A Critic’s Appraisal: Elaine Stritch
It’s common to describe a talent as singular, one of a kind or larger than life. And yet those words seem strictly accurate, albeit a bit flimsy, when applied to Elaine Stritch.
Onstage and off, Ms. Stritch was strikingly blunt about needing to be loved by an audience, although in her later cabaret performances, her first words might be how terrified she was to be up there. Perhaps more than any other performer, she embodied the contradictions that churn in the hearts of so many actors and singers: Her constitution seemed to be equal parts self-assurance and self-doubt, arrogance and vulnerability. A need to be admired did constant combat with a nagging fear of being rejected.
But unlike most performers, Ms. Stritch never felt the necessity (or had the filter) to mask either the egotism or the fragility, in public or in private. She made the complications of her own personality part of her art, indeed the wellsprings of it. And in acknowledging the depth of her needs, she touched a universal chord.
For evidence of her singularity, consider that the greatest role she ever played was the demanding one of Elaine Stritch, in the blazing one-woman show “Elaine Stritch: At Liberty,” in which she related, in sardonic song and salty story, the turbulent arc of her life and career on Broadway and in the West End of London: the boozy all-nighters with Judy Garland, the emotional tussle with a young Marlon Brando, the privilege of having no less than Noël Coward write a musical for her.
Nakedly honest, and practically naked — she wore just black tights and a man’s shirt, referring to herself at one point as “an existential problem in tights” — Ms. Stritch gave a performance that set an unmatched standard for solo shows about the unlikely breaks, tough knocks and heady but dangerous highs of life in showbiz.
While looking her age, she somehow still seemed ageless, as well as tireless and fearless. In a performance that brought audiences to their feet not just out of dutiful affection but from electrified excitement, Ms. Stritch showed off her deep scars as casually as she recalled the high points of her career.
She sang Stephen Sondheim’s “The Ladies Who Lunch,” from the musical “Company,” with the same dust-dry acerbity, and raging emotional force, that she brought to it three decades before. With the same inimitable phrasing she used to draw out the comic bite in a lyric, Ms. Stritch delved into anecdotes about the darkest aspects of her life, including her long battle with alcoholism.
This defining performance came when Ms. Stritch was well into her 70s, at an age when many actors retire, or settle for small parts, or fade into obsolescence. There would be none of that for Ms. Stritch, who found herself a whole new audience a few years later, when she portrayed the ego-chomping mother of Alec Baldwin’s character in “30 Rock.” Only at the very last, when her memory began to fade, and she seemed to lose some of her savor for performing, did Ms. Stritch move back to Michigan, where she grew up.
And then, of course, she made a two-act drama of her retirement, saying in an interview last summer that a) she wasn’t sure it was a good idea, and b) she wasn’t really retired, just sort of resting after her busy life in New York.
Until the end, she continued to captivate, to amuse, to fascinate, occasionally to frustrate. In her last Café Carlyle performances, she sang just a handful of songs and mostly talked, with no real focus, about whatever she wanted to talk about; no one seemed to mind.
What united her classic performances, in character or as herself, was a commitment to digging into the truth in the texts she was given. She would use that craggy rasp of a voice to underscore the almost stoic resignation in a song like Mr. Sondheim’s “Send in the Clowns,” or turn his “Every Day a Little Death,” also from “A Little Night Music,” into a grimly honest little prose poem shorn entirely of the rippling musical accompaniment that somewhat softens its sting.
One of the most arresting, and unlikely, moments in “Elaine Stritch: At Liberty” came when she performed the song “Something Good,” originally a love duet from the movie of “The Sound of Music” — a seemingly sugary tune one would not naturally associate with her hard-bitten, wised-up persona. She recast it as a yearning love song performed to the audience, whose admiration she needed, and appreciated, but probably never ceased to question. The lyrics are faintly imploring:
Nothing comes from nothing
Nothing ever could
So somewhere in my youth or childhood
I must have done something good.
Ms. Stritch sang the words with a quiet gravity that was strangely affecting. Even having returned to Broadway at 76, more triumphant than ever, she still seemed to wonder if she was worthy of our admiration. She was.
