The Bi-Polar Express

A few weeks ago, my high school friend Mark and I were at the TKTS window in Times Square debating which show to see.

Lombardi... Promises, Promises... or Next to Normal?

In the three months I had spent in New York, I had seen pretty much all of the shows that I wanted to see.

Some of them twice.

So I let him choose.

Despite our love of sports, he passed on Lombardi.

Despite his love of movies, he passed on Promises, a stage version of Billy Wilder’s “The Apartment”.

So we settled on door #3.

Next to Normal is a Tony Award winning, Pulitzer Prize winning play about a family with a bipolar mother.

As someone who comes from a family with a bipolar mother, I knew this was no comedy.

But I went anyway.

My 81-year old mother has been battling the illness for my entire life and probably most of hers.

For those of you who have somehow dodged the disease, congratulations.

The Cliff Notes version might say that Bipolar Disorder is basically a bunch of extreme mood swings.

E X T R E M E.

Swings that sometimes can be controlled with medication.

Sometimes can be controlled with an extra dose of medication.

And sometimes can’t be controlled at all.

You may know this disease as “A Chemical Imbalance” or “Manic-Depressive”.

I know it as Mom.

Now Sherlock Holmes I am not, but I have become quite good at sniffing out when my mom is headed for a Manic Monday.

It almost always starts with a lack of sleep.

And that is followed by talking.

Lots of talking.

Talking to me.

Talking to you.

Talking to anybody who will listen.

About stories that she has told 1000 times.

Like they happened today.

Well this current episode has been no different.

I suppose the good news for me is that I seem to have figured out when she is having an episode.

The bad news is she is still having episodes.

And unfortunately that probably will never change.

We can pretty much count on 3-4 times a year that we will have to deal with this.

We?

How bad does that sound?

Here’s my mother, who has beaten the odds like no person since Jimmy the Greek, to make it to her 81st year of life and I’m lumping myself in with her.

I’m not the one who never met their father and was raised during a time when that wasn’t so accepted.

I’m not the one who lost one of their children to a terrible accident and nearly lost another one to a terrible disease.

I’m not the one who has dealt with an uncontrollable condition that has consumed their life.

We?

Actually, yes we.

Thankfully I have no concept of what these episodes are like for her or if she even realizes what is going on.

But I can tell you for me they are 11 miles past frustrating.

I have stuck with my mother every single step of the way, during every single one of her episodes and I’m not about to stop now.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.

Each episode it gets even harder to keep the train on the track.

Every time I bring it up, she does what any good husband does after a trip to Las Vegas.

Deny, deny, deny.

“Mom, how did you sleep last night?”

“Like a log.  Never better”

That’s pretty close to word for word.

From 1982.   

And 1991.

And 1998.

And 2006.

And three days ago.

I sniffed out the latest episode a few weeks ago.

I picked it up in a phone call.

Then again the next morning at 6:00am when she called again.

Then during the intermission of Next to Normal when she called again.

I have always said that God has a great sense of humor.

Come on, I’m at a play about a bipolar mother and during the intermission of the play my bipolar mother calls me.

While having a bipolar episode.

As far as plays go, Next to Normal was pretty darn good.

For everybody there.

But me.

I felt like I was watching art imitating my life.

Had there been a pudgy teenage Jewish kid on stage who knew all of the words to Rapper’s Delight, I would’ve thought it was a story about me.

At the end of the play, Mark asked how I liked it.

And for the first time, maybe ever, I was speechless.

I was without speech.

Clearly this play had taken me to a place that I didn’t want to go.

And I’m sure the phone call in the middle didn’t help.

I flew back home a few days later to return to my family and we went to see my mom.

And when she brought up the story of us being at Mickey Mantle’s Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony, my fears had been confirmed.

That story was from 1974.

Don’t me me wrong, it’s a great story.

My dad, who worked in baseball, introduced me to the Mick.

And I said, “Mickey Mantle, wow, you were almost as great as Roberto Clemente.”

