slam BAM thank you ma'am

slam BAM thank you ma'am
Originally uploaded by suttonhoo.

Met up with Rahul last night for some Beckett at BAM -- his first, which is all kinds of risky for me, because Beckett productions skew to the very very good or the very very bad with very very little middle ground.

Mitigating my risk was knowing that John Turturro and Elaine Stritch were in the Endgame cast, and we were soon to learn of two others (whose names I'm having trouble ferreting out from the BAMbill) who nearly outshone the two knowns.

Just nearly. The performances were pitch perfect across the board (nearly: Elaine disappointed just a smidge, playing the part a little too hard, but I think maybe my expectations are too high for my favorite dame.) and R generously guffawed where expected, giggled on cue, and had periodic extended laughing fits, all good signs that I hadn't led him too far astray with the suggestion.

But it was a safe bet really: R and I met in a hostile office environment where we quickly and almost subversively discovered that we found the same crazy absurd realities funny.

And that we were the only ones laughing.

Followed the performance with an astonishingly comforting Italian/Spanish/Portuguese meal in a Brooklyn basement that felt like a Spanish cava (is that a wine cellar? maybe it's a wine... anyway: we were in a wine cellar.) sharing astonishing, comforting stories about misadventures with one-eyed grandmothers and other excavated memories.

And then the subterranean ride home in which R demonstrated his unnerving knowledge of the NY public transit system's coming and goings, listening like a Pawnee guide to the incoming rail cars from a central spot and dashing to the appropriate platform when the train came rushing in, to take us back across the river to my swank corporate crib, already chasing into the next early morning hours but still, done too soon.

after the show

After Elaine went home, around 1.30 AM
Cafe Carlyle, NYC

the leavings of the evening

the leavings of the evening
Originally uploaded by suttonhoo.

How is it possible for an 82? 83? year old woman to be so extraordinarily *sexy* on stage? After some discussion we've narrowed it down to this: Appetite.

Wanting it. Doing what you need to do to get it. And yeah: Sharing a slice of that pie with the generousity of the best kind of hostess.

Just wrapped up an evening at the Cafe Carlyle with the Kari & Sarah & the inimitable Elaine Stritch where she delivered her At Liberty show with more intimacy and perfect timing than was nearly bearable.

Laughed. Cried. So good. All of it.

Except, for maybe, the bill.

Posting from cameraphone from NYC.

one more for the road

Cafe Carlyle
Originally uploaded by sarahsuannecox.

People drank then too, so if it wasn't exactly right, you'd have another drink and it looked fine.

Scott Salvator commenting on his recent renovation of the Cafe Carlyle in today's New York Times.

Nice of the boys to spruce things up a bit before litwit and I return for another round of Ms. Stritch sometime in the dead of winter.

rhymes with bitch

Sometime back, when Elaine Stritch appeared in an interview session at Steppenwolf's Traffic Series, a fawning fan in the audience stood up to remind her that they had met, that he was a big fan, that he had interviewed her in Detroit, yadda yadda yadda -- taking forever to get to his question -- and of course the thing that made it so funny was he kept getting her name wrong. She corrected him several times (which he failed to hear through his yammering) and then finally said: "It's STRITCH -- rhymes with BITCH."

Brought the house down.

Now I adore Ms Stritch (rhymes with bitch), so I feel a little uncharitable posting this video clip, shot the other week when litwit and I hit her dry run for the Carlyle -- but it's precious and it's true and it's just that she was tired after putting on long show, and her insulin dose was ebbing low.

And seeing her cranky as all get out just makes me love her more.

(Warning: It's dark and hard to see -- and there's another fawning fan in the wings -- and yeah, I was goof enough to think I could turn my camera sideways to shoot video and everything would come out all right in the end. It won't happen again.)

nothing like a dame

Lots of things in life are beautiful, but brother,
There is one particular thing that is nothin' whatsoever
In any way, shape or form like any other.

There is nothin' like a dame.

Good medicine – and very much needed -- a night at Ravinia with Elaine Stritch as she ran through her new Carlyle show. It was rough, ragged, all rehearsal-like, and worth every dime. (And worth every suffering minute in that unmerciful heat.)

Hats f*ckin’ off. (As Elaine would – and did -- say.)

Although there were plenty of grumpypants in the house who wanted it to be more “polished” (as heard and reported in the ladies room by litwit, and observed in the disapproving couple sitting in front of us), maybe it was having the advantage of having seen her last Carlyle show, in one of the most perfect NYC evenings ever, and being able to project myself back to that cozy corner booth when she was close enough that I could see every character line on her beautifully weathered face.

I wouldn’t trade last night for all the spit and polish in the world – although I will be sorely tempted to go another round at the Carlyle when she finally settles in – if only so I can hear Elaine f*cking Stritch sing Woke Up This Morning from the Sopranos -- again.

And so I can wonder, and maybe even have a chance to ask her: What’s the alchemy? How do you do it? How does a girl become a dame?

Because it’s the one thing I really want to be when I grow up.