Big Weekend

Big weekend with "Les Misérables."

We've seen the ultimate musical many times and I still don't know which guy is Les. Les, oh, Lester, where were you?

Maybe I should read a program....

Big Weekend

Big weekend, "On Golden Pond."

When I saw the show in 1981, the story was about old people.

Now, the characters seem a lot more youthful.

The next time, I guess I'll be saying, "Who are these darn fool kids?"

Big Weekend

Big weekend, sidestepping Rapture Hell, only to plop down into Season Tickets Hell.

We were forked "Hair" in our Broadway shows package. Let the lameness, let the lameness in.

Ugh.

How bad?

I fell asleep during the nude scene.

That is 100% the truth.

And I was happy about it.

This is the yawning of the stage of nefarious.

Thoughts During 'Shrek: the Musical'

It ain't exactly "Ogre-homa!" 

It's not a thing like "Wicked" -- cough cough -- with its green-skinned characters, silly songs, and tongue-in-cheek fairy tale humor.

It is EXACTLY like my Gretl in "The Sound of Music!" Farquaad performs the entire play on his knees, JUST LIKE ME!!

This is not one of my favorite things.

See you in court, shrimp. And that brings us back to dough.

Big Weekend

Big weekend, visiting the old courthouse in Monroeville, AL. 

We came to see "To Kill a Mockingbird," staged on the lawn, two small blocks from where the novel's author, Harper Lee, grew up.

The second act was performed inside the courtroom which inspired the story.

Afterward, a dream was fulfilled....

I met and posed with the ham suit.

---

Photos by Donna Durrett

Secrets to a Successful 30-Year Marriage #9

On this day in 1978 -- yep, April Fool's Day, and this remembrance is completely true -- Donna and I went out on our first courting around the town. I took her to see a Theater of the Stars play in Atlanta. It was Neil Simon's "Come Blow Your Horn," headlining Lyle Waggoner, Molly Picon, and Lou Jacobi.

And here we are, 33 years later, 30 in wedded bliss and assorted food courts.

It worked.

Behold: Secret to a Successful 30-Year Marriage #9:

Lou Jacobi is an aphrodisiac.

Big Weekend

Big weekend, watching the all-dancing, all-recycled-worn-out-moldy-oldies Broadway review, "Burn the Floor," or, as I like to call it, "Mambo Mia."

Curtain rises. First glimpse: a disco ball.

First reaction: Leap to my feet, "Taxi!!!"

Two hours of sweaty, herky-jerky, half-naked spunky-funky trying to convince me they are The Chosen Hipsters. That's a show; accept this $66.40.

Can someone confirm I'm not delirious? I've had no Tainted Hollandaise Smoothies. Just some Season Tickets Hell.

And nail your shoes to the floor. I'm in no mood to squint footwork.

'West Side Story' Epiphany

I've seen the "West Side Story" stage play and the film numerous times. During a recent performance of the current Broadway tour, I watched intently.

As the curtain dropped at the end of the first act, I turned to my wife and said, "This ... is not going to end well."

Big Weekend With Brian Regan

Big weekend, Snowbound: Day 6: I hiked out of the house, through the ice and snow and sludge and forest to the main road and the waiting getaway car. My wife and I traveled to north Atlanta to enjoy Brian Regan in concert.

Later, I hiked back through the ice and snow and sludge and forest to the house and wondered why I was Snowbound: Day 7.



"Brian Regan: Growing Older" via YouTube



"Brian Regan: Dinner Party" via YouTube



"Brian Regan: Walkie Talkie!" via YouTube

Big Weekend

Friday
Me and the missus and the cummerbund attended the theater, "A Tuna Christmas."

Favorite quote: "I've seen better hair on anchovies."

Afterward, looked in window at Fantastic Swams.

Saturday
Survived wife-inflicted Outlet Mall. My only outlet necessitated an hour-long slog through Kirkland's. I manned sniveling babied up, faced debilitating boredom, puzzlingly pleased female mindset, and inhaled oppressive candle-scented oxygen to the point of phantasms.

Let out, mauled.

Sunday
Watched the first episode of National Geographic's "Great Migrations." So violent and disturbing, I great migrated myself off the couch and returned the DVDs to the store unwatched.

Big Weekend

Big weekend at a fall festival, subjected to kid beam-girl, belting out heinous songs from "Annie" and then some, and then some more, followed by two and one-half hours of divas-dueling "Dreamgirls."

Big weekend of adenoidal caterwauling!

Big weekend IN HELL!!

Shush.

Big Weekend

Big weekend, blasting "The Sound of Music" and that darn Gretl. 

