May 2004 Archives

Roz Ryan has a spectacular vocal magic. When combined with her quick wit, boisterous laugh and saucy sassiness, you get quite a package. The evidence is onstage at the Ambassador Theatre, where she's playing Matron "Mama" Morton in Kander/Ebb and Fosse's long-running Chicago revival. In addition to stopping the show with her renditions of "When You're Good To Mama" and "Class," Ryan says she's "right at home and having one helluva good time."

During her quarter century in show business, Ryan's done it all - clubs, film, records, TV sitcoms and theater [regional, tours, Off Broadway and Broadway]. Rarely do you find an artist that is 100% show business. You would expect nothing else because, as she aptly sums it up, "It's what I know. It's my life and always has been."

After nearly 20 years of being bi-coastal "and having the best of both worlds," Ryan is happy to be back in New York and on Broadway.

But it's not enough. She's working with Alan Menken in development workshops of his musical adaptation of the film Leap of Faith, which starred Steve Martin as fake faith healer Jonas Nightingale who gets stranded in a small town where he finds he can't fool all of the people all of the time.

Ryan's thrilled with the experience so far. "It was a fun movie and it's going to be a great Broadway show. What a score, and, of course, it's going to have lots of gospel music. It's exciting being in on the creation of a new show and you can't ask for a better experience than working with Alan [whom she's known since doing the voice of Thalia, Muse of Comedy in Disney's animated feature Hercules]."

In other breathing moments, Ryan is getting her club act, All About the Music, polished for Mondays in June and July at Danny's Skylight Room [346-348 West 46th Street] and Opias Supper Club [130 East 57th Street at Lexington Avenue]. Then, come August, she'll be in Chelsea at Helen's on Eighth Avenue at 19th Street.

The bill of fare, she notes, will be "lush songs, mood songs, torch songs, truth songs and songs from the heart."

Ryan became a household name in 1986 when she was cast as Sister Amelia in the hit sitcom, Amen. For five seasons, she had what she termed a supreme good time working with Sherman Hemsley, Clifton Davis, the delightful Anna Marie Horsford and Barbara Montgomery [now teaching acting in New York].

"There was great chemistry among our gang," Ryan reports. "We really became a family. When you have a show everyone loves and you work with people you grow to love and respect, it's a pleasure to go to work. From the bottom to the top, they were all good people." And, creator Ed Weinberger being a gospel addict, she got to sing a lot of spirited music.

"It's something I came to late in life," she notes. "It wasn't something I grew up doing. I wanted to be in the church and school choirs, but I was working club dates and never had time to go to rehearsals."

This past season, Ryan was co-starring in the autobiographical WB network tough-love sitcom All About the Andersons, the story of an aspiring actor [Anthony Anderson of Barbershop] and single father who returns with his young son to live with his parents [Ryan and John Amos].

"I got all settled and they cancel the show. One season is not enough. You get into the acting part, but not the living part. I was looking forward to getting locked in for a while and bringing the family out and all. We thought we were popular, but I've learned success on TV doesn't have anything to do with what's good or if you're talented. It's what's popular right now. And we weren't a reality show!"

So she's back where she wants to be. Ryan had made plans to return to Chicago - now starring Charlotte d'Amboise, Brenda Braxton and Tom Wopat --during the sitcom's hiatus but now, with no reason to hurry back West, she's signed well into September.

"Chicago is my safe house," she informs. "It's a show I love. The movie, which I loved, came and went and Chicago's still on Broadway. The only thing that disappointed me about the film was that they didn't ask me to do it! I love Queen Latifah. She's talented, she's beautiful and she was wonderful but," chuckled Ryan, "they still shoulda let me do it!"

Ryan reports that the popularity of the award-winning film gave the Broadway revival five more lives: "It's going to be here forever. Cats had nine lives. Chicago's got twelve. It seems unstoppable. You know why? As much as you may have liked the movie, this is live theatre. You get hands-on, in-your-face sass. The pizzazz jumps out at you!"

It's why audiences keep coming and coming back: "The show's hot!" she exclaims. "You can't get away from that. It's sleek, it's sexy, it's sensuous, it's simple. It's got a little bit of everything. It's one well-crafted musical. And then there's the score. Can you beat Kander and Ebb?"

According to Ryan, another reason audiences are fascinated with the show is because of what's happening "right now" in the news: "All those legal tussels going on in court."

As much as she loves theater, she loves TV. "You get up early and there's a lot of hurry up and wait, but I love the grind. One reason may be because the money's very good."

Ryan has a son in his early 30s with two daughters. They live in Chicago, the city. "I felt it was time to see more of my babies. One of the girls is a mini-me - spitting image, attitude, everything. The other, who just started walking, is a holy terror who tears up everything. I'm still making plans to relocate everyone to L.A." [She has three other "universal children who I picked up along the way but feel absolutely belong to me."]

She was born in Detroit but, later, whenever anyone would ask "Where's Roz," her mother would reply: "At the airport."

