A Musical Play by Chip Deffaa With Songs by Irving Berlin Music Arranged by Chip Deffaa

PRODUCTION SCRIPT

www.stagerights.com IRVING BERLIN’S AMERICA Copyright © 2012. 2013 by Chip Deffaa All Rights Reserved

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PRODUCTION HISTORY Michael Townsend Wright, Ben Orlando, and Bailey Cummings did private readings of this script in 2012, with playwright/director Chip Deffaa. The first staged reading was performed by Michael Townsend Wright and Jack Saleeby, with music director Richard Danley and director Chip Deffaa, at Roy Arias Stage II / The Payan Theater, 300 W. 43rd St., New York City, on January 23, 2013. Bill Tari and Cedric Taylor starred in a production, directed by Amie Brockway Henson, with music direction by Kent Brown, at the Open Eye Theater in Margaretville, NY, in May/June 2013. Michael Townsend Wright and Matt Nardozzi performed the show, with music director Richard Danley, at the Rosen Theater in Wayne, New Jersey in August 2013 (videographers, Brian Gari, Max Galassi). The premiere recording, produced by Chip Deffaa, was recorded by Michael Townsend Wright and Jack Saleeby, with music director Richard Danley, bassist Vince Giordano and violinist Andy Stein, plus dancer/choreographer Tyler DuBoys, at Be-Sharp Studios in Astoria, New York (Slau Halatyn, recording engineer), January-June 2013, and was released in the United States by Original Cast Records in 2014. “Irving Berlin’s America” had its New York premiere at the 13th Street Repertory Theater (Edith O’Hara, founder/artistic director; Sandra Nordgren, producing artistic director), 50 W. 13th Street, New York City, opening June 15, 2014. Michael Townsend Wright played “Irving Berlin”; Giuseppe Bausilio played “Jack.” Chip Deffaa was the writer/director/arranger. Richard Danley was the music director. Tyler DuBoys and Scott Thompson were the choreographers. Peter Charney was assistant director, Keith Anderson and Caitlin Morrison were the stage managers. Kate Bove and Ami Park were technicians. Daniel Coelho, Rayna Hirt, Maite Uzal, Jason Hillard, Jeseee D. Riehl, and Michael Kasper were production assistants. Matt Nardozzi was technical advisor. Donald Brown prepared the music, with editing and revisions by Richard Danley. Our thanks, too, to aides-de-camp Ben Youngstone, Samantha McCoy, Matt Buckwald. Max Galassi and Jonathan M. Smith were our production photographers.

ABOUT THE PLAY “Irving Berlin’s America” is a two-character musical play, in two acts. This musical play is a copyrighted work; no changes to this play may be made without written permission from the author or his representatives. (For more information, please contact the publisher.)

BILLING NOTE The printed program for this play should include the following note: “The time: the night of September 22nd, 1989; The place: the home of Irving Berlin, 17 Beekman Place, New York City.” (It is essential to include the date and location of the action in a program note. This musical play takes place on the final night of Irving Berlin’s life.)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Our gratitude, always, for their encouragement and wisdom, to the one-and-only Carol Channing; to the late George Burns and Todd Fisher, for the tales they so generously shared from their early days in vaudeville, which influence this work; to the late John Wallowitch, who shared my love of Irving Berlin’s music and taught me some of these songs; to the late Jack Gottlieb, a lifelong mentor and the lover of the best in music, who encouraged me in this project; to the late music expert and author James T. Maher for his recollections of Berlin; to my friend (and erstwhile New York Post colleague) Robert Kimball, who compiled and co-edited (with Linda Emmet) the invaluable book The Complete Lyrics of Irving Berlin (Knopf); to ASCAPs unfailingly helpful musical-theatre expert, Michael Kerker; to the good folk at Lincoln Center’s Library for the Performing Arts, at the Museum of the City of New York, and at the Princeton University Library Theater Collection; thanks, too, for help in various ways, to Jack Sprance, Emily Bordonaro, Nicholas Gray, Betty Buckley, Brandon Pollinger, Jon Peterson; and finally— for many reasons— Tommy Tune.