An appraisal on Friday about the career of the Broadway actress Elaine Stritch quoted incorrectly from the song “Something Good,” which she sang in her show “Elaine Stritch: At Liberty.” It goes, “Nothing comes from nothing” — not “Nothing ever comes from nothing.” (full story)
In New Documentary Film:
“Elaine Stritch: Just Shoot Me” (by Fern Flamberg)
The critics are buzzing about the new documentary film, “Elaine Stritch: Just Shoot Me,” featuring the Broadway legend’s farewell performance at the Carlyle Hotel. But not everyone knows that the idea for the movie originated at the Vartali Salon.
It was the brainchild of stylist Piet Sinthuchai, who introduced the Grand Old Broad of Broadway to first-time filmmaker Chiemi Karasawa when their appointments just happened to overlap. Piet observed the immediate connection between the two women and suggested they make a movie together. Not leaving anything to chance, the soft-spoken stylist arranged for his clients’ subsequent appointments to coincide – not a very difficult feat, he confides, since Elaine came to the salon several times a week when she lived in New York.
“Elaine is very particular about the way her hair looks,” Piet says. “She has her own signature style, which we achieve with a roller set and classic comb-out.” While the feisty singer is well into her 80’s, she likes her hair to have a modern touch, so Piet pulls little pieces out from the jaunty hat she always wears. “They soften her face and play nicely against her over-sized glasses.”
Elaine is also a long-time client of hair colorist Michael Stinchcomb, who says, “She’s an icon – a conduit to the golden age of Broadway. She’s also a wonderful person and a true professional. She’s very smart and knows exactly what she wants. And that all boils down to feeling secure about the result we achieve each time we do her color. The challenge, Michael explains, is that Elaine is often under spotlights which can drain color from the hair and make it look drab or gray. To compensate, I have add contrast to her base by layering in warm tones.”
Many of Vartali’s regular clients have caught a glimpse of Elaine striding about the salon in her skinny tights and long white shirt.
Vartan says, “Elaine is like a family member at Vartali. She has been a faithful client for nearly a decade She knows she can trust us to be the guardian of her look and she never demands star treatment. Chiemi Karasawa has been a regular client for many years, too. We are delighted by the media attention she has received with her film about Elaine. We are honored we could act as matchmakers and play a role in their joint success.”
In stolen moments from her corner room at New York’s Carlyle Hotel and on breaks from her tour and work, candid reflections about her life are punctuated with photographs from her personal collection and words from friends (including Hal Prince, George C. Wolfe, Nathan Lane, Cherry Jones, Tina Fey, James Gandolfini and John Turturro). Whether dominating the stage, tormenting Alec Baldwin on the set of “30 Rock,” or sharing her personal takes on her struggles with aging, diabetes and alcoholism, ELAINE STRITCH: SHOOT ME reaches beyond the icon’s brassy exterior and reveals a multi-dimensional portrait of a complex woman and artist.
ELAINE STRITCH: SHOOT ME marks the directorial debut of acclaimed documentary producer Chiemi Karasawa.
Recalling Velvet, Pretzels and Beer,
She’s Still Here‘Elaine Stritch:
Shoot Me’ Goes Backstage With a Legend
“A Molotov cocktail of madness, sanity and genius.” That is one description of the great Broadway and cabaret entertainer Elaine Stritch in Chiemi Karasawa’s acutely intimate documentary portrait, “Elaine Stritch: Shoot Me.”
It was filmed as Ms. Stritch was preparing her cabaret show “Elaine Stritch Singin’ Sondheim ... One Song at a Time,” while coping with diabetes and worsening memory loss. Her fierce lust for life mirrors Dylan Thomas’s dictum “Old age should burn and rave at close of day.”
Ms. Stritch, now 89, is one of the ultimate examples of a classic Hollywood type: the brassy, hard-boiled dame who is never at a loss for a wisecrack. The disparity between the blazing stage performer with the glare of a lion on the prowl and the frail, fearful old woman seen in the hospital after a medical crisis could hardly be greater.
The movie invites you to reflect on questions that Ms. Stritch asks herself frequently: Who am I when I am off the stage? Without an audience, do I even exist? read full story
"Elaine Stritch: Shoot Me" movie info at imbd.com