Music was always a part of her life, relates Ryan, "and I was constantly on the way to or from some place. At home, I'd play Mom's Billie Holiday and Lena Horne records and go down to the basement and emulate them. My sister lives there now and when I was back Thanksgiving, I stood on that landing under the light I thought of as my spotlight and had quite a rush of memories."

She began singing professionally at 15, after winning a talent show. For several years, because of her age, she could enter clubs but could only go from the dressing room to the stage.

"My first gig was at one of Detroit's top clubs, the 20 Grand," recalls Ryan. "It was there I met the Jacksons. At sixteen, I opened for [the legendary] Arthur Prysock, later the Funkadelics."

Her parents worked for the Board of Education, but Ryan never contemplated or was forced to contemplate going to college -- well, a formal one anyway. She tells everyone that she graduated "from the U of S of D --the university of the streets of Detroit."

It had already been established in Ryan's life what she was going to do: "My love of music came from God. I always say I didn't choose the path, it choose me. I've had my share of exiting moments, and my share of not so exciting moments. It's been a little bit of everything. Baby, to put it simply, I've had a life. And now's the best time! I'm older, but young enough to deal with the wisdom I have earned."

In 1979, when the tour of Ain't Misbeahvin' came to Detroit, a friend suggested she audition. As a result, Richard Maltby Jr. [who conceived the Fats Waller revue as well as directed it] came to see her club act and invited her to New York, where she joined the cast [replacing Nell Carter].

No sooner than she got that job, she was performing in clubs. Her first club dates were at Ted Hook's Back Stage.

"Through the years," she reveals, "I've made it a point to know everyone connected to the scene. I stay in the mix by keeping in touch over the phone. So, when I know I'm going to be in town, I pick up the phone and let everyone know."
Recently she gave a friend a flier for her upcoming club dates and he asked, "Isn't Broadway enough? You're doing eight shows a week!" She responded, "No."

Admittedly, making a living in cabaret is tough, "but because I started so young, I have always been prepared. Something that's really helped me is I don't look at it as presenting a show. I don't do an act. I live my life. Cabaret's where I began and what I've always done."

Ryan says it has something to do with New York. "It's so different from L.A. When I arrive here, I get this incredible burst of energy. I love the walking aspect of New York. In L.A., I would park three blocks from the studio or wherever I had to go to force myself to walk. Here, ten blocks - even in pumps - is nothing. It's where you find the energy of the city, not from behind the wheel of a car."

One of her supreme show business experiences was working with Michael Bennett when she played Effie White in the landmark Dreamgirls. "Whe I auditioned for Michael, I was in my late 20s. He told me Effie starts out at seventeen and didn't know if I could do that. I replied, ëBaby, I can do it."

She did, beginning in late 1984 -- becoming the third and last Effie. "I still have incredibly vivid memories of our closing, with tears and laughter and that overwhelming combination of saddness and joy."

The biggest change she sees in New York theater is that "the family element is gone. On the positive side, there's colorblind casting. It acknowledges an actor as an actor, not as an ethnicity. I've seen it with Aida, and, of course, right here with Chicago. Marcia Lewis was the original Mama. Velma has been multi-racial -- like right now with the incredible Brenda Braxton, who's a pistol. In fact, you could shoot her right out of the canon! [The two did Dreamgirls together]. Recently, she was Dutch. We've even had a Mexican Roxie. It's lovely to be cast for your talent and not your ethnicity."

After Dreamgirls, Ryan relocated to Miami and "became a big fish in a little pond. You know, Broadway gal comes to Miami. Everybody bow. I worked all the clubs and theatres. I wanted it all, and went through the whole thing. And once I did, there was nothing else to do. Then I got married for the second time."

Did he turn out to be everything she hoped he'd be? "Nope. I thought he was everything, or I wouldn't have gone down that aisle again. The problem was that I didn't know what the hell ëeverything' was! He turned out to be everything I wished he wouldn't have been. But, being fair, time, distance and this business played into it. I want to write a book about the plight of female singers. As far as employment is concerned, we do pretty good. But, if you are successful, your personal life suffers. It's not just my story. I've heard it many times. There are some success stories; some manage to make it work. The ones who do are younger. Back then, the husband wanted to be the breadwinner, the man of the house."

She said she contributed to the personal problems because she never "negotiates" her professional life. "It's what I am. It's what I do. I like my life. But that didn't make marriage any easier. I've decided that marriage just doesn't like me. If you've never done it, you might go into with your eyes wide shut, but I've done it two point eight times!"

Thankfully, TV and theater likes her. "And the credit card companies like me," adds Ryan, breaking up, "because I pay my bills on time." Although she says she's happy, she also admits, "I don't want to spend the rest of my life alone. HoweverÖ That's it. So be it."

Bi-coastal doesn't work for everyone, but Ryan, who's been "bi" for 17 years, is one of the fortunate who never had a problem "except when I was married."

One of the great things about coming back, she says, "to this show is that I walked back into a theatre where I've worked with almost everyone in some area of this planet - the tour, Vegas and those who've been here since the beginning."

