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I like neurotic people.

I'm neurotic myself and
I like neurotic people--

MICHAEL DOUGLAS: Everyone is,
aren't they, to a degree?

Well, that's exactly
what I think.

You see, I think it's universal.

Neurotic is one of
those fashionable words

that to some people means crazy.

What it means is that
everybody is troubled.

Everybody has problems,

and there are problems
of circumstance,

and there are problems
that start

when you're young
and you're growing up

and there are
professional problems

and there are personal problems.

Nobody goes through
life unscathed,

and I think if you write
about those things,

you're going to touch people.

[Film projector whirring]

♪

SONDHEIM: ♪ When I get famous ♪

♪ I'll be free on my own ♪

♪ You wait and see... ♪

EARL WRIGHTSON: While no one
can predict the future

of the theater, the American
musical theater,

one thing is very certain.

Talented men, such
as our guest today, are going

to be making very important
changes from time to time.

Mr. Stephen Sondheim.

TERRY WOGAN:
Ladies and gentlemen,

welcome Stephen Sondheim.

LARRY KING: Someone who's made
the musical what it is today--

Stephen Sondheim.

STEPHEN COLBERT: Please
welcome Stephen Sondheim!

MICHAEL DOUGLAS:
Here is Stephen Sondheim.

CHARLES OSGOOD: He's often
called the father

of the modern American musical.

He earned the title
by experimenting

with form and content.

He earned it by asking audiences
not to sit back and relax,

but to sit up and take notice.

DIANE SAWYER: Not that Sondheim
suits everyone's taste--

If you don't know the name
Stephen Sondheim,

you know his words and music.

WOMAN: And the Tony Award
goes to...

MAN: Music and lyrics,
Stephen Sondheim.

[Applause]

SONDHEIM:
♪ Woman, take my view... ♪

WOMAN:...by Stephen Sondheim.

MAN:..."Sweeney Todd."

SONDHEIM:
♪ I'm telling you... ♪

ANNA QUINDLEN: Ladies
and gentlemen, Stephen Sondheim.

SONDHEIM:
♪...make your dream true ♪

♪

I mean, an awful lot of people
have gone historically

to musicals to forget
their troubles,

"Come on, get happy."

I'm not interested in that.

I'm not interested
in making people unhappy,

but I'm not interested
in not looking at life,

'cause then I don't know why

I want to write it otherwise.

♪

SONDHEIM: I have no idea
where the music came from.

My father used
to pick out tunes,

Broadway tunes on the piano.

And when I was a kid, he
would put my hand on his fingers

so I would sort of feel
like I was playing the piano.

And then I took piano lessons
when I was 7 years old, which is

what every nice Jewish boy did
on the west side, for two years.

And my mother was very visual,
and she was a very talented

designer, and I have
no visual talent whatsoever,

so there goes
the entire theory of genes.

The Stephen and the Joshua
were chosen

by my parents out of the Bible.

They didn't know what
to name me,

so they just flipped
the pages open

and put their fingers in
and it came out Stephen Joshua.

In fact, I was known as Josh

until I was about
10 or 11 years old.

I always thought I
was born at 3:30 in the morning

'cause my mother told me that.

She wanted me to feel that
I had kept her awake

and made the birth
as difficult as possible.

I found out from my father I was
born at 9:00 in the evening

and it was not
a difficult birth at all.

That disagreement was
sort of typical of them

and ended in a divorce
10 years after I was born.

My mother got custody of me
and bought a house

in Doylestown, Pennsylvania.

There was a kind of myth
that if your family broke up,

what you needed was discipline,

so you were sent
to military school.

Again, the surpri--

JEREMY ISAACS:
Did you need discipline?

I don't think so,
but I loved it.

Everything was so chaotic
at home, that to be told

to be at a certain place
at 9:12

and another place at 9:37

and to have to go on parade
and that sort of thing--

Again, I was 10, 11 years old;

we had little wooden rifles--

But it was called
New York Military Academy.

And I thrived.
I thought it was terrific.

My father was
a dress manufacturer,

and he was certainly
the most liked man

in the industry, but not
the most successful.

And they go together, I think.

His second marriage
was very successful.

He married a very nice lady,
and so I liked my stepmother

and my father very much.

He loved the theater,

so when he had his visiting
privileges with me--

The court-appointed
visiting privileges,

he would take me to musicals.

I was an only child,

and both my parents
were working parents,

so because I had no sort
of childhood companion,

and my mother was
a celebrity hunter--

She knew slightly
the Oscar Hammersteins,

and they lived
about 3 miles away.

So she sort of
foisted me on them

because they had a son
my own age--

Actually a year younger,
Jimmy Hammerstein.

And as a result,
I sort of osmosed myself

into the Hammerstein household,

and Dorothy and Oscar
Hammerstein became

my surrogate parents
during my teen years,

and that's essentially
how I became a songwriter,

because I wanted to do
what Oscar did.

You know, I've often said

that if he'd been
an archaeologist,

I would have been
an archaeologist.

Maybe I wouldn't have had
the talent for archaeology,

and luckily he was
in a profession

that obviously I have gifts for,

so it worked out very nicely.

But it was essentially
imitating him.

I majored in music at college,

and I always wanted
to write music and lyrics.

And the first show I wrote

that was scheduled
for production

was called "Saturday Night,"

but the producer died
and the show didn't get on.

And I was then asked
to do just the lyrics

for "West Side Story."

♪

I was 25 years old at the time.

I'd been writing music
up until then,

and I didn't want
to write just lyrics,

but Oscar said that it would be

very good experience for me,

even though I would be
frustrated

not writing music,

because I'd be dealing with
people with enormous talent

and ability--
that's Leonard Bernstein

and Jerry Robbins
and Arthur Laurents.

And I would learn a great deal

through practical experience,

and I should not worry
about the time lost

in not writing music,
and he was right.

LARRY KERT:
♪ Could be ♪

♪ Who knows? ♪

♪ There's somethin' due
any day ♪

♪ I will know right away ♪

♪ Soon as it shows ♪

♪ It may come cannonballin'
down through the sky ♪

♪ Gleam in its eye,
bright as a rose ♪

♪ Who knows? ♪

SONDHEIM: Well, there's
the true nostalgia.

Lenny and I wrote
"Something's Coming"

essentially in one day,
which was one of

the most exciting days
of my life.

And we finished at about
11:00 in the evening

and we woke Felicia--
Mrs. Bernstein--up,

got her out of bed,
and played it for her,

and she sleepily said,
"It's wonderful,"

and went back to bed,
having not, I don't think,

heard the number, poor thing.

But we had to share
the excitement,

and tonight I got it
all over again.

I mean, it's a song
I dearly love.

We wrote it during rehearsals

because the boy playing
Tony, named Larry Kert,

wasn't registering
in his first scene

with the kind of weight
that made you want

to follow his adventures
through the show.

And I suggested that we
write a song

that has real drive to it.

A paradigmatic one would be...

♪ Hallelujah, hallelujah ♪

The kind of thing
that Judy Garland

made her reputation from,

a driving, fast-beat song.

GARLAND: ♪ The Lord is waitin'
to take your hand ♪

♪ Shout Hallelujah,
come on, get happy... ♪

SONDHEIM: And that's
exactly what we did.

And Larry did it on
opening night in Washington

and stopped the show.

♪ It's only just out of reach,
down the block... ♪

SONDHEIM:
He had the audience

in the palm of his hand,
and it gave him confidence.

It was his first major musical.

Of all the people in
the cast, he had to be

the one to carry
that strength forward,

and that number gave him
that strength.

KERT: ♪ Could it be?
Yes, it could ♪

♪ Something's comin',
somethin' good ♪

♪ If I can wait ♪

♪ Something's comin' ♪

♪ I don't know what it is ♪

♪ But it is gonna be great ♪

SONDHEIM: What surprised me
about it and still does is

all the baseball terminology
comes out of--you know,

"one-handed catch,"
all that sort of thing.

Somehow I got the image
of Tony as a ball player.

I don't mean specifically;
it's just the words kept--

Those were the images
that occurred to me,

and they're the right images.

You know, "cannonballin'
down through the sky,"

all that stuff
about forward motion,

and I know what it was.

It was echoing Tony's desire
to move forward,

to get away from his gang life,

and he knows there's something

around the corner that's
gonna make his life perfect,

And you just--whoosh!--
and it's a baseball.

♪...Catch the moon,
one-handed catch ♪

♪ Around the corner ♪

♪ Or whistlin'
down the river ♪

♪ Come on, deliver ♪

♪ To me ♪

♪ Will it be?
Yes, it will ♪

♪ Maybe just by
holdin' still ♪

♪ It'll be there ♪

♪ Come on, somethin' ♪

♪ Come on in, don't be shy ♪

♪ Meet a guy,
pull up a chair ♪

♪ The air is hummin' ♪

♪ And somethin' great
is comin' ♪

♪ Who knows? ♪

♪ It's only
just out of reach ♪

♪ Down the block,
on a beach ♪

♪ Maybe tonight ♪

♪

[crowd whistles]

MAN: Mr. Robbins,
how does it feel

now that the opening
night is over?