* * *

For Giuseppe Bausilio, Matt Nardozzi, Jack Saleeby, Bailey Cummings, Ben Orlando, Tyler DuBoys, Peter Charney, Max Galassi, Michael Townsend Wright, Richard Danley… the ten wonderful artists who’ve helped me develop this show in NYC

THE SETTING For our original New York production, the stage was set as follows. At stage right, we had Berlin’s easel, with a canvas on it, and a paintbrush. By the easel were a couple of simple wooden chairs. Next to them was a small table (so that Berlin would have a convenient place to set down the coffee that Jack brings him). Next to the table, we had an old-fashioned steamer trunk, with a feather boa and some old sheet music lying casually on top. Next to that was a large chair, with an ottoman in front of it. A coat rack with a fedora on it stood behind the chair. And we also had had a prop piano and a piano bench. Atop the piano, we had a few old pieces of Irving Berlin sheet music. (Vintage Berlin sheet music can be purchased via Ebay.com; it is plentiful and inexpensive.) We dressed the stage a bit by having behind the piano a four-panel wooden folding screen, covered with images of Berlin and his cohorts, and sheet music and such. You need not set your stage identical to the way we originally set the stage in New York, but you should definitely have an easel for Berlin, a piano (or prop piano), and some chairs. Our set was simple but flexible. JACK could sit, at various times in the play, on a chair or on the ottoman, or on the piano bench, or on the steamer trunk. We had the feather boa preset atop the trunk so Jack could use it (to evoke Mae West) when singing “Grizzly Bear.” We had the old gray fedora— like one Bing Crosby would often wear— on the coat rack so that Jack, upon finishing singing “I’ve Got My Captain Working for Me Now,” could sit in the big chair, prop up his feet on the ottoman, grab the fedora and cock it down over his head–visually evoking, for a moment, Bing Crosby. We had the sheet music handy so that Berlin could pick some sheet music up and hand it to Jack when singing “I Want to Go Back to Michigan (Down on the Farm).” Incidentally, for those who wish to know more about Berlin’s actual house (17 Beekman Place, NYC), there is a book, available on Amazon, about that very house: The Luxembourg House on Beekman Place: Three Portraits in Time (by Debra Pickrel, Pamela Hanlon, and Marianne Matthews; New York, The Consulate General of Luxembourg in New York, 2010).

A SUGGESTION RE STAGING Each director will have his own ideas as to how to direct a production— where characters will sit or stand, when and where they will move, and so on. And that is as it should be. But here is one general suggestion. The two characters in this play gradually grow closer, emotionally. And the staging, in some ways, can reflect that. When JACK first enters the home of IRVING BERLIN, he might stand, or walk about, at some distance from Berlin. Over the course of the play, the two characters might come to more often sit or stand closer to one another. As the play progresses, it might become easier and more natural for Jack to make some kind of physical contact with Berlin— perhaps an arm on a shoulder, or a pat on the back. By the time they sing their last duets in the show, they should be able to put them over like a seasoned vaudeville team; they’ve connected emotionally, and they should appear to be in-synch, even in putting across musical numbers.

