Which Fame song does the lyric "You always stood your ground. Your faith was always there." come from?
Which Fame song does the lyric "You always stood your ground. Your faith was always there." come from?
Hague and Wife Go
Public In Performance at Drake
By John Corry July
27, 1976
She was smiling at him, and he was looking at the piano, and when he started to speak he sounded like Henry A. Kissinger. Still, with the smile, the big bow tie and the spotlight's reflection off his glasses he was gemiltlich, a middle‐aged Teutonic cherub. This was Albert Hague performing.
“I grew up in a tough neighborhood—Germany,” he said, and “in Cincinnati played in a place so tough the truck drivers were afraid to go in there.” Mr. Hague smiled through the glasses and over the big bow tie, and his pretty wife smiled .even more. Gemiltlichkeit was everywhere.
Mr. Hague, who wrote, among other things, the music for the Broadway shows “Redhead” and “Plain and Fancy,” was appearing with his wife, Renee, at After Ten, the new supper club in the Drake Hotel. Mr. Hague plays the piano and his wife sings, and frequently they do songs that Mr. Hague wrote. It is their article of faith that no one can do a song the way its composer can. “‘Miss Moffat’ was my masterpiece, no question about it,” Mr. Hague was saying now. He was sitting at a table, talking about the show he did with inshua Logan and Emlyn Williams. It folded in Philadelphia.
Contradiction by Wife
“Excuse me. I must contradict my husband,” Mrs. Hague said. She said he had written several masterpieces. Under the name Renee Orrin she was in, among other things, “Fiddler on the Roof” with Jack Guilford and “Take Me Along” with Gene Kelly, and she is now standing by for Joan Copeland in “Pal Joey.” She has also done soap operas. Mrs. Hague is a professional, too.
By Nicolas Rapold April 2, 2015
A few years ago the
Los Angeles repertory cinema Cinefamily ran a screening series, “That Guy!,”
devoted to character actors. The subject of “That Guy Dick Miller” warrants his
own gala evening. Elijah Drenner’s jokey documentary crowds together admirers
and clips in tribute to Mr. Miller, whose working-Joe look and street-savvy
shtick have infused countless scenes with instant movie realism.
The Bronx-born Mr.
Miller rubbed elbows with exploitation royalty as a prime player for Roger
Corman (who appears here) and excelled in the 1959 beatnik satire “A Bucket of
Blood” as an innocent caught up in macabre art-making. He became a prolific
pro, recognizable through the 1980s (e.g., the veteran of “WW II” in Joe
Dante’s “Gremlins”) and beyond, as his fans became filmmakers. By giving a line
a dose of warmth or a shake of the head or just changing his slightly coiled
stance, he could make a stock character feel genuine or put quotation marks
around a comic bit.
That may partly
explain the inordinate number of editors — famously whisker-sensitive to
variations in expression — who give praise in Mr. Drenner’s film, along with
John Sayles, Mr. Dante and other filmmakers. Mr. Miller turns up, now an
octogenarian with bristle covering his wiseguy jutting chin, and putters around
at home with his wife, Lainie (also the film’s co-producer).
The survey,
pockmarked with sometimes dopey animations and music, feels scattered and less
than the sum of Mr. Miller’s many parts. But it has its heart in the right
movie-mad place.
Release Date: In Brazil 16th May 1983
Label: A&M
Records
Catalogue Numbers:
Brazil 7" 47.057
Written By Rene Moore, Angela Winbush
Produced By Bobby
Watson, Rene Moore, Angela Winbush
Formats: 7inch,
Albums: Janet
Jackson
B Side: The Magic Is Working.
Did you lose your
way returning home?
Did you want to stay
when it came time to go?
Oh why do you fill
up my mind?
You're only a shadow
Only an echo in time
Shadows and light
Shadows and light
Nothing is black
Nothing is white
We are apart of each
other forever
Passing through
shadows and light
Are you real or are
you just a dream?