Ok, I was seven.   And Mickey wore seven.

So he didn’t slug me.

But he had every right to.

Tonight my mom is resting in the arms of the professionals, hopefully inching back to normalcy.

Or at least next to normal.

A Tangled Web

When an 11-year old boy wants something he doesn’t usually take no for an answer.

I know.

I still act like one.

During the eight days my 11-year old son was in New York with his two sisters and my wife, he must’ve asked me 25 times to take him to see the Broadway play Spiderman.

I tried explaining to him that in the three plus months I had been in Manhattan, I had not heard one word about the play.

Nada.

No buzz whatsoever.

I assumed that meant the play was a real dud.

Well I was right.

Sorta.

What I didn’t realize is that the play hadn’t opened up yet.

Apparently, its been trying to debut for a couple of years, but a whole slew of production problems has pushed back the official opening until six weeks from now.

Not knowing this, last Friday I finally gave in and took my son to the box office to see if they had any tickets available.

That’s when we found out the play hadn’t opened yet.

That’s also when we found out the first presentation from start to finish in front of a live audience was on Sunday night.

Sunday night.

As in the day after Saturday night, the night my wife and kids were flying home.

How do you think that went over with the 11-year old boy?

Well as my luck would have it, I was staying two days longer than my family, spending the weekend with my friend Mark.

Mark and I went to high school and college together and he was in town for the Thanksgiving holiday.

In his spare time he is a film critic in Los Angeles.

Maybe I should’ve called him for the real 411 on Spiderman.

Turns out he knew it all.

He knew the play was directed by Julie Taymor, who also directed the mega Broadway hit, The Lion King.

He knew the music and lyrics were written by Bono and The Edge from U2.

He knew this is the most expensive play in Broadway history, with a $65 million tab.

So far.

And it will cost another million, per week, when/if it ever really opens.

This show has so many issues, it could be a Dr. Phil episode.

Crew issues.  Cast issues.  Technical issues.  Money issues.

So when I asked if Mark wanted to see the first ever public production of this disaster waiting to happen, he answered without saying a word.

What I didn’t realize is how hard it would be to get tickets.

Apparently people like watching train wrecks.

Lotsa people.

Who knew?

When we got to the sold out Foxwoods Theatre, we were ushered into a “cancellation line”.

That meant, if people cancel, we get to buy their tickets.

So we waited.   And waited.   And waited.

Matthew Broderick and Sarah Jessica Parker walked right past us, into the theater.

As did Sean Hayes.

As did what felt like a million other people I didn’t recognize.

The Foxwoods Theater is one of the biggest, if not THE biggest on Broadway.

It seats 1,900 or so people.

And we saw all of them.

But somehow after waiting for two hours, we finally got the call to the box office window.

All they had left were single Orchestra tickets, but we grabbed them faster than we could say...

HOW MUCH WAS THAT TICKET?

Because we got the tickets so late, we were forced to watch the opening number from the lobby.

But we got to our seats right after that.

As a film critic, Mark is REALLY into storytelling and scripts and themes and all of that nonsense.

As the 1992 ADD Man of the Year, I like lights.

And smoke.  And sound effects.  And action.

And action there was.

Some of it was even planned.

There were a bunch of scenes where the characters were flying all over the place.

And that was amazing.

Is it bad that part of me was thinking how cool it would be if I could say I was there when the rope snapped and Spidey landed on Sarah Jessica?

Yeah, that would be bad.

Sorry.

There was an amazing scene where Spiderman and the Green Goblin were swinging right above me during a fight scene.

Definitely the scene of the night, for me.

This show was half Broadway.

Half Cirque du Soleil.

Half MTV.

Three halves make a whole, right?

The sets were borderline incredible.

The music was good, sometimes better than that.

The costumes were amazing.

The crowd was really into it.

It was everything you want in a Broadway show.

Everything PLUS a train wreck.

Free of charge.