CAST OF CHARACTERS Cast Total: 2M IRVING BERLIN is, in this play, 101 years old. He wears black horn-rimmed eyeglasses. His hair is mostly black with some gray in it. He has a cane. At the opening of the play, he is seated at his easel, painting, wearing a bathrobe over dark trousers, a dress shirt, and a conservative necktie. His suit jacket is preset somewhere (perhaps on the back of a chair). At some point in the show, he will take off the bathrobe. (JACK might help him take it off, and hang it up on the coat rack. We will suggest a point in the script when Berlin should remove his bathrobe; however, if you find a more convenient point to remove the bathrobe earlier in the script, that is fine; in any event, Berlin should be out of the bathrobe by the time he is remembering being a boy in America, excited to be in America.) And shortly before the play is over— perhaps as Berlin is getting ready to leave, towards the very end of the play— Berlin will don the suit jacket. (He should be properly dressed, wearing his suit jacket, when he makes his final exit.) A nightcap should be conveniently preset somewhere, too–so that when Berlin says in the first scene that he is wearing a nightcap, he can then hastily put the nightcap on. (He will remove the nightcap a bit later in the show; it’s not to be worn throughout the show; it’s basically just there for a gag, early in the show.) Berlin is cranky and crotchety— a curmudgeon who very gradually, over the course of the play, warms up to his young visitor. He must be a somewhat likeable curmudgeon for the play to work; he is grouchy and reclusive, and tends to push people away— but he must not seem mean or hateful; if the audience dislikes him, the play will not work. JACK: Irving Berlin’s mysterious young visitor, appears to be about 16 or 17, wholesome and immensely likeable. He wears a white newsboy cap, a white shirt, dark trousers, and suspenders. Ideally, the actor playing Jack should be able to tap-dance, and will be wearing tap-shoes throughout the show, or at least throughout most of the show. (In our original New York production, the actor playing Jack, who was a terrific dancer with acrobatic skills, ended the first act with a handspring across the stage. In order to be ready for the handspring, he switched from his tap shoes to preset character shoes while Berlin sang song #10. “Yankee Love”; it is safer to execute a handspring in character shoes than in tap shoes. But the handspring is optional; if it’s not something your actor can pull off easily and safely, the handspring can be skipped.) Jack should have a lot of personality. The part is deliberately written with a certain ambiguity. Jack could be just an admiring youth from the neighborhood. (And if some audience members want to interpret the play that way, that is fine.) He could also just be a figment of Berlin’s imagination. (And again, if anyone wants to interpret the play that way, that too is fine.) Or Jack could be— and this is certainly the playwright’s own belief— the Angel of Death, helping Berlin, on the final night of his life, to review his life; the play is written so that audience members can, if they wish, come to that realization. (But there is nothing that Jack says or does that a savvy, admiring kid from the neighborhood could not say or do.)

PLACE & TIME The play takes place in the home of Irving Berlin, at 17 Beekman Place in New York City, on the night of September 22, 1989. We are in Berlin’s living quarters, upstairs.

RUNNING TIME Two acts, approx. 120 minutes

MUSICAL NUMBERS

Act I 1. MEDLEY: ALL BY MYSELF/NOBODY KNOWS ...... Irving Berlin, Jack 2. ALEXANDER’S RAGTIME BAND (a cappella excerpts) ...... Irving Berlin, Jack 3. I LOVE A PIANO ...... Irving Berlin, Jack 4. SIMPLE MELODY/MUSICAL DEMON ...... Irving Berlin, Jack 5. HOME AGAIN BLUES ...... Irving Berlin 6. ALEXANDER’S RAGTIME BAND (a cappella excerpts 2) ...... Jack 7. THE CIRCUS IS COMING TO TOWN ...... Irving Berlin, Jack 8. MARY’S A GRAND OLD NAME ...... Irving Berlin, Jack 9. THE YANKEE DOODLE BOY ...... Irving Berlin, Jack 10. YANKEE LOVE ...... Irving Berlin 11. BLOW YOUR HORN ...... Irving Berlin, Jack 12. GRIZZLY BEAR ...... Irving Berlin, Jack 13. ALEXANDER’S RAGTIME BAND ...... Irving Berlin, Jack

