| Rescuing
Ethel Merman
Parodied Broadway star is lovingly repackaged
May 28, 2003
by Kate Reynolds
Mountain Xpress
Ethel Merman is a victim of Bloated-Elvis
Syndrome.
For many who came of age in the early '70s or later, the Las
Vegas Elvis seemed little more than a paunchy caricature –
flouncing about on stage wearing embarrassing costumes, miming
karate kicks and sweating profusely. It was hard to understand
his appeal or to empathize with his adoring fans. This guy
was a joke.
Well, I had an epiphany at a small theater in New York City,
watching the film This Is Elvis. The music, of course,
spoke for itself – but this was Presley as I'd never
known him, presented in a more historical context. Here was
the swaggering young rebel who shook it all up. I began to
see beyond the sideburns and sequins. Elvis was cool. Elvis
was King.
In much the same vein, actress/singer Klea Blackhurst is on
a quest to rescue the late Ethel Merman from the realm of
parody. Her award-winning one-woman show, Everything the
Traffic Will Allow: The Songs and Sass of Ethel Merman,
opens this week at Flat Rock Playhouse.
Lest you think that comparisons with the King are too broadly
drawn, consider this – what would rock 'n' roll be without
Elvis?
And what would Broadway be without Ethel Merman?
From the moment she stepped on stage as a 20-year-old unknown
in Girl Crazy and walked off a sensation, Merman
was the high priestess of the Great White Way.
"During the golden age of Broadway, she was movie-star
big," Blackhurst observed in a recent phone interview.
"I mean, Julia Roberts big."
Throughout a career that spanned the 1930s through the 1970s,
Merman played muse to all the greats – the Gershwins,
Herman, Styne, Porter. "She became the prototype for
the musical-comedy heroine," notes Blackhurst. "A
vast portion of [Traffic] is what she inspired in
those creating American musical theater."
It is Merman's role in the evolution of the genre that Blackhurst
explores in her show. Choosing to draw only from the star's
Broadway songbook, the actress pored through a wealth of material
– 13 shows in all – choosing one number from each
show. While many of the old chestnuts make an appearance (can
you imagine a Merman tribute without "There's No Business
Like Show Business"?), Blackhurst has sprinkled in such
lesser-known gems as "World, Take Me Back," which
Jerry Herman wrote specifically for Merman to sing in Hello
Dolly!
"It helps to keep things fresh," Blackhurst says.
Interwoven with the musical material are stories and anecdotes
about Merman, forming a narrative that, reviewers have noted,
resembles a folk tale.
"It's a very American story," notes Blackhurst.
"She stayed in the game."
Indeed, Merman does seem to embody many qualities traditionally
associated with the American spirit: individualism, enthusiasm,
professionalism. Audacity.
And, though it seems like an oxymoron, there were subtleties
to Ethel Merman, not the least of which was her flawless comic
timing.
"She was a very intuitive woman, a very intuitive performer.
She came at you from the heart and from the gut."
The actress's fascination with Merman began surprisingly early.
Blackhurst was raised in Salt Lake City; show tunes, she says,
were the soundtrack to her life. Her mother was a performer,
starring in a USO production of Annie Get Your Gun
and appearing in musical comedies at the Pioneer Theatre.
While other kids were saving their baby-sitting money for
bicycles and ice cream, Broadway-obsessed Klea was collecting
original cast albums and memorizing lyrics. One voice in the
cacophony rang out – and rang true. Guess who?
Blackhurst, never outgrowing her devotion, wrote papers about
Merman in school and practiced singing like her at home. After
honing her acting, vocal and instrumental skills ranging from
drums to trumpet, Blackhurst – in the great Broadway
tradition – headed for New York City.
She followed her debut in Oil City Symphony with
pivotal roles in Radio Gals and Buffalo Gals.
All the while, she was percolating a concept – one that
met with amused horror by well-meaning friends.
A tribute show about Ethel Merman? The one with the helmet
hair? Bad idea.
Blackhurst did it anyway, immersing herself for two years
in researching and writing the project. In preparing her revue,
she could easily have become absorbed into Merman's larger-than-life
persona. Instead, she found herself.
Traffic became, in a sense, Ethel Merman channeling
Klea Blackhurst, and not the other way around.
Aided by the insightful arrangements of musical director Michael
Rice, Blackhurst makes Merman's songs her own, exploring "Everything's
Coming Up Roses" in ragtime and offering up "Life
Is Just a Bowl of Cherries" unplugged, accompanying herself
on the ukulele.
Clearly, Blackhurst has chosen inspiration over imitation
in presenting her subject. But one cannot recite from The
Book of Merman without a set of pipes, and Blackhurst
does not disappoint. Her voice is solid, somewhat rounder
and less strident than Merman's, and while it may not possess
that "can-you-hear-me-in-the-cheap-seats" volume,
her delivery lacks nothing in verve.
The show provides an admirable showcase for Blackhurst's vocal
talents, but it's the complete package, music and narrative,
which truly reveals her craft.
"I'm not really a cabaret singer, a definitive interpreter
of songs," she notes. "I'm an actress; I like it
to be theatrical."
And at that, she is a celebrated success.
Blackhurst's performances have enchanted even the most dubious
critics (a live recording of Traffic, in fact, recently
garnered a Manhattan Association of Cabarets and Clubs award),
delighted died-in-the-wool Mermaphiles and helped to introduce
a younger audience to the legacy of an American icon.
"You don't have to know a thing about her," Blackhurst
points out. "Seven minutes into the performance, everybody
is on the same page."
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