Before Mark and I made it in, the announcer told the crowd that since this was a “preview”, they might need to stop the show if there were any technical problems.

And people were very sympathetic.

The first time they stopped it.

And the second.  And the third.  And the fourth.

And that was just the first act.

Then came a 15-minute intermission that lasted 40 minutes.

Patience meet wearing thin.

That was followed by a second act that was so disjointed you would’ve thought the show had arthritis.

The good news is they only stopped the show one time after the break.

The bad news is I wish they would’ve taken that time to explain what the hell the story was all about.

When it comes to anything involving a script, I am usually the best audience ever.

I don’t figure out anything until the end.

Did you know that girl in The Crying Game was really a guy?

I didn’t.

Did you know that Paul Bettany is not a real person?

Well HE is, but his character in A Beautiful Mind is not.

Did you know that James Earl Jones has a son named Mark Hamill?

I could go on all day.

The bottom line is it really doesn’t take a whole lot for me to get roped into a storyline.

Unfortunately there wasn’t a whole lot of rope there.

This story was so weak, Tobey Maguire could bench press it.

I haven’t been this confused since the first time I was handed a Rubik’s Cube.

Or the last time.

There was so little meat on the bones of this play, they could’ve called it Veganman.

Ok, I’ll leave the real critiquing to Mark.

But even with all of the problems, it was worth every penny just to be there.

There was no other place I would rather be.   

But let me tell you, $65 million doesn’t buy what it used to.

Come on Spidey people, you’ve got six weeks to save the world.

And save your show.

11-year olds around my galaxy are counting on you.

Defying Gravity... and the Odds

My clock stopped today.

For two hours and 45 minutes.

It wasn’t a battery problem or anything like that.

It was more like time standing still.

That’s because, today...

... I WON THE WICKED LOTTERY!!!!!!!

Really.

After striking out on Saturday Night, I highlighted today’s matinee to give it another try.

I figured it would be my best odds, since most normal people work during the day.

Math was always my specialty.

So I dragged my abnormal butt back to the Gershwin Theater to enter the contest.

A contest that awards about 20 front row tickets to lottery winners before every show.

Sure, it costs $26.25 per ticket, if you win.

But that beats the $200+ the people paid one row behind me.

Even during working hours, there must’ve been at least 100 people who showed up to enter the drawing.

At 11:40ish, I wrote my name on a green index card.

At 12:05ish, my name was called out.

From the moment the man running the lottery mispronounced my name, everything changed.

I know that sounds really silly, borderline idiotic, but something felt really special about winning this contest.

Yes, I do realize that I did not become an instant billionaire.

And yes, I do realize that this is “just” a play.

Even if this play has been performed on Broadway nearly 3,000 times.

Even if these are still the hottest tickets in Manhattan.

Even if the tickets were in THE FRONT ROW.

However, since the script to my life turned from comedy to drama recently, I’ve been in need of a boost.

And this shot of vitamin-W might have just done the trick.

There was definitely an extra hop in my step after winning the golden ticket.

Kind of like the time my buddy Dave and I bet on a long shot at the track.

Because we liked the name.

To this day, just mention “Flying Julia”, and you’ll get a giant smile from both of us.

Even if we don’t remember how much we really won.

I’m sure over time I will forget how much I paid for today’s ticket.

But I will never forget where I sat.

For nearly three hours, “the best Broadway show of the decade” was right in front of me.

Literally.

Sure, my neck is a little sore right now, but it was worth it.

For those of you who have seen Wicked, stop drooling.

For those of you who have not, OMG.

The music, the story, the sets.

This is the most excited I have been to see a green person since The Great Gazoo.

And I was so close that I could actually hear them sing.

Without the mics.

I hate to go all Ebert on you, but.........

The brilliance of this play is taking a story that EVERYBODY has seen and finding a way to make it unique.

Even my seven-year old has seen the Wizard of Oz.

Sure, Michael Jackson tried to ease on down the road.

But what the creators of Wicked have done can be summed up in three words.

