Williamstown Theatre Festival Memories of Peter H. Hunt

30 years ago, I was working for Peter H. Hunt, first in New York City, then in Williamstown, Massachusetts, for the Williamstown Theatre Festival. It was one of the best six months of my life.

In March or so of 1990, I left Hartford Stage in Connecticut, where I had worked for two glorious seasons, to be publicity director at WTF (don't think for a second that the other meaning of that acronym was ever lost on any member of the company). I had been at Williamstown for the 1988 season, fresh out of Western Kentucky University and before Hartford Stage: that first season, I was the publicity assistant, in an unpaid internship, working for a publicity director who made my life hell, in a season that would turn out to be the last for Nikos Psacharopoulos (if he called the office for my boss and I said she wasn't there, he would hang up without another word). Were it not for some wonderful other interns and very kind and/or colorful celebrities, I would have quit mid-season. When that summer was over, I vowed I would never go back.

But you always go back to Williamstown. It's a joke among everyone that works there - one summer is never enough. And so I went back for the first season that Peter H. Hunt was the sole Artistic Director, first to New York City, for the annual benefit, and then to the Berkshires for the summer season.

Peter was best known for winning a Tony award for the Broadway musical 1776 back in 1970 or so. He directed the movie as well. I have no idea how many things he directed on stage and screens big and small - a lot. That first summer when I had been at WTF, Peter had directed Bertolt Brecht's The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui and it had knocked EVERYONE out of their shoes: one of the critics who regularly poo poo'd all things Williamstown asked me after she saw it, in all seriousness, "When is this moving to Broadway?" It remains one of the best productions of anything I have EVER seen. When I heard that Peter had been named sole artistic director for 1990, after sharing duties the summer before with two others, I thought, damn, if every production is half as good as Arturo Ui, my job as publicity director will be awesome.

It was awesome. But never easy.

Peter would walk into a room like a boisterous Hemingway, commanding everyone, dominating the space. I was terrified of him at first, but I quickly grew to adore him. I will never forget my first "moment" with him: the Williamstown season had just been announced with A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum opening the main stage and a very controversial play, No Orchards for Miss Blandish, opening what was then called The Other Stage. The latter had a rape scene and a LOT of other violence, and we were having a senior staff meeting to discuss whether or not we should put a warning in the lobby or in advertisements about the graphic nature of the play. I had a look on my face that, somehow, betrayed my thoughts, because Peter looked right at me and laughed and said, "Yeah, you're right, what we should have is a warning in the lobby of 'Forum' about the rampant dated sexism in it!"

Peter directed Death Takes a Holiday in August of that season. What a cast - it included Maria Tucci, Blythe Danner, Christopher Reeve, and a newcomer, Calista Flockhart. It was a gorgeous production of a play that, on paper, seemed like a silly and dated melodrama, but at Williamstown, under Peter's direction, it was magical, mysterious and otherworldly. I remember when the designer brought in a sketch of a concept for the poster for the play, and we loved it so much we chose the concept art over his "finished" product. And when I say "we", I mean WE - Peter and I. Because Peter included me, little oh-my-god-do-I-know-what-I'm-doing? me. He wanted to know my thoughts, and it was okay if I disagreed or tried to steer him in another direction when it came to publicity - he listened.

I still have the poster for Death Takes a Holiday in my home office. It is oh-so-precious to me.

Peter lost his voice just before we opened that first production, so I showed him how to say "Eat Shit and Die" in sign language. He was delighted.

At one point early in the season, a dog showed up, wandering around the festival grounds, and he became my dog, as well as the dog of the entire festival. His name was Buster. He followed me EVERYWHERE. I had to go to Peter's office about twice-a-week for a one-on-one. I went into the office, closed the door, and as Peter issued his orders for the week, Buster barked outside the door. And barked again. "Is that Buster?!" Peter almost roared. "Yes..." I said, meekly. "Let him in!" So I opened the door and let Buster in, and that little tramp pranced right by me and over to Peter's side, as though to say, "I know who is in charge." Peter sat there petting Buster and continued to issue orders. After that, when I went into the theater during rehearsals to ask Peter something, Buster would come right in too and prance down the aisle over to Peter, who would keep directing while leaning over to give Buster a pet on the head.

