Chapter 13 Chapter Thirteen
It's been a very smooth and enjoyable ride.The economy class was full, and I was wearing an Air Force uniform with a shiny flight badge, throwing up from airsickness, and all the passengers looked sideways at me.I have to believe that if I were allowed to fly a fighter jet, it would definitely speed up the progress of the war, but it would be our side that failed.
We arrived in New York, with the Brill Building, the RKO Jefferson Cinemas, and Max Rich, and all kinds of scenes from the past came to me, as if from another time and place.
Ben Roberts came to meet me at the airport.We hugged warmly after meeting.On the way back to the hotel, Ben told me how he was doing.
"I was stationed at Fort Dix and I wrote wartime training movies. You can't even imagine what kind of movies they were. In one movie, we spent ten minutes showing recruits how to open the hood of a car, like giving five It's the same stuff a year-old sees. How long are you going to be in New York?"
I shook my head. "Maybe an hour, maybe a week. I think it's closer to an hour." I told him about my situation. "I'm waiting for a call to call me back to the army, it could come anytime."
We went to the hotel where I had booked the room, and I went straight to the front desk and said to the receptionist, "I'm waiting for a very important long distance call, very important. Please be sure to notify me as soon as possible."
Ben and I made an appointment to have dinner the next night.
The next morning, I called my agent in California, Louis Scull, and told him I was in New York and temporarily available until the flight academy opened up.
He suggested, "Why don't you visit my colleague Jules Ziegler in the New York office? He may have something there for you to work on during this time."
Jules Ziegler, director of the New York office, was in his forties, dark, energetic, impatient and a little nervous.
He said, "Louis said you were coming. Do you want something to write about?"
"Uh, I..."
"I have something interesting here. Do you know Jan Chiepla?"
"I don't know. Is it a show?"
"Jan Chiepla is an opera superstar in Europe, and so is his wife, Marta Eggs. They've done a lot of movies in Europe. We're going to do a Broadway opera called The Merry Widow."
The Merry Widow is an operetta by Franz Lehar about a prince of a small country courting a wealthy widow in order to keep her property in his own country.This opera has been performed continuously all over the world.
"They're looking for someone to adapt the opera. Would you be interested in meeting them?"
Isn't this too unreliable?I haven't been in New York long enough to write a letter, let alone a Broadway opera.
"I don't think I..."
"Well, at least meet them first."
Jan Chiepura and Marta Eggs were staying in a suite at the Astor Hotel, and that's where we met.Chiepura opened the door, and when he saw me in uniform, he froze for a moment: "Are you the screenwriter?" "yes." "Please come in." Chiepla is a burly man in his forties and speaks with a thick Hungarian accent.Marta was a very attractive woman, slender and slender, with shoulder-length curly hair and a friendly smile. "Sit down," Chiepura said. I sat down as promised. "We're going to do The Merry Widow, but we want to modernize it. Jules says you're a good screenwriter. What have you done before?" ""Flying in the Night Sky", "South of Panama"..." I mentioned several second-class entertainment films that Ben and I collaborated on. They looked at each other expressionlessly.Jan Chiepura said: "We'll let you know again." So that's all for now.fair enough. Thirty minutes later, I was back in Jules Ziegler's office. When he saw me, he said, "They just called and agreed to let you do the adaptation." I felt as if a dark cloud had come over my head.I can't do it.Broadway is the sacred place for all screenwriters, but how much do I know about Broadway opera creation?Completely ignorant.I'm definitely going to make a fool of myself and screw up the whole drama.Besides, I could get a call to come back to the team at any moment. Jules Ziegler stares at me, "Are you all right?" I really didn't have the courage to tell him that I didn't want to take the job, "Okay." "They want to be able to start right away." "no problem." I went back to the hotel.I should really tell them I can't do it.Thinking about it carefully, I realized that there is still a way, and that is Ben Roberts.I could adapt the script with Ben.If I was called back to the army in the middle of the adaptation, then Ben could have cleaned up the mess too. I'm calling Fort Dix. He said, "Any news?" "I'm calling to tell you a new news. I want you to adapt "The Merry Widow" with me." After a brief