We all looked at him. “Oh?”
“She wants her boyfriend to direct it.”
“Who’s her boyfriend?”
“Bob Fosse.”
Bob Fosse was a brilliant choreographer. He had just choreographed two hit shows, The Pajama Game and Damn Yankees.
“Has he ever directed anything?” I asked.
“No, but he’s damn talented. If you all agree, I’m willing to take a chance on him.”
I said, “I’d hate to lose Gwen Verdon.”
Dorothy said, “Let’s not lose her.” She looked at Robert Fryer. “Let’s talk to Bob Fosse.”
Bob Fosse was in his early thirties, a small, intense man who had been a dancer and actor in several Hollywood films. He had gone on to be a choreographer and had his own exciting style. His trademark, when he danced, was wearing a hat and gloves. He wore hats to cover the fact that he had started going bald. It was said that he wore gloves because he did not like his hands.
We met in a rehearsal room off Broadway. Bob Fosse knew exactly what he wanted to do with the show. He was filled with exciting ideas and by the time the meeting was over, we were delighted to have him. It was a two-in-one deal. He would choreograph and direct.
We rounded out the cast with Richard Kiley and Leonard Stone, and rehearsals began.
Along with the problems.
Bob Fosse, like all good choreographers, was dictatorial. He had his own vision of the show. The libretto was written, the sets were being built, costumes were ordered, and Fosse was dissatisfied with everything. He was opinionated and stubborn and he was turning all of us into nervous wrecks. Why we stood for it was simple: He was a genius. His choreography was brilliant enough to light up the show. But when Fosse tried to rewrite the book, I put my foot down. Herbert agreed with me. We decided to let him bring in another writer, David Shaw.
The rehearsals looked wonderful. Gwen was brilliant. The dances were spectacular and the book worked like a dream. I held my breath, waiting to see what was going to go wrong.
Natalie and Marty came to New York for the opening, and Richard flew in with his wife, Joan. They sat in the audience with Jorja and me. This time none of them was disappointed.
We opened at the 46th Street Theatre, in New York, on February 5, 1959, and the critics were unanimous in their praise. They raved about Gwen, loved the songs and dances, and enjoyed the book.
“Best musical comedy of the season . . .” Watts, New York Post
“The musical triumph of the year, perhaps several years . . .” Aston, New York Telegram and Sun
“The best musical of the season to date! . . .” McClain, New York Journal-American
“A tip-top musical! . . .” Chapman, New York News
“Red-hot hit! . . .” Winchell
“Firecracker of a musical . . .” Kerr, New York Herald Tribune
Redhead garnered seven Tony nominations that year and five wins. Needless to say, we were thrilled.
Three months later, Gwen Verdon and Bob Fosse were married.
The elevator was at the top again, and I decided it was time to move back to Hollywood. I was not going to wait around for a studio to hire me. I was going to write a play that the studios would want to buy.
It is very easy to have a hit play on Broadway. I had always been interested in extrasensory perception. The movies and plays that had been done about it were always very serious. I decided it would be fun to write a romantic comedy about a beautiful young psychic. I wrote the play and called it Roman Candle. My agent sent it to various studios and Broadway producers and the excitement it generated stunned me. Four Broadway producers made offers for it.
Moss Hart, who was one of the top directors on Broadway, wanted to direct it. Moss Hart had just directed the Broadway smash musical My Fair Lady. He wanted the producer he worked with, Herman Levin, to produce Roman Candle. Sam Spiegel also wanted to produce it.
My agent was Audrey Wood. Audrey was a small, dynamic woman and one of the preeminent theatrical agents on Broadway. She worked with her husband, Bill Liebling, and they represented some of the top playwrights, including Tennessee Williams and William Inge.