And then there was the aftermath of the July 4th Pittsfield Independence Day parade. The parade organizers had called Williamstown every summer, hoping for a celebrity to be in the parade, and every year, all the "stars" said no. I told Peter the organizers really, REALLY wanted someone this year, and that Williamstown really needed a "we love this community" moment. He said, "I bet Tony Edwards will do it. Want me to ask him?" He knew that if he asked Tony, rather than me, he'd probably do it. Anthony Edwards was in rehearsals for Harvey on the mainstage, and was super duper nice. He was also known to most folks as Goose in Top Gun. Tony said yes, and the stage manager of Harvey, Scott LaFeber, said he would find and dress up in a rabbit suit and sit next to Tony for the parade. I offered to go to the parade with them, to troubleshoot, but they assured me I wasn't needed. Well, parade-goers EXPLODED when "Goose" from Top Gun was announced by the MC, to the point that a crowd almost rushed the car as it went down the avenue. When they came back and told me about the madness, they were laughing, and I laughed right along. They went and told Peter the same story, and Peter thought I'd dropped the ball and not taken care of "my people", and he called to ball me out and let me know it. I hung up the phone and just sat there, horrified. Scott walked in and thought I'd just gotten news that someone had died. I told him about the reprimand and apologized for not being there. Scott marched out, grabbed Tony, told him what happened, and they went right to Peter to say he'd been unfair, that they had refused my offer to tag along, that there was nothing I could have done, and on and on. It was the first time, and one of the only times, someone has defended me professionally. Peter called me as soon as they left and apologized, sincerely. I have never forgotten that apology. Most people aren't big enough to do something like that - Peter was.

At one point that summer, someone in the company tried to blame me for a profound misstep with a member of the press. I walked over to Peter's office in the evening, knowing he would still be there, and told him exactly what had happened, and exactly how I had NOT been involved. And he believed me. And he stuck up for me. And that pretty much sealed the deal for how I felt about Peter Hunt.

When the festival was over, I took a job on the West Coast at a theater where I could work year-round. A few weeks after I took the job, Peter called the theater, looking for me, and when I got on the phone, demanded to know if I was going to come back the next season, saying he absolutely needed me. To this day, I regret not telling him yes. That job I had taken on the West Coast turned out to be a disaster, and in the spring of 1992, I reached out to the Williamstown Theater Festival and asked if they wanted me back. They did - but I backed out before I signed the contract, right after getting offered my first well-paid position ever, in the HR office of a hard drive company. I couldn't take the hit financially of moving again, just to be out of a job again at the end of the summer. It was my last chance to work with Peter, and it was gone. And I never worked in theatre again.

All these years later, I don't know if Peter H. Hunt would have remembered me. But I remember him. I know not everyone liked him. Not everyone likes me. He remains one of my favorite people that I have ever worked for. He trusted me, he recognized me, he valued me - and I would have gone through fire for him.

Peter has died. He was 81.

I have more stories... like when he tossed his Tony medallion to me (at me?), but I'll save those for friends. We'll get together, drink wine, and share war stories of working for Peter H. Hunt.

Rest in peace, sir.

Thanksgiving is still my favorite holiday

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, despite one of my Thanksgivings being one of the worst days of my life.

I love Thanksgiving because it's simply about being together and being grateful and sharing food. No gifts. Sharing a meal together is such a powerful thing, and a Thanksgiving meal is a great representation of that power. In addition, many studies over the past decade have found that people who consciously count their blessings tend to be happier and less depressed. Deliberate gratitude shifts one’s attention away from toxic emotions, such as resentment and envy

I have had wonderful Thanksgiving meals with friends and wonderful Thanksgiving meals with people I didn't know that well, who took pity on me for being so far from my family. I celebrated Thanksgiving in Germany with American friends, even daring to cook an entire Thanksgiving meal for my French friends (they loved my homemade stuffing). I have spent just one Thanksgiving alone: somehow, I didn't get any invites to a dinner, and too embarrassed to invite myself, I just cooked myself a little meal at home and watched movies all day with my dogs. It actually wasn't half bad...

The bad Thanksgiving day, I think in 1986, featured a lovely Thanksgiving meal and a stress-free gathering I hadn't enjoyed with my family in years. It was one of the last hosted at my paternal grandmother, before she got too old to put it together and, instead, started attending my mother's side of the family's celebration. It was the only family Thanksgiving dinner I ever went to that my father didn't come to at all.

He had said he wasn't coming, and I was glad: no drunk, sullen Dad, sitting there, listening to everyone talking, convincing himself that every comment was meant somehow to insult him, that every gesture by my grandmother was somehow her making fun of him. What he saw at family gatherings and what the reality was could not have been farther apart. Not having him at Thanksgiving that year took enormous pressure off the event. I felt like we were all laughing a bit more, we were all more at ease, we knew the 500-pound gorilla was not going to be sitting in the room, waiting to explode later at my Mom's. He was living in his own apartment, and I had no plans to see him at all while I was at my Mom's - I was done with ugly drunken encounters, encounters that were getting more and more menacing.