Act II 14 EVERYBODY STEP ...... Irving Berlin, Jack 15. I’LL SEE YOU IN C-U-B-A ...... Irving Berlin 16. WHEN I LOST YOU ...... Irving Berlin 17. OH, THAT BEAUTIFUL RAG ...... Irving Berlin 18. SOME SUNNY DAY ...... Irving Berlin, Jack 19. THIS IS THE LIFE ...... Irving Berlin 20. SADIE SALOME (GO HOME) ...... Irving Berlin, Jack 21. I WANT TO GO BACK TO MICHIGAN (DOWN ON THE FARM) ...... Irving Berlin, Jack 22. MANDY (DANCE) ...... Instrumental 23. I’VE GOT MY CAPTAIN WORKING FOR ME NOW ...... Jack 24. WHEN THE MIDNIGHT CHOO-CHOO LEAVES FOR ALABAM’ ...... Irving Berlin, Jack 25. A PRETTY GIRL IS LIKE A MELODY ...... Jack 26. PACK UP YOUR SINS AND GO TO THE DEVIL ...... Irving Berlin, Jack 27. OH, HOW I HATE TO GET UP IN THE MORNING ...... Irving Berlin, Jack 28. WHEN I LEAVE THE WORLD BEHIND ...... Irving Berlin 29. BOWS: EVERYBODY STEP ...... Instrumental 30. EXIT MUSIC: ALL BY MYSELF ...... Instrumental IRVING BERLIN’S AMERICA – PRODUCTION SCRIPT 1

ACT I This first number, cued by the stage manager, opens the show. As the lights fade up, we see IRVING BERLIN, age 101, at an easel. He is painting, in the living quarters upstairs in his home, 17 Beekman Place, New York City; the easel is positioned in such a way that we in the audience can never actually see what BERLIN has painted. He is an old man with neatly combed graying hair and black horn-rimmed glasses. He is singing to himself as he paints. Standing in front of the stage, looking out towards the audience, is JACK, who is wearing a white newsboy cap and appears to be about 17; he is supposed to be standing on the sidewalk in front of IRVING BERLIN’s home. Or— if the director prefers— at the start of the play, JACK could be standing in the aisle, in the back of the theater. Wherever the director chooses to position the actor playing JACK, the character is supposed to be on the sidewalk in front of IRVING BERLIN’s home.

SONG #1: MEDLEY: ALL BY MYSELF/NOBODY KNOWS (AND NOBODY SEEMS TO CARE)

*Hereafter referred to simply as “Irving.” IRVING BERLIN ALL BY MYSELF IN THE MORNING, ALL BY MYSELF IN THE NIGHT; I SIT ALONE IN MY COZY MORRIS CHAIR, SO UNHAPPY THERE, PLAYING SOLITAIRE. ALL BY MYSELF I GET LONELY WATCHING THE CLOCK ON THE SHELF. I WISH I COULD REST MY WEARY HEAD ON SOMEBODY’S SHOULDER. OH YEAH. I HATE GROWIN’ OLDER ALL BY MYSELF. IRVING BERLIN pauses for a moment, as if reflecting on what he has just painted. Suddenly we hear a voice; JACK— standing outside on the sidewalk in front of IRVING BERLIN’S house— is singing. IRVING BERLIN is puzzled by the singing.

NOBODY KNOWS (AND NOBODY SEEMS TO CARE)

JACK MANY’S THE TIME I FEEL SO LONESOME, BUT NOBODY KNOWS AND NOBODY CARES. I’VE GROWN SO TIRED OF BEING ON-MY-OWN-SOME; I WANT SOMEBODY TO HUG,

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JACK (CONT’D) CUDDLE AND SNUG, AS COMFY AS A BUG IN A RUG. IRVING (shouting out the window) Quiet! It’s the middle of the night. You’re going to wake up the dead! JACK (undeterred) MANY’S THE TIME I FEEL LIKE SPOONING, BUT NOBODY KNOWS AND NOBODY CARES. IRVING (shouting out the window) No! No! No! You can’t be standing out on the sidewalk, in front of my home, singing in the middle of the night. Who IS that down there? JACK It’s me, Mr. Berlin. You know me. IRVING Who? I’m an old man! I need my sleep! JACK I GUESS I’LL MAKE OUT A LITTLE “AD” THAT I WANT SOME LOVIN’ SO BAD, ‘CAUSE NOBODY KNOWS AND NOBODY SEEMS TO CARE. IRVING Listen! I’m flattered you even know that song— JACK I know a lot of your songs, Mr. Berlin. You know that. IRVING But it’s late. I’m sleeping. You should feel ashamed, waking up a poor old man. I was sound asleep, in my bed. Wearing my nightcap. He was not wearing a nightcap— but he hastily puts one on his head now. Go home! JACK The front door to your house is wide open, Mr. Berlin. IRVING What?!? Impossible. My housekeeper shuts this place up tight as a drum before she retires. JACK You can’t leave your front door wide open in New York City. Even here on Beekman Place.