The revival of Rodgers and Hammerstein's soaring musical concluded its Atlanta performances, part of a big stage tour, last evening. I was not in the cast. My lederhosen wept.

Anyway, that's what I'm telling the dry cleaner.

As you may know, a sincere, lifelong dream of mine has been to play the demanding role of Gretl, the teeniest of Von Trapps. I've fully confessed the quest, the craft, the whining like a little girl.

See: "The Sound of Mikey" | "Meanwhile..."

I was never extended so much as a phone call inviting me to audition. Thus, you know what that meant. No "Thank you, Mr. Durrett, nice gams."

I'm not getting any younger here, producers. You are forcing me into Plan B. I've written a sequel, "The Sound of Hip-Hop," wherein Gretl (Mike Durrett) and the kin kiddies (Some Fresh-Faced Brats) flee Austria to revolutionize Motown with popping, locking, and B-boying. Feel da funk. Word. Edelweiss.

Then, stardom in my claws, I'll mount "The Sound of Kabuki" with me as most honorable G. and kimonoed kiddie kin (Some Other Fresh-Faced Brats).

In the short term, however, I get livid when I think of this year's fruitless toil, the expense, the tappity-tappity-tappity-tappity-tappity-tappity-tap taps.

Even the elementary Botox® injections were for naught. At least, I have three months of pre-schooler pouty lips left to carry me through the indignation and appearances on GretaWire.

And now, seriously, before my blood pressure rises any higher, I need to go phone the pediatrician....

A Confederacy of Coincidences — And That Brings Us Back to Mo

Two weeks ago, it was my nice  fortune to be a projectionist on duty when we presented a rare showing of "The General" (1926) in the Atlanta Fox Theatre, accompanied with a live musical score performed on our powerful Moller pipe organ. Buster Keaton's classic Civil War comedy is based on the actual 1862 incident when Union soldiers and sympathizers stole a Confederate train, setting off a dangerous locomotive chase through Georgia.

I learned of "The General" booking in late spring, about the time my wife and I renewed our season tickets to Theatre in the Square, a small, professional venue producing plays in nearby Marietta, Ga. TITS, as we like to call it (Donna said it first! Donna said it first!), announced their line-up of shows, but I paid minimal notice. I get so much more out of theatregoing by not immersing myself in details of the productions in advance.

Sunday, 12 evenings after "The General," I found myself in our second row seats at Theatre in the Square, watching the world premiere of "Stealing Dixie," a gripping drama —

(One moment. Let me copy and paste this...)
— based on an actual 1862 incident when Union soldiers and sympathizers stole a Confederate train, setting off a dangerous locomotive chase through Georgia.

"Stealing Dixie" promo, Marietta.

I was bewildered. This largely unknown historical event provided the frameworks for two entertainments I was essentially summoned to attend less than a fortnight apart.

The coincidences continue.

Theatre in the Square is located one storefront away from the Marietta railroad tracks. Standing at the entrance, one can glimpse the former Kennesaw House, maybe 200 feet yonder. It was inside that building, depicted explicitly in "Stealing Dixie," where the Union men holed up the night before their crime. The boarding of The General, I assume, occurred mere yards away, too.

Western & Atlantic Railroad No. 3, The General on display in Kennesaw, Ga.

Until yesterday, the above material was enough of a weird story for me to ponder. Then, out of the blue, things took another turn.

Accomplished theatre organist and silent film enthusiast Dennis James uncovered my previous article on "The General" at The Fabulous Fox. He sent a note of kind remarks and shared his memories.

I had projected "The Phantom of the Opera" (1925) for one of Dennis' special Fox appearances, around 25 years ago. He was at the keys of the "Mighty Mo" organ, supporting the motion picture.

Dennis wrote:

I well remember our sellout screenings of Lon Chaney's PHANTOM OF THE OPERA over the years, and the TCM presented Erich von Stroheim THE MERRY WIDOW that we also recorded for the cable channel periodic broadcasts. What a house, what an organ!

I was pleased to hear from him and startled I had somehow missed his connection to "The Merry Widow." I had no idea he had provided the soundtrack, recorded at the very same Fox console. How did I miss this development? Turner Classic Movies, after all, is my second home. I practically live inside the channel.

I dropped what I was doing and immediately moused my way over to TCM.com. I would have TCM send me an Email Alert in advance of their next presentation of "The Merry Widow." They occasionally broadcast silent films. This one would be back around within a year or two.

*Gulp*

What is going on here? "The Merry Widow," I read, was scheduled to be aired:

Tue, Aug 24, 2010 8:30 AM EDT

That was THIS morning, only 14 hours later.

Screen credits from "The Merry Widow" (1925), as seen on TV

I recorded the movie. Does the story end here?