After the meal, sitting in my Mom's living room, intending to spend the rest of the weekend with her before I returned to college, I commented, "I'm sorry to say this, Mom, but this really has been the best Thanksgiving I've had in a very long time." She agreed. We went back to watching our movie.

Then the phone started ringing.

When she would answer, there was silence. It was Dad. He wouldn't speak at all. He did this a lot with her. She would sit there for a while, then say, "I'm going to hang up now." A few minutes later, the phone would ring again, and she'd answer again, and just sit there, and after a while, hang up.

Then the phone stopped ringing.

Then came the banging at the door.

A lunge at me, me running, my Mom getting pummeled, my frantic phone call to the police, and the police arriving, talking to him more than us, and then allowing him to drive back to his apartment - obviously drunk. No arrest. My Mom and I packed up my things and jumped in her car and drove to Owensboro, where we stayed in a hotel and she put ice on her swelling face. She drove me on to university the next morning and returned to her home. I called to check on her, but she refused to talk about what happened that night. This incident hasn't really been discussed since.

A year later, Dad got sober. About a decade later, Dad killed himself. He ever dealt with his profound anger and paranoia. To his dying day, he still thought every comment was meant somehow to insult him, that every gesture somehow made fun of him or referred to some weakness he felt he had. It was only in reading his suicide note that I knew just how full of resentment he still was.

I don't know why I didn't let this incident define Thanksgiving for me, why I refused to associate Thanksgiving with such an ugly, dangerous incident of domestic violence. I was determined to keep Thanksgiving something special for me. Staying away from Kentucky for a few years and being in control of my own celebration helped greatly with that. I worked to make sure Thanksgiving quickly again became something I looked forward to every year.

It's 2019, and another Thanksgiving has come and gone, and I've had a lovely time.

But I'm also not sure why I have been thinking about this incident so much this year. It's usually just a blip in my brain, one I move on from in a sea of food preparation and eating and time with my husband and memories of far more good Thanksgiving. Since it's come up, since I've been thinking about it, I decided to write about it. I'm writing about it because I want to remind anyone who might read this that you really can make a holiday your own, you can make any day your own, you really are in control of how you think about your past, and you really can celebrate any special event - and every day - anyway YOU want to.

I hope you have a lovely Thanksgiving and will have many more to come.

Gilda & the Spanish Civil War

I love that Turner Classic Movies doesn't just show classic old movies. I love the classic old movies, I do. But TCM also shows obscure movies and documentaries that aren't shown on other channels, and I love those too.

Several days ago, they showed Gilda Live, Gilda Radner's Broadway show, filmed in September 1979. It includes most of the characters she made famous on Saturday Night Live: Emily Litella, rocker Candy Slice, Jewish gal of privilege Rhonda Weiss, Judy Miller (the energetic little girl with the big imagination who puts on "The Judy Miller" in her bedroom), and, of course, personal advice expert Roseanne Roseannadanna. It also features Don Novello as Father Guido Sarducci.

I saw this several times back in 1980 or so, when it was shown on one of the movie channels like HBO that, back then, showed movies. I must have seen it a dozen times back then, and I was thrilled that it was still so funny to me now... but maybe only to those that love Gilda Radner like I do and know these characters so well.

Radner was SO talented - the amount of energy she puts into every performance is astounding. She was one of my idols when I was a pre-teen - I wanted to be as funny and talented as her, but I never dared to really go for it the way she did. I always held back. I ended up crying through the last song: "Baby, Kiss Me... With Your Clothes On." It's so sweet. SNL was one of those sanctuary activities when I was a kid, providing a safe space for the madness all around. If it weren't for shows like this and weekends at my grandparents', I wouldn't ever get nostalgic about childhood. I sure miss her.

Several weeks before this, TCM showed, The Spanish Soil, a 1937 documentary/propaganda piece showing the struggle of Spanish Loyalists - also known as Republican - that supported the established government against the rebellion by ultra-right-wing forces led by General Francisco Franco, which was backed by Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy. The short film was meant not only to show the bravery of the Spanish people, but also to how the Fascist forces were disrupting the simple lives of a small village just trying to irrigate a field. The film was produced by the Contemporary Historians production company, formed by theatrical producer and director Herman Shumlin, writer Lillian Hellman and poet, writer, critic, and satirist Dorothy Parker. The English narration was written by John Dos Passos and Ernest Hemingway, and originally, the film was narrated by Orson Welles - his narration for this film represents the very first professional film work of Welles, then a theatre and radio celebrity in his early twenties.

I love being able to actually see pre-World War II propaganda, rather than just reading about it. My sympathies have always firmly been with the Spanish Loyalists and the Abraham Lincoln Brigade, and I admit to finding myself stirred by the passion of the filmmakers to get this message out - though the film isn't so great. Still, wasn't at all wasted time. Learning history never is.