IRVING BERLIN’S AMERICA – PRODUCTION SCRIPT 3

IRVING Well, shut it, then! JACK Could I come in for a bit? It’s kinda cold out here tonight. IRVING It’s not that cold— September 22nd, 1989… It’s a crisp autumn night. Perfect weather. JACK You know me. We could talk a little. IRVING I’m not much for talking. Or for visitors. JACK (a bit louder than before, as if to put some pressure behind his request to be allowed in) ALL BY MYSELF IN THE MORNING, ALL BY MYSELF IN THE NIGHT— IRVING All right! All right! Come in! But quietly! The household staff has all gone to bed. I don’t want you waking them. JACK They won’t even know I’m here. IRVING I’ll probably regret this. I need my rest. JACK It’ll be all right. You know who I am. IRVING You’re that boy I see around the neighborhood sometimes, who knows all my songs. Right? You’re Jack. JACK gradually makes his way up on to the stage. He is supposed to be going upstairs, to IRVING BERLIN’s living quarters. (singing) I SIT ALONE IN MY COZY MORRIS CHAIR, SO UNHAPPY THERE, PLAYING SOLITAIRE. ALL BY MYSELF I GET LONELY JACK enters. He appears to be perhaps 16 or 17; he is wearing a newsboy cap, a white shirt, black pants with suspenders; and he is carrying a small brown paper bag and a Styrofoam coffee cup. The lights on the stage brighten when he enters. JACK WATCHING THE CLOCK ON THE SHELF.

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IRVING I WISH I COULD REST MY WEARY HEAD ON SOMEBODY’S SHOULDER. JACK You can rest your weary head right here, Mr. Berlin. IRVING I HATE GROWIN’ OLDER IRVING & JACK (harmonizing) ALL BY MYSELF. JACK I brought you something to nosh on, Mr. Berlin. IRVING I don’t eat much. I have no appetite. I’m… peckish. JACK Well, maybe you could just take a look. He gives IRVING BERLIN the paper bag he is carrying, and sets the Styrofoam coffee cup on a table. IRVING A piece of lemon meringue pie! My favorite. I haven’t had this in years. Thank you for this, Jack. JACK The last time I was here, you said, “I would die for a piece of lemon meringue pie.” IRVING They won’t let me have it— the nurse and the housekeeper. They’re like prison guards! They say it’s not healthy for me. I’m 101 years old, dammit! What are they so worried about? He takes a bite of the pie. JACK They care about you. IRVING (muttering) As if a piece of lemon meringue pie would kill me. They watch how much coffee I drink, too. “You must think of your health, Mr. Berlin!”… My mother always said (with a Yiddish accent) When it’s your time, it’s your time. If you’re born to be shot, you’ll never be hanged. JACK A fatalist. I like that. Ya don’t see too many of those any more. IRVING BERLIN takes a bite of the pie. IRVING This tastes EXACTLY like a lemon meringue pie should taste. Like the way they used to make it at the Horn and Hardart Automat in Times Square.

