Fourth Saturday's Loneliest Liberal: In memoriam Elaine Stritch

Wishing to be her

By James Knudsen

Lost in the media frenzy following the loss of Malaysian Airlines, Flight 17, was the news that the world of theatre had lost one of its true greats. Elaine Stritch died July 17, 2014 at her home in Birmingham, Michigan. She was 89.
    Of all the 1000’s of live performances Stritch gave – plays, revues, cabarets, and of course musicals, I only saw her once. It was at the Hollywood Bowl in 2005 where Ms. Stritch along with many others were celebrating the 75th birthday of Broadway composer Stephen Sondheim. It was quite a line-up. Angela Lansbury, known to Sondheim fans for her portrayal of Mrs. Lovett in the show Sweeney Todd, joined her former co-star Len Cariou to perform the song “A Little Priest.” Barbara Cook joined Josh Groban on the song “Move On” from Sunday in the Park With George. Little did I know that the quintessential Grobanite would be a part of my life five years later. And Audra McDonald performed a medley of “What Can You Lose” from the movie Dick Tracy and “Not a Day Goes By” from the musical Merrily We Roll Along. In the years since, I’ve recalled McDonald’s performance to people and said that she single-handedly raised the show several notches that night through sheer force of her performance.

But Stritch was someone very special to Sondheim fans. She was best remembered for originating the role of Joanne in the 1970 musical Company and putting her stamp – her brand – on the song, “The Ladies Who Lunch.” Having made her way onto the stage that July evening in ’05, she launched into her rendition of “Broadway Baby.” The song is from the musical Follies, which looks at the lives of a group of former showgirls and their spouses upon their return to the now defunct and decrepit theatre where they performed in their youth. The words are those of an ingenue. But, the song is sung by a woman in her sixties. That July night Stritch was 80. Still, on that night, she was the bright-eyed, naïve, hopeful looking for her big break. And then in an instant she was the Broadway legend showing you every scar, every disappointment, every triumph now years in the past. How does one do that with one word?

I’m just a
Broadway Baby.
Walking off my tired feet.
Pounding Forty-Second Street
To be in a show.
Oh....

Oh, how she would flex her knees, digging into the opening lines of the verse and then, like it was a prayer, “Oh.”
    “Please, just one more show.”
    “Oh, God, this life is gonna kill me, but it’s all I know.”
    “Ooooh, bet he’s sorry he broke up with me now.”
    It’s remarkable the things you can hear in one word, when it’s sung by Elaine Stritch.
    As I watched and listened, I realized that she was telling us, the audience, the world, the universe, that up there on that stage was the only place she really felt at home. And that’s not an exaggeration. From 2005 until last year, when she relocated to Michigan, she lived at the Carlyle Hotel and for a time performed downstairs at the Cafe Carlyle. What a great commute. And what a show business stereotype, yet completely honest. Apt words for her one-woman show.

In 2001, at the age of 76, she embarked on her autobiographical show, Elaine Stritch at Liberty. She performed in a man’s white dress shirt, pumps, and tights. Whatever her costume failed to reveal, the show filled in. She spared no one, least of all herself. Her decades-long struggle with alcohol received special attention. But, instead of the usual, “Oh, what a horrible person I was when I drank,” she owned her past foibles. She celebrated them. Heck, at one point she bragged about being the one person to out-drink Judy Garland. It was Garland who finally said, “Good night,” at eight in the morning.

In looking at the clips of her that are now available via the internet, an image kept appearing: Elaine Stritch, defiant. A performance in front of an audience usually began with her standing perfectly still, staring at the audience with the look of a predator – or its prey – waiting for the applause to die down. And then, at some point during a song, there it would be, defiance. Her hands, gnarled with age, would clench into fists and shake with rage, fury, desperation, and joy. Demanding that we listen. Defying us not to.

“Yeah, You wish You were me”

[More images of Elaine Stritch]

Copyright © 2014 by James Knudsen