silence, he said, "I don't think you've had much to drink." "I mean it. I talked to the lead actors of the show. They asked us to do the adaptation." He has nothing to say. The next day, I went to the theater where The Merry Widow was going to be.It was produced by the New Opera Company, headed by Yaolanda Melloirion, a plump little lady with a shrill voice. The opera has a stellar cast.The choreography is by the famous George Balanchine, one of the most important choreography of this century.Balanchine was of medium height and well-built, like a dancer.He always had a good-natured smile and spoke with a slight Russian accent. The director is the genius Felix Brentano, and the conductor Robert Stolz is also an excellent composer.The performance of the young prima ballerina Mirada Muradovar from Europe is amazing. I had a meeting with Balanchon, Stoltz, and Brentano to discuss the script. The director said: "It should be as modern as possible without losing the characteristics of the times." "Be funny and funny," said Balanchine. Robert Stoltz's advice: "Be light." Well, it must be modern and have the characteristics of the times, funny, funny, and brisk. "no problem." Ben and I discussed a cooperation model.He was in Fort Dix, New Jersey, writing those military training films during the day, so he could only come to New York at night, and we would have dinner and work together until one or two in the morning. My fear of writing Broadway operas has evaporated.With Ben's cooperation, everything became a breeze.He has creativity beyond imagination, which gives me confidence. After the first act was written, I took the notebook to the producer, Yolanda Melloirion.She looked at the script and I looked at her expectantly. She looked up and said sharply, "It's bad, it's very bad." I was stunned, "But we all follow..." She said viciously: "You got me a piece of garbage! Garbage! Got it?" "I'm sorry. Please tell me what I'm not satisfied with. Ben and I can rewrite it..." She stood up, glared at me angrily, and walked out. My original thought came back.Why on earth do I think I'm capable of writing any Broadway opera? I was sitting there thinking about the disaster I was facing when George Balanchan and Felix Brentano walked in. "I heard you finished the first act." I nodded dejectedly, "Yes." "let us see." I really don't want to show them, "Okay." They started watching, and I wish I wasn't there, anywhere else. I heard a chuckle from someone, it was Felix Brentano.Then someone laughed again, and this time it was George Balanchan.Then they kept watching and laughing. They love this script! After watching it, Felix Brentano said to me, "Great, Sidney, that's what we want." George Balanchan said: "Hope the second act is as good as it is..." I can't wait to tell Ben the news.
When I was in the hotel, I would stay by the phone, waiting for calls from the troops at any time.Every time I leave the hotel, I also leave a message to the front desk, telling them where I am going. For single people, you can feel very lonely in New York.I had a few casual conversations with our prima ballerina, Mirada Muradovar, and it was very pleasant.One Sunday, when she wasn't rehearsing, I invited her to dinner, and she readily accepted. Wanting to impress her, I took her to Satie's, a favorite of show businessmen.I'm still in uniform. We chatted about the opera over the meal and she said she was so happy to be a part of it. After the meal I asked the waiter to pay the bill.Thirty-five dollars, the price is right, the only thing wrong is that I don't have thirty-five dollars in my pocket.I stared at the bill for a long time.There was no such thing as a credit card at the time. Mirada asked: "Is the calculation wrong?" I hurriedly answered: "No." Then I made a decision: "I'll go back as soon as I go." I got up and walked to the door of the restaurant, where the owner, Vincent Satie, was standing. "Mr. Sadie..." "Ok?" It's a little tricky.Vincent Satie didn't open his restaurant to give to freelancers. I nervously said, "My bill." He looked at me.He knew all too well about freeloaders. "Is there a problem with the bill?" "No, no problem. I—I just—I didn't have—you know—that much money." I wondered if Mirada was looking at me, so I said quickly, "Mr. Well, I'm writing an opera that's about to open at the Majestic Theater across the street, but it hasn't really started yet. Right now—I—I don't have enough money—I hope you'll trust me and wait until the play starts. Your money." He nodded, "Of course. No problem. And, don't worry, we are here waiting for you at any time." My mood suddenly brightened, "Thank you so much." "You're welcome." He shook my hand, holding a fifty-dollar bill.