I feel like you're
standing so close to me
Trying to show me
the way
But it's so hard to
hear you
Though you're just a
whisper away
Shadows and light
(Shadows and light)
Shadows and light
(Shadows and light)
Nothing is black
Nothing is white
We are apart of each
other forever
Passing through
shadows and light
We are apart of each
other forever
Passing through
shadows and light
Debbie Allen’s
Technique? It’s All About Tough Love
By Gia Kourlas
Published Nov. 24, 2020
Was Lydia Grant, the
dance teacher Debbie Allen played in both the film and television versions of
“Fame,” really a fictional character? Wielding a cane — in homage to one of Ms.
Allen’s own ballet teachers, Madame Tatiana Semenova — Grant tells her
students: “You’ve got big dreams; you want fame. Well, fame costs, and right
here is where you start paying; in sweat.”
To my great delight,
Ms. Allen shares that no-nonsense perspective — it’s not about coddling. The
new film “Dance Dreams: Hot Chocolate Nutcracker” is certainly about the
vibrant and charming reimagining of the holiday classic that the Debbie Allen
Dance Academy presents each season. But it is just as much about Ms. Allen
herself.
It shows that this
dancer, actor, choreographer and director is also something else: an educator,
and a formidable one at that.
At her academy, in
Los Angeles, technique is offered in many genres, but the training is more
expansive than just learning steps. Ms. Allen’s students study dance history;
they must know about the choreographers Katherine Dunham and Bob Fosse; but
they also must know about the artist Jean-Michel Basquiat because, to her,
understanding dance is about understanding all the arts.
“They have to know
everything about ‘West Side Story,’ the quintessential American musical,” Ms.
Allen, 70, said in a phone interview. “Who is Irene Sharaff, the great costume
designer? These are things that will get lost, and I want my young people to
speak the language of dance anywhere on the planet. And they do.”
At the first
audition in the documentary, she tells some young girls that they need more
training before they will get a part in the show. A moment later, she consoles
a sobbing girl while simultaneously studying a sheet of paper. “You just need
more class,” she says. “It hurts my feelings, too.” (Love.)
To a group of
teenage girls on the floor, their legs parted in a straddle, Ms. Allen stresses
that they won’t make it to the next level by “going around to the mall and
being cute in heels.” She tells them: “Take those high heels off and get down
on the floor and stretch.” (Tough.)
Ms. Allen doesn’t
need a script to be a quote machine. She recently spoke about her own journey
as a student, her twist on “The Nutcracker,” and why dance — and all of the
arts — should be considered essential.
What follows are
edited excerpts from the conversation.
The director of
“Dance Dreams,” Oliver Bokelberg, has a daughter at your school. How did the
project begin?
He wanted to capture
a few pictures and before you knew it he was there all the time. And then one
day he said, “Debbie, can I put on this microphone?” I said, “Oliver, get out
of my way, you can’t interrupt me!” And then I honestly would forget that he
was in there. He was shooting all the time.
It’s real
cinéma-vérité, where you’re a fly on the wall. I was true to what the moment
needed. And when the students needed to be blasted for coming in late or not
working hard enough, it’s what I do, it’s how I train them every day.
Why was it important
for you to feature so many children in your “Nutcracker”?
In the middle of a
traditional “Nutcracker,” my son screamed out loud, “Mom, when is the rat
coming?” So I knew they wanted to see a rat. I decided to let the rats take
over the story. I created these characters that kind of take you through the
journey.
But more important,
I focus on the young performers because I wanted to create something where they
would see themselves on that stage.
You’re busy with
other projects, including your work on “Grey’s Anatomy” (acting, directing and
as a producer). Why is having a dance school so important to you?
I had to send my
child Vivian across the country to go to the Kirov School [in Washington]
because there was no school here that I thought was the right kind of school.
She was there for several years. And when she finally called home crying, I was
like, OK, that’s it. [Vivian was told she could never be a classical dancer.]
It was time to have
a school. I call it an academy. Something that they would commit to. And if
they would commit, I would commit.
I have missed
directing so many movies or starring in this or starring in that because of the
children. I just missed doing something with Lin-Manuel [Miranda]. But I can’t
leave my kids. And this is something that helped me when I was young.
How?
When I was a kid in
Texas battling racial segregation and all of that foolishness, dance is what
helped me pull through. Kids need that.
You know, they don’t
list us as essential, but they need to change that model right now in the
middle of this pandemic. The arts is essential for people. It keeps them
mentally balanced and feeling hope and feeling confident.
