The 4:30 Movie featured mostly old films and was categorized around a weekly theme: Elvis week, Westerns week, horror week, etc. That’s where I fell in love with movie musicals starring Gene Kelly and Judy Garland. That’s where I decided Katharine Hepburn was my favorite actress of all time. That’s where I learned that an actor’s highest calling was The Theatah and the ultimate goal for a true thespian was BroadWAY, emphasis on the WAY. I was inspired by the black-and-white movies of the 1930s and 1940s, like Stage Door, in which young hopefuls lived together in a sorority-type house, sleeping with their hair in old-fashioned curlers that looked more like rags, practicing dance steps in their tiny galley kitchen while wearing silk tap pants and dreaming of BroadWAY. I loved their vivid vernacular and tried to incorporate it into my life. “Say, fella, this gal’s got sore gams,” I was in the habit of saying. “My dogs are barking—got a dime for a cup of joe?” This being the mid-eighties, no one had any idea what I was talking about.
I was determined to make it to BroadWAY, and that meant I somehow had to become a member of Actors’ Equity, the theatrical union. The union conundrum: you can’t get a union card without getting a union job, and you can’t get a union job unless you’re in the union. My plan, although the path was long, was to earn enough hours as an Equity apprentice to become eligible, which could take years. The only faster way would be to somehow get cast in an Equity role. Apparently this happened once in a while, when a part called for something unique that none of the members of the Equity company were able to do. As a young actor, I remember focusing obsessively on the “special skills” section of my résumé, peppering it with abilities, even ones I only sort of had, in case one of them might lead to my big break. Included on my résumé at the time were “skills” such as driving (not a given in New York City), roller skating (the musical Starlight Express was big at the time), dialects (although this claim was vague and pretty much untrue, I felt it made me seem sophisticated and Shakespearean), and Rhonda Weiss impressions (Rhonda Weiss was one of my favorite characters from Gilda Radner’s Live at Carnegie Hall show, a VHS tape I watched obsessively). Why I thought anyone would be more impressed by my Rhonda Weiss than by Gilda Radner’s is still an embarrassing mystery to me today. But back then, especially when coupled with dialects and driving, I thought it made me seem quirky and well-rounded. Probably despite these skills rather than because of them, I landed a spot in the Equity apprentice program at the Barn Theater in Augusta, Michigan.
The Barn was (and is) a well-respected summer theater that had a resident Equity company and even occasionally drew some Broadway stars. In the lobby of the theater hung framed headshots of “Barnies” of note—actors who’d once been apprentices here, just like I was, and had gone on to bigger things. I didn’t recognize any of their faces, but I was still impressed. It was beyond my wildest hope that my headshot would one day hang in this lobby too, prompting scores of theatergoers to remark, “Who?” I could only dream of such obscurity!
On the first day at the Barn, all the Equity apprentices auditioned for the directors and members of the Equity company to get their specific casting for the summer. The core Equity company consisted of experienced actors, most from New York, who’d been hired for the whole summer. Many of them had worked at the theater before, and they all knew each other. They asked me a few questions, then chose a piece for me to sight-read: “Slap That Bass,” a Gershwin number from the musical Crazy for You. I didn’t know the song, but the whole point was to see how well we could perform with limited preparation. The rehearsal period for each show was only two weeks, so it was important to show them how quickly we could learn music and dance steps. I was nervous but not too worried, since in general I could sight-read pretty well.
Or so I thought.
Even though I was only expected to read off sheet music on the stand in front of me, I wanted to really perform the song, to prove I was not only a speedy learner and a good singer but a good actress too. My casting for the entire season depended on what I did in this audition. The pianist played through a few bars and hummed the melody for me until I felt ready to try the song alone. Then I took a deep breath and started to sing.
Zoom zoom zoom zoom
The world is in a mess
With politics and taxes
And people grinding axes
There’s no happiness.
Looking out at the sea of faces in the audience, I could tell right away that I was doing well. I felt relaxed and my voice sounded strong. People were smiling and tapping their toes to the beat.
Zoom zoom zoom zoom
Rhythm lead your ace
The future doesn’t fret me
If I can only get me
Someone to slap that bass.
I saw one of the Equity actors in the audience exchange a look with the music director. She clapped her hand over her mouth like she was stifling a laugh. He giggled back at her and slapped his knee, and I thought, wow—are they impressed or what? It’s almost as if they’ve never seen an apprentice perform this well on their first day. I wondered briefly if I had a chance at getting my Equity card in my first summer. I’d been told that never happened, but what if? They’d talk about it for years to come! Not only would my headshot be displayed in the lobby, but maybe they’d need a plaque touting my incredible accomplishment as well! APPRENTICE FOR A DAY. THEN STRAIGHT TO BROADWAY, it would say! A wave of extra confidence washed over me, hurtling me toward the chorus:
Slap that bass
Slap it till it’s dizzy
Slap that bass
Keep the rhythm busy
Zoom zoom zoom
Misery, you’ve got to go!
Everyone in the audience was laughing now, and I thought, well, that’s sort of weird, but they aren’t stopping me, and they all look pretty pleased. The problem was that they looked almost too pleased. I hadn’t really seen “Slap That Bass” as much of a comedic song, but maybe I was wrong? So I decided to go with their response and sort of shimmied my shoulders, adding even more personality and pizzazz.
Slap that bass
Use it like a tonic
Slap that bass
Keep your philharmonic
Zoom zoom zoom
And the milk and honey’ll flow!
There was no doubting it now—everyone was now becoming almost…hysterical? One of the actresses was wiping tears away, she was laughing so hard. I’m just naturally funny, I guess, I thought. I never realized it to this degree before. This is for sure the day I’ll be discovered! Never mind my promotion to the Equity company—maybe I won’t even last the summer here! What if they send me directly to BroadWAY? I wondered if I’d have to drop out of Barnard, and if not, how I would manage both my schoolwork and my full-time stardom. Flush with the excitement of my newfound destiny, I beamed back at them all and headed into my big finish:
In which case
If you want a bauble
Slap that bass
Slap away your trouble
Learn to zoom zoom zoom
Slap that bass!
Arms outstretched, I held the last note as long as I could. The entire room applauded, I bowed, and then they all dissolved into giggles. For a while they were laughing so hard that no one could speak. Finally the music director waved his arm over his head, signaling everyone to be quiet.
“Lauren,” he said kindly, “you have a good voice.”
A good voice? Didn’t he mean a spectacular, transcendent, unique, miracle voice from Heavenland?
“A very good voice,” he said, and paused. I could tell he was struggling to keep a straight face. “But I don’t think Ira Gershwin wrote this song about a fish.”
For a moment I felt surrounded by fog, or like I’d just been woken up from a deep sleep. What was he talking about? What about a fish? Why would he—