And so, in summary: I love movies.

Alan Rickman

I knew who Alan Rickman was before I had ever seen his face or heard his voice.

It was Spring 1987, I was a junior at Western Kentucky University, and the theater and dance students were all abuzz about the shows on far away Broadway - productions we would very likely never see, because we had no money for the trip, let alone for the tickets. We had no Internet, yet we knew about so many of the shows - who was in them, who directed them, why they were successful or why they wouldn't last long, and on and on. We knew people who had seen the shows. Or knew people that knew people.

And the non-musical play I heard about most of all was Les Liaisons Dangereuses, starring Alan Rickman. Yes, even in Bowling Green, Kentucky, people were abuzz about Alan Rickman on Broadway, someone none of us had ever seen or heard - but, oh, the stories we'd heard about his performance. He was the primary reason I watched the Tony Awards that year - to see and hear him, at last, even for just a few seconds. When I got the opportunity to go to London in the Fall of 1988 for two weeks with the WKU theater and dance department, getting to see nine theatre productions, including Les Liaisons Dangereuses, I was beside myself - I knew Alan Rickman was long gone from the production but, hey, he had been on THAT stage, speaking THOSE lines. Good enough for me. Jonathan Hyde was excellent in the role of Valmont - no disrespect. But when I re-read the play - and I do, every other year or so - its Rickman I hear and see in my head.

In the summers, I'd go to the Henderson Public Library and look through a book that had photos and summaries of Broadway productions for the previous season. It was the closest I could get to Broadway. I would stare at the photos and try to imagine the live performances. I did it with Les Liaisons Dangereuses, and there was Alan Rickman. In Henderson. At least on paper.

I may never have said I was a fan of David Bowie, even though I was, but anyone who really knows me knows that I am a HUGE fan of Alan Rickman. Massive. That his brilliance could translate to film was what all us oh-so-deprived Kentucky theater fans were dying for. He was so obviously, overwhelmingly awesome in the first shot scenes of Die Hard that an extra scene with his character and Bruce Willis' meeting face-to-face was written in while shooting was still happening. Watching him steal Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves was hysterical. Years after they were released in theaters in the USA, I finally tracked down Truly Madly Deeply, which is the role he's known most for among his most diehard fans, and Bob Roberts, which gave me a hint of his political leanings. Sense and Sensibility, Dogma and Galaxy Quest are my favorites of his films - I own all of them. In fact, I have more movies in my own library featuring Alan Rickman than any other actor - even Harrison Ford. By far.

I'll never forget watching Sense and Sensibility yet again, this time with my dear Spanish / Catalan / Swedish / global tribal friend, Alexandra. She was tired through most of the movie, and almost dozed a few times. But when Colonel Brandon came out at the end of the movie in his British uniform after his wedding, she almost flew off the couch. "Stop it, stop it now, rewind the movie, look at him, oh, so handsome, why didn't you tell me he would wear this?!?" We rewatched that scene three times, and the next day, she found a photo from that scene and made it the background of her computer screen at work.

Part of the reason I became so endeared to Benedict Cumberbatch was because his imitations of Alan Rickman are absolutely hysterical. I loved that Stephen Colbert took a few moments out of one of his show to acknowledge Rickman's death and contributions to film - it's not like Rickman was a household name, but Colbert is so obviously a fan. How could anyone not be?!? I'm so sorry I didn't hear what Jimmy Fallon said during his show - I'm sure he said something, because he was absolutely giddy whenever he was around him and about him.

Oh, the missed opportunities to see him live... when I moved to Germany in February 2001, I didn't know he was in the London West End in a revival of Private Lives, and didn't hear about the production until it had moved to Broadway. When I would go to London, I would always be on the lookout - is that him over there? Or there? Or there?!? And when he did Seminar on Broadway in 2012, I didn't fly to New York City - Stefan and I were hoping to buy a house (and we did!), and I was trying to be a grownup. BTW, my biggest regrets in life are over what I didn't do, when I chose being a grown up over doing something crazy and wonderful and expensive... I thought my time would come, another, better opportunity would happen, and I would somehow see Alan Rickman live, in-person, on stage. Somehow. It would happen.

It didn't happen. And now, it never will.

Alan Rickman died the day before my 50th birthday. My sister was with me when it was announced, and she knew before she turned and saw the look of horror on my face what the news would do to me. She's probably never seen an Alan Rickman movie in her life, but she knows me. And oh how I cried. I had a wonderful time celebrating my birthday, but, honestly - every now and again, amid all the joy, I would remember: Alan Rickman is gone. And it would hold me back just a little, just a bit.

The Voice is silent. Too soon.

NPR remembers.