In the film, you
speak about the racial injustice you faced in studying to become a ballet
dancer. What do you hope for in terms of more equality in dance?
I don’t just hope, I
do. I create an environment that is welcoming to every person who has the
spirit of the dance in them regardless of their body type or their ethnicity or
their economic background.
I’m curious about
your time in New York and when you discovered choreographers outside of ballet,
like Martha Graham. What was that like?
I discovered them
when I was at Howard University. I was a freshman, and my mother feared I might
get lost in the academia and the fraternities and the cultural richness of it
all. So she found a dance festival in New London, Connecticut. Martha Graham
was there. Twyla Tharp was there. Donald McKayle was there. Katherine Dunham’s
protégé Talley Beatty was there. Alvin Ailey was there. In one summer. Can you
imagine what that was like? Judith Jamison and Dudley [Williams] wanted me to
join Alvin Ailey because I was killing that “Revelations.”
What happened?
Alvin said, “She’s
too young,” and I’m like, “No, I’m not, I’m not.” [Laughs] I was 17, and I was
ready to drop out of college and, oh God, did I want to go. But that was the
beginning. By the time I graduated from Howard and stepped foot on the street
they called Broadway, I was in class with Richard Thomas — he and his wife ran
the New York School of Ballet. You’d look up and Margot Fonteyn would be in
class. Nureyev would be in class. New York, my God, it was a training camp.
I remember
auditioning for a show and not being chosen. And at the end of the audition,
the director came over to me and told me how talented I was, but that he didn’t
need another brunette in the show.
And we know what
that is code for.
OK? So what I’m
passing on and giving to my kids is that they know they belong everywhere.
Because isn’t
passing on that confidence what helps to make a dancer, too?
Yes, it is. You can
go run the world. You could train as a dancer and go to Washington, honey, and
pull that thing together. I always say I wish I could put them all in dance
class right now and get this mess straightened out.
What would dance
class do?
It would remind them
that there’s something more powerful than they are. And that it’s not just you.
When you’re dancing in the ensemble, you have to be a part, and if you’re the
leader of that group, then you have to absolutely know where you’re going.
Everyone’s following you. You cannot take the wrong step and end up in the pit.
The Power of Dance
Class
Busy Actor’s Long,
Long Day: Shakespeare, Weill and Rock
By Joy Goodwin April
1, 2007
THE alarm clock woke
Michael Cerveris with a Kurt Weill recording at 7:30 a.m. on a recent, blustery
Tuesday morning. By 9 Mr. Cerveris, the “Sweeney Todd” star, had showered,
dressed, checked e-mail and was out walking his dog, Gibson. His distinctive shaved
head covered by a stocking cap, he ducked into a deli and bought a
healthful-looking green juice, which he consumed in his living room with a bowl
of organic oatmeal and some vitamins. Crouching down, he gently fed Gibson a
few vitamins of her own, dipping them in peanut butter.
Mr. Cerveris was
determined that both members of his household stay healthy over the grueling
course of the next few weeks, when he would split his waking hours between two
major New York productions. By day he would rehearse a new leading role (as
Weill in Harold Prince’s forthcoming Broadway musical “LoveMusik,” with a book
by Alfred Uhry). By night — and matinee — he would perform Shakespeare (the
Earl of Kent in James Lapine’s “King Lear,” at the Public).
Between seven “Lear”
performances and six “LoveMusik” rehearsals a week, his only time off would be
a few hours on Sunday mornings and Monday evenings. The other five days of the
week, his workday would begin before 10 in the morning and finish after
midnight.
Sitting in his cozy,
funky living room against a wall lined with vinyl records, discs, books and
vintage guitars, Mr. Cerveris assessed the situation. “In general, scheduling’s
always a little fuzzy in this business, so it’s not surprising that two
projects I was doing ended up overlapping,” he said. “Then you add to that my
particular refusal to miss anything. And then,” he added with a wry smile, “I
seem to have this belief that I’m superhuman.”
Even under ordinary
circumstances Mr. Cerveris’s stamina is the stuff of legend. (He didn’t miss a
single performance in a year of “Sweeney Todd.”) But he is also an old hand at
pulling theatrical double duty.
