THE 1986 HUMBUG AWARDS--LOW PRAISE FOR HIGH CRIMES

It’s our belief that after two weeks of being nice to the Cratchits, Ebenezer Scrooge decided that they were imbeciles and wrote them out of his will. Holiday backlash will do that to a man, and that’s our frame of mind as we compile the annual Humbug Awards, celebrating the misdeeds of theater folk near and far over the last year--especially near.

“Misdeeds” doesn’t mean bad shows. Anybody can do a bad show. (Zelda Fichhandler of Washington’s Arena Stage: “It is in the theater’s basic nature to fail.”) Humbugs are reserved for those individuals who go that extra mile, often employed in the theater’s business end--the end dedicated to giving the customer the business.

Take “Legends” at the Ahmanson. We don’t blame Carol Channing and Mary Martin for agreeing to appear in it. We’re not even mad at James Kirkwood for writing it. The scene where Mary and Carol eat hashish brownies probably seemed a very funny idea at the time. These things happen.

However, it was naughty of the show’s management to lead off a full-page Variety ad for “Legends” with an incomplete quote from the Los Angeles Times’ opening-night review, making it look like a rave, when it was just the opposite. This on the counsel of their press agent, who may pick up his Humbug the next time he’s in town with a show. We can’t wait to pin one on him.

“Legends” expired on the road, as did several touring musicals. “A Chorus Line” never made it out of Japan to the Wilshire, “La Cage Aux Folles” died in Denver before it could get to the Pantages and “Pippin” cut its two-week stand at the Pantages in half, on the excuse that its star Ben Vereen had to do a TV game show.

The Nederlander Organization provided refunds for all three shows “at the point of purchase.” But if the point of purchase was your telephone, the refund didn’t include the original $2.75 service charge from Teletron. For a moment it even seemed that there would be an additional $2.75 charge for the refund order. Question: When a product isn’t delivered, why should the customer have to pay anything at all?

Ben Vereen wasn’t the only one who had a TV conflict this year. Dinah Manoff missed the opening night of “Alfred and Victoria: A Life” at the Los Angeles Theatre Center for “Murder, She Wrote”--an opening that had been set back three weeks so that Philip Baker Hall could do a Spielberg movie. In Hollywood the show may go on, or may not, depending on the needs at Universal.

Bah! No wonder people have a hard time taking Los Angeles theater seriously. This includes your reviewer as he goes through the day’s press releases. How about this for quiet good taste:

“Quick! Grab the stakes! Bring out the garlic! And grab your Star of David! Imagine the mayhem that ensues when a dead lady, missing from the local mortuary, winds up as a store window mannequin in ‘My Jewish Vampire’ at the Ebell Theatre in Long Beach.”

Or:

“This young man and young woman, who are almost total strangers, have just awakened in bed together, without their clothes on. However there IS a very logical explanation. See ‘Crazy Marriage’ at the Off-Hollywood Showcase Theatre.”

Step up, whoever wrote these handouts, and we promise not to tell a soul. At least you didn’t write the plays.

A triple-brass Humbug goes to the League of New York Theatres and Producers, which now calls itself the League of American Theatres and Producers. (See our 1984 awards.)

The group commissioned a study from three economists proving that, although the top ticket price for a Broadway musical had shot up from $15.95 in 1976 to $45.26 in 1984, the rise was actually “a very modest affair when properly interpreted.”

It seems that Broadway’s cost/price ratio had fallen out of whack in 1929 and that the recent upward zoom was simply a long-delayed “adjustment.” (Which failed to cover all of today’s increased costs, at that.) Moreover, people had larger disposable incomes today than in 1929, so they were better able to afford tickets.

Moreover--so the argument went--movie prices had gone up at a steeper percentage over the years than had theater tickets. And look at the price of baseball tickets! The report’s bar graphs were most impressive, but the public continues to resist paying $45 for a Broadway show. You can’t do everything with figures.

An international Humbug goes to Baltimore’s Theatre of Nations Festival, hosted by the American branch of the International Theatre Institute (ITI).

When the Russian ITI Center indicated that the National Theatre of Great Britain’s production of George Orwell’s “Animal Farm” would be “offensive to Russian national traditions,” the Festival bowed to the pressure and officially withdrew the piece--although still allowing it to be presented at the Mechanic Theatre in Baltimore.

This wimpish solution pleased nobody. The National Theatre’s Peter Hall accused ITI president Wole Soyinka of censorship and “doublethink.” Soyinka replied that he had done jail time in his country, Nigeria, for his political beliefs--how about Hall?

Ironically, the Russians hadn’t actually seen Hall’s “Animal Farm”--it just sounded offensive. Erika Munk in the Village Voice called this one right: “The perfect example of the state, bureaucracy and private enterprise, all doing their worst.”

A double Humbug to playwright Simon Gray and producer John McQuiggan, who forgot to mention to the New York Times that their hit off-Broadway production of “The Common Pursuit” was based on Gray’s rewrite for the Matrix Theatre last winter. Or did the New York Times forget to write it down?

Back home, San Diego’s Old Globe Theatre declined to take on the Mark Taper Forum’s production of Peter Parnell’s “Romance Language,” as had been the plan. The move was officially described as a “three-pronged creative leap” for the Old Globe, but the subtext was that the play and the production didn’t meet San Diego standards. Ouch.

“Hollywood Salutes Pirandello” at the Doolittle didn’t meet anybody’s standards. Staged by Italy’s Maurizio Scapparo, who doesn’t speak English, this was as static as a college commencement exercise--which may have been why its UCLA-derived audience sat still for it. Or were they dozing?

“Nite Club Confidential” took the rudest ads of the year, proclaiming that “Jim Bailey IS Kay Goodman”--while Edie Adams was still playing the role.

Sonny Gibson of Kingpin Productions wrote the rudest letter of the year. “Dear Mr. Sullivan...It would benefit you and your readers if you were to see this play (“Dorian.”) If you have seen it, and for some reason disliked it, in my opinion, you shouldn’t be a critic.”

But Mr. Sullivan was not above criticism this year. He gets a Humbug as well, for such errors as:

1--Calling the 1924 Pulitzer Prize play “Halfway to Heaven” when it was really “Hell Bent for Heaven.” (Thank you, Felix Doherty.)

2--Writing that “it would behoove the world, and particularly we rigid Americans, to let everyone follow his or her own private bent” when it should be “behoove ... us rigid Americans.” (Thank you, J. Bryce.)

3--Twitting Diana Wolff for sipping champagne at the Wolffs’ intermission picnic for “Nicholas Nickleby” when it was really diet soda. (Thank you, Diana Wolff.)

But why go on? 1987 is sure to see an improvement on all sides. If not, watch this space.