When I started out to write about life in New York, it seemed to me that four or five essays would do the trick. Admittedly, I never won a Rhodes Scholarship for my excellence in mathematics. Therefore, it should come as no surprise that Part 10 of the New York series is now being prepared to spring on an unsuspecting public.
The reason for this latest piece is that no series of stories about New York would be complete without a reference to the theater, or as it is often called, Show Bizness. Show Bizness belongs exclusively to New York. It would be the utmost silliness to include such a piece when writing about Kansas City or Prairie Village, Kansas or East Flat Rock, North Carolina or Nacogdaches, Texas or Bayou LaBatre, Louisiana or Golconda, Illinois. And just to make sure this is an All American piece, it is to be noted that “theater” is spelled properly, not in the waspy, limp-wristed tradition of Mother England’s “theatres.”
Just so we are all in step, I am talking about live productions which are to be performed eight times a week in a theater that sells seats for those performances. We are not talking about television programs or commercials. This has to do with performances eight times a week before a live audience. If you flub a line, it won’t be erased. The actors will have to overcome the mistake. If you miss a cue, there are no retakes. The actors will have to deal with it. My point is that legitimate theater is not television. Amen for that.
If someone ever told you that Show Bizness was a way to make a lot of money in a hurry, please tell them that they should invest their earnings in some robust New York Stock Exchange stocks such as Enron, Arthur Andersen, Tyco, Global Crossing, WorldCom, Quest, Halliburton and that paragon of financial virtue, Harken Energy.
On the other hand, if someone told you that Show Bizness was a way to have some fun while losing a few dollars, then go for it. The best advice that this branch of the Carr/Chicka family can offer, is to invest only what you can lose. If you can’t pay the electric bill at the end of the month, you’d be a complete fool to invest in a Broadway production. However, if you had a few bucks gathering dust in an often forgotten savings account paying you 3% interest, think about the theater. Seeing a new production mounted is a better way to spend your time as opposed to waiting for Investors Savings to tell you that their interest rate has been again reduced. But remember, invest only what you can afford to lose.
Good and honest producers will ask potential backers of the shows for a statement of their financial position. If they sense that the investor is on shaky ground, honest producers will turn down such investors. I suppose dishonest producers will be interested only in what they can squeeze out of an investor or backer. Fortunately, the three men in the plays where we were backers were honest people.
Well intentioned producers, however honest they may be, will ordinarily not tell you that backers of the show will be the last paid – if there is anything left to be paid. And unscrupulous producers will often require backers to produce more cash if the show runs into a dry spell. Clearly, investing in a New York theater production is often a risky business. The only guarantee is that you will probably lose money and that you may enjoy the experience.
This whole venture into the uncharted waters of Show Bizness started in January, 1991 when I got an unsolicited letter from Steven Baruch, a producer of plays for the theater. At the time, we were subscribers to plays offered by the Paper Mill Playhouse in Millburn, New Jersey. I suspect that the Paper Mill may have lent Steve Baruch their list of subscribers.
Baruch was associated with Tom Viertel and Richard Frankel in the production of Broadway productions. In his letter, Baruch cited certain hits such as “Driving Miss Daisy,” “The Cocktail Hour,” “Love Letters” and “Penn and Teller” which he and his partners had produced. Because we follow the theater, we were aware of those successes.
Baruch’s letter was the antithesis of pushiness. He more or less said that if you should care to explore the idea of investing in a future show, his production team would like to discuss our interest. He also said, “Our investors to date have had a great deal of fun – and have done well financially.” That sounded interesting as did the attachment to his letter. Now remember, this was a January, 1991 letter well before Bill Clinton ever had anything to do with the Federal Government, George Herbert Walker Bush was in charge and Alan Greenspan had not yet identified those companies that he would accuse of “irrational exuberance” when it came to industry finances.
Here is the investment return sheet that purports to show that backers of the Baruch shows enjoyed financial successes.

Once more, I will claim that in the field of mathematics, I have been called a Neanderthal, but I would say that the return on “Penn and Teller,” for example, was 180% rather than 280%. But Judy and I were interested in how Broadway productions are mounted and we were content to let Greenspan argue with professors of finance as to whether the total return is 280% or something less.
When we said we might have an interest in seeing a little more about Show Bizness, Steve Baruch replied by saying that the next production would be “Song of Singapore.” Also included was a tape of some of the songs from the show and an invitation to attend a preliminary performance where we could hear the music and have a simplified telling of the story of “Song of Singapore.”