IRVING BERLIN’S AMERICA – PRODUCTION SCRIPT 5

JACK I know. IRVING That was my idea of paradise— the Horn and Hardart Automat. You’d put a coin in the slot and out would come a piece of lemon meringue pie. Simple food, perfectly prepared, fairly priced. JACK You even wrote a song or two about the Automat. IRVING You know your stuff, young man. I’m impressed. I remember the day they opened the Horn and Hardart Automat in Times Square, like it was yesterday. It was 1911— JACK Seventy-eight years ago. IRVING I was on top of the world. Everyone was singing my songs. And Ray Goetz and I— he was another songwriter, terrific, that Ray Goetz— would go down to the Automat in Times Square. And sometimes I’d get up and sing a song. Maybe even fake a couple of dance steps. I’d be FORCED to get up, sign a few autographs, by popular demand. JACK People recognized you. IRVING (feigning modesty) I never sought the limelight. JACK (not taking Irving Berlin too seriously) Noooo… IRVING (protesting too much) I’d tell ‘em: Please! I just came here to quietly enjoy a piece of lemon meringue pie. Let me enjoy my lemon meringue pie… Well, if you insist— JACK And you’d get up and sing— IRVING Well, maybe just three or four, or five or seven songs… Now this is good pie. JACK I’m glad you like it. IRVING Don’t expect me to eat this whole piece. I’m not eating much lately. He continues to devour the pie, finishing it off happily. He removes the nightcap and sets it aside. You were quiet coming up the stairs, Jack? You didn’t wake anyone in the house?

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JACK I tread lightly. Always. No one else heard a sound. IRVING (gesturing towards Jack to sit down) Now sit down, boy; I’m going to paint you. Maybe, when I’m done, I’ll even let you have the painting. The last painting that I gave away, I gave to Fred Astaire. He hung it in his study. JACK I’m sure he appreciated it. IRVING After he died, I told his widow, “I need that painting back now! I gave it to Freddy, not you!” She was a bit grouchy about returning it. There are some mighty grouchy people in this world. JACK You don’t get too many visitors, do you, Mr. Berlin? IRVING I don’t get ANY visitors. I live like a hermit! I can tell you exactly the last time I had visitors in my home here; it was four months ago, on my 101st birthday, last May. There were 18 or 20 people serenading me with my songs, right in front of my home. JACK I know, I know; I was there. Remember? You invited us in. IRVING Of course I remember! You all sing outside my window on Christmas Eve each year, too— singing my songs, like “White Christmas.” As if I need to hear that one again! Some of you come around on Easter, too— singing “Easter Parade” and such. JACK hums a few notes of the melody of “Easter Parade.” JACK DAH, DAHDAH, DA-DAH-DAH— IRVING I don’t need to hear that one again, either! If you’re going to sing something of mine, sing me something I haven’t heard in a while. That’s what I told John Wallowitch— that fellow who started this whole tradition of gathering folks to sing outside my home. I phoned him angrily the next night and I said: “Don’t sing ‘White Christmas’! Sing me songs of mine I haven’t heard in a while! I am irritated.” Do you know what he sang the next time he had a group outside my home? JACK (with certainty) Cohen Owes Me $97. IRVING (not listening) He sang “Cohen Owes Me $97.” The second-worst song I ever wrote! I called him the next night and said: “I’ll pay you good money not to ever sing that song again!” JACK He was flattered that you phoned him. Dined on that story for a month. IRVING I don’t know why anyone would want to sing outside my home anyway.

IRVING BERLIN’S AMERICA – PRODUCTION SCRIPT 7

JACK People are just trying to show their appreciation, Mr. Berlin. You’re the greatest of all songwriters. You wrote over 1500 songs. Do you know what Jerome Kern said when they asked him, “What is Irving Berlin’s place in American music?” IRVING He said: “Irving Berlin has no place in American music; he IS American music.” (grumpily) People are always quoting Kern. Why aren’t they quoting me? JACK You wrote more hit songs than any other writer in history. IRVING And more flops, too. JACK I could name 25 songs of yours that made it to the very top of the charts. IRVING I have to admit it, though— I did kinda LIKE hearing my old songs sung again, by regular people, out on the sidewalk in front of my home. JACK Everyone enjoyed serenading you. IRVING My housekeeper almost fell over, though, when I told her: “Invite those people in. We’ll serve them some tea, some hot chocolate!” JACK She was surprised because you’re so famously reclusive. IRVING She probably thought the excitement of having all of these sidewalk-singers in the house would kill me. JACK You weren’t worried? IRVING I’m 101 years old; I’ve been teetering on death’s very doorstep for 28, 29 years now. JACK How are you feeling, Mr. Berlin? IRVING I’m 101 years old! How do you think I feel? I haven’t felt good in 59, 60 years. I’m hanging on to life by the slenderest of threads. The last few weeks I’ve been feverish— in and out of delirium. The doctor says I could go any time. And what’s worse— I’ve outlived all my friends. JACK I’m sorry about that.