There was that
stretch in 1992 in California when he was rehearsing “The Who’s Tommy” until 3
p.m. in La Jolla, then driving up the clogged freeways to make his “Richard II”
curtain at the Mark Taper Forum in downtown Los Angeles. Over the course of his
1,403 performances in “Tommy,” Mr. Cerveris — who is also a serious rock
musician — played the occasional two-hour live set after the show. For four
weeks in 1998, while appearing in “Titanic” on Broadway, he was rehearsing to
take over the title role in “Hedwig and the Angry Inch.” And then there was
that brief 2004 stint when he played a French libertine Off Broadway while rehearsing
his Tony-winning turn as John Wilkes Booth in Stephen Sondheim’s “Assassins.”
Most recently,
during a February performance of “Lear,” Mr. Cerveris took advantage of his
character’s 45-minute offstage break to pop down to Joe’s Pub, where he sang a
Lee Hazelwood song — in his costume — before heading back upstairs for the last
act. (“That was a little nerve-racking,” he admitted.)
The son of a
Juilliard-trained music professor and a modern dancer who settled in West
Virginia, Mr. Cerveris grew up immersed in various art forms. “Ever since I was
a little kid, I’ve felt like I’d rather sacrifice sleep or meals than miss out
on something good,” Mr. Cerveris said. “I always figure I can sleep later.”
So on this wintry
Tuesday, Mr. Cerveris set off briskly for the subway. He arrived at Manhattan
Theater Club’s rehearsal studios a few minutes before 10, hung up his parka,
put on his glasses and opened his three-ring binder on top of the upright
piano. His solemn, concentrated air suggested his “LoveMusik” character, the
German-born composer of “The Threepenny Opera.” Mr. Cerveris sang a Weill song
in a light, German-accented voice. By the time he joined his co-star, Donna
Murphy (who plays Weill’s great love, the fabled Viennese singer-actress Lotte
Lenya), for the intimate “Speak Low,” rehearsal had begun in earnest.
0
After four hours and
dozens of songs Mr. Cerveris bundled up against the cold and went out to buy
lunch at an organic deli. It was 2 p.m., and he still had nine hours of work
ahead of him, but he was in good spirits. “The tricky thing,” he said, “is
going to be making sure that Kent doesn’t wind up with a German accent.” All
kidding aside, he said, some similarities between Kent and Weill — both loyal
men, with a keen sense of right and wrong — were beginning to work on his
imagination.
Back at the studio
Mr. Cerveris was tapping out e-mail messages on a Treo when a very animated Mr.
Prince rushed in and threw an arm around him. “I was thinking about the
bathrobe,” Mr. Prince began, inspired by a new costume idea. After he had left,
Mr. Cerveris shook his head. “I still can’t believe Hal Prince even knows who I
am,” he said. “To work with him, I would’ve played a tree in ‘The Johnny
Appleseed Story.’ ”
Mr. Cerveris’s last
two Broadway appearances have produced Tony nominations, and no less an
authority than Stephen Sondheim says he “can do anything.” Oskar Eustis, the
Public’s artistic director, calls Mr. Cerveris “both a true star of the musical
theater and an actor able to inhabit the classics with a spirit as big as
anyone on the New York stage.” On the other hand, as Mr. Cerveris pointed out
during his evening commute, it is tough to develop a swelled head when you are
hustling on the N train from rehearsal to your 7 o’clock curtain.
Juggling a banana
and a cup of herbal tea, he reviewed a copy of “King Lear” as the subway rolled
toward Eighth Street, reacquainting himself with Kent. Emerging on the sidewalk
at Astor Place, he exhaled deeply. “I’ve always felt the most at home
downtown,” he said.
As he came through
the doors of the Public at 6:05, his tightly scheduled day took an abrupt,
unexpected turn. The evening’s “Lear” had been canceled, due to a last-minute
cast-member illness.
Instead of
performing “Lear” he found himself in a three-hour emergency rehearsal with the
production’s understudies. Arriving home after 10, he walked his dog, answered
e-mail and spent an hour putting the pages of his binder in order for the next
morning’s musical read-through. Then he remembered that he had offered to play
the Talking Heads song “Psycho Killer” at a forthcoming benefit. So he watched
a bit of the concert documentary “Stop Making Sense,” to see how difficult the
guitar part was. “It looked doable,” Mr. Cerveris said.