You may recall that in the early 1980’s, the producers of “Cats,” a major hit, took over a theater in midtown New York and remodeled the interior to suit their production. To a large extent, that is what Baruch, Viertel and Frankel had done to a large building at the corner of Irving Place and 15th Street in the general vicinity of Gramercy Park in New York. The building which had been called “Irving Plaza,” was for many years, the home of the Polish Army Veteran’s Association.
So early in March, we attended the preliminary performance. We all sat in chairs without arms around tables, arranged cabaret style. At the front of the room were a piano, a guitar and drums and the performers, part of whom were in the band. All of this took place in the old ballroom of the Polish Veteran’s Association. The story line held together very nicely and the songs held a lot of promise. So in spite of the Spartan surroundings at this preliminary hearing, we were impressed. Steve Baruch said in a letter at about this time, “We intend for the show to be a major ‘happening.’ In addition to what we think will be a wonderful piece of theater, we expect to drench the audience in atmosphere —from incense and chimes as they enter to waitresses, cigarette girls and coat check people in costume. I personally think it’s the most commercial piece we’ve ever done.”
Aside from incense and chimes, the audience would not be seated in row after row of seats as in a usual production. The three producers envisioned a ballroom of tables with immaculate linens. As Steve Baruch said, it was much more like a “happening” rather than a staid theater performance. Those costumed waitresses would be available to bring you drinks like the “Frank Sumatra” or the “Shirley Temple of Doom.” (see menu attached) Food had an oriental flavor in keeping with the theme of Song of Singapore. When a customer had all the booze he needed and had eaten the Pad Thai and Shu Mai, he could top it off with “Key Sublime Pie.”
The food and drinks were to be served before the performances and during intermissions, but experiences showed that some patrons got wine at $22 per bottle or champagne ranging from $25 to $65 and they drank it while the show took place. All of this was perfectly in keeping with the idea that patrons were to have some fun as they saw “Song of Singapore.” On top of that, the investors and producers were sponsoring the sale of food and drinks which helped the bottom line. This was an unusual way to mount a play, but we agreed with the three producers that Song of Singapore should be an evening of fun and perhaps, it might even turn a profit.
In addition to the food and wine, the producers had tee shirts, jackets and drinking glasses for sale. Maybe patrons who consumed enough champagne and wine would buy some glasses or a jacket, all contributing to the financial success of the show.
When we saw that the building at Irving Place and 15th Street in New York was really being remodeled with a new name, Song of Singapore Building, Judy and I put down our money and said count us as investors or backers. As investors, we joined perhaps 100 to 150 other people who were also backers of the show. Before all that happened, the producers gave our finances a close look and decided that we were good risks. When they presented the contracts to be signed, I declined to show them to a lawyer because I knew that any lawyer worth his salt would tell us not to sign the papers. I guess we acted as our own attorneys which is contrary to every piece of advice I ever got from a lawyer. So now all we had to do was wait for opening night.
Song of Singapore was set in early December, 1941. The story of the play makes reference to the attempt of aviatrix Amelia Earhart to fly her Lockheed Electra around the world in 1937. People who were alive in the 1930’s will recall that newspapers and radio broadcasts followed her progress as best they could. Some of the places she stopped were so far off the beaten track that it was difficult to put together progress reports of her flights. On top of all that, Amelia Earhart’s navigator had a reputation for heavy drinking.
In any event, Ms. Earhart and Fred Noonan, her navigator, were lost in 1937. From time to time, explorers report from the South Pacific that they have found natives who claim to have known about the “big bird from the sky” falling in the jungle. Her plane went down between New Guinea and Howland Island. In point of fact, for 65 years, there have been no reliable reports of finding Ms. Earhart or her airplane. As the Columbia Encyclopedia says, “Her fate remains a mystery.” Song of Singapore more or less suggests that she and her navigator were wandering around unrecognized, writing songs and drinking outrageous concoctions of drinks and food in the South Pacific such as the Frank Sumatra cocktail or Singapore style food. Literary license? Yes. Sure.
We watched as work on the show and the theater progressed. At the end of May 1991, Song of Singapore was ready to open. And so it did.
You may remember that earlier I told you that the audience was seated at tables of four rather than in long rows as you might find in an ordinary theater. Opening night was a sell out with critics from all the papers and magazines. They were interested in seeing if Song of Singapore represented a major innovation in handling an audience. Everyone was seated and the waitresses brought drinks to everyone who needed one. Judy and I were waiting for the two remaining seats at our table to be filled. We didn’t have to wait long as the theater critic from the New York Times, David Richards, and his female assistant joined us at out table. Obviously, the critic from the Times could write a review that would make or break the show.