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IRVING My friends were the most talented, the most charismatic people of the whole century— George M. Cohan, Al Jolson. Fanny Brice, Eddie Cantor, Fred Astaire, Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye, Judy Garland. The giants! You’ve probably never heard of them. JACK Hey! I wasn’t born yesterday. IRVING Don’t give me an argument!… Arguing with an old man in his own home. His home! A man should feel safe in his own home. I don’t go out; I don’t bother anyone— JACK Honestly, I’m not here to argue. IRVING And I can’t sleep! That’s the real curse of being old. What I wouldn’t give for one good night’s rest! JACK Ummm, you actually look pretty well rested, if you ask me. IRVING So. Did I ask you? Trust me! You don’t want to get old. JACK It was better when you were younger? IRVING Hah! How he talks! Like I ever had it easy. I never got any sleep when I was young! I was up all night writing songs. A curse! JACK Mr. Berlin, maybe you just never needed a lot of sleep. IRVING I invite him into my home, like the nice, reasonable person that I am, and already he is contradicting me. He’s a contradictor. I’ve known people like that, always looking for an argument. Helen Hayes was just like that. JACK She always seemed so sweet. IRVING She told me once I was “cranky.” I’ll tell you who’s cranky: Helen Hayes! JACK I’m not touching that. IRVING Young man, you’re probably not even here. I’m probably asleep in my bed right now, having a vivid dream that I’m talking with you. Maybe this is a fever dream. They’re terrible— the worst! JACK I can imagine.

IRVING BERLIN’S AMERICA – PRODUCTION SCRIPT 9

IRVING (skeptically) HE can imagine… And I’ve been fighting a terrible bug for weeks. Just the sort that would probably give me vivid dreams, if it didn’t kill me first. (suspiciously) Now that I think about it, you do look pretty vivid— JACK I’ve been called worse. IRVING I’ve told my doctor that I’m very close to death; I can FEEL it. JACK should be very close to IRVING BERLIN, making some kind of contact— perhaps standing behind the seated IRVING BERLIN, with his hands on IRVING’S shoulders— when IRVING says “I’m very close to death; I can feel it.” What wouldn’t I give to be 80 again! Or 78. A mere pup! I was 78 when I wrote, “An Old- Fashioned Wedding.” A first-rate song! Merman sang the hell out of it. You probably have no idea who I’m talking about. JACK I like Ethel Merman. I’ve enjoyed her in movies like “It’s a Mad, Mad World,” and “There’s No Business Like Show Business,” and “Alexander’s Ragtime Band.” JACK now sings, imitating Merman.

SONG #2: ALEXANDER’S RAGTIME BAND

(singing, in the manner of Ethel Merman) COME ON AND HEAR! COME ON AND HEAR! ALEXANDER’S RAGTIME BAND. IRVING (muttering) This is what I get for them showing my old movies on TV. JACK (sings, in the manner of Ethel Merman) COME ON AND HEAR! COME ON AND HEAR! IT’S THE BEST BAND IN THE LAND. IRVING You sound about as much like Ethel Merman as I do. JACK Thank you! IRVING Listen to him! HE thinks that’s a compliment. But if you only know Merman from films, you have no idea how great she was. Films could never capture the energy she created in the theater. The same held true for Jolson.