Ryan is a firm believer in saying "Never say never" - except when it applies to show tours. "I'm too old for them," she moans. "My body doesn't like it. It doesn't like the flying, the packing, unpacking, the hotels, different climates, broken finger nails! I can't do it anymore! And I get bored quickly. It used to be a show would sit down in one place for a couple of months, or even a couple of weeks. But now, it's split weeks! Before you get there, it's time to leave."

Just give her New York and Broadway and she'll supply the old razzle dazzle!

For more information, visit www.RozRyan.com.

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Tony Randall loved theater -- "better than anything in the world," he said. After many years of success onscreen in Doris Day/Rock Hudson romps and series TV, he not only returned to his first love but also created the National Actors Theatre (NAT).

"The main reason I wanted to make a go of a repertory theatre," he said, "was to provide work opportunities for underemployed actors, which, alas, happens to be the majority of us, and to give a break to those attempting to break into the business."

Randall was heartbroken when critics derided his efforts, but never deterred. He merely changed his game plan by doing classic revivals with star power. "If you want to be a success in theater, it's important to sell tickets," he said. "That's it in a nutshell. I'm not at all embarrassed to say that stars sell tickets."

NAT's roster included Brian Bedford, Matthew Broderick, Tyne we couldn't have survived without them Daly, Charles Durning, Julie Harris, Ethan Hawke, Earle Hyman, Ann Jackson, Lanie Kazan, Jack Klugman. Laura Linney, Rob Lowe, Al Pacino, Lynn Redgrave, George C. Scott, Martin Sheen, Jerry Stiller, JohnVoight, Michael York and, among many others, Eli Wallach. Top directors, such as John Tillinger, came aboard.

However, critically and financially, the company's track record has been checkered. Some revivals, such as Neil Simon's The Sunshine Boys, which starred Randall and Klugman (his co-star from the TV sitcom adaptation of the playwright's The Odd Couple), draw audiences even with lukewarm critical notices.

There were unqualified hits, such as The Gin Game, directed by Charles Nelson Reilly and starring stage and TV icon Harris and Durning which, after 1997 Tony Award nominations for Reilly, Harris and Best Revival, enjoyed a successful six-month national tour; and Shakespeare's Timon of Athens 1993), a bold, contemporary production directed by Michael Langham, a veteran of the Old Vic and Royal Shakespeare Company, and starring Bedford.

"The National Actors Theatre was a dream for as long as I can remember," he said. "I started writing proposals as early as 1946! When I got out of the army, I went to the theatrical unions, since as a non-profit group we'd have to be subsidized. The CIO [Congress of Industrial Organizations] thought it was a wonderful idea and asked how much it would cost. To this day, I'm working on the answer to that!"

Randall explained that back then he didn't know what costs would be, "but today I'm finding out. And it's not cheap. It's damn expensive! Which is why we need the statue of the Matthews, Julies, Georges and so on."

According to Randall, it never got easy: "As the years passed, I was still going door to door talking and with my hand out. People suspected I was off my rocker, especially when I didn't give up even in the face of the worst adversity. In retrospect, they may have been right. But, with all our ups and downs, the dream did finally come true."

He said what motivated him was the time he was being taken to task by a friend. "He said,ëTony, you're a great talker but you don't do anything.' The problem was I never had a dime. Don't laugh, but I didn't know you needed money or the kindness of theatrical and corporate powers-that-be. I thought you just get your friends together and you have a theatre."

Randall was born Leonard Rosenberg in 1920 in Tulsa, the son of arts and antiques dealer Mogscha Rosenberg. He often disrupted grammar school classes with his funny faces, which got him into hot water with teachers. He appeared school plays.

"I was bitten by the show business bug very early on," he said. "I was twelve when I was taken to see my first play. I was not at all impressed with the kids onstage. I thought they were awful and said to myself, ëHeck, I can do better than that.'" Well, it took a while. When he tried out for later roles in high school, his stammer often worked against him. He had to wait until college.

In the 1930s, he became in awe of Katharine Cornell, one of the preeminent actresses of that time, in a touring production of Romeo and Juliet. Even though she was way "over the hill" to be playing Juliet, Randall waited to get her autograph. Miss Cornell told him it would cost a quarter and that the money went to charity. Randall was a bit dubious, but coughed up his two bits and promised one day to send her his - for free.

At Northwestern University, Randall majored in speech and drama, later entering Columbia University. In New York, he attended Sanford Meisner's Neighborhood Playhouse and studied movement with renowned choreographer Martha Graham.

As Anthony Randall, he made his Broadway debut in 1941's A Circle of Chalk. He went on to join the company of Emlyn Williams' The Corn Is Green [1940], starring the formidable Ethel Barrymore. After a short stint as a radio announcer, Elia Kazan cast him in his production of The Skin of Our Teeth, but after only one day of rehearsal, he was drafted.