Well, we're all very tired
and also very happy.

♪

SONDHEIM:
The opening reviews

in Washington mentioned

everybody connected
with the show.

They were all raves, except me.

I was obviously
disappointed and chagrined,

my first professional show.

And so, on the morning
after, I was riding

from the theater back
to the hotel with Lenny.

And he said, "Look,
the lyrics are yours.

I'm perfectly happy to take
my name off the lyrics."

And I said, "Oh, that's
really nice of you.

Thank you."

And he said, "And, of course,

we'll adjust the royalties."

And I said, "Oh, who cares
about the money?

It's just the credit."

If somebody had only
put a gag in my mouth

at that point,

I would have made a lot more
money over the years.

But the fact is, we all
thought the show was

just gonna be sort of
a prestigious show.

Nobody dreamed that it
would be a hit

and, in fact, it wasn't a hit.

The movie was a gigantic
hit. The show was not.

The show was disliked
by most people.

Score was particularly disliked,

particularly in the papers
and by the public,

all of whom said
they couldn't hum it.

It was all very exciting,

but they couldn't hum anything.

Then, 4 years later-- there were

only two single records made
from "West Side Story"

in a period of 4 years:

one by Johnny Mathis
and one by Dinah Shore.

Johnny Mathis sang "Maria,"
Dinah Shore sang "Tonight"

and that was it because
everybody said, "Yes, it's

very exciting theatrically,

but you can't hum
those tunes."

And then the movie
came out and, of course,

the movie company put
a million dollars or so

or maybe more into
the advertising of the movie

and they started making
the disc jockeys--

Or getting the disc jockeys
to play the tunes,

and suddenly everybody
could hum them,

which is why the word
"hummable" about songs

drives me up the wall.

BERNSTEIN: I expected,
after "West Side"

that a lot of new,
young people would come in

and take the next step
and the next step,

next step, and by now
we'd have had something

that we could call
the equivalent of opera,

American opera.

And we don't, with
the solitary exception

of Steve Sondheim,
who does take a step

with every show he does.

Well, now we're
leaving the music

of Mr. Bernstein

and going to
discuss Mr. Sondheim

as the composer,

not just the lyricist.

From now on, that's going to be

the set-up, is it not?

Well, with the--

There's always possibly
an exception,

but I intend from now on
to write my own music

because it's about
3 times as much fun

as writing lyrics.

But there may always come
along something

that's just so wildly exciting

that I can't keep
my hands off it.

ETHEL MERMAN:
♪ Here she is, boys! ♪

♪ Here she is, world! ♪

♪ Here's Rose! ♪

♪

♪ Curtain up ♪

♪ Light the lights ♪

♪ Play it, boys! ♪

♪ You either got it ♪

♪ Or you ain't ♪

♪ And, boys, I got it ♪

SONDHEIM:
I was supposed to do

music and lyrics for "Gypsy,"

and David Merrick
and Leland Hayward,

who were producing it,

it's OK with them,
OK with Arthur Laurents,

and Ethel Merman
had just been burned

by two young writers;

that is to say, she had
had a flop and blamed it

on the inexperience, or
having two young writers--

A show called
"Happy Hunting."

So she was very wary
of taking a chance

on another one,

so she said no, and then
Arthur and Oscar--

Again, Oscar said,

"It'll frustrate
you even more, but now

"you have a chance to write
for a specific personality,

and that's something
you should learn to do."

And he was right, that was
also very valuable

because we wrote that show
not for Madam Rose,

but for Ethel Merman
as Madam Rose

because she
and David Merrick came up

with the idea together to
buy Gypsy Rose Lee's book,

and so she came
with the package.

Usually I just write
and then we cast it,

but in this case,
we were writing

for a very specific lady
to take advantage

of her strengths and to
minimize her weaknesses.

And so it was good experience.

But it unfortunately taped me

as a lyric writer, which I
knew it would, so the minute

I started to write music,
I was treated by critics

and public and the old
pros--and still am--

As a sort of upstart:
"How dare I,"

"Why aren't I satisfied
just writing lyrics,"

and, "I can't write music,
so what"--you know.

If I'd started out as a musician

and come to the lyrics,

they would have said
the same thing.

One of my favorite
Ethel Merman stories--

It's apocryphal,

it's been attributed
to other people, but I like

to believe it's true of Ethel,

because it is profoundly
true of Ethel--

Is the time that she went
on "The Loretta Young Show."

Loretta Young was a lady
with a capital "L"

who had a half-hour show,
she was Catholic,

and she did not like
swearing on her set.

And Ethel had the mouth
of a truck driver,

so when Ethel came in for
rehearsals, it wasn't long

before she said,
"Where's the damn prop?"

And Loretta came over
to her and said, "Ethel,

"I really don't approve
of swearing,

and anytime anybody
swears on my set,

I charge them a quarter."

So Ethel gave her a quarter,
and a few minutes later,

of course, Ethel was annoyed
at something else

and she said, "God damn it!"

And Loretta said,
"Ethel, a quarter, please."

Ethel dutifully gave it again.

And a few minutes after
that, of course, Ethel said,

"For Christ's sake!"

And Loretta Young came over
and said, "Ethel--"

And before she could finish
the sentence, Ethel said,

"Loretta, here's 10 bucks
and go fuck yourself."

♪

The songs I write
don't really reflect me

in any conscious way.

I mean, they all are
about the characters

that the book writer has made,

and I'm getting
into those characters.

I never think of it
in my own terms at all, no.

I get to know the style,
the way they think,

the way they speak,
and I get inside them almost

as if I were an actor
playing the part,

and then I write.

But I always take
from the book writer.

I couldn't invent those people.

♪

Often what attracts me to
material in the first place

is that I find some way
of projecting myself.

Like all writing, you know,
there's no difference.

Part of the author is
always in what he writes

and part of it is
a work of imagination.

♪

As soon as you write anything,

obviously it must touch
on something.

It's that thing
that Faulkner said

about observation,
imagination, and experience.

You can do without one of them,

but you can't do without two,

and writers and actors observe.

♪

It's true that in every
character you write,

a part of you is
there somewhere.

That's true of every author,
but there's only been one

autobiographical song
I've ever written,

and that was "Opening Doors"
in "Merrily We Roll Along."

♪

It's about two writers
trying to bust their way

into show business
and their best friend.

It's about me and Hal Prince,

it's about Mary Rodgers,

and it's about Sheldon Harnick,

it's about Jerry Bock,

it's about all of us
in the fifties, knocking

on the doors of producers
and trying to get heard.

I was trying to recapture
what I was like

when I was 25 and 30 years old.

The show goes backwards
in time and ends up

in the early sixties,
late fifties,

and I wanted to write songs
that they would have written

in those days without making
a comment on them.

You try to write
what you were like

when you were 25 years old,

you're gonna have a lot
of trouble, and I did.

FRANK RICH: It turned out
pretty well nonetheless.

Yeah, it turned out great.

♪

[Sighs]
Rrr!

Oh!
How's it going?

Good. You?

Fair.
Yeah, tell me.

[Rings]
Chinese Raundry.

Hi.
Mary.
Say hello!

♪ I think I got a job ♪
Where?

"True Romances."
Posing?

Thank you.
Writing captions.

What about the book?
What about the book?

Nothing. Are you
working on the book?

Yes.
Good.
No.
Mary!

♪ Right, I know,
yes, me and Balzac ♪

♪

Ugh.

♪ I finished the one-act ♪

♪ I got an audition ♪
♪ I started the story ♪

♪ Rehearsal pianist ♪
♪ So, where are we
eating? ♪

♪ I'm moving to "Playboy" ♪
♪ The publisher called me ♪

♪ I'm doing a rewrite ♪
♪ My parents are coming ♪

♪ I saw "My Fair Lady" ♪

♪ I rewrote the rewrite ♪

♪ I sort of enjoyed it ♪

♪ I threw out the story ♪

♪ I'm meeting an agent ♪

ALL: ♪ We'll all get
together on Sunday ♪

♪ We're opening doors ♪

♪ Singing, "Here we are!" ♪

♪ We're filling up days ♪

♪ On a dime ♪

♪ That faraway shore's ♪

♪ Looking not too far ♪

♪ We're following
every star ♪

♪ There's not enough time ♪

[Whistles along]

♪ I called a producer ♪
♪ I sent off the one-act ♪

♪ I started the story ♪
♪ He said to come see him ♪

♪ I dropped out of college ♪
♪ I met this musician ♪

♪ I'm playing a nightclub ♪
♪ They're doing my one-act ♪

♪ I'm working for "Redbook" ♪
♪ I rewrote the ballad ♪

♪ I finished the story ♪
♪ We started rehearsals ♪

♪ I threw out the story
and then the musician ♪

♪ I'm moving to
"Popular Science" ♪

ALL: ♪ We're opening doors ♪

♪ Singing,
"Look who's here" ♪

♪ Beginning to sail ♪

♪ On a dime ♪

♪ That faraway shore's ♪

♪ Getting very near ♪

♪ We haven't a thing
to fear ♪

♪ We haven't got time ♪

OSGOOD: In a sense, your
fascination with puzzles,

you can't help but wonder
about whether that's

in any way analogous
to putting together a show.

