Mary Louise Wilson
Glancing at the ceiling of her cozy dressing room in the Walter Kerr Theatre, Mary Louise Wilson says, "I apologize for not having a chandelier. But it's coming! Christine found one on eBay for $99. And so now I'm going to have one too." It's a gesture of mock grandiosity with a wink toward frugality that, for someone currently living and breathing the legendary Edith Beale in the musical Grey Gardens, fits her character to a T. Based on the cult 1975 documentary charting the fragmented, isolated lives of the aunt and the first cousin of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis as they putter about their decrepit 28-room mansion in East Hampton, the musical became a sellout hit at Playwrights Horizons last spring. The current Broadway transfer includes both effervescent original stars, Christine Ebersole and Wilson. And while Ebersole received the lion's share of accolades last season for her astonishing duel interpretations of Big Edie in Act One and Little Edie in Act Two, the dark ebb and flow of her scenes with Wilson as Big Edie in the second act cut an unusually complex emotional path that—in Wilson's subtle yet sure hands—did not go overlooked. Fondly recalled for her Obie Award-winning portrayal of Diana Vreeland in the one-woman tour-de-force Full Gallop which Wilson co-authored a decade ago, the actress has spent more than 40 years on the New York stage, including such recent Broadway appearances as The Women and her Tony-nominated turn as Fraulein Schneider in Cabaret. An hour before curtain, Wilson sat down to share some frank and hilarious stories about her illustrious career, and how she's wound her way into that big enigma, Big Edie.
Before this project came along, had you ever seen the film Grey Gardens?
I had. And I thought, "Oh, God. It's so depressing." That was my thought: depressing.
And then, when this show came up?
I said, "What?! They're gonna make a musical of it?! Oh, come on!" [Laughs.] But a lot of this is just serendipitous. Christine [Ebersole] had been obsessed with this character for a long time. When they called her, they had no knowledge of that. I was the exact opposite of Christine. Still, I knew that [Big Edie] wasn't going to be a generic old woman. So right away that was interesting: dark and funny. I love that.
No. I had met her and I knew who she was. But I think a lot of [the coming together of their casting in Grey Gardens] was something larger than all of us, 'cause Christine and I just click.
For the sake of continuity—because Christine portrays Big Edie in Act One, and then you play her in Act Two—was there much discussion of how to graft the two performances into one?
No.
So, it was more instinctively done?
Yes, instinctively.
And how did you go about inhabiting such a notorious woman?
I feel in a way I'm still trying to get to where she is, 'cause it's a mystery, a real mystery. She keeps things in; she doesn't emote the way I do. Everything isn't on her face. I think she basically has a much more smooth temperament than I do. She really means it when she says, "Well, I had a wonderful life. I had a wonderful marriage. I did what I wanted to do." I just think she believes all that. She's kind of reserved.
Did you watch the film a lot?
A lot. I just tried to absorb her. You start with her speech patterns and her kind of near-sightedness.
Did you ever watch it without sound? Just for behavior?
I did do that. I should do that again. But, you know, you pick up things you don't even realize, watching it over and over again.
Had you ever approached a character so specifically from the outside in?
Yeah, Diana Vreeland [in Full Gallop]. Because so much of Vreeland was in the way she moved and what she did with her hands and everything. I'd always heard that that was the British way of working: First they found the false nose, then the walk, then they would get the internal stuff.
Besides the movie, did you do any other research or reading on Edith Beale?
Oh, tons and tons and tons and tons. But I just got the feeling, overall, that she was oblique and obtuse to a lot of stuff. She let a lot of emotional stuff roll right over her. I don't think that she was a good mother, particularly; she wasn't paying that much attention, really. She was always with her singing, you know.
Speaking of singing, how is it that you can do such beautiful singing while sitting down? Practically lying down?
I don't know [laughs]. I don't understand it. I just do it!
Has anyone from the Beales' past come to the show and told you things about Edith that helped you with the character?