By 10 on Wednesday
morning he was “essentially performing ‘LoveMusik’ sitting down” at the first
full-cast read-through, which ended at 12:23. By 12:45 he had walked the dozen
blocks to a callback for a television gig — trying, he said, “to squeeze in
half an hour for career maintenance.” At 1:03 as he was about to give up, he
was whisked into his two-minute audition. He jumped into a cab and made his
Wednesday matinee check-in with a few minutes to spare.
It was a routine
matinee. During its three-plus hours Mr. Cerveris wrestled with a knave, was
put in the stocks and drenched by a rainstorm. (At the end of the third act he
retired backstage and waited in a bathrobe while his costume went through a
clothes dryer.) Offstage he worked a crossword puzzle; only during his
45-minute break, when he had “enough time to go away mentally and come back,”
did he peek at his Weill research.
Sitting in the
Public’s lobby during his 90-minute break between the two Wednesday shows, Mr.
Cerveris reflected on the two characters now sharing space in his head. “You
know, to me, the demands of the roles are not that different,” he said. “I’ve
always approached songs as an actor — as if they were monologues on pitches. So
I don’t find it that strange to go from ‘LoveMusik’ to Shakespeare.”
He was used to
squeezing his social life into the afternoons, but while doing double duty it
had to be crammed into even smaller margins. “But I think of acting as a
service profession,” he said. “There are these moments when I’m part of this
group, creating this unique, unrepeatable experience and putting something
valuable into the world. And it’s at those moments that all the sacrifices I’ve
made are justified — if they can be justified at all.”
Eight days later,
over his “LoveMusik” lunch break, Mr. Cerveris exuded energy. His “Lear”
performances, he observed, had been feeling increasingly free, “as if, after
spending all day in creative exploration, I’m able to walk onstage and meet the
play where I am at that very moment.” Likewise, in “LoveMusik” rehearsals, he had
been making bolder-than-usual acting choices. “I’m editing and monitoring
myself less while I’m doing it,” he said. “And I think that’s a good thing.”
Over the past week
too his understanding of the qualities shared by his two characters had
deepened. “They’re both extremely devoted,” he said. “They sacrificed and asked
very little in return. The duty itself: that’s the reward.”
He paused,
considering. “What I get out of acting is kind of like that,” he said quietly.
“I mean, sure, there are rewards for what I do. But in the end if the devotion
itself doesn’t mean enough to you, I don’t think there are enough rewards in
the world.”
In a New
Documentary, Janet Jackson Is Hiding in Plain Sight
A four-hour film on
Lifetime and A&E touches on the highs and lows of a long career, but
doesn’t dig deep into one of pop’s great risk-takers.
By Jon Caramanica
Jan. 31, 2022
Throughout her
two-decade-plus heyday, Janet Jackson was an astonishingly modern pop superstar
— a risk-taker with a distinctive voice, a vivid sense of self-presentation and
an innate understanding of the scale of the labor required to make
world-shaking music. She was the embodiment of authority and command,
practically unrivaled in her day and studiously copied by later generations.
But throughout “Janet Jackson,” a four-hour documentary that premiered over two nights on Lifetime and A&E, the highs and lows of Jackson’s career are often presented as a kind of collateral asset or damage. Her brothers were famous first; Jackson was the spunky younger sister who came after. When her brother Michael, then the most famous pop star on the planet, faced his first allegations of sexual impropriety, Jackson lost her opportunity for a lucrative sponsorship with Coca-Cola. When a wardrobe malfunction derailed Jackson’s performance at the 2004 Super Bowl halftime show, it is her career that’s tanked, and not that of her collaborator, the rising star Justin Timberlake.
It’s a curious choice for the first official documentary about one of the most influential musicians of the last few decades. But what makes it even more curious is that Jackson herself is the executive producer (along with her brother, and manager, Randy). It is a bait and switch, using the lure of access and intimacy — cameras followed her for five years, we’re told — as a tool of deflection.