Oh, it is,
very much. Sure.

I think that's what
art is anyway.

I mean, after all,
a puzzle is like art,

is making order out
of chaos, you know?

Take a jigsaw puzzle,
right? It's chaos.

Put it together, it's a picture.

And I think art is the same way

on a slightly higher level.

SONDHEIM: When I
moved to my first apartment

in Manhattan,

I didn't have enough money
to buy prints

and put them on the walls.

But a girl I knew gave me
an early 19th-century game,

a weird one called

the New and Fashionable
Game of the Jew.

It was a dice-throwing,
chip-betting game

that taught kids
to be anti-Semitic.

And it was a hateful game,

but it was really pretty
to look at,

and she had it framed for me.

And I went to the store
where she bought it--

It was a rare bookstore--

And the owner had a lot
of 19th-century games.

And I bought a lot of them
'cause they only cost

two and three bucks apiece,

and that's what started
my game collection.

It's a curious and perverted
ability to be able to see

a word as a collection
of letters

instead of as having
a meaning or a sound.

For example, you love puns.

So obviously the sound
of words is something

you're very into and you're
very quick and good at puns.

And of course, the precision
of your language.

You just don't see words
as collections of letters.

I passed under--when
Cinerama first was invented,

I passed under the sign

that was being erected
on Broadway.

It said "Cinerama" and I
immediately thought "American."

Didn't have to think about it.

PREVIN: Wait a minute.
"Cinerama" --

And "American" are
anagrams of each other...

SONDHEIM: Actually, it was
Oscar Hammerstein who got me

interested in words
and crossword puzzles

and anagrams.

He played Anagrams at his house,

and he did the puns
and anagrams puzzle

in "The New York Times."

As a matter of fact,
he encouraged me to send

a puzzle in to "The Times"
when I was about 13,

and I did, and it was
rejected very nicely by them

with a letter that said

that they admired my
perspicacity,

and I had to look the word up

to find out what it meant.

What is that?

♪ It's priest ♪

♪ Have a little priest ♪

♪ Is it really good? ♪

♪ Sir, it's too good,
at least ♪

♪ Then again, they don't
commit sins of the flesh ♪

♪ So it's pretty fresh ♪

♪ Awful lot of fat ♪

♪ Only where it sat ♪

♪ Haven't you got poet
or something like that? ♪

♪ No, you see,
the trouble with poet ♪

♪ Is how do you know
it's deceased? ♪

♪ Try the priest ♪

[Audience laughter]

Heavenly!

SONDHEIM: I still get
pleasure out of--

Out of writing a musical phrase

that I think is really good.

I still get a pleasure
out of writing a line

that I think really encapsulates

what I want to say.

And you know instantly
when it's right?

Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah.

When it's right for me,
absolutely.

There's that first moment,
you know, the first--

The first flush,
the falling in love,

and then you got
to let it cook and see

if you're still
in love in the morning

'cause it's a form
of showing off.

But it's also a form of sharing.

You want to say,

"Hey, I caught this
moment" with people.

But it's a wonderful feeling.
It's a wonderful feeling.

It's what everybody
who writes or paints

or composes feels, or else
they wouldn't go on with it.

If you didn't get those moments,

you couldn't put up
with the rest of it:

the loneliness and the tedium

and the endless amounts of
work, you know, the sweat.

I love inventing.

The hard part is
the execution, obviously.

But even that's fun,
the working out.

When I say "fun," of course,

I'm talking about agonizing fun.

I'm not talking
about pleasant fun.

To make art sound effortless
takes a lot of effort.

♪

And another thing, Dick.

If you and Larry don't
fix up the opening

for that second act
by tomorrow--

Excuse me, Mr. Morley.
This is Miss Marrel,

the feature writer
of the United Syndicate.

Good evening.

Mr. Hart.
How do you do?

Mr. Rodgers.

How do you do?

She'd like to do
a story with you.

Gentlemen, you're about
to be interviewed.

Wait till I fix my tie.

Don't you like
being interviewed?

Well, I don't mind as
long as you don't ask us

which we write first,
the words or the music.

♪

SONDHEIM: The question asked
of most songwriters is,

"Which comes first,
the music or the lyrics?"

And most people think
it's a dumb question.

It isn't; it's just
very hard to answer,

and it varies
from writer to writer.

When I have written
with Leonard Bernstein

or Jule Styne,

sometimes the music came
first, sometimes the lyrics.

In the case of Jule,
mostly the lyric.

In the case of Lenny,
mostly we wrote together.

But when I write with myself,

I do what Cole Porter did.

I found, by going
through his papers

at the Library of Congress,

that he would take
his title line--

like "It Was Just One
of Those Things"--

and he would write it out
rhythmically:

"It was just one
of those things"

on music paper,
but with no notes attached,

only the rhythm.

And from that, he would
extrapolate the melody.

The inflection of the title

would give him the rise and fall

of the melody,
and the rhythm of the title

would give him the rhythm
of the melody.

It was just--heh!--
one of those things.

♪ Just one of
those crazy flings ♪

♪ One of those bells ♪

♪ That now and then
rings ♪

♪ Just
one of those things ♪

SONDHEIM:
Once I get a scene,

I sometimes will put the scene

on the easel of the piano

and just improvise at the piano,

just reading the dialogue.

Other times,
I will scour the dialogue

for useful phrases

that might be refrain lines
or central ideas.

I strictly lie down--

ISAACS: How can you
write lying down?

Uh, because it's easy
to fall asleep.

Actually, I do that less
than I used to,

but I got in
the habit of doing it.

No, one of the reasons
I have bad posture is

from many, many years
of hunched over a piano

and lying down

with a pad propped on my knees.

I work entirely
with Blackwing pencils

for a number of reasons.

One is it's very soft lead

and therefore wears down
very quickly.

So you can spend a lot
of time re-sharpening,

which is a lot easier
and more fun than writing.

I've often used alcohol
as a help in writing.

It's very good for loosening
up the inhibitions

as long as you don't
drink too much.

And in fact, the only thing
I've ever written

that's just on water was

the score for a movie
called "Stavisky."

And I realized it was 'cause
I didn't have to write lyrics.

There are so few words
in a lyric that each--

3 or 4 words is
the equivalent of a scene

in a play or a chapter
in a novel.

And unless every word is
right, it stands out

like a sore thumb
and becomes much bigger

than you had intended it.

And it's very hard
because of the limitations

of the language
and the restrictions

of what music does to words
to come out with a lyric

that is consistently good
from beginning to end.

WOMAN: ♪ It's a very short road
from the pinch and the punch ♪

♪ To the paunch
and the pouch ♪

♪ And the pension... ♪

SAWYER: I'm trying
to imagine what it is

to be able to sit down
and write,

"It's a very short road
from the pinch and the punch

to the paunch and the pouch
and the pension."

Does it make you laugh?
Yeah.

Once I got the idea
of that song--

Well, it's true of all
the songs I write of,

particularly when they're
very verbal songs.

You make lists is what you do,

and you start getting
into the character.

It's always about
getting into the character,

and you start to make lists
of what she would talk about.

And you suddenly find
that certain words either--

If they don't rhyme with each
other, relate to each other.

And things can catenate. It's
very much about serendipity.

It's a very--
"Oh, I didn't think.

Pinch? Paunch! Pension!"

Once you get the idea
of, let's say, jowls,

and you think of pouch,
you say, "Wait a minute.

"You know, that--maybe
we can make something

out of the similarity
of those sounds."

I've never heard an audience
laugh as much and as loud

and as long as they do
at his lyrics in this show.

Audiences don't
listen to lyrics,

incidentally, very much.

I think they do
because they love--

Because they have
so much to take in.

You have to take in
music and lyrics--

JAMES MacANDREW: You mean, if
they don't hear your lyrics--

You have to blame it on
Mr. Montresor and Mr. Rodgers?

No, I don't blame it on anybody.

I think we'd argue
with you. Seriously.

I think they don't listen,

9 times out of 10,
for the right reason.

A song starts and it says,

"When you took my hand" --

and they say, "Yes,
you took my hand,

"we fell in love, all right.

Let's get through
this song."

But Steve's lyrics
always have a development

of what has been said
in the scene.

They always carry it
further, they're always

written in the diction
of the character.

I mean, not only funny.

I think it's easier to be clever

than it is to carry
a character further,

and I think he's the only one

who can do it today.

SONDHEIM, VOICE-OVER:
As a writer,

I think what I am is an actor.

I'm an actor
when I'm writing songs,

and it's one
of my strengths as a writer

and one of the reasons

that actors and singers like
to sing my stuff.