10 IRVING BERLIN’S AMERICA – PRODUCTION SCRIPT

JACK I kinda like their films, anyway. IRVING Huh! I don’t argue with characters in fever dreams. Not while I’m at half-strength— pale, weak, delirious, this close to death! Do you know what it’s like to live knowing that you could go any moment? That the next knock on your door could be the Angel of Death. JACK I like your spirit, Mr. Berlin. You’re feisty! (playfully, as he pantomimes knocking) Knock-knock-knock! IRVING Always with the jokes, this one. Listen, nobody likes a kidder. The old days, if I can be honest, were actually MUCH better! JACK You’d just like to re-live— IRVING I’d settle for REMEMBERING. Is that so much to ask for, as a final request? JACK Well, remembering is good. IRVING The early years of my life— with all the challenges, when I didn’t yet know if I’d make it or not, but was trying my damndest— young man, those were interesting times. JACK And later? IRVING Ehhh… re-runs. After a while I had no new challenges. But getting to that point, when I was young and eager— oh my word! Jumpin’ Jack Sprack! I relished every minute of it. JACK I’m glad. I’d like to hear about your life. IRVING If you’re actually here, young man, the least you can do is sing me something. And if you listen, my whole life is IN those songs. JACK Will you sing with me, Mr. Berlin? IRVING You’re a good boy, Jack. Very kind. But you really should have brought two pieces of lemon meringue pie. JACK So you could share some pie with me? IRVING No, because I’m feeling like a second piece of pie. I’d die for a second piece of pie. Now sing a good song of mine. While I paint you.

IRVING BERLIN’S AMERICA – PRODUCTION SCRIPT 11

IRVING (CONT’D) (muttering) Whoever heard of someone visiting a friend and bringing him only one piece of pie?

SONG #3: I LOVE A PIANO

JACK AS A CHILD I WENT WILD WHEN A BAND PLAYED; HOW I RAN TO THE MAN WHEN HIS HAND SWAYED! CLARINETS WERE MY PETS, AND A SLIDE TROMBONE I THOUGHT WAS SIMPLY DIVINE. BUT TODAY WHEN THEY PLAY, I COULD HISS THEM; EV’RY BAR IS A JAR TO MY SYSTEM; BUT THERE’S ONE MUSICAL INSTRUMENT THAT I CALL MINE:

I LOVE A PIANO, I LOVE A PIANO; I LOVE TO HEAR SOMEBODY PLAY UPON A PIANO, A GRAND PIANO— IT SIMPLY CARRIES ME AWAY.

I KNOW A FINE WAY TO TREAT A STEINWAY; I LOVE TO RUN MY FINGERS O’ER THE KEYS, THE IVORIES, AND WITH THE PEDAL I LOVE TO MEDDLE. WHEN PADEREWSKI COMES THIS WAY, I’M SO DELIGHTED, IF I’M INVITED TO HEAR THAT LONGHAIRED GENIUS PLAY.

12 IRVING BERLIN’S AMERICA – PRODUCTION SCRIPT

JACK (CONT’D) SO YOU CAN KEEP YOUR FIDDLE AND YOUR BOW, GIVE ME A P-I-A-N-O, OH, OH— I LOVE TO STOP RIGHT BESIDE AN UPRIGHT OR A HIGH-TONED BABY GRAND. IRVING WHEN A GREEN TETRAZZIN’ STARTS TO WARBLE, I GROW COLD AS AN OLD PIECE OF MARBLE. JACK I ALLUDE TO THE CRUDE LITTLE PARTY SINGER WHO DON’T KNOW WHEN TO PAUSE. IRVING AT HER BEST I DETEST THE SOPRANO; JACK BUT I RUN TO THE ONE AT THE PIANO— IRVING I ALWAYS LOVE THE ACCOMPANIMENT, AND THAT’S BECAUSE. I LOVE A PIANO, I LOVE A PIANO; I LOVE TO HEAR SOMEBODY PLAY JACK does a tap dance or a soft-shoe dance to the music corresponding to the following lines: UPON A PIANO, / A GRAND PIANO– / IT SIMPLY CARRIES ME AWAY. I KNOW A FINE WAY TO TREAT A STEINWAY; I LOVE TO RUN MY FINGERS O’ER THE KEYS, THE IVORIES, JACK does a tap dance or a soft-shoe dance to the music corresponding to the following lines: AND WITH THE PEDAL / I LOVE TO MEDDLE. / WHEN PADEREWSKI COMES THIS WAY, /

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