Oh, God, yes, Jerry [the Beales' teenage helper who became a character in the musical]. He drives a cab now. He's been around [the production]. And he's helped a lot, doing a lot of interviews and talking. He told me that there was a point when Big Edie was really sick; the doctor came and wanted to take her to the hospital and she didn't want to go. [Jerry] wouldn't let them take her 'cause he knew they'd never let her come back to the house. And she couldn't leave that house. They had to have that house. I understand that feeling completely. The younger Beales have also been around. They're all just thrilled.
Really?
Oh, yeah. They all remember visiting Big Edie. Like one time [Big Edie] said to one of the girls, "Would you like a tea set? A Wedgwood blue tea set?" And the little girl said, "Yeah!" And Big Edie pointed, "Under the bed." Oh, there are just hundreds of stories like that.
I know the film's cult following can be extreme. When you were playing the show off-Broadway, did you have many encounters with that?
Some. One night we had a bunch of people come dressed like Little Edie. Fortunately we couldn't see [from the stage], as they were in the lobby. But we did have occasions when people were just screaming. Screaming!
Like applauding certain lines?
Oh, yeah! Like when [Little Edie] said, "Staunch!" that was like a 15-minute burst of applause. We had that at the [Broadway] dress rehearsal. But so far it's been more sedate. Usually Christine's song "The Revolutionary Costume for Today" gets some response.
Is that line in your first scene, "It's a God-damned beautiful day, shut up!" from the movie? I laughed so hard at that.
Yeah [laughs]. It's a good line!
Really? Has it been that many?
Yup. And you made your debut in a 1963 musical called Hot Spot.
Yeah, with Judy Holliday. Big bomb. Famous bomb.
I've read that Hot Spot had something like five different directors and...
Oh, I remember coming into the show one day—this is when we were in previews in New York, I think—and there was Stephen Sondheim! He was a dear friend of Mary Rodgers, who was the composer [of Hot Spot].
What was Judy Holliday like?
Amazing. She could take any line you gave her and make it funny. But she did not like the writers and didn't like what was going on. The thing I really remember most, concerning Judy Holliday, was just how unprotected she was. Here she was, this big star, and yet there wasn't anyone around who could help her with the difficulty of the whole experience. Being that it was my first show, I suppose I hadn't expected to see something like that, you know?
How about your next show, Kander & Ebb's musical Flora, the Red Menace, written and directed by George Abbott?
He was 78 years old when we started working on that.
He has this legendary reputation as a dictator-like director. What was your experience?
First of all, if he used an actor once, they never had to audition for him again; he thought actors knew what they were doing. But he would give line readings. People would say, "He's giving us line readings!" But he could put what he wanted in one or two words. Like, I had a crossover, and there was a cowboy who also had a crossover, and Liza Minnelli was sitting on a bench. So the cowboy goes by and Liza says, "Hello, Sarge" or whatever his name was, and he says "Howdy." And then I go by, and [Abbott] says to me, "Say, 'Howdy'." And I remember Fred [Ebb] and John [Kander] were saying, "What's that about?" Huge laugh! Because the audience knew I had fallen in love with the cowboy because I said "Howdy." George Abbott just knew that kind of shorthand.
With Kander & Ebb, it's fascinating to me that you were there at the beginning of their careers together in 1965 with Flora, and then, more than 30 years later, you were in the triumphant 1998 revival of Cabaret.
Yeah, and I remember I'd gone and seen Cabaret with Fred, originally [in 1966]. He said, "This is our new show. Come see it!"
Had you remained friends throughout those years?
For a while I played poker at Fred Ebb's house [laughs]. But I lost touch after all that time; you know how it is. John [Kander] actually lives near me in the country, so occasionally I'd see him drive by or at the grocery. But Fred... he was the most darling man that ever lived.
I also saw that you made two appearances with Eva Le Gallienne on Broadway, the last being in 1983 in Alice in Wonderland.
A terrible experience, Alice in Wonderland.
So, how was your first with her, The Royal Family in 1976?