It's not only the insight
of the librettist

and me working together,

but the fact is I write
conversational songs,

and... so that the actors
find that the rise and fall

of the tune and the harmonies,

and particularly the rhythms,

help them as singers
to act the song.

They don't have
to act against it.

I thought you loved Ciara.

I did love Ciara.
I did.

♪ But no one has
ever loved me ♪

♪ As deeply as you ♪

♪ No one has
truly loved me ♪

♪ As you have, Fosca ♪

♪ Love without reason ♪

♪ Love
without mercy ♪

♪ Love without pride ♪

♪ Or shame ♪

♪ Love unconcerned
with being returned ♪

♪ No wisdom,
no judgment ♪

♪ No caution, no blame ♪

♪ No one has ever
known me ♪

♪ As clearly as you ♪

♪ No one has ever
shown me ♪

♪ What love could
be like until now ♪

♪ Not pretty or safe
or easy ♪

♪ But more than I
ever knew ♪

♪ Love within reason,
that isn't love ♪

♪ And I've learned
that from you ♪

SONDHEIM: Making lyrics
feel natural,

sit on music...
in such a way

that you don't feel
the effort of the author

and so they shine and bubble

and rise and fall

is very, very, very,
very, very hard to do.

And whereas you can sit at
the piano and just do that--

[Laughter]
Feel you're making art.

My piano technique is moderate.

I have a very good right hand
and a very lumpy left hand.

I'm very right-handed.
A lumpy left hand?

[Laughter]
Oh, yeah, it's good--

Good for that sort of stuff.

But the right hand
is very flashy.

If you write at
the piano, you tend--

First of all, your muscle
memory tends to make

your fingers fall
into the same chords.

And secondly, if you have
a bad left hand,

it's gonna show up
in the music, so I try

to write away from the piano
as much as possible.

Do you always have music
playing in your head?

Ah, when I'm writing,
yeah, yeah. Always.

For the entire--
Yes, and when it turns

out to be somebody else's tune,

I get very worried.

[Laughter]
Seriously.

If I wake up
in the morning and I'm

humming "Some Enchanted
Evening," I take a very

close look at what I
wrote the night before.

SONDHEIM, VOICE-OVER:
Oscar Hammerstein talked to me

about Jerome Kern.

Jerome Kern was,
you know, maybe our grea--

He was the Schubert of the
American musical theater,

you know, probably
our greatest melodist.

And you think he gets up
in the morning and he goes:

♪ You are the the promised
kiss of springtime ♪

And he's just--coming out
of his head in the shower,

just jots it down, whatever.

Oscar told me
about writing that song.

He said, "I was in one room
writing the lyric. He was

in another room," and he
hears Jerome Kern go...

[Humming notes]

[Hums same notes
with different ending note]

[Hums same notes with
different ending note]

[Starts
to hum same notes, stops]

Every single key,
he just--he took--

He tried every single
note in the scale

until he got the one--
[Hums notes]

Now he had to go on.
[Hums next new notes]

[Repeats same notes
with different ending note]

[Humming varying
different notes]

[Laughter]

And that's how one
of the most gorgeous,

free-flowing melodies
ever written came out.

And I thought, "Boy,

that's good news
for the rest of us."

[Laughter]

MAN: One thing
about Steve Sondheim--

When he likes a song,
really likes it,

he'll say, "No,
that's a good song."

Then, the fact that I don't
like it or don't get it,

which is not
all that infrequent--

It's quite frequent
that I hear something;

the first time out,
and I don't know

what I'm listening to.

And he doesn't force it
on me, but when he says,

"No, that's a good
song," by God, it is.

♪

♪ Isn't it rich? ♪

♪ Are we a pair? ♪

♪ Me here at last
on the ground ♪

♪ You in midair ♪

♪ Send in the clowns ♪

HUGHES RUDD: When you sit
down to write a show, do you

make a conscious effort
to write hit songs or--

Oh, no, no.

I've had very few
hit songs, actually.

They generally tend
to step out on their own

if they're going to become hits.

I don't know what
makes a hit song.

Every writer who's ever had
a huge success wrote

what he wanted
to write, and it hit.

Nobody sits and says, "OK,
now the formula for a show

is we'll have a nun and
a dog and Abraham Lincoln."

Ha ha!
And it never works.

I want to be able to stand
in the back of the house

and be proud of what I see,

not just in terms
of my own work,

but say, "Yes, that
musical was worth spending

a year and a half
of your life on."

Most of the biggest hits
of the twenties, thirties,

and forties came
from shows and movies.

Starting in the fifties

with the rock revolution.

The split, the divergence
occurred, and so you could

get shows that were huge
hits without any hit songs.

The fact about "Send
In the Clowns" is that

for two years
after the show opened,

when that song was available,

only one person was
attracted to it--

A man named Bobby Short.

And then, about two years later,

both Judy Collins
and Frank Sinatra

got interested in it,

and the artists made the hit.

I've often claimed

that "Hello, Dolly"
might not have been

a hit if Louis Armstrong
hadn't picked it up.

Often it is the artist--meaning,

in the English
sense, the singer--

Who makes the song a hit.

DOUGLAS: Was that a surprise
to you that that became a hit?

SONDHEIM: Oh, absolutely
flabbergasting.

It's my only
really big hit song,

and it was designed
as a little throwaway song

for a touching moment
for Desirée.

There's a, as you probably know,

a tradition in show business
that some of the best songs

and some of the most
popular ones were written

out of town, while a show
is trying out of town.

And everybody says,
"Isn't it remarkable

"what pressure will do to
a writer, how it'll make you

"write so well when you
only have a few days

in Boston or
in Philadelphia to write?"

Well, the truth is, it's not
the pressure; it's the fact

that you see the cast

and you know
who you're writing for.

I wrote "Send in the Clowns"
for Glynis Johns,

who was the star
of "A Little Night Music."

She did not have
a song in the second act,

and Hal Prince, the director,

felt that she should.

There was one big scene

between her and the leading man,

and I always felt it was
the leading man's scene

and I was outlining
a song for him.

And Hal said, "Let me
show you the scene," and he

directed the scene in
such a way that even though

on paper it was Fredrik's
scene, by the time I saw

the scene down at rehearsal,
it was Desirée's scene.

I went home and wrote
the song that night.

GLYNIS JOHNS: At 10:00
the next morning,

when we started rehearsal,
Steve put his hands

and played the first chord.

And my eyes absolutely brimmed.

I was absolutely choked,
like I am now.

And I looked at Len, who was
not an emotional person,

or doesn't show it, and his
eyes were filled up, too.

We knew.

We knew.

The first few chords.

SONDHEIM: Glynis was not
a singer with a capital "S."

She had a lovely,
sweet bell-like voice,

which was breathy
and short-winded,

and so it's written
in short phrases.

♪ Isn't it rich? ♪

Pause, pause, take your breath.

♪ Are we a pair? ♪

Pause, pause, take a breath.

[Laughter]
[Humming notes]

Now she got a sustained line.
[Hums notes]

♪ Me here at last
on the ground ♪

Breath.
[Hums notes]

Pause, pause, breath,
so, you know,

it's not hard to sing.

♪ Isn't it rich? ♪

♪ Are we a pair? ♪

♪ Me here at last
on the ground ♪

♪ You in ♪

♪ Midair ♪

♪ Send in the clowns ♪

♪ Isn't it bliss? ♪

♪ Don't you approve? ♪

♪ One who keeps
tearing around ♪

♪ One who
can't move ♪

♪ Where are
the clowns? ♪

♪ Send in the clowns ♪

♪ Just when I'd stopped ♪

♪ Opening doors ♪

♪ Finally knowing ♪

♪ The one
that I wanted ♪

♪ Was yours ♪

♪ Making my entrance again
with my usual flair ♪

♪ Sure of my lines ♪

♪ No one is there ♪

♪

♪ Don't you love farce? ♪

♪ My fault, I fear ♪

♪ I thought that you'd
want what I want ♪

♪ Sorry, my dear ♪

♪ But where are
the clowns? ♪

♪ There ought to be clowns ♪

♪ Send in the clowns ♪

♪ What a surprise ♪

♪ Who could foresee ♪

♪ I'd come to feel
about you what you felt ♪

♪ About me? ♪

♪ Why only now ♪

♪ When I see that you've
drifted away? ♪

♪ What a surprise ♪

♪ What a cliché ♪

♪ Isn't it rich? ♪

♪ Isn't it queer? ♪

♪ Losing my timing
this late ♪

♪ In my career? ♪

♪ But where are
the clowns? ♪

♪ Quick,
send in the clowns ♪

♪ Don't bother ♪

♪ They're here ♪

I've had letters all over--

All during the years
from people who say

they love the song, but they
don't know what it means.

And in fact, I even
remember Frank Sinatra,

who, after all,

was responsible for making
it a hit, he was asked

in an article
what the lyric meant.

He said, "I don't know,
I don't care what--look.

