The Frogs
Summer 2004, Issue 38










A Leap of Fate
by Nathan Lane

Buffoonery & Bathos: Aristophanes' The Frogs
by Charles Rowan Beye

Savoring a Moment:
A Conversation with Stephen Sondheim

The Slippery Art of the Score
by Mark Eden Horowitz

A Picasso Twist
An Interview with Susan Stroman

The Beauty of Survival:
Tim Rollins and K.O.S.

The Big Splash: 1941
by Thurston Twigg-Smith

A View from the Chorus: 1974
by Christopher Durang

How High Should I Jump?:
A Visit with William Ivey Long

The Fearless Bernard Shaw
by Michael Holroyd

The Bright Young Light: Rembering Burt Shevelove
by Larry Gelbart and Dominick Dunne












Costume designer William Ivey Long lives and works in an 1864 brownstone in New York City’s Chelsea district that he has lovingly restored and filled with 19th-century furniture from his grandparents’ homes in North Carolina. The garden level is a rabbit warren of activity, with a seven-person design staff working away at drafting tables covered with fabric samples and drawing paper. Phones ring, messengers come and go, coffee is sent for, and bright and early one winter morning, Executive Editor Anne Cattaneo stopped by and rang the bell to interview her old friend.

Editor: Tell me about a typical day in the life for you.
WIL: I usually wake up at about 6:30, get the papers and the coffee at 7:00. I skim all three papers. I do the yellow press first—the New York Post, the Daily News—because you can do them quickly, figure out what friends did last night and who got caught. Then I read the New York Times. When I see a really good article in the Times, I clip it to read later. At the end of the day before I go to bed, I read Daily Variety, Woman’s Wear Daily and the Times articles from that morning that I didn’t get to. I never watch television. I have a lopsided perception of the news from those five papers.
Ed: So it’s morning, you’ve read the papers...and then you phone some friends?
WIL: When we’re designing and planning something, I usually talk to Susan Stroman at about 7:30, especially when we’re in tech. Susan always says to me that we—she and I—are the only two people without children who are up and at it by 7:00.
Ed: You probably are the only theater people who are up and at it by 7:00. I know you’re planning The Frogs now, but let’s talk about what happens once a show is up, because the work keeps going for you, doesn’t it?
WIL: In addition to imagining what a costume should look like in the first place, my job is also to maintain shows that are currrently running.
Ed: Now what does that mean—to maintain a show?
WIL: It’s amazing. Every day I wake up to twelve production reports faxed in from all the shows that I’ve costumed.
Ed: (Rifling through a stack of papers) These are for all your shows—?
WIL: Just from last night.
Ed: Here’s Chicago, Valhalla, Little Shop of Horrors, The Boy from Oz, The Producers.
WIL: Producers Broadway, Producers Leo Tour Company, Producers Toronto, Producers Max Tour Company. So that’s four show reports from last night for The Producers.
Ed: And here are three Hairsprays—Hairspray Broadway, Hairspray National Tour, Hairspray Toronto.
WIL: Two Chicagos.
Ed: And these are notes from the stage managers?
WIL: They’re very sensitive, because they talk about who’s sick, accidents, injuries. Costumes that have ripped if someone hurt himself. They help me do my job. I learn which fabrics last. Does a certain costume shop make clothes that last more than others? In other words, there’s accountability and here it is—my twelve reports every day. It’s an accountability checklist. Now, that doesn’t sound very artistic, but it’s called show business. (Laughs) And I have to be on top of it.
Ed: Because costumes wear out. I remember your stories about the yellow dress in Contact.
WIL: Oh, my goodness. I was constantly working on that dress. Now with Hairspray, we’ve been trying to figure out how to cut the cost of replacements and how to make costumes stronger. To triple- or quadruple-stitch them. We work on these kinds of things every morning. This is maintaining. This is every single day.
Ed: Which is really six days a week. There are boxes of show reports here!
WIL: This is from the last six months.
Ed: And do you have people you work with who build these clothes whom you have longstanding relationships with?
WIL: Absolutely. I work with almost all the shops in New York. There are eight or ten shops, plus individuals who make the jewelry or the accessories. Some places have the fittings in their ateliers. The rest come to us. Every day my assistant Brian Mear types up a little piece of paper that tells me what I’m doing that day: fittings, dress techs, readings, photo calls.
Ed: How do you decide to do a show?
WIL: It’s very clear to me: I work for directors. Basically, if a certain director asks me to costume the phone book, I’m there. I say, Absolutely. How high should I jump? When? Because the things that matter to me most in the world are relationships. And watching a career develop. It’s very important for people to know that I am a silent support group. I’m in the shadows. I’m in the basement painting the shoes. I’m in the backyard dyeing, spray-painting, aging the slips for Sally Bowles. My commitment is to the storytelling, so it’s usually through the directors, but it also can be to the playwright. Like Paul Rudnick—he’s one of my oldest friends from the Yale School of Drama.
Ed: How did you first hear about The Frogs?
WIL: I’ll tell you what happened. Susan and I were having a power dinner with a very important person in the American theater. I don’t want to say who. We were hav-ing a power dinner—there were four of us. And who was at the next table in the next room but Mr. Nathan Lane!
     Well, it was infec-tious, because Susan was in the first throes of agreeing to do this crazy idea that Nathan had revived, having heard, like most people in America, about the famous 1970s Frogs based on the famous 1940s Frogs based on the 400 and some B.C. Frogs. So of course, it’s on the tip of everyone’s frog tongue. Nathan kept running back and forth. Susan had to fess up, which was a little bit embarrassing, because she was not going to give it to that famous, important American theater person we were having dinner with. So it began with controversy and everyone turned red at the table and wished everyone well. But that’s how it goes, right? So that’s how I first heard that Nathan was rewriting the script. Or not rewriting—”freely adapting.”
Ed: And of course, you had seen the 1974 production of The Frogs.
WIL: I was a dresser for that production. I helped paint the abs and the pectorals on Dan Desmond as Herakles.
Ed: Tell us what a dresser is.
WIL: A dresser is someone in the wardrobe department who—how did Thelma Ritter say it in All About Eve? She says she has ”two things to do—carry clothes and press ‘em wrong.” (Laughs) Something like that. You can’t just design a show. You have to live with a show. And the people with whom you live on the show are the wardrobe department. Good wardrobe people actually make the costumes better through the maintenance, sometimes even replacing ill-chosen goods. They make sure the clothes last and look perfect. It’s a very important family connection. Hence all of my reports, they’re very intimate. I have a close connection with all the wardrobe departments.

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