Judy and I were cordial to Richards and his helper without seeming to be obsequious. Richards sat at our table until intermission at which time he asked to be moved to the balcony. He wasn’t displeased with us; he just wanted to see what the show looked like from the balcony. Richards himself was glum and did not seem to be enjoying himself. Based upon what we saw at our table, there did not seem much hope that he would produce a favorable review. We were wrong. Richards produced a good review. According to a letter we received from the three producers, “The most important reviews were raves, though we certainly did have some mixed notices from a number of critics. Audience reactions are uniformly ecstatic…” So, Song of Singapore was off to a very favorable start.
Naturally, we followed the show closely. What we were to learn was that all kinds of extraneous factors affect theater attendance. First there was the summer vacation period and then there was the Labor Day fall off. The show seemed to be doing well up to the New Year’s holiday at the end of 1991. Then there were what show people called “The January-February Doldrums”.
The long and the short of it is that the producers had to ask for more money to keep the show running. At the end of 1991, the star of the show, Donna Murphy, left to take a role in a different production. Donna was discovered in Song of Singapore and went on to star in productions such as The King and I on Broadway and London’s West End. As it turned out, Donna Murphy came pretty close to being irreplaceable. We all anteed up more money, but the heavy payroll and less than stellar attendance finally closed the show in May, 1992 after almost a year on the boards. We had enjoyed seeing Song of Singapore come to life, but the economic facts of life have to be faced.
Now I get to a point made earlier in this story which said that backers or investors will realize some gain only if there is some money left over after all the dozens of other people get their cut. And believe me there were many people who got paid before any thought was given to the investors. When the accounting statements were sent out, we learned how many people were lined up before the backers.
To start with, the three producers and their staffs produced the show “In association with Allen Spivak and Larry Magid.” That’s two we did not know about. Then there was A. J. Antoon who directed the performance. All those people had to be taken care of. The book was written by Allan Katz and four other authors. The music and lyrics were the work of four people. They had a major piece of the action.
Then there were people who were not seen by the audience. For example, there was set design, costume design, lighting design and sound design. Then we had separate people in charge of musical supervision, orchestrations, vocal arrangements, casting, production supervision, the press representative, the production manager as well as the associate producer. And finally, there was a “Jazzaturg.” This person was Paula Lockheart who had been with the show from its inception. She wrote part of the book as well as some of the music and lyrics. And before the show got to New York, she had the female lead. When the producers were able to get Donna Murphy for the lead, Paula became the “Jazzaturg” which meant she shared billing in the Playbill which every one seeing Song of Singapore received. I suppose Paula was compensated for helping to write the book as well as for the music and lyrics so she had to be taken care of from the proceeds of the show. The other four, who created the show along with Paula, remained in the band and participated in the songs and dialog. Wisely, they never quit their day jobs.
Under the production supervisor, a Ron Nash, there were seven people reporting to him. Miriam Shapiro, the production manager, had 13 people that she directed. I suppose all of those folks had to be paid every week.
Now that leaves the wardrobe people and make up artists. I lost count when I tried to figure out how many people were backstage.
Well, there is no point in beating a dead horse. The fact is that the proceeds from the audience were somewhere between being not enough to cover the costs of running the show or barely enough. In any case, there were no profits flowing to the poor old investors, namely us.
So you see my admonition that if you can’t pay the electric bill at the end of the month, stay away from Show Bizness. Good advice. In the meantime, we enjoyed the parties and the excitement about producing the show. And in the end, while there were no profits declared, after a time, the production resulted in a tax write-off so we had our fun and it all came out pretty close to even. And in the bargain, we wound up with a few glasses with the Song of Singapore symbol of a large dragon on them and somehow Nicole Miller, a prominent designer was engaged to produce some ancillary products. Judy wound up with a scarf and I have a flashy handkerchief to put in a suit pocket. Of course, all have the dragon symbol playing a trumpet, the signature of Song of Singapore. When the show closed after almost a year on the boards, we felt we had enough fun to justify the expense. Not a bad tradeoff in any case.
Two thoughts in closing the door on Song of Singapore before we go on to Marvin’s Room which was our next investment. The building at Irving Place and 15th Street is now used for concerts due largely to the interior changes made by Song of Singapore. I read that Dolly Parton, the country artist, had a concert there early in July, 2002. I have no idea of whether the Polish Army Veterans Association still uses the place.
David Richards, the critic of the New York Times who sat at our table on opening night, appears stymied in his career. Apparently, he left the New York Times and took a job with The Washington Post. Now he is described as the “former drama critic” of the Times and the Post. The last effort we are aware of is a foreword he composed to go with “Plays from Woolly Mammoth,” a play anthology. Our limited exposure to David Richards led us to believe that he is not the happiest person in the world. This came as no surprise to Judy who thought Richards was a loser on opening night of Song of Singapore.
