University of Virginia Library

Atmosphere Of A Premiere

By Paul Chaplin

—Ed.)

On our recent trip to New York,
Cavalier Daily drama critic Steve
Wells and I decided to attend the
premiere of Art Buchwald's new
comedy, "Sheep On The Runway,"
in order to relate to you what the
atmosphere of a Broadway opening
night is like.

As we walked cast on 46th
Street to the Helen Hayes Theatre,
I could see two possible outcomes
for the Buchwald play. It could be
a surprise hit like the musical
"1776" which is playing at the
theatre next door, or it could fold
quickly as did the one-night-bomb
"La Strada," whose marquee was
still up at the dark theatre across
the street. Advance word from the
Philadelphia tryout as well as
Broadway rumors seemed to indicate
the latter, but I was optimistic.

We arrived outside the theatre
ten minutes before the scheduled
7:45 curtain time, and were forced
to elbow our way through the mob
of police, celebrities, autograph
seekers, photographers, and curious
bystanders to get inside. Delicately
pushing our way through the lobby,
we eventually found our seats in
the mezzanine.

The theatre was filled with
well-known personalities. Sitting
around us were David Brinkley and
John Chancellor of NBC News,
Jimmy Breslin, and Vince Lombardi.
Downstairs in the orchestra
sat Mayor and Mrs. John Lindsay,
the Ayerill Harrimans, Ethel
Kennedy, actresses Greer Garson
and Maureen Stapleton, and
numerous New York and Washington
critics, columnists, and
politicos.

The audience seemed quite content,
despite a fifteen minute delay.
At eight o'clock the house lights
dimmed, the curtain went up and
applause greeted the set. Throughout
the first act, the audience
remained sharp and attentive, and
rewarded many lines in the play
with applause and laughter.

Surprisingly, during the intermission,
no one seemed to have any
opinions about the play. Jimmy
Breslin, however, was reportedly
giving it three to one odds of
becoming a hit.

More At Ease

Something was different about
the second act; the audience
seemed more at case. Breslin was
howling in his seat, and occasionally
a loud guffaw could be heard
from the area where the NBC
contingent was sitting. The audience
was very generous at the play's
conclusion, giving the cast three
curtain calls, with certain individuals
crying, "Author! Author!"

Then came the long procession
out of the theatre into the outside
world - a mass of police, limousines;
and the plain curious. Most
everyone was smiling, but few
comments were being made about
the play. Everyone was more
concerned with finding a way to get
to Sardi's Restaurant, where co producer
Roger Stevens was hosting
the post-premiere party. There they
would anxiously wait to hear the
opinions of the television critics.
Steve, who is more familiar with
New York critics than I, said it
would be close.

The celebrities climbed into
their limousines and drove off,
while we walked the two blocks to
the famous restaurant. I heard one
theatre-goer remark, "Well, at least
now we know Lindsay lives in New
York," to be answered with, "No,
we now only know that Lindsay
goes to the theatre in New York!"

After the crowd at the theatre,
the small gathering at Sardi's was a
relief, which unfortunately did not
last. A mob sprung up as soon as
the first car stopped outside the
door. We quickly entered, checked
our coats, and went upstairs to our
table.

It was only a little after ten
when we sat down; we would have
an hour to wait for the first review.
Suddenly the entire second floor
broke into applause. I turned to see
David Burns, the star of the show
enter the restaurant. He smiled and
sat down, as a waiter brought forth
en enormous blueberry cheesecake.

Occasional forced laughter interrupted
the tense atmosphere, which
increased as the minutes went by.
The audience had reacted favorably
towards Buchwald's first dramatic
venture, but the fate of the play
rested with the critics and their
reviews.

At eleven o'clock, Steve and I
began looking for a television so we
could see the reviews. There was
five-inch screen Sony at the bar,
but no one had bothered to turn it
on.

