TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/090291/0902410.000

Text File | 1992-08-28 | 8.2 KB | 170 lines

                                                                                THEATER, Page 72

They Just Keep Rolling Along


On sudden-death Broadway, what makes musicals like Cats and Les
Miserables so durable -- and why do they last so much longer than
hits of the past?

By WILLIAM A. HENRY III


    When the Nygaard family of Cupertino, Calif., went to New
York City for vacation this month, they didn't visit the Statue
of Liberty or the Empire State Building. For them, as for more
than a third of the tourists who visit the city, the lure was
the Broadway stage. They had already seen Cats twice and Les
Miserables three times, mostly in London and San Francisco, so
they headed straight for The Phantom of the Opera and Miss
Saigon. They emerged elated -- and ready, despite the $60
ticket prices, to go back and see the shows again.

    The Nygaards and their fellow out-of-towners, from Omaha
or Oslo or Osaka, account for nearly half of Broadway's ticket
sales. They go in search of brand names. Although the season
that ended June 2 offered 28 new shows and 21 holdovers (some
admittedly short-lived), the perennial Big Three -- Cats,
Phantom and Les Miz -- accounted for a quarter of the audience
and almost a third of the revenues. On the road, where
commercial theater reaps much more income than on Broadway, the
Big Three were even more dominant: of $449 million in ticket
sales, they commanded about 54%. (For investors, these shows are
better than striking oil: they pay annual returns of up to
double the amount originally put in.) Among newer offerings,
only Miss Saigon, which arrived in March to a record $37 million
advance sale and has already paid off half its $11 million
start-up cost, is regarded as a solid contender to join the
gilded trinity.

    The top three shows have become institutions, seemingly
permanent in a business that is notoriously ephemeral. They
attract younger audiences than most other Broadway shows,
including many first-time theatergoers, and draw a volume of
repeat business more common for kiddie films or rock bands. In
a celebrity-conscious world, the Big Three are star-proof and
almost never feature anyone with a significant recognition
factor. Yet Cats, which advertises itself as "now and forever,"
will celebrate its ninth anniversary on Broadway in October,
having run longer than Oklahoma! and The Sound of Music put
together. Les Miz, at 4 1/2 years, will soon pass South Pacific,
while Phantom, at 3 1/2 years, is way ahead of Guys and Dolls
and Annie Get Your Gun.

    This popularity seems unwavering. Cameron Mackintosh, who
produced all three and also Miss Saigon, projects that Cats
"will run another two years or so in New York." He predicts
"four to five years" of additional life for Les Miserables and
"certainly at least five years" more for Phantom. About Saigon,
he says it is too soon to tell, especially because the show is
so elaborate. "With weekly operating costs close to $500,000,"
says Mackintosh, "Miss Saigon only breaks even when it makes
what Les Miz does selling every seat."

    Producers have always dreamed of long runs, but the
semieternal run is a phenomenon of recent years. The four most
enduring Broadway shows -- A Chorus Line (6,137 performances),
the revival of Oh! Calcutta! (5,959), Cats (3,709 through last
week) and 42nd Street (3,486) -- attained all or most of their
runs during the '80s. If Mackintosh's projections prove right
(and others in the industry believe they will), Les Miz and
Phantom will outstrip Hello, Dolly! and My Fair Lady for the
ninth and 10th spots among all-time long-runners.

    Yet the phenomenon reaches beyond Mackintosh's megahits.
Me and My Girl, a '30s Cockney farce that no one bothered to
revive or import until the mid-'80s, ran longer than the
revered, Pulitzer-prizewinning How to Succeed in Business
Without Really Trying a quarter-century before. La Cage aux
Folles, noteworthy only because of its gay theme, played nearly
half again as long as the exquisite The King and I.

    Are today's shows so much better? Not according to
critics. Are they more obviously relevant? Hardly. Cats owes as
much to bygone British music hall and pantomime as it does to
rock. Les Miz and Phantom are stories of 19th century France
told in traditional operatic style. Are they meticulously
maintained, avoiding the decay of energy and skills that often
besets long runs? Well, yes and no. Based on recent visits,
Phantom and Les Miz are in splendid condition, better in some
respects than on opening night. Cats, however, is a mess. The
trademark feline movements erratically come and go. Most of the
performers can dance, but only three or four sing adequately.
Despite a deafening sound system, the diction is so bad that a
spectator familiar with the lyrics often found them
incomprehensible from the fourth row center.

    What, then, accounts for the current era of long runs? One
major factor is the rise of consumer air travel. Once tourism
became another means of keeping up with the Joneses, or the
Tanakas, seeing particular Broadway hits entered into the
scorekeeping. Says Harvey Sabinson, executive director of the
League of American Theaters and Producers: "It was not until at
least the mid-'70s that we on Broadway began to think of
ourselves as a tourist attraction and market that way. Once we
did, it gave us a bigger audience and shows a longer life."

    Another factor is the spread of TV commercials depicting
action from shows. For the first time, the infrequent or
hesitant theatergoer could get a tiny advance taste of the
Broadway experience. The technique is effective, if costly. It
arose, ironically, from Broadway's loss of musical influence.
When its tunes were at the heart of the pop mainstream, Broadway
enjoyed bountiful promotion via radio play both of original-cast
albums and of recordings by other artists of the biggest ballads
and showstoppers. As musical taste veered toward rock, however,
producers had to find other lures. It turned out that showy
staging and scenic spectacle were ideally suited to being sold
via TV, so the look began to replace the score as a show's
signature.

    A third factor, shrewdly in keeping with the anti-elitist
temper of the times, is Mackintosh's marketing. While most
producers build their promotion around quoting reviews and
citing awards, Mackintosh all but ignores critics. Instead he
develops a memorable thematic image for each show -- the
stylized face of the waif Cosette for Les Miz, a shimmering
white mask for Phantom, a big pair of yellow eyes amid darkness
for Cats, a helicopter rendered like a Chinese character for
Saigon -- and highlights it everywhere. To keep ads and posters
clear of anything that might compete visually, he negotiates
with the shows' creators to omit or downplay customary credits.
Mackintosh believes quote ads, or any other kind, are of minimal
help: "You can remind people of your existence, but you cannot
persuade. Word of mouth does that. In a long run, that is what
any show depends on."

    This marketing affirms a musical as something special,
says Gerald Schoenfeld, chairman of the Shubert Organization,
which owns or operates 17 of Broadway's 36 theaters, including
those housing Mackintosh's hits. Canny showmanship, Schoenfeld
adds, gets the media to convey the same idea: "When we cut a
hole in the roof of the Winter Garden for Cats, it became news
in hometowns across America. Events are what the public
responds to. They want a sense of occasion."

    What the public truly wants is, of course, impossible to
fathom -- especially when it is as diverse as the 10 million
people who have seen the Big Three on Broadway or the 72.5
million who have attended worldwide. Mackintosh says, "I have
no formula. Any man is lucky to be involved in one major success
in a lifetime. To be involved in four defies explanation." One
clear lesson does emerge. Certain theatrical tastes may be
passe, certain critics disgruntled. For all the doomsaying about
the Fabulous Invalid, the joy of theatergoing -- to the right
show, done in the right way for the right audience -- remains
as robust as ever.