differences between the film and stage (it’s almost impossible not to make comparisons) is the role of Fanny’s mother, which is much larger in the stage version (as is sidekick Eddie Ryan, the delightful Lee Cohen). And as played by Melodie Wolford, Mrs. Brice is just plain wonderful to behold. Scads of musical numbers, a chorus of Ziegfeld girls and some lesser-known songs rounded out a lovely evening of theatre. Every season, producer Franklin Trap employs some home-grown talent, and it was great fun (IMHO) to see locals Steve Davis and Harold Tighe perfectly cast as well.

After attending the sold-out Zac Brown Band concert at Bethel Woods the next night, Lynne and I discussed how great they were (her first, my third), including openers Darrell Scott and Caroline Jones, of whom I was unaware, but who has been named “one of Rolling Stone’s 10 country artists you need to know.” Now, we in the Upper Delaware River region know why. She was hip, cool and clearly talented, as is Brown’s pal Scott.

“There’s always lots of laughs, ‘cause brother, you should see my friends,” that old song from my past continues, “and every day I’m wondering just how the story ends.” I was sorry to see my visit with Lynne draw to a close, but my first night alone was far from peaceful, as I was awakened around two in the morning by some scratching and noises coming (I thought) from the deck off my bedroom. Turning on the light, I noticed that the dog was sleeping undisturbed, and I chalked it up to my life in the woods and turned over, unconcerned. More scratching accompanied by the sound of breaking glass alarmed me, and although Dharma continued to snore, the television blinked on spontaneously, illuminating a squirrel standing on the TV remote and staring at me from the dresser. It squeaked, I shrieked and the real comedy began.

As I attempted to flush the rodent out from behind the bureau, it raced to the living room with me in pursuit, broom in hand as the dog watched from bed, head cocked in amusement. Heart racing, I opened the sliders and chased, as the squirrel mocked me at every turn, pausing to munch on a rawhide chew Dharma had left behind, spitting it out at me and running under the bed. “Oh no, you don’t!” I screamed with a sweep, “Get out of my house!” Running, chasing and hollering continued until dawn when there was virtually nothing left for the squirrel to break, and as it finally made its way out the sliding glass door, I would swear I heard it laughing. Singing “Hallelujah” as I crawled under the covers, I heard the strains of that stupid, stupid song. My life’s a musical comedy.

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