About the author:
Winnie Holzman doesn’t have a long list of writing credits yet, but she seems to have a propensity for groundbreaking work. In 1990 she was a writer and producer for the immensely popular television series thirtysomething. Four years later, she created, wrote and produced the teen drama series My So-Called Life. A year later, she was nominated for an Emmy Award for her writing on that show, which deftly captured the angst characteristic of early ‘90s suburban teen. Now, she’s won a Drama Desk Award and been nominated for a Tony Award for Best Book in Wicked, the big hit musical Wizard of Oz prequel of sorts. It hasn’t always been easy being green, but Holzman is fond of the mental pictures she’s amassed working with composer Stephen Schwartz, director Joe Mantello, stars Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth and the rest of the Wicked family. Here, she shares some of these memories… in written form since she’s still trying to figure out how to use that dang camera phone.
__________________________________________________________
I had an absolutely lovely time at the Tony Awards luncheon the other day: I got to have conversations with Tony Kushner, David Leveaux and that captivating Raúl Esparza, I got to listen while Marian Seldes read a very touching quote from Henrik Ibsen, and most unexpected of all, I got a phone. The kind you can take pictures with. I know I’ll never be able to figure out how to use it, but it’s the thought that counts.
I’m not the sort of person who remembers to document anything photographically. And so, while part of me wishes I’d had that little camera phone for the past three and half years of working on Wicked, most of me knows that even if by some miracle I did eventually figure out how it worked I would never have remembered to use it. In the end though, it doesn’t matter. Because I have plenty of images of working on Wicked, little mental snapshots that I’ll always treasure—and never misplace. For instance…
Stephen [Schwartz, Wicked‘s composer] and I, the day we finished the first draft of the first act. Needless to say, we went out to eat our answer to everything. At the end of the meal, I opened my cookie and the fortune actually said something like: “Well begun, but only half-way done.” I kept that little slip of paper in my wallet for years.
Another Stephen moment: He calls me from Connecticut, he’s finished that song he was working on, would I like to hear it? He plays “For Good” over the phone, and I listen for the first time to the song that will make me cry every future time I hear it.
The first time I lay eyes on Idina Menzel. It’s just a few days after September 11, but Bernie Telsey has suggested we go ahead and have auditions—he says people need something else to think about. Idina is the very first person to audition for the role of Elphaba. I write down “passionate, vulnerable, raw” and underline the word raw, trying to convey just how riveting I find this girl. A year later, when she’s had the role for months, I find that piece of paper and mention it to her. “Oh, raw ” she laughs. “That’s what people always call me.”
Meanwhile—Kristin and I are living in the same city, San Francisco the same hotel, the Clift working every day at the same theater, the Curran but the only place we ever run into each other is… Macys. Thank God we’re both shopoholics or we would never have spent any time together.
One of the reasons I was shopping so much is that, after weeks of rewrites and room service, my clothes no longer fit. To make matters worse, I was surrounded by a gaggle of incredibly shrinking men whose response to the very same pressure was to become even slimmer. Our producers, Marc Platt and David Stone, would “forget” to eat. I’ve done that, but only when fast asleep. Joe Mantello lived on the occasional power bar and I can only assume photosynthesis. Stephen Schwartz, who I knew for a fact loved food as much as I did, had maddeningly chosen this precise moment in time to become physically fit. He swam every morning, right around the time I was finishing my second breakfast played rigorous tennis, and was sporting enough to pretend not to notice that I’d quietly doubled in size.
Towards the end of our run in San Francisco, Stephen returned from a trip back east. “I ran into Stephen Sondheim,” he said to me. “We talked about being out of town, and Sondheim told me something that will be a great comfort to you.”
“Oh” I said hopefully, “Did Stephen Sondheim recently gain 40 pounds?”
“No.” said Stephen Schwartz. Then he told me that Sondheim who was working on Bounce, at the time had said, on the subject of being out of town with a new musical “I’d almost forgotten how hard it is.”
“Oh.” I said.
And it actually was a great comfort. As was the moment Eugene Lee who designed both Bounce and Wicked took my hand outside the Curran like the Wizard of Oz reaching into his black bag and said with utter certainty “It’s going to be a hit, you know.”
Another snapshot—all of us, in the Curran Theatre, weeks earlier. It’s the raggedy end of the last rehearsal before our very first preview, and Joe’s trying to work out the curtain call with the understandably fried company. Tensions are running high—we’d never gotten through the entire show without stopping. And when it’s the high spirited and always unpredictable Norbert Butz’s turn to bow, he sprints onstage stark naked except for his running shoes—creating not only a Kodak moment, but the laugh we all desperately need. “Now it looks like a Joe Mantello production,” says Joe himself. It takes a few days, but I eventually stop blushing.
That night, our first preview, I’m as nervous as I’ve ever been in my life. And then—things start to happen. Actual audience members arrive at the theater dressed as wicked witches. The dragon starts to roar and blow smoke and the audience cheers. Stephen and I grab each other’s hand. We know that our first act is frighteningly long and often incomprehensible, and that the second act, while shorter, has countless not great moments. We know there’s at least several more months of re-writes ahead. But at that moment, it doesn’t matter.
So those are just a few snapshots. I’ve left out so many—like the one where my husband comes to visit me at rehearsal and he and Carole Shelley fall into each others arms—they hadn’t seen each other since both had appeared in the original Odd Couple. Or getting to meet with Joel Grey for the first time.
And just the other day I found myself sitting between Stephen and Joe in a high school auditorium. Kristin was behind us, Idina was a few seats away, next to Taye, and after the Drama Desk Awards were over, we all took turns hugging each other. Not just because of the award. From sheer gratitude. That we’d found each other. That it was all over… and that it would never be over. Come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind having a picture of that.
