“Dorothy is writing the lyrics. The music is being written by Albert Hague. You and Herbert will write the book. The play takes place in turn-of-the-century London. Our lead is a young woman who makes figures that are exhibited in the chamber of horrors in a wax museum. A serial killer is loose, and he leaves no clues. When he murders his latest victim, our heroine sees him and makes a wax model of him. He sets out to murder her. It’s a mixture of mystery, suspense, and songs and dances.”
“That sounds exciting.”
We met Dorothy at her home.
After the greetings were over, Dorothy said, “Let’s go to work.”
Dorothy and Herbert had conceived a dream of a plot. I had not seen them since Annie Get Your Gun and it was a joy to be working with them again.
The Fieldses introduced me to Albert Hague, the composer, who had done half a dozen Broadway shows. He was a brilliant musician.
Hague later gained fame as Mr. Benjamin Shorofsky in the television series Fame.
Because the basic idea the Fieldses had was so exciting, the writing of the book went smoothly. Herbert and Dorothy were professionals who worked business hours. We worked from nine in the morning until six P.M. and then everybody went home. I thought of the frantic days when Ben Roberts and I were working on several shows at once, until the wee hours of the morning.
Jorja and I got a nurse for Mary, and when I was not working, we explored New York. We went to the theater and the museums and enjoyed some of the restaurants. The first one I took Jorja to was Sardi’s, and Vincent Sardi was still there, as warm as ever. We had a wonderful meal, with a complimentary bottle of champagne.
Herbert and I finished the first draft of the libretto as Dorothy and Albert were finishing the score.
When we were ready, we gathered in Robert Fryer’s office and ran through the book and score.
“Great,” Fryer said. “It’s everything I hoped it would be. Now, who are we going to cast in it? Who is going to play the lead?”
We needed a leading lady who was attractive, sympathetic, and could sing and play comedy. Not an easy combination to find. We went through a list of actresses and finally came across a name that we all liked: Bea Lillie. She was an English stage star who played comedy, and sang and danced.
“She would be perfect. I’m going to send her the book and the score,” Fryer said, “and pray.”
Five days later, we were meeting again in Fryer’s office. He was grinning. “Bea Lillie loves it. She’s going to play it.”
“That’s great.”
“Now we need a choreographer and we’re in business.”
It was not to be. Bea Lillie wanted her boyfriend to direct the show.
We went through the list of available actresses again.
“Wait a minute,” Dorothy said. “What about Gwen Verdon?”
The room lit up.
“Why didn’t we think of her before? She’s perfect. She’s a beautiful, talented musical star—and she’s a redhead. I’ll get the play to her this afternoon.”
This time there was only a two-day wait.
“She’ll do it,” Robert Fryer said. He sighed. “But there’s a catch.”
We all looked at him. “Oh?”
“She wants her boyfriend to direct it.”
“Who’s her boyfriend?”
“Bob Fosse.”
Bob Fosse was a brilliant choreographer. He had just choreographed two hit shows, The Pajama Game and Damn Yankees.
“Has he ever directed anything?” I asked.
“No, but he’s damn talented. If you all agree, I’m willing to take a chance on him.”
I said, “I’d hate to lose Gwen Verdon.”
Dorothy said, “Let’s not lose her.” She looked at Robert Fryer. “Let’s talk to Bob Fosse.”
Bob Fosse was in his early thirties, a small, intense man who had been a dancer and actor in several Hollywood films. He had gone on to be a choreographer and had his own exciting style. His trademark, when he danced, was wearing a hat and gloves. He wore hats to cover the fact that he had started going bald. It was said that he wore gloves because he did not like his hands.
We met in a rehearsal room off Broadway. Bob Fosse knew exactly what he wanted to do with the show. He was filled with exciting ideas and by the time the meeting was over, we were delighted to have him. It was a two-in-one deal. He would choreograph and direct.
We rounded out the cast with Richard Kiley and Leonard Stone, and rehearsals began.
Along with the problems.
Bob Fosse, like all good choreographers, was dictatorial. He had his own vision of the show. The libretto was written, the sets were being built, costumes were ordered, and Fosse was dissatisfied with everything. He was opinionated and stubborn and he was turning all of us into nervous wrecks. Why we stood for it was simple: He was a genius. His choreography was brilliant enough to light up the show. But when Fosse tried to rewrite the book, I put my foot down. Herbert agreed with me. We decided to let him bring in another writer, David Shaw.
The rehearsals looked wonderful. Gwen was brilliant. The dances were spectacular and the book worked like a dream. I held my breath, waiting to see what was going to go wrong.
Natalie and Marty came to New York for the opening, and Richard flew in with his wife, Joan. They sat in the audience with Jorja and me. This time none of them was disappointed.
We opened at the 46th Street Theatre, in New York, on February 5, 1959, and the critics were unanimous in their praise. They raved about Gwen, loved the songs and dances, and enjoyed the book.
“Best musical comedy of the season . . .” Watts, New York Post