Our producer Yao Landa didn't like everything Ben and I wrote.I have a feeling this distaste was preconceived before seeing the script. She always nags: "The performance must be smashed, it must be smashed." I can only hope she doesn't have any psychic abilities. George Balanchan, Felix Brentano, and Robert Stoltz really liked the script that Ben and I wrote. During rehearsals, Yao Landa jumped up and down the stage, shouting at everyone like a grasshopper with excess energy.We professionals are too busy to pay her any attention. One day, between rehearsals, Balanchine came to me and said, "I need to tell you something." "Okay. Any questions, George?" "No problem. My friend Vinton Friedley is working on a new opera. He's looking for a librettist, and I've recommended you to him. He wants to meet you." I said gratefully, "Thank you. I'll see him." Balanchon looked at his watch: "I've made an appointment for you to meet him at one o'clock." Writing two Broadway operas at the same time?It's unbelievable. Vinton Friedley is one of Broadway's most important producers, credits include "Sweetheart", "Crazy Girl" and at least half a dozen other hit operas.Friedley is a pragmatic producer who cuts to the chase. "George said you were brilliant." "Just doing the best I can." "I'm preparing an opera called "Grand Prize". The plot is about a girl selling herself as a prize to raise money to support the front line. In the end, three soldiers won the grand prize." I said, "Sounds interesting." "I already have a screenwriter, Guy Bolton, but he's British and I think he needs an American to work with him. Would you like to?" "As much as I want." And then I said, "By the way, I have a partner, Ben Roberts, can he come too?" Friedley nodded. "Okay. The music is by Vernon Duke and Howard Dicka." Two big names on Broadway. Friedley asked me, "When can you start?" "Immediately." I tried my best to sound sure, but I murmured in my heart that I would receive a call anytime and report back to the Advanced Flight Academy. Friedley added: "Our casting work has already begun. Now we have Alan Jons and Nanette Fabre. I will take you to see the set." I find it odd that the set is already done before the script is written.Friedley walked me to the Alvin Theatre. On stage was a large white southern-style house surrounded by a wooden fence. I looked at Friedley suspiciously, "Didn't you say that this show is about American soldiers winning a lottery and winning a girl..." Friedley explained: "This is a set from the previous show. That show failed, and we decided to use the original set for this new show, which will save a lot of money." I wondered to myself how I could tell a modern war story in a Gothic Southern mansion. "Let's go back to the office, I want you to meet Guy." Guy Bolton, in his fifties, is a charismatic English gentleman who has worked on several screenplays with British icon PG Woodhouse. I was worried that Friedley would be mad at him for getting him another screenwriter, but what Guy said was, "I'm glad we got the chance to work together." I am relieved that we can get along very well.
Back at the hotel, I asked the receptionist if he had left a message for me.When he went to check, I couldn't help but hold my breath. "No message, Mr Sidney." Great.There are no places available at any of the advanced flight academies yet. I said to Ben, "We're going to write an opera for Vinton Friedley." Ben was silent for a long time, "The Merry Widow doesn't want us anymore?" "No, The Merry Widow was written alongside Friedley's play." "God, how did you get this job?" "It wasn't me. George Balanchine got it. We're going to work with Guy Bolton, the English playwright."