He served from 1942 to 1946 in the Army Signal Corps. He was discharged with the rank of lieutenant. He acted and directed in summer stock in Washington, D.C. before moving
to New York, where he joined actor Harry Morgan's popular radio show.

In 1947, he had the opportunity to present Miss Cornell with the autograph he promised when she cast him as a soldier in Shakespeare's Anthony and Cleopatra, which also featured Charlton Heston, Maureen Stapleton, Eli Wallach and Joseph Wiseman. He followed that, able to use his childhood affliction to advantage, as the stuttering brother in The Barretts of Wimpole Street.

A year later, Randall appeared in a "sex comedy," To Tell the Truth, which got him his first notice by Times critic Brooks Atkinson, who wrote he "moved about the stage with the grace of a dancer." That led to his appearance in 1950 in Shaw's Caesar and Cleopatra, starring Lilli Palmer and Cedric Hardwicke - with Robert Earl Jones [James' father] and Arthur Treacher in bit roles and Shaw's Candida.

The same year, he made his TV debut on the half-hour soap, One Man's Family, which also featured up-and-coming Mercedes Cambridge and Eva Marie Saint. With his quick wit and deadpan style, Randall became a frequent guest on TV's early panel shows, where he met and became friends with Wally Cox. In 1952, for two and a half seasons, he co-starred as Cox's sidekick on his hit TV show Mr. Peepers, for which he received his first Emmy nomination.

Randall became hugely popular on TV variety and talk shows; but in 1955 director/producer Herman Shulmin, remembering him from Corn, gave him his big Broadway break. He was cast as cynical reporter E. K. Hornbeck [based on H.L. Menken] opposite Paul Muni and Ed Begley in Lawrence and Lee's courtroom drama, Inherit the Wind.

He stayed for nearly a year and a half, before going Hollywood, where he impressed top Hollywood writer/director Nunnally Johnson and was cast in two of his hit comedies, How To Be Very, Very, Very Popular, which starred Betty Grable, Sheree North and Robert Cummings, and Oh, Men! Oh, Women! starring Ginger Rogers, David Niven and Dan Dailey. [He also appeared in the stage version, but in a different role.]

Those films paved the way for Randall to be co-starred opposite well-endowed sexpot Jayne Mansfield, trying to capitalize on the Marilyn Monroe craze, as ad salesman Rockwell P. Hunter in the much sanitized 1957 film adaptation of George Axelrod's Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter?

Life magazine called Randall "the finest new comedian the movies have found in a couple of decades."

Not wanting to be typecast in comic roles, he made a bold move in his next film, No Down Payment, opposite Joanne Woodward as her desperate and pathetic husband.

However, it was comedy in which he excelled. He became an audience favorite in films opposite Debbie Reynolds, Marilyn Monroe and Kim Novak and, playing variations of the same role, in those Doris Day/Rock Hudson blockbusters Pillow Talk [1959], Lover Come Back [1961] and Send Me No Flowers [1964].

On TV's 1970's sitcom adaptation of The Odd Couple, Randall became not only a household name but also a sensation. The premise: Could two divorced men share an apartment without driving each other crazy? No. Randall was fussbudget Felix Unger. And was there ever a character harder to warm up to, but all the more lovable because of that? No.

Randall won an Emmy - after the series was cancelled. At the end of his acceptance speech, he quipped, "Sure am glad I won. Now, if only I had a job!" Though a classic TV staple for 30 years, The Odd Couple was never a huge hit. "During our five seasons [1970 to 1975]," reported Randall, "we were never out of the bottom ten in the ratings barrel."

Afterward, he swore he'd never do another series. "Never say never!" he exclaimed. "Warner Bros. wouldn't take no for an answer. And when they promised to shoot in New York and give me a huge donation to start my actors theatre, how could I resist?" In the process, he became a pioneer of sorts.

He starred in what would prove to be a controversial series, Love, Sidney, the first sitcom to feature a gay lead character. Randall was instantly smitten by the writing and felt the series would be a landmark. He played a single man who takes unwed mother Swoosie Kurtz in and offers to help raise her child.

Compared to more recent TV fare with gay content, it was innocent; but not to NBC, who, after the pilot, especially in the face of the show's soft ratings, toned down Sidney's homosexuality to the point that the network reported Sidney wasn't even gay. Randall, in a brave move that generated tons of hate mail and gossip, quickly contradicted them.

"You'd really have to be blind," he said, "not to know Sidney was homosexual. It wasn't too hard to read between the very discreet lines [of the script]. There were occasional vague clues - or glances - that hinted at Sidney's sexual orientation."

Randall set up a foundation and invested the donation. "Then I realized I had to have a theatre!" he said, laughing. "And one I could get for free!"

Gerald Schoenfeld, chairman of the Shubert Organization, a show business empire not exactly known for its largesse, came through with the offer of the underutilized, two-balconied jewel box, the Lyceum. "I was in business!" yelped Randall.

Though he realized his dream, NAT, after much media and industry support and ballyhoo, got off to a shaky start in 1991. The dream was almost shattered by critical disdain for some casting decisions Randall made that involved him playing characters much too young or which he was wrong for.

