Barbara Cook at the Kennedy Center 8/20/02

by Alan Greenblatt

All people writing about Barbara Cook, the Broadway star of such musicals as "Candide," "She Loves Me" and "The Music Man," must now point out that nowadays, in a concert career in her mid-70s, she still has an amazingly clear and ranging soprano voice. And it's true that her voice is full of light. But it was also true last week at the Kennedy Center Terrace Theater she had to sneak up on a high B natural, visualize herself going that high like a pole vaulter, she said. "They used to just pop out."

What makes her a special singer, it seems to me, is not the fact that her voice has held up so well but what she does with it. Her program was called "Mostly Sondheim," part of the center's Sondheim Celebration that I somehow have mostly mixed, and she sang both tunes by him and ones he apparently wishes he had written. Whether singing one of his slow ballads -- a spare but emotional "Send in the Clowns"; an encore "Anyone Can Whistle" sung without amplification, revealing some darker, mustier sounds in Cook's voice and a haunting fragility -- or a comic number such as "Hard Hearted Hannah," Cook got the most out of every old show tune. Like a powerful feature writer, she puts all her energy in the verbs.

Since not all the material was by Sondheim, Cook would get a big gasp out of the crowd by mentioning the name of composers. Cook, who sings with an odd stance, planting her feet firmly far apart and bending her whole torso forward, normally attracts a mixed crowd of old biddies and gay men, but on this night only the biddies turned out. This one is by Harold Arlen, Cook would say, and the crowd would go "ohhhhhh."

"Johnny Mercer." "Oooooh."

This was only really funny when they ooohed and ahhhed mention of an obscure old show called "Bloomer Girl."

Bloomer Girl. "Ooooooh."

Cook was backed well by her Wally Harper on piano and Jon Burr, who was underutilized on bass. A simple evening of song done with quiet flair.

I was pleased by the response to yesterday's column on Groucho Marx. When I think of my own smartass personality, formative influences, I think, included personal acquaintances such as Uncle Marvin and Esther McRunnels, but cultural figures led by Groucho and Bugs Bunny also played major roles. A couple of notes I got better captured the glee Groucho could provide than I did.

This first one is from Andrew Lawrence: Ah, Groucho! Thanks for the memories. As for the timelessness of his humor, our 11-year-old son actually rolled off our bed in laughter while watching Duck Soup. In some ways, it was the wrong film to show him as a first Marx Brothers exposure because, as you point out, there's too much Zeppo in most of the others.

But the humor translates from generation to generation. As a boy, the first time I ever saw my father laugh uncontrollably was during a TV broadcast of one of their movies.

The Arthur Sheekman comment you cite reminds me of observation attributed to Groucho when asked what the difference was between an amateur comedian and a professional comedian: "An amateur comedian dresses up a stunt man like a little old lady, puts him in a wheel chair, and pushes him down a steep hill with a brick wall at the bottom. A professional comedian uses a real old lady." There was often a wreckless danger in his willingness to say the kind of remarks we all wish we had the nerve to make. Sometimes it was offset by the arching of his bushy eyebrows and sometimes it was left ambiguous by an inscrutable leer. Whichever it was, it all still seems hilarious to three generations of Lawrences.

Our regular correspondent John Scheinman responds at length: It's amazing that what was essentially a gifted vaudeville team can stand the punishing test of time. The musical bits in the Marx Bros. movies, and there

are piles of them, hold up remarkably well, considering how fossilized the actual music itself is. Showmanship certainly can put anything across. I'm surprised you wrote of Zeppo's songs, because there weren't a lot of them.

Any kid (young or old) still would get a kick out of Chico's remarkable piano technique, and Harpo had a genuine romantic and sentimental touch on the harp. Groucho's songs, if you pay attention to the lyrics, stand with the best Lehrer and certainly Alan Sherman.

About the only thing that takes me aback when I look at the Marx Bros. is the treatment of blacks at A Day at

the Races. Those, though, were the times. The anarchy of the Marx Bros. is an anarchy of pure joy, delight in laughter, hijinxs, the unbridled flow of life force. And Groucho condescended with such humor, good nature and verbal velocity, Margaret Dumont was absolutely enchanted. "Come closer, closer." "If I was any closer I'd be behind you."

Dumont, Mary Bain, Kathleen Howard, these are the unsung straight women of early classic comedy, the invaluable

battle axes with expert timing and if you are too busy paying attention to the clowns, you'll miss the seamless, expert and often hilarious interplay they provide. Because while Groucho is at the society ball knocking the stuffing out of those folks from the outside, the portrayals of these comic women are knocking them out from the inside. The actors that play the society guys and lovers are just as stiff and pompous as the people they portray but these particular women certainly are highly refined actresses relishing

playing the henpecking wife (Howard, Bain) and saucy, over-the-hill dowager (Dumont).

I have been deep into W.C. Fields the past couple years, buying copies of extremely hard-to-find films. The Great Man brings the anarchy down to a smaller scale. He is vaudevillian as well, with his pool tricks, endless variations on his hat tricks and even outright productions (the traveling stage show in "The Old Fashioned Way"). Groucho exasperates and then insinuates himself on his overmatched foils with befuddling mental dexterity and faux charm. Fields does the same with single-minded purpose to do things his way -- believing he is vastly misunderstood and a man out of time -- and then somehow luck deals him the perfect hand.

In the spirit of the great Hollywood team-ups, I would have loved to have seen these two in the same film. Instead, Fields got Mae West in the lackluster "My LIttle Chickadee." I'm sure if that film had been combined with the late Marx Bros. vehicle "Go West" ("Come on down, there's a lovely fire in the living room") we would have had a classic on our hands. -Leonard Maltin Scheinman