Uh-maze-ing.

They weaved in the tin man.

And the lion.

And the scarecrow.

And even Dorothy.

But this story was as fresh as the first time I saw it.

Well, that was today.

But my friend Rick has seen it six times and he told me that if it was playing in his hometown tonight, he’d go again.

I’ve been really fortunate to see a lot of Broadway plays in my life.

And ranking them would be near impossible.

But let’s just say that once you sit in the front row, there’s nowhere to go but backwards.

Now I’m not really sure how much time I have left on this lucky streak, so I made sure to buy a ticket for the next real lottery drawing.

The winner gets $14 million.

I know what I'd do with the first $200.

Wicked Awesome

Saturday night I did not win the New York Lottery.

I didn’t even buy a ticket.

But I did enter a competition with a prize package so exciting, it would make Bob Barker blush.

It’s called The Wicked Lottery.

As I learned Saturday, two hours before every production of Wicked, the legendary Broadway play, they hold a lottery where they award approximately 20 tickets to lucky fans.

Location of the seats?

Orchestra.

Front of the stage.

Cost?

$26.25 per ticket.

Say What?

Just click your heels three times and cross your fingers... and toes.   

To get as close to the Wicked Witch as Dorothy did, all you need is $26.25, in cash, and a little luck.

Well, a lot of luck.

I just happened to be walking by the Gershwin Theater, between 50th & 51st, around 5:50pm Saturday night.

I saw a crowd of what must’ve been at least 200 people.

So, like any tourist, I stopped.

As I got closer to the main entrance, I noticed a line at a table.

So I waited in that line.

When I got to the front, I put my name on a green index card, along with the number of tickets I would want if I win.

One.

Now this is not just any play we are talking about here.

This is Wicked.

The 17th longest running show in Broadway history.

HISTORY.

And at the rate they are selling tickets these days, its not gonna stop there.

More than five million people have seen the show on Broadway since it opened in 2003.

The show grosses more than a million dollars every week.

Last November, Wicked became the first show in Broadway history to gross over two million dollars in a week.

In all, Wicked is only the third musical in Broadway history to pass five hundred million dollars in total gross.

That’ll buy a lot of brooms.

Back to the lottery.

So I show up at the table to fill out my index card.

You would’ve thought the Soup Nazi was running the show.

Or Corey Hart.

This guy, wearing sunglasses at night, was barking out instructions like he didn’t want us to be there.

“Fill out the card.   Your full name and number of tickets you want.  You need cash and an I.D. with you..   When you are done, stand behind that green line.”

“YOU NEED CASH AND AN I.D. WITH YOU.”

He said it twice.

Everybody got the same exact treatment.

“Fill out the card.   Your full name and number of tickets you want.  You need cash and an I.D. with you..   When you are done, stand behind that green line.”

“YOU NEED CASH AND AN I.D. WITH YOU.”

Then at 6:00pm, SHARP, he closed the double glass doors to stop anyone else from entering.

Prepped the lottery wheel, which contained all of the index cards, and started spinning.

About five minutes later he came out and yelled at us.

“THANK YOU FOR COMING.   IF YOUR NAME IS CALLED, COME UP AND STAND TO MY RIGHT WITH YOUR I.D. AND CASH IN HAND.”

“IF YOU FILLED OUT TWO INDEX CARDS AND ARE CAUGHT, YOU WILL BE ESCORTED OFF THE PREMISES.”

Wow.

He’s just plain wicked.

Thank you, thank you very much.  

One-by-one, the names are announced.

And one-by-one, a sharp screetch is heard coming from somewhere in the crowd.

About three minutes later, the last name is called.

Without any mention of me.

Or at least 190 others.

At this point, all of the losers look around and mutter something like, “I never win these things.”

Meanwhile, a handful of people are standing in front of us with smiles so big their face is about to crack.

The winners await their golden ticket, while the rest of us move on.

Waiting for the next show.

And the next lottery.