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MUSIC FROM THE TELEVISION MINISERIES EVENT Music Composed and Conducted by David Shire Poverty couldn’t break them. Hatred couldn’t shame them. Bricks and mortar couldn’t hold them. The Women of Brewster Place was a seminal moment in television when it aired across two nights—Sunday, March 19 and Monday, March 20—in 1989. Produced by and starring Oprah Winfrey, already a supernova on the ascent as a talk show host and media magnate, the four-hour miniseries boasted a veritable hall of fame of African-American actresses, including Cicely Tyson, Jackée, Mary Alice, Olivia Cole, Robin Givens, and Lynn Whitfield. Based on the National Book Award -winning novel by Gloria Naylor, Brewster grap- pled with controversial subjects—rape, abortion, lesbianism—within the larger frame of the struggles of a community of low-income African-American women. It was nominated for two Primetime Emmys (includ- ing Outstanding Miniseries), and launched the television career of director Donna Deitch. It also contained a gospel-flavored, elegiac score by composer David Shire, which has remained unreleased and buried in time—until now. Winfrey read Naylor’s novel in 1985 while shooting her debut performance in Steven Spielberg’s filmThe Color Purple. “Halfway through Mattie’s story I knew this was something special,” she told TV Guide in 1989. “At the end of her story, I put the book down and just tried to absorb it all. I thought, ‘This is a powerful piece of work.’” Before even finishing the book, she began pursuing the rights, and teamed up with Purple casting director Reuben Cannon (who also read the book during production of Spielberg’s film) to begin developing it. “It was psychic energy,” Cannon told the LA Times. “If Oprah didn’t exist, I don’t think this project would have happened.” Winfrey, Cannon, and Carole Isenberg (an associate producer on Purple) pitched the project, always intend- ed as a miniseries, to the three major American networks—who all passed. But empowered by an Oscar nomination and the huge success of her daytime talk show (earning an estimated $40 million salary at the time), Winfrey was not about to wither. She marched into another meeting with executives at ABC (who’d already passed on the project) and dropped a copy of the novel in front of network president Brandon Stod- dard. “I know you turned it down, Brandon,” she said, “but obviously being the wise one that you are, you hadn’t read it. I’ll call you Tuesday.” “I was relentless,” she recounted for the LA Times. “I’d call and ask, ‘Are you reading it? What page are you on?’ There are no half-sells. That would be like being a little pregnant.” Winfrey’s force of will not only found Brewster a home at ABC...but an upgrade from the proposed three hours to a four-hour event across two nights. Screenwriter Karen Hall, a young veteran of M.A.S.H. and Hill Street Blues, was hired to condense the novel into a teleplay. To direct, Winfrey anointed Donna Deitch, a fairly green filmmaker who’d already told a straightforward story about lesbians in her 1986 independent film,Desert Hearts. “Oprah saw my film, quite by coincidence,” said Deitch (in an interview for this release). “Then they got in touch with my agent. So this offer just came along out of nowhere. I was familiar with the book, and I jumped at it. That was the beginning of what has been 25 years directing television. My first boss was Oprah Winfrey, and she was—and is—my best producer. She draws the best out of every single person. She has a true gift for that.” Winfrey wrangled her all-star cast—“the best of the best at the time,” said Deitch—which in the (smaller) male camp included Moses Gunn, Leon, and Paul Winfield. In fact, a few critics complained about what they perceived as the miniseries’ antagonistic commentary on men as a whole. In response, Leon told the LA Times, “As we tell stories true to life, men are not always going to be the heroes.” Oprah also chimed in on the complaint: “The book is not untruthful about the portrayal of men. It’s not exploitative but it’s truthful, that’s what’s important to me. For anyone to put me in that defensive mode makes me ill.” Deitch shot the four-hour story over 34 days, mostly on the Universal backlot (where the Brewster Place street set was built). “Everything was rehearsed,” she said, “but I didn’t have a set aside time in the begin- ning for rehearsal. There was no time for that. It’s television, so ultimately you want them to bring it in the room when they audition. Even Oprah was so supportive and accommodating that, in her little love scene with