I don't know because I seem to be back at the Fox. I'm going to enjoy running "The Merry Widow" on my television, but with one begrudging caveat. I should be paid to listen to the Fox organ, you know. I have always been paid to listen to the Fox organ, working there and all. It's what I do.

Play it again, Dennis....

---

Train photo courtesy Harvey Henkelmann.

The Fox and the Cats

ATLANTA, Ga. — Yesterday, I was there at The Fab, working on computer files for several upcoming movie events.

At the end of the afternoon, we pair o' projectionists strolled through the empty auditorium, observing the quiet stage festooned with the trashy set from "Cats," the musical appearing that night in its umpteenth engagement at the theatre.

"Is this the national Broadway tour?" I asked my associate.

"Yes," he said.

"Good grief, this play has to have been on the road for more than 20 years! Are those poor cats using walkers with tinkle bells in 'em?"

Scott kept moving along the aisle through the orchestra seats.

"I bet Rum Tum Tugger is plum plum tuckered," I said. "Do they require orthopedic catnip? I think I smell Tabby Pampers."

"Yes."

"You are rather non-verbal."

"I don't want to be on the Internet."

"Oh."

We passed through the doorway to backstage. The unmistakable aroma of cats was in the air. I took keen interest in the placement of my feet.

"Is this play in English?" I asked.

"Yes."

"I'd come to see it if it were in Kitty."

"You mean, 'Meow, meow, meow?'"

"Sure. I'd like to hear the show in its native tongue, with some vigorous yawns and implausible wild scampering not altered for the locals." I looked at the employees' time clock and punched out.

"Two hours to curtain," said a six-foot-tall cat stirring from a nap near a coil of rope. She flicked out her tongue with the precision of a switchblade and commenced to bathe before us, fluffing her coat and extended leg fur contortioned behind her neck and pointy ears. I was beginning to feel sympathy moist.

Another feline snooped about the Production Office. He wore street attire -- a big, black, rhinestone collar with "SKIMBLESHANKS" on it. I think there may have been a tattoo of The Aristocats in his tramp stamp region.

Amazingly, and absolutely true, he asked if we had a can opener.

Scott produced one, while I wondered, "Doesn't Fancy Feast have pop-tops?"

"Thanks, man," the mouser said, strutting away on two legs. "Down with IAMS!"

His declawed fist #4 was in the air with defiance. Then, I saw it.

A thumb!

Something was not right with these immensely overgrown, poetry-reciting pussycats. I phoned Animal Control, Homeland Security, and Blofeld.

Thoughts During 'South Pacific'

• This current Broadway revival tour is spectacular, the best. I've seen both "South Pacific" movies and several productions of the play, plus "Miss Saigon," which is not, but really is "South Pacific."
  
  
• So beautiful, I began tearing up during the overture. First rule of the stage: Whenever there's a harp in the pit, there's going to be moisture.
  
  
• Rod Gilfrey as Emile makes Robert Goulet sound like Pee-wee Herman.
  
  
• Though, you know, Pee-wee would make an interesting Nellie.
  
  
• The signature song is "Some Enchanted Evening," when two people fall in love. I can appreciate the sentiment, but, for me, some enchanted evening is when two people fall in love and she gives me all her pizza, Cheetos, and Girl Scout Thin Mints.
  
  
• Still thinking about that last one.
  
  
• Interesting that this musical has no title song, like Rodgers and Hammerstein's previous success, "Oklahoma!"
  
  We know we belong to island
  And island we belong to is grand!
  And when we say
  Yeeow! Kamikazeeeees!
  We're only sayin'
  You're doin' fine, South Pacific!
  South Pacific S. - P -
  A - C - I - F - I - C
  South Pacific!
  Luau!
  
  
• World War II sure had a lot of show tunes. It's hard to imagine killing before the Cha-Cha-Cha accompanied by AK-40s.
  
  
• I have never owned a sailor's cap. I borrowed one once and people mistook me for Speedy Alka-Seltzer.
  
  
• I love the romantic nostalgia of "There Is Nothin' Like a Dame." Nowadays, it would be TiVo.
  
  
• I've always longed to holiday on Bali Ha'i. The closest I ever came was Bally's Vegas. Jack Carter in the Lounge is not a vacation.
  
  
• If I were to "wash that man right outa my hair,"  I'd need:
       a. good conditioner
       b. shower slippers with no-slide bottoms
       c. the strength of eight
       d. spin doctor
  
  
• I, too, am "a cockeyed optimist." Contact lenses reversed again.
  
  
  
  
  

Meanwhile...

