Oh, Madeline: Actress Was a Playwright’s Dream Come True

I was in a panic after the final dress rehearsal in 1992 of my play “The Sisters Rosensweig.” Madeline Kahn was just not funny.

Beyond anxious, I ran upstairs to see Andre Bishop, the artistic director of Lincoln Center Theatre, and threw myself on his couch.

“Andre, you’re not going to believe this,” I said. “But Madeline as Dr. Gorgeous isn’t working!” I was in total despair.

It was all the more confounding because ever since the first reading of that play, Madeline Kahn as Dr. Gorgeous Teitelbaum, the self-described “middle-aged West Newton housewife who was very soon to have her own cable call-in show,” had the kind of artistic symbiosis that playwrights mostly dream about.

Almost instinctively, Madeline knew this character--from Gorgeous’ opinions about Retin-A skin care to her obsession with imitation Ferragamo shoes. After hearing the play for the first time, the consensus was clear: The play needed a little bit of cutting, but God forbid I should touch a word of Madeline’s. She was going to be brilliant.

During rehearsals, Madeline was a perfectionist. To prepare for a scene in which Gorgeous lighted the Sabbath candles, Madeline insisted I bring in a rabbi to be certain she was doing it absolutely right. In all efforts, Madeline needed to be 100% kosher.

With the greatest regard for the text, Madeline, in her sweetest voice, would question my fuzzier nuances. After rehearsing a scene in which Gorgeous warns her baby sister that marrying a bisexual man may not be the ultimate life plan, Madeline said to me, “I want to tell her I know you can’t judge a book by its cover, but this is a little nutty.”

I went home that night and wrote for Gorgeous: “I know you can’t judge a book by its cover, but you’re in the wrong library altogether.” The line always got a laugh and revealed Gorgeous’ uncanny wisdom. But much more memorably for me, it was one of those times when I could think of nothing better than being a playwright because I was cooking with a great actor.

At that final dress rehearsal, Madeline arrived sopping wet and in a foul humor. Both were completely out of character. Madeline was always truly lovely and the epitome of ladylike in her tidy cashmere sweaters tucked into slim pants, with a smile for everyone.

But something was definitely off that night. In Gorgeous’ penultimate scene, she too arrives sopping wet, and with a broken shoe. Gorgeous then confesses to her sisters that not only has she spent all her money on the pathetic shoe, but that her entire life is a sham. Her husband isn’t even working. He’s writing unpublishable mysteries in her basement.

*

During that dress rehearsal, Madeline wept throughout the shoe scene. I thought to myself, “Madeline, I know it’s sad to lose a shoe, but it’s not Medea.”

My producer told me not to worry. We would see what happened at the first preview. If Madeline’s tragic mode continued, he would talk to her.

At the first preview I sat in the back of the Mitzi Newhouse Theatre clutching Bishop’s hand and preparing to have my heart broken. Madeline entered in her pink faux Chanel suit, and Robert Klein (as Merv the furrier) looked up at her and said, “You must be Gorgeous. We were just talking about you.” And she nonchalantly replied, “And how I got my name? Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” From that moment, I knew Dr. Gorgeous and I were blessed with a definitive performance. Madeline was riding a textured wave of laughter and tears.

At a cast dinner after the show, Madeline threw her head back and laughed, “Well, it certainly beats last night. That must have thrown you, Wendy!”

*

I nodded sheepishly and Madeline explained to us that prior to the final dress rehearsal, she got caught in a rainstorm and suddenly felt Gorgeous’ sadness. She confided that she had always been confident of the comedy, but she wanted to make certain she brought to Gorgeous a depth that the character deserved.

“These women have dignity,” Madeline added. “I want to make sure I give her and the audience that.”

The night of the Medea exercise, Madeline deliberately went to Gorgeous’ lower depth. She was exploring the boundaries of the character and her performance. The truth about Madeline Kahn was that she was a great character actor who happened also to be a brilliant comedienne. She hit every note, whether as the proper Dr. Gorgeous or the floozy in “Paper Moon,” Trixie Delight. Her Marlene Dietrich in “Blazing Saddles” isn’t simply a parody, it’s a total invention.

After my play moved to Broadway and Madeline won the Tony Award for Gorgeous, I would sneak into the back of the theater just to watch her first scene. Every night she would eat a nut onstage and take out a little hankie to wipe her dainty fingers. The audience would roar because it was so completely truthful. There wasn’t a forced or condescending moment. It was as if Madeline were an Olympic skater combined with a jazz musician. She had the grace and ease of a genius.

Madeline Kahn was gorgeous.