"Ya meet a girl, you take up
with her, ya leave the girl.

Send in the clowns."

BERNARD LEVIN: Do you
call yourself a poet?

Do you write poetry
apart from your lyrics?

Never, never. No.
Never?

Do you think it's a different--

You're a different
world? Really?

Yes, it's mostly because--
You do write poetry.

You call it lyrics, but so what?

No, you see, I think
they're poetic lyrics.

It's not a question, and
that's not modesty in any way.

It's a description.

Poetry seems to me
to exist in terms

of its conciseness,
how much can be packed in.

Lyric-writing has
to exist in time.

The audience,
the listener cannot do

what the reader of poetry does.

He cannot go at his own speed.

He cannot go back

over the sentence.

Therefore it must be
crystal clear as it goes on.

That means you have
to under-write.

You have to lay
the sentences out

so there's enough air

for the ear to take them in.

Also, what has to be
considered, and what

not enough people who write
dense lyrics consider,

is that there's a great deal
going on besides the lyric.

There's music, there's
costumes, there's lighting.

There's a lot of things

to listen to and look at.

And therefore, the lyric must
be, in that sense, simple.

It can be full
of complex thoughts,

and it certainly
can have resonance,

but it must be easy to follow.

That is not true of poetry;
poetry need not

and probably often should
not be easy to follow.

"Oh, what a beautiful morning"
is a line I'd be ashamed

to put on paper,
but once you hear it

with Rodgers'
melodic line, it's--

Couldn't be better.
That's known as poetic.

♪ Oh, what a beautiful
mornin' ♪

♪ Oh, what a beautiful day ♪

♪ I got a beautiful
feelin' ♪

♪ Everything's goin'
my way ♪

SONDHEIM: Hammerstein's most
famous opening number is

"Oh, What a Beautiful Morning,"

which was a startling number

when he wrote it
because most shows--in fact,

probably all of them, opened
with chorus numbers.

And here came a lonely cowboy,

came strolling onto the stage

and started to sing a cappella

and then the orchestra
joined in, and right away,

the audience knew they were
in for something odd,

and therefore it prepared them

for the rest of the evening.

People do not
understand that Oscar was

an experimental playwright,
that his--I think

his major contribution
to the theater

is not the songs,

but the playwriting,
and you could say, "Oh,

"but those plays are so naive,

those characters
are so naive."

But think of
the theatrical imagination

going on with them.

My entire generation,
you know--Bock and Harnick,

and Kander and Ebb--

Our entire generation
of songwriters

is based on what Oscar
encouraged us to do.

Well, he really literally
taught me everything I know

and mostly in one afternoon.

When I was 15 years old, I'd
written a show for school.

I asked him to judge it
as if he would judge

a professional show,

because I was so sure
it was so wonderful.

He said, "In that case,

it's the worst thing
I ever read."

[Laughter]

I was terribly upset
because I thought

I was gonna be
the first 15-year-old

to have a show
on Broadway, you know?

He really did say,

"The worst thing
I have ever read"?

"Worst" sounds cruel,

and he was not cruel that way,

but he made it very clear
that if I were going to ask

for professional standards,

he was going to treat me
like a professional.

But he did say, he said,
"It isn't that it's

"untalented; I think
you're talented,

but I'll tell you
where it's wrong."

And he then went through
the show, word by word,

all the songs, all the dialogue,

to show me where
everything was terrible.

And I picked up
from that afternoon

a couple of principles

which I'm perfectly happy
to pass on...

EARL WRIGHTSON:
Please do.

Such as that a song
should be like a play.

It should have a beginning,
a middle, and an end.

It should have an idea.

State the idea,

and then build the idea
and develop it and finish.

And at the end,
you should be at a place

different from where you began.

I probably learned
more about writing

in that afternoon than I've
learned the rest of my life.

'Cause it was all
just force-fed to me

as if I was a Strasbourg goose.

It was just crammed into me,
and I've never forgotten it.

I can repeat everything
he said that afternoon.

And everything he said,
incidentally, was true.

He did not say a single
thing that I disagree with.

My style is entirely
different than his 'cause

one of the things
he told me to do was

not to imitate him.

"If you write what you
feel, it'll come out true.

If you write what I feel,
it'll come out false."

And of course, he was right.

"Write for yourself."
Then he said,

"If you do, you'll be 90%
ahead of everybody else."

And, of course, the minute
he put it into

those competitive terms,
I zoomed away from him

and never wrote like him again.

If I didn't take what he gave us

and further it,
there would be no point.

All of us have done that.

And others will do that
after us, I hope.

But the whole point is
to further things,

to take what you've
gotten and make more

and make more and go
in different directions,

but always based on what
he was telling us.

You can't learn in a classroom

and you can't learn on paper.

You only learn by writing

and doing and writing and doing.

As a friend of mine says,
"Write something, put it on.

Write something, put it on.
Write something, put it--"

Well, you can't
always put it on,

but that's the only way
to do it.

That's how everybody who's
ever been good got good.

♪

♪ He may--hasn't much
that's plus ♪

♪ You might describe him
thus ♪

♪ A false alarm ♪

♪ A broken arm ♪

♪ An imitation Hitler
and with littler charm ♪

♪ But, oh ♪

♪ Can that boy foxtrot ♪

♪ His mouth is mean ♪

♪ He's not too clean ♪

♪ What makes him
look reptilian ♪

♪ Is the brilliantine ♪

♪ But, oh ♪

♪ Can that boy foxtrot... ♪

We were in Boston with Follies

and we were having... a problem

with the song called
"Can That Boy Foxtrot,"

which had originally been
written as a throwaway song

for a minor character.

But Hal Prince, the director,

had cast Yvonne DeCarlo,
who was a movie star.

She was a name in the cast,

so whatever number
she sang had to land.

It didn't necessarily
have to stop the show,

but it had to--

You had to feel that it was
worthwhile, her being

in the cast for her to have
sung this number to you.

DAVID FROST: What was
the song that went out?

It was called "Oh, Boy,
Can That Boy Foxtrot."

[Laughter]

SONDHEIM:
That was the joke.

And you do that once,
it's funny.

You do that twice,
it's all right.

You do that 8 times?
Ha ha!

"I get it, I get it,
I get it, I get it."

The number was
just sort of a filler.

It didn't really relate
to the emotions

or the story of the evening,

and it was just a number
for a movie star.

So we knew that we
could improve it

if I could find
a way of replacing it.

And I couldn't think
of a song to write for her,

and we were sitting around
a table--James Goldman

and Michael Bennett and
Hal Prince, the directors,

and I--

And James said, "You know,
it probably should be,

"you know, a song of surviving.

I mean, well, you know,
I'm still here."

And I said, "That's it.
Thank you very much."

And just that single phrase

then suggested the whole song

and this whole history
of her life.

YVONNE DeCARLO:
♪ I've slept in shanties ♪

♪ Guest of the W.P.A. ♪

♪ And I'm here ♪

Ha ha!

♪ Danced in my scanties ♪

♪ 3 bucks a night was the pay ♪

♪ And I'm here ♪

♪ I've stood on breadlines
with the best ♪

♪ Watched while
the headlines did the rest ♪

♪ In the Depression,
was I depressed? ♪

♪ Nowhere near ♪

♪ I met a big financier ♪

♪ And I'm here ♪

SONDHEIM: So I thought,

"I'll write something
of substance."

And I thought about,
"All right, this lady is

an ex-movie star
who's now in TV,"

and being
a movie buff, I thought,

"I know, I'll base it on
Joan Crawford

and her career."

She started
as a silent film star.

Then she became a sound star,

and then she eventually
became, you know,

superannuated and started
to do camp movies

where she was a hatchet
murderer and, you know,

she did "Baby Jane,"
all that sort of stuff.

She became a joke on and of
herself, but she survived.

She survived,
what everyone thinks.

I thought,
"That's who this lady is."

And so I took
Joan Crawford's career

and the history of
the United States through--

[Laughter]

Well, because she went
through all those things.

She went through
Beebe's Bathysphere,

she went through
the... you know,

the King's abdication.

She lived through all those
era--thing--at the same time

she lived through
what happened in Hollywood.

She lived through
the drug era in Hollywood.

She lived
through the Communist scare

in Hollywood.

I thought, Put all that
together and now there's

at least a song of
substance so it doesn't have

one childish joke
on the word "foxtrot."

[Laughter]

And, at least--so if it
doesn't stop the show, fine,

but the audience will know
that they've been served

a meal and not an hors d'oeuvre.

♪

♪ Good times and bum times ♪

♪ I've seen them all
and, my dear ♪

♪ I'm still here ♪

♪ Plush velvet sometimes ♪

♪ Sometimes just
pretzels and beer ♪

♪ But I'm here ♪

♪ I've stuffed
the dailies in my shoes ♪

♪ I have strummed ukuleles ♪

♪ Sung the blues ♪

♪ I have watched
my dreams disappear ♪

♪ But I'm still here ♪

♪ I've been through Reno ♪

♪ I've been
through Beverly Hills ♪

♪ Now I'm here ♪

♪ Reefers and vino ♪

♪ Rest cures,
religion, and pills ♪

♪ And I'm here ♪

♪ I've been called a pinko ♪

♪ Commie tool ♪

♪ But I got through it
stinko ♪

♪ By my pool, I ♪

♪ I should have been through
an acting school ♪

♪ That seems clear ♪

♪ Still, someone said-- ♪

WOMAN:
You're sincere.