Morty's in the wings during "The Sound of Music" rehearsals, my personal conductor and Assistant Dance Captain.

The Sound of Mikey

100 Things About Me #178

I've dabbled in acting, but mostly I've been holding out for the really good roles.

The other day, I read a press release. A summer stock tour of "The Sound of Music" is coming through the Fox Theatre in Atlanta, as well as Tampa and Washington, D.C. Rehearsals are scheduled in New York.

Theater of the Stars will hold auditions for children and teens between the ages of 7-17 for The Sound of Music on Saturday, April 10 at 10:00 a.m. These auditions are for Actors’ Equity and non-Equity actors. ... We are looking for girls and boys who dance and sing well to be cast in the roles of the von Trapp Family Children.

This is it! My big chance and, most importantly, my dream come true! For many years, I've been telling ev'rybody I meet and bleat that one of my favorite things would be to play Gretl in "The Sound of Music."

Obviously, I was born to perform it, yet people usually respond along these lines, "You want to play Gretl? That's a six-year-old girl!"

"I believe she's more like four," I correct them. I'm the one up for the part.

"Mike! You are 10 times older than her!"

"I'd say 14 times, adjusting for me lying in my favor about my age."

"You are insane!"

"No, I'm not. I am an actor! It's what I do, act. And ingénue. I ingénue and pre-ingénue. It's the gift."

"You are too big!"

"Pish posh. Slap some Nazi Keds under my knees and I'm dancing and tugging hearts."

"Why? Tell me why do you want to do this."

"She gets all the 'ahhhs.' Say it with me, 'Ahhh.' Pretend you're the audience, 'Ahhhhh--'"

"You'll never pull it off!"

"You forget dimply. I'm luxuriously dimpled and I do adorable. If I need shave, I'll shave."

And that's where the gift usually has to find alternate transportation home.

Here I am rehearsing "Do-Re-Mi." I give good "Mi."

Lederhosen out of storage this weekend, I'm set to go on the road.

I'm already thinking billing.

Mike Durrett

is

Gretl

in

"The Sound of Music"

(Larger, von Cuddlier Tour)

Just need a pet sitter at the house for my lonely goatherd.

100 Things: #1 | Previous | Next

Big Weekend

Big weekend, busting spooks!

We found ourselves held captive inside the Plaza Theatre, Atlanta, during the Silver Scream Spookshow. Oh, sure, we could have walked out any of the convenient exit doors, but at the peril of ridicule and scorn from the other attendees?

I don't think so.

Plus, it was kinda chilly.

Donna and I were already on treacherous ice with the audience. We realized we were the only people in the building without tattoos. It's not that I have anything against tats. My body is a temple for beet juice stains. I need blank skin for my copious collection of beet juice stains, attractive, gnarly.

Hey, spillage lovers, I'm expanding, adding weight to increase my surface area to beet the demand!

Coming soon. Check your local listings and more beets, please.

I produced a Sharpie and scribbled "WICKED" on my wife's forehead. The quick thinking and faux 'ttoo reduced our chances of being kidnapped, roughed up, and/or hooted, while remaining highly fashionable among this crowd, many of them eight.

And it would, maybe, generate some product placement money for our coffers, I informed our coughers, seated next to me, handing them plenty of liquids.

Then, I drew a griffin and a bloody scythe on Donna's lovely cheek. That's what I told her anyway. I was mostly doodling spirals, making certain the pen wasn't dry of ink.

During the live portion of the festivities, a number of scares were inflicted upon the gathered patrons, chiefly by the miraculous birth of the tiny The Glob, evolved from a sneeze. Before our eyes, The Glob grew out of a puddle of Plaza phlegm into a vast orb of The Glob goo, which advanced over the head of each of us petrified viewers dotting the darkened auditorium.

The Glob was last seen slurping along Ponce de Leon Ave. in pursuit of a decongestant and a tissue.

After dabbing Donna with my clean, gentlemanly hanky, I finger-flicked several gelatinous The Glob residues onto some kid in the fourth row, as the feature film attraction hit the screen.


"It Conquered the World" Trailer via YouTube
"It Conquered the World" (1956) is an exceptionally tense motion picture that I do believe to be a suppressed documentary of major import, instructing us of a deadly menace come to Earth to annihilate the fabulous babes of the 1950s, all prim and proper and prepared to face their dooms -- "Just a second, Itsy!" -- with perfect coiffures and cosmetic diligence. The Venusian monster surely appreciated the array of fine sassy party dresses and tight sweaters. Welcome to our planet and to our women.

I took the entire outrage in stride, resisting handsomely the dangers of fainting from fright.

Nevertheless, I was comforted by the presence of the registered nurses on duty.