Jan Chiepura and Marta Eggs were staying in a suite at the Astor Hotel, and that's where we met.Chiepura opened the door, and when he saw me in uniform, he froze for a moment: "Are you the screenwriter?" "yes." "Please come in." Chiepla is a burly man in his forties and speaks with a thick Hungarian accent.Marta was a very attractive woman, slender and slender, with shoulder-length curly hair and a friendly smile. "Sit down," Chiepura said. I sat down as promised. "We're going to do The Merry Widow, but we want to modernize it. Jules says you're a good screenwriter. What have you done before?" ""Flying in the Night Sky", "South of Panama"..." I mentioned several second-class entertainment films that Ben and I collaborated on. They looked at each other expressionlessly.Jan Chiepura said: "We'll let you know again." So that's all for now.fair enough. Thirty minutes later, I was back in Jules Ziegler's office. When he saw me, he said, "They just called and agreed to let you do the adaptation." I felt as if a dark cloud had come over my head.I can't do it.Broadway is the sacred place for all screenwriters, but how much do I know about Broadway opera creation?Completely ignorant.I'm definitely going to make a fool of myself and screw up the whole drama.Besides, I could get a call to come back to the team at any moment. Jules Ziegler stares at me, "Are you all right?" I really didn't have the courage to tell him that I didn't want to take the job, "Okay." "They want to be able to start right away." "no problem." I went back to the hotel.I should really tell them I can't do it.Thinking about it carefully, I realized that there is still a way, and that is Ben Roberts.I could adapt the script with Ben.If I was called back to the army in the middle of the adaptation, then Ben could have cleaned up the mess too. I'm calling Fort Dix. He said, "Any news?" "I'm calling to tell you a new news. I want you to adapt "The Merry Widow" with me." After a brief silence, he said, "I don't think you've had much to drink." "I mean it. I talked to the lead actors of the show. They asked us to do the adaptation." He has nothing to say. The next day, I went to the theater where The Merry Widow was going to be.It was produced by the New Opera Company, headed by Yaolanda Melloirion, a plump little lady with a shrill voice. The opera has a stellar cast.The choreography is by the famous George Balanchine, one of the most important choreography of this century.Balanchine was of medium height and well-built, like a dancer.He always had a good-natured smile and spoke with a slight Russian accent. The director is the genius Felix Brentano, and the conductor Robert Stolz is also an excellent composer.The performance of the young prima ballerina Mirada Muradovar from Europe is amazing. I had a meeting with Balanchon, Stoltz, and Brentano to discuss the script. The director said: "It should be as modern as possible without losing the characteristics of the times." "Be funny and funny," said Balanchine. Robert Stoltz's advice: "Be light." Well, it must be modern and have the characteristics of the times, funny, funny, and brisk. "no problem." Ben and I discussed a cooperation model.He was in Fort Dix, New Jersey, writing those military training films during the day, so he could only come to New York at night, and we would have dinner and work together until one or two in the morning. My fear of writing Broadway operas has evaporated.With Ben's cooperation, everything became a breeze.He has creativity beyond imagination, which gives me confidence. After the first act was written, I took the notebook to the producer, Yolanda Melloirion.She looked at the script and I looked at her expectantly. She looked up and said sharply, "It's bad, it's very bad." I was stunned, "But we all follow..." She said viciously: "You got me a piece of garbage! Garbage! Got it?" "I'm sorry. Please tell me what I'm not satisfied with. Ben and I can rewrite it..." She stood up, glared at me angrily, and walked out. My original thought came back.Why on earth do I think I'm capable of writing any Broadway opera? I was sitting there thinking about the disaster I was facing when George Balanchan and Felix Brentano walked in. "I heard you finished the first act." I nodded dejectedly, "Yes." "let us see." I really don't want to show them, "Okay." They started watching, and I wish I wasn't there, anywhere else. I heard a chuckle from someone, it was Felix Brentano.Then someone laughed again, and this time it was George Balanchan.Then they kept watching and laughing. They love this script! After watching it, Felix Brentano said to me, "Great, Sidney, that's what we want." George Balanchan said: "Hope the second act is as good as it is..." I can't wait to tell Ben the news.