"The Times critic took a position so hostile and mean-spirited that it was very hurtful!" he hissed. "There was just no reason. He wasn't someone I had a personal run-in with! I never hurt his mother! Then as now, whoever is the critic on the Times has more power than a person ought to.

"When New York was an eight-newspaper city," he continued, "the Times was the most important daily, but then no one paper made or broke you. All that had changed, and they nearly broke me - financially as well as personally."

Director Tillinger says, "Tony ruffled a lot of feathers by calling it a National Actors Theater, but he was a truly innocent man. He was raised in the classical tradition and believed he was giving New York plays it needed to see."

It wasn't only the Times, but through all the drubbing, Randall maintained his vision and always found donors and corporate support. And, even in the worse of times, audiences.

"The bad press didn't hurt business," he said, "and stars still wanted to work with us. We've always had star power! I'm talking major stars. They're vital to selling tickets. That's it in a nutshell. Sometimes that might mean a star from film or TV. I never felt there was a difference. An actor's an actor whether he or she works in TV, movies or onstage! I've seen some of the worst acting in the world on Broadway. What's the difference if an actor works on a sound stage or a Broadway stage?"

He added that "the actors who've worked for us have a tremendous dedication to live theatre. This creates wonderful opportunities for us and revitalizes and reenergizes them. They have allowed NAT to spread our wings beyond Broadway with tours of The Odd Couple and Gin Game."

That interest seemed to always stun Randall: "Big names were stepping forward and I knew it would come down to money. Let's face it, any actor can make a lot more by not working for us and not putting themselves on the line. But it never came to that. It was never about money. I wasn't the only one with a dream."

In 1998, Randall was inducted into the Theatre Hall of Fame. Before and after founding NAT, Randall performed every imaginable role "anywhere they were willing to cast me."

In 1989, he stepped into role of Rene Gallimard, originated by John Lithgow, in David Henry Hwang's M. Butterfly. In 1999, he was reunited with Klugman for Tom Stoppard's Rough Crossing at Miami's Coconut Grove Playhouse. His most recent stage appearance was as Lamberto Laudisi for his beloved NAT in Pirandello's Right You Are. It closed in mid-December. Two days later he was rushed to the hospital.

Tony Randall had great wit and intelligence. He supported theatrical and charitable causes and was an obsessed opera buff. But nothing superceded theater. "It's what I live for," he said. "It's better than anything in the world. To quote Shaw, the only happiness is working yourself to death at something you love." Randall did that.

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Not even a can of the most intense Raid can stop Bug, at Greenwich Village's Barrow Street Theatre, just off Seventh Avenue in Greenwich House, from becoming the most talked about play of this season. For good measure, you can throw in its motley crew of trailer park trash characters.

Bug has pedigree: penned by the very unassuming actor Tracy Letts of Killer Joe fame; the recipient of the type of reviews producers of Broadway plays dream of; honors, such as three Drama Desk nominations: Shannon Cochran for Outstanding Actress, Dexter Bullard for Outstanding Director, Brian Ronan for Outstanding Sound Design - and four Lucille Lortel Awards [Best Play, Director, Lighting, Sound Design] and a nomination for co-star Michael Shannon [last seen here in Killer Joe].

In late February, it came out of the starting gate, without a lot of prospects. Capitalizing on Letts' name and his success Off Off Broadway with Killer Joe, and the 1998 revival starring Scott Glenn [nominated for a Drama Desk Award as Outstanding Actor for his portrayal of a cop turned hitman], it soon developed a cult following.

Then came the reviews, which called Bug "noir" and "lurid," "obscenely exciting" and "criminally good." Ben Brantley, in his Times money review, wrote "Buckle up and brace yourself for the theatre season's wildest ride." He went on to give high praise to the writer, director and cast.

Steve Martin came early on, as did Diane Sawyer, who, thinks Cochran, "exhorted her husband [Mike Nichols] to come. He did and he's been sending people by the dozen."

Suddenly, Bug began steamrolling into a must-see. That's not to say the madness it eschews is everyone's cup of tea. Some say it's the best thing they've seen in years; others, the worst. Some claim it to be quite creepy; others call it provocative. [Another play about trailer park trash that's getting the same sort of reaction just opened Off Broadway, Neil LaBute's The Distance from Here.]

It impressed Richard Avedon enough for him to set up a photo shoot with Shannon Cochran, who plays the lonely and much-put-upon heroine Agnes White amidst all the infestation in a motel room on the outskirts of Oklahoma City, and co-star Shannon for this week's New Yorker. And they appear as they do for quite a while in Bug: stark-raving naked.

"It's thrilling!" bellows Cochran with excitement. "It's going in with our review. It's amazing that two months down the line [of their opening] that Richard Avedon made that happen. He saw the show and was knocked out by it."

As if all this is not enough, on Wednesday, Cochran was awarded Theatre World's coveted Most Promising Off Broadway Debut Award.