Elbow-Benders

A man at the bar turned around
in surprise. "It's a dud! What do
you think this is? The big event of
the season?" I turned away only to
confront a man with blond hair,
round glasses, and a grey suit. "TV
reviews don't mean a damn thing."
This, I am told, is a misnomer.
Television reviews are growing in
importance with every new opening
on Broadway. Furthermore, they
usually serve as an indication of
how the newspaper critics will
respond.

A young woman in a black
cocktail dress kept asking for
someone to turn the TV on, and
the bartender finally compiled.
NBC critic Edwin Newman appeared
and silence surrounded the
bar. His first remarks were discouraging.
Upon hearing them the
woman in black hissed, "Sh-!"
Newman continued and his impressions
became more favorable. He felt
that despite the play's occasional
silliness, it was at times very funny
and pertinent. The general opinion
of the elbow-benders at the bar was
one of spirited satisfaction.

The bartender was told to
change the channel to CBS for
Leonard Harris' review. While waiting
for it, we heard a burst of
applause from the main dining
room. Elizabeth Wilson, the female
lead in the play, had just arrived.
No sooner had we turned back to
the TV, when the dining room once
again applauded, more furiously
than before. The recipient of this
ovation was Mayor Lindsay. Once
again, we returned to the miniature
screen.

Finally, Harris appeared, The
young woman quickly hushed
everyone around the bar. The CBS
critic gave a very favorable review,
which included several quotes from
the play. Although not exceedingly
jubilant, the atmosphere around the
bar was one of relief, with an
element of surprise.

Steve and I walked around the
restaurant to see how others had
reacted. Oddly enough, everything
was quiet, rather as if it were a
normal night. Then we learned that
few had heard the reviews as yet;
we ourselves had only heard two of
the four.

Buchwald On Phone

We went downstairs to discover
Buchwald on the telephone. He
repeatedly nodded his head, saying
"yes" into the receiver, After he
hung up, he walked around with a
peculiar smile on his face, and
addressing no one in particular, said
out loud, "Four raves."

This was a slight exaggeration.
While the reviews were all favorable,
at least two of them were
qualified. As no reviews would
appear in the Sunday papers, these
would have to suffice for the time
being.

We went outside to inform our
friend Tony, who has been doorman
at Sardi's for twenty years and
who had predicted an opening night
disaster, that the reviews were
favorable. He was as surprised as
anybody, but felt final judgment
rested with the papers. He added,
"I hope it's a hit, 'cause we need a
show on Broadway."

Returning to our table, we
found ourselves relating excerpts of
the reviews, which Steve had
scribbled down on a cocktail
napkin, to Will Mackenzie, another
star in the show. He, like most
everyone else, felt that the critics
had been very fair.

We then talked to Dustin Hoffman's
mother in "The Graduate,"
better known as Elizabeth Wilson.
She was pleased with the reviews
and hoped the play would be a hit
because it had something important
to say.

About 12:15, we prepared to
leave Sardi's. At the entrance,
Buchwald was saying goodnight to
his father. He embraced him,
saying, "I'll call you tomorrow,
Papa." He was standing in a small
group, with his trademark cigar in
his hand, enjoying the whole event.
We moved into the group and
extended our congratulations to the
new playwright. Steve asked him if
the many rewrites were worth it,
and he responded with a subtle but
affirmative nod. We moved outside
onto 44th Street, and headed
uptown to keep another engagement.

Not Typical

Apparently the show had become
a hit. Of course the papers
were yet to judge, but there was a
general feeling that those reviews
would be equally kind, which they
turned out to be, most especially
Clive Barnes's notice in the New
York Times. From all indications,
"Sheep on the Runway" would not
be typical of plays which experienced
out-of-town difficulties.

It was about 2:30 a.m. when we
last drove past the Helen Hayes
Theatre. After midnight there is an
eccentric feeling that prevails over the
Broadway theatre district. Except
for a dim light in the lobby, the site
of Buchwald's first theatrical triumph
just a few hours before was
now dark and silent. But, because
the critics had reacted favorably,
"Sheep on the Runway" in a few
days would find its house crowded
with ordinary New York theatregoers,
acting in the ritual of
attending a hit play.