♪ So I'm here ♪

♪ I've gotten through ♪

♪ Herbert
and J. Edgar Hoover ♪

♪ Wow, that was fun
and a half ♪

♪ When you've been through ♪

♪ Herbert
and J. Edgar Hoover ♪

♪ Well, anything else
is a laugh ♪

♪ Black sable one day ♪

♪ The next day
it goes into hock ♪

♪ But I'm here ♪

♪ Top billing Monday ♪

♪ Tuesday you're
tourin' in stock ♪

♪ But I'm here ♪

♪ Oh, first you're
another sloe-eyed vamp ♪

♪ Then someone's mother ♪

♪ Ooh, and then
you're camp ♪

♪ And then you career ♪

♪ From career to career ♪

♪ And I'm almost
through my memoirs ♪

♪ And you know
that I'm here ♪

♪ I've gotten through "Hey,
lady, aren't you whose's?" ♪

♪ "Ooh, what a looker
you were" ♪

♪ Or, better yet,
"Oh, lady--sorry" ♪

♪ "I thought you
were whose's" ♪

♪ "Well, what ever
happened to her?" ♪

[sighs]

♪ Good times and bum times ♪

♪ I've seen 'em all
and, my dear ♪

♪ I'm still here ♪

♪ Plush velvet sometimes ♪

♪ Sometimes just
pretzels and beer ♪

♪ But I'm here ♪

♪ Well, I've run
the gamut A to Z ♪

♪ 3 cheers and, damn it,
c'est la vie ♪

♪ Well, I even got through
all of last year ♪

♪ And I'm here ♪

♪ Look who's here ♪

♪ I'm still here,
yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah ♪

♪ You better believe it ♪

♪ I'm still here ♪

♪ I'm still here ♪

♪ I'm still ♪

♪ Here ♪

PRINCE: I think because
"Follies" was such a cult show

and there's been so much
written about it,

the fact that it did not pay off

was something
of a "scandale."

To hear it spoken of,

it was this great disaster
economically.

The reason for that is
that everyone thought

it was a success
until it closed one day

and then they suddenly
realized, "My God,

it never was a success."

SONDHEIM: One of
the advantages of having

a collaborator
is you're never slammed

in the face alone, even if
you get the bad reviews.

It's still you're
in a boat with somebody.

I had three successes
my first 3 times out.

They were not personal
successes.

I got terrible reviews
or completely ignored,

but they were successes.

I was making a living.

I could afford
to write another show--

"Anyone Can Whistle,"
which came next.

When I saw that it was
going to be a failure,

I thought I'd be
devastated, and I wasn't.

I was disappointed
that more of my friends

wouldn't get a chance
to see the show,

and that's really
the extent of it.

You know, it wasn't sort
of resilience and chin up.

It was, you know--
I like writing songs,

I like writing shows
and, you know,

if that had been my first show,

I'm not sure
I would have bounced back.

But then I experienced
a real failure

when I did
"Do I Hear a Waltz?,"

which Arthur Laurents was--
based on a play by Arthur

called "Time of the Cuckoo."

I thought, by adapting
"Time of the Cuckoo"

as a musical with Arthur
doing the book--

I liked writing with Arthur--

I would be doing Arthur a favor,

and I would also be paying
off my unspoken promise

to Oscar to write a show
with Dick Rodgers.

And we thought, "Well,
this will be an easy job

and we'll make
a quick buck."

Those are all reasons
never to write a musical.

♪ Do I hear a waltz? ♪

♪ I want more
than to hear a waltz ♪

♪ I want you to
share it 'cause, oh, boy ♪

♪ Do I hear a waltz? ♪

SONDHEIM: It was
a respectable show.

It was not
lambasted by the critics.

It was very politely received,

and politely received
by the audience,

and had no passion and no blood

and no reason to be.

And I learned from that

the only reason
to write is from love.

You must not
write because you think

it's gonna be a hit,

because it's expedient,
or anything like that.

It's so difficult to write,

it's so difficult to put on
a show, you better--

If you have the privilege
of being able to write it,

you write it out of passion.

That's what failure taught me,

and that was the real failure.

JAMES LAPINE: When I met you,
you were pretty down

in the dumps after
"Merrily We Roll Along."

SONDHEIM: Yeah.
You were even talking about--

You know, maybe tryin'
to do somethin' else or--

Yes, it was personal.

I really felt, paranoid or not,

and I think Hal did, too,

that everybody in, as we say,

"the business," really
wanted us to fail.

They were glad
that the show was--

And I thought, "I can't work
in this hostile atmosphere."

I really--you know,
because you do have to go

out there in public, and I'm
a Broadway baby, you know?

Luckily, I discovered
the joys of off-Broadway,

and that's what revived me.

When we wrote "Sunday
in the Park with George,"

we didn't know it was
gonna go to Broadway,

and that was fun.

You know, it was Mickey
and Judy putting on a show.

I'm sure I would have eventually

gotten back to songwriting
anyway, 'cause there's

nothing else I could do,

but that's what did it.

MAN: A 5, 6, 7, 8.

♪

♪ We love you ♪

♪ Phone rings, door chimes,
in comes company ♪

♪ No strings, good times,
just chums, company ♪

♪ Late nights, quick bites,
party games, deep talks ♪

♪ Long walks, telephone calls ♪

♪ Thoughts shared,
souls bared, private names ♪

♪ All those photos
up on the walls ♪

"Company" is a show
about marriage

and the difficulties of marriage
and the joys of marriage.

And I had never been married,
either officially

or unofficially,
when I wrote "Company."

I thought, "How am I gonna write
about something

"I know nothing about?

"I've observed marriages
and I have feelings and opinions

and insights, but I don't know
anything about it."

So I called my good friend
Mary Rodgers,

who was on her second marriage,

and very happily on
her second marriage.

And I said, "Tell me
about marriage,"

and she spent an evening with me
and she told me about marriage,

about her marriages, and about
her observations on marriage.

And I took a yellow pad out
and I took notes,

exactly as if it were a lecture,

and "Company" is a result
of that evening.

♪ It's the little things
you do together ♪

♪ Do together, do together ♪

♪ That make perfect
relationships ♪

♪ The hobbies
you pursue together ♪

♪ Savings you accrue together ♪

♪ Looks you misconstrue together
that make marriage a joy ♪

♪ Mm-hmm ♪

♪ Uh-huh ♪

♪ Kiss kiss ♪

♪ Mm-hmm ♪

SONDHEIM: The reviews in Boston
were, to put it mildly, mixed.

One of the reviewers loved the
show, and he loved it because

he said it was anti-marriage,
which, of course, it isn't.

So we had the ironic reaction
of reading a rave review

by a guy who didn't
understand the piece at all.

The review in "Variety" was one

of the most scathing
I've ever encountered.

The reviewer said it was
a show "strictly for homos

and old ladies," and I think
he went on from there.

MAN: "Being Alive," take one.

♪

♪ Someone to hold you
too close ♪

Well, you're very good, and I
don't want to spoil something

that's potentially marvelous,
and I need more guitar.

Let's hear guitar.

JONES: ♪ Alive ♪

SONDHEIM: Now this is the
first time I'd really like

to feel rhythmic looseness,
which you do right here.

That's the explosion.

That's the flower bursting.

And that's where you can
take rhythmic liberties.

Just what you're doing is fine.

JONES: ♪ Vary my days ♪

That's nice and free.
♪ But alone... ♪

Well, maybe there's one more
in me. Let's find out, huh?

Dino, practically swallow
the mic on the end.

OK, I'll stay on.
Ha ha ha!

We're gonna slow up
the tempo, Dean.

♪

♪ Someone to hold you
too close ♪

♪ Someone to hurt you too deep ♪

♪ Someone to sit
in your chair ♪

♪ To ruin your sleep ♪

That's true, but there's
more than that.

Is that all you think
there is to it?

You've got so many reasons
for not being with someone,

but, Robert, you haven't
one good reason for being alone.

Come on, you're on
to something Bobby.

You're on to something.

JONES: ♪ Someone
to need you too much ♪

♪ Someone to know you
too well ♪

♪ Someone to pull you up short ♪

♪ To put you through hell ♪

You see what you
look for, you know?

You're not a kid
anymore, Robbie.

I don't think you'll ever
be a kid again, kiddo.

Hey, buddy, don't be afraid
that it won't be perfect.

The only thing to be afraid of
really is that it won't be.

WOMAN: Don't stop now.
Keep going.