"I'm always pinching myself to make sure I'm not dreaming!" she says. "So many wonderful things have happened." What's the best? Cochran doesn't hesitate in answering: "Getting married. Finally. That sounds funny, but what I mean is that it's wonderful, after all this time, to find the person you can let your breath out with and think ëOkay, great. Thank God I found you.'"

Acclaimed for her work in Chicago, especially her work with Steppenwolf, Los Angeles and London, it's a wonder it's taken so long for her to make her New York debut. Ironically, it's a job she almost didn't get.

Bug co-star Shannon met Letts at Chicago's Red Orchid, one of the groups specializing in "guerilla theatre." After the success of his Grand Guignol Killer Joe in Chicago, in which Shannon played brother Chris, they took it to London. Fast forward to 1996 and the same scenario with Bug.

"They needed a forty-something woman to play Agnes," recalls Cochran. "They were young and didn't know any forty-somethings. They asked around and someone suggested they audition me. I came in and read. They asked if I wanted to go to London and make no money. They were expecting me to say no, but I told them, ëAre you kidding? I've never been to London. I'd love to!' And I jumped aboard, originating the role at London's Gate Theatre, and Tracy and I have been friends ever since."

When she read the script, Cochran easily connected with Agnes: "I've also known women in her situation. I see them everywhere. It makes me cry. You can spot them on the street and on the subway, even on Rodeo Drive. They're just better dressed."

Cochran doesn't see her Agnes as stupid or a victim: "She's someone who was trying to get away from one thing and got herself into something else. She took two left turns and they were the wrong turns."

The actress doesn't think of Bug as being some "out there, surreal adventure. If you need someone in your life, you'll believe almost anything to convince yourself that's the person for you. And if you find the person that's really the person for you, you'll do anything."

She credits Letts for having "this amazing and particular talent for writing women who have made a couple of bad choices and end up in circumstances where they're trapped and isolated. "

When time came to cast Bug for New York, Cochran was appearing at Steppenwolf in Letts' Man from Nebraska [a 2004 nominated finalist for the Pulitzer Prize, which was selected by Time as one of the Top Ten Plays of 2003.] She was a bit let down when she wasn't hired, "but Michael sort of prepared me, saying everyone felt they needed a name for Off Broadway in order to sell the play. And no one here knew me."

Amanda Plummer, who co-starred in the 1998 Killer Joe revival, was cast. Then, 36 hours before the first scheduled performance, she just up and exited the roach motel. Disaster loomed. It appeared the opening would have to be delayed. Letts had Cochran's phone number. "I got the call on a Friday," she reports, "flew in on Sunday and went before the critics on Thursday. Talk about a roller coaster ride! Thank God, I'd done it before."

Since Bug is so intense, Cochran says she was happy to have done Man from Nebraska just before. "It's not about trailer trash, but a much more sophisticated piece," she explains. "It's about a man in his mid-50s who experiences a crisis when he loses his way. It lacks the violence and visceral quality of Killer Joe and Bug; however, it's every bit as terrifying.

"It's a real departure for Tracy, a sign of his growing up. He's in his late 30s, but he's got a kid's perverse nature. When you meet him, you rather expect he's going to be an oddball, but he's intellectual, well-spoken, almost formal in his speech. He's very precise. That applies to his work onstage as well as his writing. You could be meeting a philosopher. You'd never guess there's a dark, raging fire within. I never wanted to probe too much, because I don't know what's in there."

Cochran grew up in Greensboro, NC, "not exactly a haven of theater. Mom is an English professor. Dad is a man of many talents, who has some unfulfilled theatrical leanings. My brother is a musician in Austin. My parents' attitude was follow your bliss, and we did."

At university, Cochran was a French and English major before feeling disenfranchised. She followed friends to Cincinnati's Conservatory of Music, but soon found she didn't want to be a singer or dancer. She didn't follow friends to New York, "but interned at various Equity companies. I got my card in Indianapolis, then followed some of those friends to Chicago. I was literally married to theater. There were some romances, but nothing to ever make me want to settle down. That finally happened last June! [to actor Michael Canavan]"

Cochran was 28 when she "finally, definitely" caught the bug, so to speak, "and knew theater was my path." She wasn't in the audience but onstage - in Bob Fall's Goodman production of Pal Joey[with choreography by Ann Reinking], playing scheming dancer Gladys Bump [the role played by June Havoc in the original 1940 Broadway production]. On winning a featured Joseph Jefferson Award, she thought more seriously about theater, saying, "I could keep on doing this. I don't think it was winning the Jeff. It was some sort of universal feeling actors get at a certain point. I knew what I wanted and that was to be onstage."

Now 45, but looking much younger, she works at staying in shape - especially to look good for those nude scenes. "It helps that I started as a dancer," says Cochran. "I've kept my legs!" Offstage, she "likes to wear dresses, so people won't think I always look like I do in Bug!"

For those scenes where she doesn't wear anything, Cochran explains she doesn't think about it, "but I just go out and do it. Because of the lighting and intensity, you're really in the moment and don't of the audience. You're so into the story, it all seems quite natural."