When I was in the hotel, I would stay by the phone, waiting for calls from the troops at any time.Every time I leave the hotel, I also leave a message to the front desk, telling them where I am going. For single people, you can feel very lonely in New York.I had a few casual conversations with our prima ballerina, Mirada Muradovar, and it was very pleasant.One Sunday, when she wasn't rehearsing, I invited her to dinner, and she readily accepted. Wanting to impress her, I took her to Satie's, a favorite of show businessmen.I'm still in uniform. We chatted about the opera over the meal and she said she was so happy to be a part of it. After the meal I asked the waiter to pay the bill.Thirty-five dollars, the price is right, the only thing wrong is that I don't have thirty-five dollars in my pocket.I stared at the bill for a long time.There was no such thing as a credit card at the time. Mirada asked: "Is the calculation wrong?" I hurriedly answered: "No." Then I made a decision: "I'll go back as soon as I go." I got up and walked to the door of the restaurant, where the owner, Vincent Satie, was standing. "Mr. Sadie..." "Ok?" It's a little tricky.Vincent Satie didn't open his restaurant to give to freelancers. I nervously said, "My bill." He looked at me.He knew all too well about freeloaders. "Is there a problem with the bill?" "No, no problem. I—I just—I didn't have—you know—that much money." I wondered if Mirada was looking at me, so I said quickly, "Mr. Well, I'm writing an opera that's about to open at the Majestic Theater across the street, but it hasn't really started yet. Right now—I—I don't have enough money—I hope you'll trust me and wait until the play starts. Your money." He nodded, "Of course. No problem. And, don't worry, we are here waiting for you at any time." My mood suddenly brightened, "Thank you so much." "You're welcome." He shook my hand, holding a fifty-dollar bill.
Our producer Yao Landa didn't like everything Ben and I wrote.I have a feeling this distaste was preconceived before seeing the script. She always nags: "The performance must be smashed, it must be smashed." I can only hope she doesn't have any psychic abilities. George Balanchan, Felix Brentano, and Robert Stoltz really liked the script that Ben and I wrote. During rehearsals, Yao Landa jumped up and down the stage, shouting at everyone like a grasshopper with excess energy.We professionals are too busy to pay her any attention. One day, between rehearsals, Balanchine came to me and said, "I need to tell you something." "Okay. Any questions, George?" "No problem. My friend Vinton Friedley is working on a new opera. He's looking for a librettist, and I've recommended you to him. He wants to meet you." I said gratefully, "Thank you. I'll see him." Balanchon looked at his watch: "I've made an appointment for you to meet him at one o'clock." Writing two Broadway operas at the same time?It's unbelievable. Vinton Friedley is one of Broadway's most important producers, credits include "Sweetheart", "Crazy Girl" and at least half a dozen other hit operas.Friedley is a pragmatic producer who cuts to the chase. "George said you were brilliant." "Just doing the best I can." "I'm preparing an opera called "Grand Prize". The plot is about a girl selling herself as a prize to raise money to support the front line. In the end, three soldiers won the grand prize." I said, "Sounds interesting." "I already have a screenwriter, Guy Bolton, but he's British and I think he needs an American to work with him. Would you like to?" "As much as I want." And then I said, "By the way, I have a partner, Ben Roberts, can he come too?" Friedley nodded. "Okay. The music is by Vernon Duke and Howard Dicka." Two big names on Broadway. Friedley asked me, "When can you start?" "Immediately." I tried my best to sound sure, but I murmured in my heart that I would receive a call anytime and report back to the Advanced Flight Academy. Friedley added: "Our casting work has already begun. Now we have Alan Jons and Nanette Fabre. I will take you to see the set." I find it odd that the set is already done before the script is written.Friedley walked me to the Alvin Theatre. On stage was a large white southern-style house surrounded by a wooden fence. I looked at Friedley suspiciously, "Didn't you say that this show is about American soldiers winning a lottery and winning a girl..." Friedley explained: "This is a set from the previous show. That show failed, and we decided to use the original set for this new show, which will save a lot of money." I wondered to myself how I could tell a modern war story in a Gothic Southern mansion. "Let's go back to the office, I want you to meet Guy." Guy Bolton, in his fifties, is a charismatic English gentleman who has worked on several screenplays with British icon PG Woodhouse. I was worried that Friedley would be mad at him for getting him another screenwriter, but what Guy said was, "I'm glad we got the chance to work together." I am relieved that we can get along very well.
Back at the hotel, I asked the receptionist if he had left a message for me.When he went to check, I couldn't help but hold my breath. "No message, Mr Sidney." Great.There are no places available at any of the advanced flight academies yet. I said to Ben, "We're going to write an opera for Vinton Friedley." Ben was silent for a long time, "The Merry Widow doesn't want us anymore?" "No, The Merry Widow was written alongside Friedley's play." "God, how did you get this job?" "It wasn't me. George Balanchine got it. We're going to work with Guy Bolton, the English playwright."