♪ Someone you have to let in ♪

♪ Someone whose feelings
you spare ♪

♪ Someone who, like it or not ♪

♪ Will want you to share ♪

♪ A little, a lot ♪

And what does all that mean?

Robert, how do you know
so much about it

when you've never been there?

It's much better living it
than looking at it, Robert.

Add 'em up, Bobby.
Add 'em up.

♪ Someone to crowd you
with love ♪

♪ Someone to force you to care ♪

♪ Someone to make you
come through ♪

♪ Who'll always be there ♪

♪ As frightened as you
of being alive ♪

♪ Being alive ♪

♪ Being alive ♪

♪ Being alive ♪

Blow out the candles,
Robert, and make a wish.

Want something.

Want something.

♪ Somebody hold me too close ♪

♪ Somebody hurt me too deep ♪

♪ Somebody sit in my chair ♪

♪ And ruin my sleep ♪

♪ And make me aware
of being alive ♪

♪ Being alive ♪

♪ Somebody need me too much ♪

♪ Somebody know me too well ♪

♪ Somebody pull me up short ♪

♪ Put me through hell ♪

♪ Give me support
for being alive ♪

♪ Make me alive ♪

♪ Make me alive ♪

♪ Make me confused ♪

♪ Mock me with praise ♪

♪ Let me be used ♪

♪ Vary my days ♪

♪ But alone is alone ♪

♪ Not alive ♪

♪ Somebody crowd me with love ♪

♪ Somebody push me to care ♪

♪ Somebody make me
come through ♪

♪ I'll always be there ♪

♪ As frightened as you ♪

♪ To help us survive ♪

♪ Being alive ♪

♪ Being alive ♪

♪ Being alive ♪

♪

SONDHEIM: My first serious
relationship occurred

when I was 60 years old,
when I fell in love.

And I think it didn't
happen till then because

I wasn't open for it,
I wasn't ready for it.

I was brought up
as an only child.

I enjoyed being an only child.

I enjoyed being alone.

I still enjoy often being alone,

but I think I'd gotten
in the habit of it,

and when I met somebody,

the habit got broken.

♪

Oh, that's the Forum.

Oh. Well, yes.
[Man laughs]

A funny thing happened
on the way here,

but I--I can't talk about it.

♪

SONDHEIM: Between my freshman
and sophomore years in college,

I had discovered that I would--
I had a lot of trouble

with my mother and getting along
with her, and she--

She didn't really want a child,

but she was very...
very much in love,

I think, with my father
and even obsessed with him.

So when he left her, which
he did, for another woman,

the wrath of God had
nothing on her,

and she, unfortunately,

tried to make me pay for
the sins of my father

and so it was not
a very good relationship.

And if it hadn't been
for the Hammersteins,

I really don't know where I
would be, if I'd even be alive.

BOB BROWN: A lot of Sondheim's
themes come from having had

his own expectations
bruised as a young man

when his parents divorced,
and he got trapped in the middle

of bitter resentments
that never subsided,

even as he grew older.

He recalls a letter
his mother wrote to him

when he was in his 40s

and she was entering a hospital
to have a pacemaker implanted.

SONDHEIM: And so she wrote me
a letter and had it

hand-delivered the night before
she went into the hospital.

And she said--opening sentence
was, "Before I undergo

open-heart surgery," which she
had underlined 3 times,

"I just wanted to tell you
that I have only one regret

in my life, which is
giving you birth."

And when I got this note--
and then she went on--

I thought--you know,
I was stunned first

and then I thought,
"Oh, my God."

I had always thought
all those years that,

like so many parent/child
relationships,

it was misplaced
or misguided love

and, you know, it was
all about my father

and she didn't know
where to place her feelings.

Then I realized she never
wanted me on earth.

I was an inconvenience.

[Distant sounds
of children playing]

♪

SAWYER:
Do you want children?

Yeah, I'm sorry
I didn't have any.

Yep. It's, uh,
you know, I am.

But art is the other way

of having children, of teaching.

I believe that very firmly.

The idea of teaching
a child everything--

From colors to clouds
to music, it's--

Teaching in the sense
of opening up the mind.

Not teaching;
opening up the mind,

which is what
education is about.

All education is just about
making people curious.

That's all it's about.

And to get a child to be
curious about everything

would be unbearable
thrill for me.

Or a bearable thrill.

MAN: ♪ These are my friends ♪

♪ See how they glisten ♪

♪ See this one shine ♪

♪ How he smiles
in the light, my friend ♪

♪ My faithful friend ♪

Remember, this is a love song.

It's, in fact, the big ballad

of the show, is his love
for his razors.

So let's start it as
a genuinely passionate,

intense, semi-whispered ballad

that keeps rising and falling--

Intense, sexual ballad.

And let's start again
from that point of view,

and let's not take any rubato.

Let's keep it absolutely
rigid to start with...

[Hums notes]

So it has a trance-like quality.

The reason that I wrote
this rhythmically,

so squarely is because
he's falling into

a state of almost semi--
of self-hypnosis.

So it must have that feeling
as opposed to conversation.

The songs we've been
working on so far

this afternoon are all
about conversation.

This is exactly reverse.
This is non-conversational.

This is a ritual.

SONDHEIM: I love teaching,
and I've always thought

that all art
is a form of teaching.

I think painting's
a form of teaching.

Any kind of communication
is a form of teaching.

And an artist, a visual artist
shows us ways of looking

at the world, and a novelist
shows us ways

that people behave; composer
teaches us ways to listen.

Is there any conscious decision

to impart some
information in songs,

some information spoken--

SONDHEIM:
Entirely conscious.

I think people do not
think carefully enough

about what to sing
and what not to sing.

There's a tendency either
to sing everything

or merely to sing songs
and speak.

And I think there are
certain shows that call

for one technique or
another, but the choice

of what to sing and what
not to sing is--

First of all, it's delicate,

it's difficult, but it must--

They are choices that must
be made consciously.

But one of the things
you will discover,

I hope, is that,
as your material goes

to actors and actresses,
you suddenly find

yourself in the
embarrassing position

of having to defend
what you've written

because an actor will
come to you and say,

"Now, what did you mean
by this line?"

And you can't say, "Oh,
well, what I mean--"

You've got to tell them
exactly what it means.

You must be able to defend
every single word and note.

FERRARA: Well, the
characters in "Merrily,"

when you first meet them,
they're sort of

at their most jaded
and kind of most unlikable.

What did you want
the audience to take away

from moving backwards and
seeing these characters go

from kind of their worst
to their most innocent?

SONDHEIM:
It's a cautionary tale.

It's what can happen to you.

It's how ideals can get--

It's a show about expedience.

It's about you got
to be very careful

if you're gonna take
the expedient path.

All they care about is
getting their work done

and having it heard.

It is 3 idealists whose idealism

is one of the things
that binds them.

The thing about "Opening
Doors" is it catches

the whole zeitgeist,
the whole thing

of getting excited
when you're young writers

and you're knocking
on producers' doors

and, you know,
every moment is a crisis

and everything requires
a phone call

and everything is at
a level of hysteria

until you finally get
to the producer's office

and then it's all a disaster.

Finished!
Let me call you back.

This is just a draft.
Probably it stinks.
Right.

Haven't had
the time to do a polish.

Will you sing?
Right.

♪ Who wants to live
in New York? ♪

♪ Who wants the worry,
the noise, the dirt, the heat? ♪

♪ Who wants the garbage cans
clanging in the street? ♪

♪ Suddenly I do ♪

♪ They're always
popping their cork ♪

I'll fix that line.

♪ The cops, the cabbies,
the salesgirls up at Saks ♪

♪ You got to have
a real taste for maniacs ♪

♪ Suddenly I do ♪

♪ That's great ♪

♪ That's swell ♪

♪ The other stuff as well ♪

♪ It isn't every day I hear
a score this strong ♪

♪ But, fellas, if I may,
there's only one thing wrong ♪

♪ There's not a tune
you can hum ♪

♪ There's not a tune
you go bum-bum-bum-di-dum ♪

♪ You need a tune to go
bum-bum-bum-di-dum ♪

♪ Give me some melody ♪

♪ Why can't you
throw 'em a crumb? ♪

♪ What's wrong with lettin'
them tap their toes a bit? ♪

♪ I'll let ya know when
Stravinsky has a hit ♪

♪ Give me some melody ♪

♪ Oh, sure, I know ♪

♪ It's not that kinda show ♪

♪ But can't you have a score
that's sorta in between? ♪

♪ But play a little more,
I'll show ya what I mean ♪

♪ Who wants to live
in New York? ♪

♪ I always hated the dirt,
the heat, the noise ♪

♪ But ever since
I met you, I-- ♪

♪ Listen, boys,
maybe it's me ♪

♪ But that's just not
a hum-a-ma-ma-ma-mable melody ♪

♪ Write more, work hard ♪

♪ Leave your name
with the girl ♪

♪ Less avant-garde ♪

♪ Leave your name
with the girl ♪

♪ Just write a plain old
melodee-dee-dee-dee-dee ♪

♪ Dee-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee ♪

[Traffic noise below]

♪ They're stopping rehearsals,
they ran out of money ♪

♪ We lasted one issue,
my book was rejected ♪

♪ The nightclub was raided,
I have to start coaching ♪

♪ My parents are coming ♪

♪ They screwed up
the laundry ♪

♪ My wallet was stolen ♪
♪ I saw the musician ♪

♪ We're being evicted ♪
♪ I'm having a breakdown ♪

ALL: ♪ We'll all get
together on Sunday ♪

♪ They're slamming the doors,
singing, "Go away" ♪

♪ It's less of a sail
than a climb ♪

♪ That faraway shore's
farther every day ♪

♪ We're learning to ricochet ♪

♪ We still have a lot to say ♪

♪ You know what we'll do?
What?