Fabulous. We were in the [original] Helen Hayes Theatre. My favorite story about Le Gallienne, and I don't know if this can be printed. But... she's dead, so... I've got to be careful [laughs]. Anyway, Joe Maher and Eva Le Gallienne and I were off stage while Sam Levene had a long, brilliant monologue with Rosemary [Harris]. We would smoke backstage in those days, and Eva would sit in this chair. One night I was pacing around, smoking, and Eva leans in and says to me, "This should be cut." Another time she called me over and said, "I was terrible tonight. Like Helen Hayes." And I said, "Oh..." Then Eva said, "She's not a friend of yours, is she?"
How about Angela Lansbury? I see you played Tessie Tura in the 1974 revival of Gypsy with her and stood by for Rose. Ever go on?
Yes, and it was the most terrifying experience I had ever had in my whole goddamned life. We were at the Shubert in L.A. It was a matinee, and I knew I was going to go on so I had three weeks to get ready. What happened was... I just turned to stone, I was so frightened. There were two big shows out there then, and the audience was full of actors from The King and I. So, I start out deaf and blind. I could see the conductor's face, and all I could remember was, "Some people..." That's it. Then "Some people... could..."
One lyric at a time.
Fortunately, he had a big face and I'm watching him mouth the words, and little by little I start to get bigger and bigger. By the third song, I could hear a little better. They had this runway that went over the orchestra pit, so I could see the people [in the audience] looking at me. And there were all these little girls. Then after the show, all these little Asian girls were in my dressing room holding up Playbills. It was like a dream...
1953. We were all wearing beige. You had to have beige shoes and a beige purse and everything beige. And navy. There was this picture of her room in House & Garden and everything was paisley and prints and polka dots and plaids all mixed up together. Of course everybody in New York has that now. Or did, for a while; the elk horns and the leopard prints. But [in 1953] we didn't have jet planes bringing fashions over immediately, so French was very foreign. It was like a bit of France coming over here. I had a sister-in-law who worked under Vreeland [at Vogue] and I began hearing some of the hilarious things she said. Like, they were going to do an article about windbreakers that were made of lamé. But apparently it was protested 'cause Wind Breaker was a copyrighted brand name. And Vreeland ran in and said, "Quick! What's another name for breaking wind?!"
Oh my God!
She didn't realize what she was saying. The great thing about her is that she was funny consciously but also unconsciously. I was just fascinated with her always, always. And I have to say the thing wouldn't have gotten written without my very good friend [co-author of Full Gallop] Mark Hampton, who was also fascinated with her.
So the two of just started talking, like, maybe she's a show?
Yes. We had all these anecdotes. There's this book where she told all these anecdotes to George Plimpton. So it was literal script, a verbal script. We strung together a lot of anecdotes.
Did you begin by just reading them aloud to one another?
Oh, my God, yes. Nicky Martin, who's down the street directing Butley now [starring Nathan Lane at the Booth Theatre], was a friend from years and years ago. He brought me this book, D.V., as a house guest present. This was in the country, and we sat around reading aloud, falling out of our chairs. Then five years later I started working on it. It's just so odd, because Nicky at that time was not a director. He was teaching acting up at Bennington College, and it just evolved.
In all, how long did it take to develop Full Gallop?
We wrote it and did it in closets and bars and lesbian theaters in Vermont and I don't even know where all for about eight years. And I peddled it around to everybody I knew in show business, and they were all, [flat-voiced] "Huh, yeah... take it to the dramaturg." But finally, finally we got a break. That's a long story, too. A lot of it was luck.
Now that Full Gallop has been produced all over the world—including half a dozen translations—what's been the most satisfying part of having put that show out in the world?
Hmmm... there are a lot of older actresses out there who are looking for something to do. And that, I think, is great—that they're getting to do it.
Maybe it'll happen again with Edith Beale in Grey Gardens.
It's a different thing, really. I don't think in terms of the future that way. But I will say that I have a tremendous affection for her. And right now... she's feeding me.
See Mary Louise Wilson in Grey Gardens at the Walter Kerr Theatre.
