All That Glitters, Part 3

By Christina Hamlett

Though the final tale in this trilogy of storm warnings actually relates to the bright lights of Broadway, it points up the irony that even well meaning friends can inadvertently steer you into bizarre situations.
 
Just when you thought you've probably encountered every nutcase in Hollywood, Fate has a way of never failing to disappoint.

Something Wicked This Way Comes

"You've written musicals before, haven't you?" an associate of mine inquired.   It seems that two women she knew--and whom I will call Gwen and Sybil--were looking for an experienced playwright to do a script for a score they had written about a tortured Bulgarian artiste .

Thinking it could be something fun, I made contact and asked them to send me a synopsis.   I also went so far as to invite them to a fave Pasadena bistro for a glass of wine on one of the evenings they indicated they'd be in town.   If I'd had my wits about me, I would have further instructed my fave waiter, Andrew, to rescue me after the first 10 minutes.

They literally arrived arm in arm, a tall woman and a short one, both clad from head to toe in gossamer black and sporting perky English accents reminiscent of the Pigeon Sisters in THE ODD COUPLE. They instantly stepped forward as one unit to embrace me.
 
"We're so thrilled to meet you," Gwen (the composer) gushed, "aren't we, Sybil?"   "Oh yes," Sybil (the lyricist) agreed, "simply thrilled."

Rather than jumping right into the business at hand, I proceeded to casually inquire how long they'd known each other.

"Oh practically forever," Gwen replied, fondly reaching across the table to squeeze Sybil's hand.   Sybil's eyes sparkled conspiratorially as she turned to me and confided, "We were witches in a prior life..."

Judging by their Goth ensembles, I was inclined to believe this was a predilection they still clung to.

Granted, I consider myself open-minded enough to smile politely when strangers tell me they're aliens, angels, or whatevers.   Hey, you never know.   In the event some of them actually do possess powers that are not-of-this-world, I don't really want to get on their bad side by suggesting they might possibly be--well, nuts.

"So what's your favorite musical?" Sybil wanted to know.

"We need to make sure you're the right match," Gwen explained.

"A toss-up," I replied, "between THE MUSIC MAN and BEAUTY AND THE BEAST." I asked what their favorites were.

"We just adored URINETOWN!" Gwen replied. "Oh yes," Sybil chimed in.   "We've seen it 15 times!"

I began to sense that the creative divide between us was steadily growing wider.

"So what did you think of our synopsis?" they eagerly asked, almost in unison.

"To be honest--"

"Oh yes, please do," they insisted.

"Well, I really don't see that there's enough 'there' there for a full-scale production."

Gwen instantly glowered.   "But we've already been approached by a major--"

"Yes, very major--" Sybil reiterated.

"--Broadway producer who thinks this is sheer brilliance."

"That's great," I replied, "but the main characters just aren't very likable.   Maybe if you were to--"

"We think they're likable," Sybil archly interrupted.

"What's wrong with you that you didn't like them?" Gwen challenged me.

"I just didn't find them compelling."

"You don't know them like we do," Sybil countered.

"There also seem to be a lot of loose ends," I pointed out, concurrently wondering what had ever possessed me to keep this meeting.   "I feel as if something's missing."

"That's because we didn't give you the whole thing," Gwen said.

"We didn't want you to steal it," Sybil added.

"But you're certainly welcome to tell us your ideas," Gwen continued.

I resisted the urge to tell them that I would except how could I be sure that they wouldn't engage in thievery.   Instead, I tried to nudge the conversation toward how they planned to handle credits and royalties.

"Well, since there are two of us and only one of you," Sybil explained, "it's rather obvious you'd get the smaller share."

"We were thinking 5% would be about right," Gwen opined.

"But you're asking me to write the entire script," I reminded them.

They giggled--or rather, cackled--in stereo.   "Yes, but it's only a few words here and there just to string all the songs together.   It's not as if you're doing any actual work ..."

As the evening finally crawled to a much welcomed close, they mentioned that they still had two more playwrights they needed to interview.  

"Just one more question," Sybil said.   "What do you think of Sonia the Pet Psychic?"

"Uh--excuse me?"

"We absolutely adore her!" Sybil gushed.

"She's a complete goddess!" a starry eyed Gwen said.

"We couldn't possibly work with anyone who didn't adore her as much as we do," Sybil confessed.

"We make our husbands watch her program every week," Gwen added.

Husbands? Or had they really meant to say 'familiars'?   I tried to imagine what type of men would be married to them. Maybe it was the downside of trading up from originally being frogs.

As we parted company and they wafted out to valet parking to reclaim their brooms, I paused at the bar to talk to Andrew about a script of his I'd been doing a critique on.

"So how did it go with the lesbians?" he asked.

"Actually they're witches," I corrected him.

"Lesbian witches? Cool.   What did they want?"

"Hopefully not to turn me into a hamster by tomorrow morning for not liking their stupid musical."

Andrew drolly contemplated this for a moment.   "Could you read my script before then," he asked, "just in case?"

The Lesson: Always have a graceful exit strategy.

Former actress/director Christina Hamlett is an award winning author and professional script coverage consultant whose publishing credits to date include 17 books, 110 plays and musicals, 3 optioned films, and columns/interviews that appear regularly throughout the world. For additional background, please visit www.absolutewrite.com/site/christina.htm .