that guy when she’s a younger character, she came in and auditioned with a couple different guys so we could see them together. That was just a huge asset, to have a producer and willing actor like that.” There was substantial buzz when The Women of Brewster Place aired—the first miniseries with an all-black cast to feature women in lead roles. It beat out a broadcast of The Wizard of Oz on CBS and Return of the Jedi on NBC in primetime on its first night, and many critics praised its performances (particularly Winfrey’s) as well as its topical daring. “As a showcase for black actors, [Brewster] is unsurpassed, and all of them walk away with moments, scenes, or lines that make their characters real and their efforts worthwhile,” wrote David Bianculli in the New York Post. “Getting an all-black miniseries on network TV is a triumph in itself.” In her review for the New York Observer, Diane Ouding wrote: “TV is just TV; this is art. ... You almost never see these things on TV in any kind of a real way—abortion, the death of a child, beatings, rape, desertion, loss, and grief so deep you can’t even speak. And people don’t even want to hear about these things from their close friends. The show is about those moments when you’re so low you can’t even see a way out, and then a hand reaches down and just helps you, saves you. ... These characters are all so well written and well played you want them all to win big in an individual way.” The film lost its two Emmy nominations to the big sweep of 1989,Lonesome Dove, but its influence continued in the form of a half-hour TV series which ran for one season in 1990 (Winfrey and Cole both reprised their roles). “This was a cultural event,” said Deitch. “They were so far ahead of the culture and what had ever been shown on television. We had this thing called ‘Standards and Practices,’ and the ABC executives had this meeting with me and said, ‘Donna, we really love your work, but on this...no open-mouth kissing, and please no saliva.’ I mean, nothing like this had ever been shown on television before—two same-sex people in a love relationship with each other. This was huge in so many ways. There had never been a collection of black actors like this, ever. It was a real seminal moment in television.” In 1989, David Shire—the composer of such timeless and classic film scores as All the President’s Men, The Conversation, The Taking of Pelham One Two Three, and Return to Oz—was beginning to flex his cinematic gifts more and more on the small screen, often for premiere television events. (The next two years would yield weighty scores for the ABC miniseries The Kennedys of Massachusetts and the Hallmark Hall of Fame TV movie Sarah, Plain and Tall). In an interview for these notes, Shire said he always treated television with the same level of effort and gravitas as he did feature films. “I only approached them differently as far as the time and budget constraints with television were concerned,” he said. “I didn’t work any less hard given the time I had on television or films. It was just that television is even more hurry-up than features— they were always rush jobs. But I took everything very seriously. It’s hard to write good stuff if you’re not taking it seriously. And a lot of the television movies were better than some of the features I did, in terms of quality. Brewster Place wasn’t any small deal.” Even though Brewster starred an all-black cast and dealt with distinctly racial themes, Winfrey sought out its creative team regardless of color. Hall and Deitch are both white, and chosen for their particular skill set. (Though “there were certain things I hadn’t had the experience of,” Deitch admitted. “For instance, I’d never been to a black church for a full-out service. Oprah took me during prep, before I had that scene. Anything I wanted to ask her, she was totally supportive.”) Shire laughed about the irony of his appointment: “I was very delighted and complimented that they got an old white Jew to do this score,” he said. “I felt very hip.” Yet he was clearly a smart choice for the role. “The gospel feel I love, and I’ve used it before, so that was an easy bag for me to fall into. I love gospel, and I love gospel piano. But somebody looking up my résumé and looking at me would not immediately think gospel.” In that vein, Shire wrote a theme for wordless vocal to play over the main titles (illustrated by a hand-drawn collage of the women’s faces), and made this the score’s mainstay—recurring at key emotional moments and drawing a curtain at the end and beginning of each act.

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