Marvin’s Room might be called a peculiar work to be presented as a comedy to New York audiences. Nonetheless, we made an investment on February 12, 1992 on the strength of tryouts in Hartford, Chicago and an off-Broadway presentation in New York which seemed to be huge successes.
Marvin’s Room had very little music so there was no overhead for a big band or for the writers of original music or lyrics. The cast was essentially three women backed up by five people who had lesser roles to play. The show seemed to have succeeded before in three tryouts in 1990 and 1991. While the usual collection of workers was required to get the play produced, it seemed to us that the overhead was substantially less than in our original investment in Song of Singapore.
The play opened on March 5, 1992 at the Minetta Lane Theater in Greenwich Village in New York. Minetta Lane Theater is considered to be an Off-Broadway house. The play is set in the present. The place is shown as “Various locations in Florida and a mental institution in Ohio.” How’s that for a comedy?
Scott McPherson, the author of Marvin’s Room died late in 1991 from AIDS. He never saw the opening of his show in New York. Marvin is never plainly seen. He has been dying slowly from cancer for decades. One never sees the old man except for an outline behind a glass brick wall, where he liked to watch colors from a bedside lamp bounce around the room. See, I told you this was a comedy.
Bessie and Lee are Marvin’s daughters. Before the play ends, Bessie learns that she has leukemia. Lee, the other daughter, is a “self-centered, totally neurotic bossy woman.” That’s what William Raidy, a prominent critic, had to say. And Ruth, Marvin’s sister, is described as “out of it. Her brain has been wired to shut out pain,” we are told. I told you this was a comedy. Now do you believe me?
Marvin’s Room got accolades from the newspapers, from Variety, from Entertainment/Arts, as well as some serious pieces which said that the play promises to “Banish defeat with goodness.” (Frank Rich, New York Times.) Frank Rich also said, “Is there any chance you will believe me when I tell you that Marvin’s Room …..is one of the funniest plays of the year as well as one of the wisest and most moving?” Rich is a fine writer, but perhaps he was carried away when he wrote those lines.
I thought Marvin’s Room was a pleasant evening at the theater – and not much more. But all the critics said it was great stuff. Today I reviewed 15 or 20 reports from newspapers and magazines from the opening night. Uniformly, the critics said the play was funny and moving. So I said if the critics are impressed, how about paying audiences? This was an investment for us so we were dismissing much of what the critics had to say. Will people pay to see a comedy with cancer, leukemia and a neurotic woman?
Well, curiously they did. After a time, we began to get payment checks which reflected some profits from the show. Before long, we had recovered 73% of our investment. Marvin’s Room was licensed to other producers such as colleges and local theater groups. All of those license fees were distributed to the investors. The Minetta Lane Theater production lasted for nearly two years. It was produced by licensees for at least five years after that. When Marvin’s Room had run its course over a six or seven year period, Judy and I came out fairly close to even. We never expected to make a killing by backing theater productions. It is a good thing that we did not expect wealth to accumulate to the size that Ken Lay of Enron might envy. But we had more fun than Ken Lay ever had.
Marvin’s Room was not nearly as much fun as Song of Singapore, but it returned most of our investment. We achieved exactly what we had set out to do. We had seen how theater plays are put together and we enjoyed the process. And, in the end, all that fun did not cost very much. That’s a pretty good bargain. But we had had enough of theater investment. Knowing when to fold ‘em came after two shows and we have no hankering to back another play.
Investing in plays is a sort of an extravagance, but do you think that investors in WorldCom, Enron, Tyco, Global Crossing, Arthur Andersen, Halliburton or Harken Energy enjoyed their experience as much as we did with Song of Singapore and Marvin’s Room? We can laugh about our losses in the theater business; I suspect that WorldCom, Enron, etc, investors may be looking for a bridge to jump off of.
E. E. CARR
July 22, 2002
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I can’t help but compare the startups of 2016 to the companies that form to create plays. The majority of them exist only briefly and never turn a profit, but some prove to be runaway successes that go on and on. They take money from wherever they can get it, and pay out salaries and incremental expenses before investors ever see a dime.
Song of Singapore reminds me of an Austin-based movie theater franchise called the “Alamo Drafthouse,” wherein patrons can order food directly to their tables as they watch movies. The Drafthouse also features a large stage and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if live plays were sometimes preformed there. It’s an excellent establishment and I bet Pop would have liked it, had he gone back in the day.