♪ We'll do a revue ♪
What?

♪ We'll do a revue
of our own ♪

♪ Who wants to live
in New York? ♪

♪ Who wants the worry,
the noise, the dirt, the heat? ♪

♪ Who wants the garbage
cans clang-- ♪

I can sing higher.
Thank you.

We're looking for someone with

a little more
experience. Next.

♪ They're always
popping their cork ♪

Up a tone.

♪ The cops, the cabbies,
the salesgirls up at Saks ♪

Up a tone.

♪ You got to have
a real taste for maniacs ♪

Thank you.
You're hired.

Oh!

♪ I'm Beth ♪
♪ I'm Frank ♪

♪ I really thought
I stank ♪

♪ I'm Mary ♪
♪ Charley ♪

♪ By the way, I'm told
we open Saturday ♪

♪ What? ♪
♪ You're not serious? ♪

♪ Nobody's ready ♪

♪ Apparently somebody
canceled a booking ♪

♪ The songs aren't finished ♪
♪ And what about costumes? ♪

♪ And how do I learn
all these numbers? ♪

♪ I'll bring you the copies
of everything later ♪

♪ This evening ♪
♪ OK ♪

♪ But I'll have to have
all of the music... ♪

[All singing at once]

♪ We'll worry about it
on Sunday ♪

♪ We're opening doors ♪

♪ Singing, "Here we are" ♪

♪ We're filling up days
on a dime ♪

♪ That faraway shore's
looking not too far ♪

♪ We're following every star ♪

♪ There's not enough time ♪

♪ We're banging on doors ♪

♪ Shouting, "Here again" ♪

♪ We're risking it all
on a dime ♪

♪ That faraway shore's
looking near again ♪

♪ The only thing left is when ♪

♪ We know we should
count to 10 ♪

♪ We haven't got time ♪

♪ We haven't got time ♪

[Song ends]

MAN: You are so admired
not just for what you've made,

but also for how you've
been to people--

That you've been generous
about teaching,

that you've been honest,
and that you have tried

to be as helpful as you can be.

When you... try
to approach your work

as all that you've done and all
that people expect from you--

Overwhelming?

Well, the expectations
come from the work,

not from the teaching.

Teaching, to me, is the
sacred profession and I cry

when I talk about it,
and I'll probably cry now.

But my life was saved
by teachers;

first a Latin teacher
in high school

and then Oscar Hammerstein,
who was a teacher,

and who...

just before he died, gave me
a portrait of himself.

And I asked him to
inscribe it, which is weird

when you think that,
you know, it's like asking

your father to inscribe
something, you know.

And he wrote...

Tsk. Gonna cry.

He wrote, "For Stevie,

my friend and teacher."

And that describes Oscar better

than any other way
I can describe him.

He understood that he--as
you know, in "King and I,"

he said, "By your pupils
you are taught."

So teaching, to me, is...

it's a necessity.

I couldn't live without it.

MARTHA TEICHNER:
If you could conjure up

Oscar Hammerstein right now,

what would you say to him
about your career,

having sprung from him
in so many ways?

I would say,
"Aren't you proud of me?"

♪

[Dogs barking]

SONDHEIM: But when I write now,
I'm aware that the people

who like my work are expecting
so much, and it makes me tense.

TEICHNER:
You've got to top yourself?

It's not so much that
you have to top yourself,

it's that you want to write
something fresh.

You want to write something
you haven't written before.

So it's an act of courage,
in a sense, to--

It sure is, and it needs
more courage,

I think, as you get older,
and that's--see,

that's what I didn't expect.

♪

I suppose if there's one
that's closest to my heart,

it would probably be "Sunday
in the Park with George"

because of the ambitiousness
of what it's trying to say.

James Lapine and I were
talking about a play

that James had directed,
which had utilized

this particular painting,
"Sunday Afternoon."

And we started talking
about the painting

and the fact that nobody
in the painting is looking

at anybody else, and yet there
are 50 people in the painting.

So why aren't they
looking at each other?

Are they hiding from each other?

Are they in the park
for devious reasons?

Then James said, "The main
character is missing."

And I said, "Who?"
picking up my cue.

And he said, "The painter,"
and once he said that,

we knew we had a show.

It's like a photographer
went out on the island,

the Grande Jatte, and took
a picture of a lot of people

strolling in the park,
the humanity of it.

And I thought,
"These people don't know

"they're gonna be immortal,

"and so I'm gonna write
a song about that,

"that it's gonna be
outside of themselves,

"they're gonna be talking,
singing about themselves

"and what they're doing, but
they're gonna be acknowledging

that they are immortal."

And it all leads to the word
"forever," which is--

When I wrote that word, I cried
because I thought,

"That's what it's about."

And I then decided...

that I would do it all
in one sentence.

It's a lyric that's
in one sentence

because there is a kind of...

I don't know how to put it.

Oh, it's--it's like--

It's eternal, it's infinite,
it's whatever...

whatever--it's what
I feel about art.

It just has no beginning
and no end.

It's just one thing.

Then I could see that they would
all be singing that one idea...

that "here we are in a park and
we're gonna be here forever."

That's why it has that--
you know, it's got

an almost funerary beat
to it, you know?

It's almost a funeral march,
but it isn't quite.

It's a triumphant march.

CAST: ♪ Let us pass ♪

♪ Through our perfect park ♪

♪ Pausing on a Sunday ♪

♪ By the cool blue
triangular water ♪

♪ On the soft green
elliptical grass ♪

♪ As we pass ♪

♪ Through arrangements
of shadows ♪

♪ Towards the verticals
of trees ♪

♪ Forever ♪

♪ By the blue, purple, yellow,
red water on the green ♪

♪ Orange, violet mass
of the grass ♪

BERNADETTE PETERS:
♪ In our perfect park ♪

MANDY PATINKIN: ♪ Made
of flecks of light ♪

♪ And dark ♪

♪ And parasols ♪

♪

♪ Bum, bum, bum,
bum, bum, bum, bum ♪

CAST: ♪ People strolling
through the trees ♪

♪ Of a small suburban park ♪

♪ On an island in the river ♪

♪ On an ordinary Sunday ♪

♪ Sunday ♪

♪ Sunday... ♪

[Singing fading out]

PATINKIN: White.

A blank page or canvas.

His favorite.

So many...

possibilities.

♪

♪

MAN: ♪ I'm just
a Broadway baby ♪

♪ Walking off my tired feet ♪

♪ Pounding 42nd Street ♪

♪ To be in a show ♪

♪ Broadway Baby ♪

♪ Learning how to sing
and dance ♪

♪ Waiting for that
one big chance ♪

♪ To be in a show ♪

♪ Gee, I'd like to be
on some marquee ♪

♪ All twinkling lights ♪

♪ A spark to pierce the dark ♪

♪ From Union Park
to Washington Heights ♪

♪ Someday maybe ♪

♪ All my dreams will be repaid ♪

♪ Hell, I'd even play the maid ♪

♪ To be in a show ♪

♪ Say, Mr. Producer ♪

♪ Some girls get the breaks ♪

♪ Just give me my cue, sir ♪

♪ I've got what it takes ♪

♪ Say, Mr. Producer ♪

♪ I'm talking to you, sir ♪

♪ I don't need a lot ♪

♪ Only what I got ♪

♪ Plus a tube of grease paint ♪

♪ And a follow spot ♪

♪ I'm a Broadway baby ♪

♪ Slaving at a 5 and 10 ♪

♪ Dreamin' of
the great day when ♪

♪ I'll be in a show ♪

♪ Broadway baby ♪

♪ Making rounds all afternoon ♪

♪ Eatin' at a greasy spoon ♪

♪ To save up my dough ♪

♪ Oh, at my tiny flat ♪

♪ There's just my cat ♪

♪ A bed and a chair ♪

♪ Still, I'll stick it till ♪

♪ I'm on a bill ♪

♪ All over Times Square ♪

♪ Someday maybe ♪

♪ If I stick it long enough ♪

♪ I can get to strut my stuff ♪

♪ Working for a nice man ♪

♪ Like a Ziegfeld
or a Weismann ♪

♪ In a big-time Broadway show ♪

[Song ends]