Since Bug is two hours and 15 minutes of pretty intense theater and she's onstage 99% of the time, how hard is it to sustain the thriller aspects eight performances a week? "It's not hard at all from Tuesday to Friday," Cochran sighs, "however, it gets incredibly hard on Saturday and Sunday. It's something about taking that trip twice in the same day. It's hard in the amount of energy it takes, and in the emotional journey. I don't want you to get all weepy, now, because we are just pretending. But you need the sun to come up and go down before you go through it again."

But she's in New York and starring Off Broadway in a hit - even if it seems it took forever to happen.

Cochran has done every type of theater imaginable, from Shakespeare and the classics to the contemporary and musicals. Then there was the lure of Hollywood. For several years, she'd work Chicago, spend three months in Los Angeles for pilot season and return to the "safety" of Chicago. "Out West, I had a nice run," reports Cochran. "I did six pilots that never got picked up, but most of them don't."

There were also guest stints on TV [Frasier, Gilmore Girls, Deep Space Nine and NYPD Blue, where she was one of the first actors on network TV to expose herself - playing a hooker Dennis Franz befriends]. Thanks to being featured in the film Star Trek: Nemesis and guest appearances on TV's Star Trek: The Next Generation, she has a sizeable Trekie following.

It's not always easy for actors outside New York, even from a theater town like Chicago, to make that transition. "It was difficult," says Cochran. "Forget forty-five seconds to Broadway. It's taken me forty-five years to get to Off Broadway!"

Chicago was her security blanket. She was quite fulfilled working her way up the various tiers of theater companies. "I met amazing people doing incredible, daring work that may or may not get an audience. They don't get paid much, but they're doing what they love."

After she had a degree of success, she was afraid to come to New York and start from zero. "If I had found the right vehicle," she states, "it would've been different, but that wasn't the case."

Cochran constantly questions acting: "It's a strange and mystifying profession. Why do some actors, whose work is lauded in the beginning, never become stars? They manage to have decent careers, but those big roles elude them. The thing that angers me the most about the business is that it's not a meritocracy.

"The good and talented people aren't necessarily rewarded; and the bad and untalented aren't necessarily punished. What is the particular magic or the convergence of events that propels an actor to stardom? It's so capricious, but when it happens, it's the greatest feeling of accomplishment in the world. You've excelled, and just by doing something you love to do."

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The Producers just entered its fourth year. This musical juggernaut, with music and lyrics by Mel Brooks and choreography and direction by Susan Stroman, starred the redoubtable Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick. It received 15 Tony Award nominations, winning 12 -- more than any other musical in theater history. [Ironically, in two categories three actors lost to their co-stars.]

All that is the past. The show has moved on with two new leads, long-time
members of the company.

Brad Oscar was a Tony nominee in the Featured category, at that time playing off-kelter pigeon-loving, Nazi playwright Franz Liebkind [you know, the nut who wrote Springtime for Hitler]. Now with his name in lights, he's playing one of theater's most coveted roles -- producer unextraordinaire Max Bialystock, one of the most degenerate, but charming shlemiels of all time. "I'm having the best time and what's really nice is that I own Max."

His is a fascinating journey, going from struggling actor to ensemble work,
to Off Broadway to starring on Broadway.

Oscar grew up in Washington, D.C., where he worked in local theater and appeared on TV. He came to New York in the late 80s. In 1990 he made his Broadway debut as one of the swings in Andrew Lloyd Webber's Aspects of Love, and later did the tour. From 1992 through 1994, he played "many roles" Off Broadway and Los Angeles in editions of Forbidden Broadway.

Just before being cast in The Producers, he jokes, "I was killed over 1,500 times on the road, on Broadway and by the critics in Jekyll & Hyde. It was glorified ensemble work [he played four roles], but since I was there from the beginning [1997] the company was generous in giving me leaves of absence to do other projects. Usually, if you leave a show for another job, you're gone."

That other job was usually playing Santa Claus in tour editions of the Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular. "Talk about going from the sublime to the ridiculous," he laughs, "but it was fun and a change and paid well. I grew up loving that sort of thing. What I loved most was that there were vestiges of Broadway musical comedy."

He was playing Santa amidst those leggy Rockettes in the mid-West country music entertainment capital of Branson, MO, when he got word that J&H was closing. "I wasn't too depressed," he says. "I took it as a sign I'd have to move on and find other work." Then the phone rang. It was his agent asking if he'd come to New York on his day off to audition for Stroman and The Producers.

With three weeks to go before the start of rehearsals, she didn't have a stand-by for Lane and Franz. "So," recalls Oscar, "they faxed me the sides. I got a plane Sunday and read and sang for Max and Franz Monday morning. I left New York the next day. While I was changing planes in St. Louis, my cell phone rang. It was my agent. I'll never forget hearing the sweetest words every actor yearns
to hear: 'You got the job!' Radio City was very generous in letting me out of my contract three weeks early. And boom!"

It was boom, alright -- actually, boom boom! "The first day we did a read-through and heard the songs. I thought, 'This is really funny!' As more and more was pieced together, I knew it was going to be something special."

However, when rehearsals began, Oscar got more than he bargained for: he was covering six actors. "I was so grateful to be a part of this project," he says, "that I didn't mind working my ass off."

Nothing could have prepared him for what happened in Chicago when, four days before the start of previews, the actor playing Franz was down with a knee injury and Stroman came to him in a frenzy and said that he was going out there an understudy but coming back a Nazi playwright.

The first performance was an invited dress and Oscar won't soon forget it. "There we were in this 3,000-seat theatre and the sound of that many people roaring in laughter -- the sound of their applause -- for almost three hours was overwhelming. Their reaction, their warmth, was unbelievable. I never experienced anything like that. That's when it really dawned on me what we were in for, what was coming, full speed ahead."

Finally, Oscar had the opportunity to create a "real role." "Since this was my first time to make my mark, I was and will forever be grateful to Nathan, Matthew, Roger and Gary Beach for their generosity. Because of their faith and support, I was able to really go for it in a fearless way."

He has nothing but high praise for the "comic genius" of Brooks. "In spite of all the tomfoolery, Mel's a very smart man with great strengths. We benefited time and again from his instincts for comic timing and comic bits."

As for working with Stroman, he sums it up with one word, "incredible!" He also pays tribute to co-book writer Meehan, who he says, "knows structure better than anyone in the business."

Since he had been the Max understudy, it came as no surprise in April, 2002, when Lane's first replacement, acclaimed English actor Henry Goodman, left the show and he stepped up to the plate with Steven Weber playing Leo. Almost everyone felt the part was his and that the honor was long overdue.

That December, however, Oscar left the Broadway company, but before long he got another call and was hired to originate Max in the Second National Tour, which premiered in Boston [where he graduated from Boston College], running for three months. Among the subsequent stops with Oscar were Milwaukee and Chicago. In general, he claims, audience response was the same as on Broadway.

"By the finale, most audiences were standing and cheering and loving it," notes Oscar. "But there were certain lines that didn't get the laughs they got here. The humor is New York Jewish, but with the Mel Brooks treatment -- and Mel Brooks' films play pretty well all over. His brand of humor is well known. That said, depending on where we were, certain lines landed and others didn't."

There were no problems landing anything in Boston. "When we opened at the Colonial, it was opening night all over again," he says. "And this time, it was mine. That really pumped me up."

What was fantastic, he says, is finally getting to do what was impossible when he understudied Max and inherited the role from Henry: be in rehearsal with a new company and really re-explore Max from the bottom up. "I started from scratch and was able to develop new schtick," says Oscar. During this process, while respecting everything from the show's initial phases, he put his own stamp on Max.

Next, he took a much-deserved break "to clear my head and body, physically and vocally." Coming back to the role, Oscar feels "a lot of the ghosts are gone. I can take chances and be bold without worrying that I'm in someone else's shadow. Everything has settled in."

Oscar says that Bart [a 1999 Tony winner for You're A Good Man, Charlie Brown], who originally played Carmen Ghia and now essays the role of accountant Leo Bloom, feels the same.

"We're different," explains Oscar. "Everyone playing these roles is going to be different. My onstage relationship with Roger is different from Nathan's with Matthew. Time's gone by. I don't feel I have to deliver what was. That's the nature of theater. It's happens tonight and it's done; then it happens twice on matinee days and again the next night."

With a book by Meehan [1977 Tony winner, Annie; 2003 Tony, Hairspray] and Brooks and based on Brooks' Academy Award-winning 1968 film of the same name, The Producersis the story of a down-on-his-luck theatrical producer and his mousy accountant who hatch the ultimate scam: raise more money than you need for a sure-fire Broadway flop and pocket the difference to live in paradise. But their sure-fire fiasco becomes a SRO hit, landing them in deep, deep -- shall we say -- trouble.

The greatest gift, says Oscar, "is Mel Brooks' incredible material as our base to work from. You don't have to 'work' to make it work. Our job is to go out and tell the story. That's what you hold on to. The story's the same, just with a different beat. Roger and I feel lucky to be working with a company that's been so supportive and generous about trusting us and allowing us to make the roles our own."

The cast is a close-knit company, "just like a family," he says. "Every member has an ability above and beyond what they're called on to do. What's particularly nice is the show allows everyone to have a moment that's uniquely theirs. And we have a good time. We break ourselves up onstage and off. Roger and Gary are so good, I have to really watch it and control myself or I'll lose it."

Sometimes they actually try to break each other up, "but," laughs Oscar, "that's the nature of a long-running show. You want to keep it fresh, you want to keep it alive. Keep it gay! We have the type of material you can play with and go different places with every performance."

Oscar has played Max 800 times and counting, becoming the longest-running actor in the role. "There's never been anything like this. It's the role you wait your whole career for, what every actor dreams of. I don't know if I'll ever be able to top it."

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