“Janet Jackson” is a sanctioned documentary with the feel of a YouTube news clip aggregation. Jackson is interviewed extensively, but largely provides play-by-play, rarely color commentary. In some parts, especially when she’s shown in conversation with Randy, she’s the one asking questions, especially when the pair return to the family’s Gary, Ind., home. At almost every emotional crossroads, the film drops a whooshing thwack sound effect, an unconscious echo of the “Law & Order” cha-chunk, and cuts to commercial. That choice renders fraught moments melodramatic, and melodramatic moments comic.
In between elisions, “Janet Jackson” is bolstered by some phenomenal archival footage, mainly shot by Jackson’s ex-husband René Elizondo Jr., who toted a camera throughout their time together — as romantic and professional partners — with an eye toward some future omnibus archive. We see Jackson in the studio with Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis, in a tug of war of wills while working out the sound of “Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation 1814,” her second album with them and the follow-up to the career-making “Control.” During the recording for the 1995 single “Scream,” we see Jackson and Michael talking about lyrics, and Michael asking for her to tap into the voice from her rock hit “Black Cat.” There’s sleepy but telling footage of a meeting with Coca-Cola as Jackson is being offered that sponsorship, and also scenes from the table read of the 1993 film “Poetic Justice,” in which Jackson starred alongside Tupac Shakur.
Every time I see you
Rock n rolling to a
tune
I wanna take you in
my arms
And love you, love
you all night long
I can't stop
watching you
That you swing your
hips around
There ain't nobody
quite like you
When the music's
going down
It's a rock n roll
world
It's a rock n roll world
It's a rock n roll
world
It's a rock n roll world
It's a rock n roll
world
It's a rock n roll world
It's a rock n roll,
rock n roll world
Some ain't got no
class
And some ain't got
no soul
It looks like you
got everything
Everything to rock n
roll
I can't stop
watching
As you swing your
hips around
There ain't nobody
quite like you
When the music's
going down
It's a rock n roll
world
It's a rock n roll world
It's a rock n roll
world
It's a rock n roll world
It's a rock n roll
world
It's a rock n roll world
It's a rock n roll,
rock n roll, rock n roll world
You don't know what
it's like
Living in a rock n
roll world
Can't keep from
dancing
Can't stop romancing
in a rock n roll world
Do you know how it
feels to me
When I see you move
so free
In a rock n roll
world
It's a rock n roll world
It's a rock n roll
world
It's a rock n roll world
It's a rock n roll
world
It's a rock n roll world
It's a rock n roll,
rock n roll, rock n roll world
It's a rock n roll
world
It's a rock n roll world
It's a rock n roll
world
It's a rock n roll world
It's a rock n roll
world
It's a rock n roll world
It's a rock n roll,
rock n roll, rock n roll world
Obituary: Carrie Hamilton, 38, Actress and Writer
Published Jan. 22,
2002
Carrie Hamilton, an
actress, writer and musician and a daughter of Carol Burnett, died yesterday.
She was 38.
The cause was
cancer, said Ms. Burnett's publicist, Deborah Kelman.
Ms. Hamilton, whose
father was the late producer Joe Hamilton, appeared in the television series
''Fame'' and had guest roles on other shows, including ''Murder She Wrote,''
''Beverly Hills 90210'' and ''thirtysomething.'' She also starred in television
movies.
She and her mother collaborated
on a stage version of Ms. Burnett's best-selling memoir ''One More Time.'' The
resulting play, ''Hollywood Arms,'' is scheduled to have its world premiere in
Chicago in April.
Ms. Hamilton spoke
publicly in the 1980's about her struggles with addiction and her decision to
go drug free.
She starred as
Maureen in the first national touring version of the musical ''Rent,'' had
feature film credits and wrote and directed short films through the
profit-sharing production company Namethkuf. She won ''The Women in Film
Award'' at the 2001 Latino Film Festival for her short film ''Lunchtime
Thomas.''
Ms. Hamilton is
survived by two sisters, Erin and Jody Hamilton, and by Ms. Burnett.
FILM: LORI SINGER IN
'SUMMER HEAT'
By Judy
Klemesrud Published: July 19, 1985
LORI SINGER, who for
a while seemed to be playing every teen-age role that wasn't offered to Molly
Ringwald or Ally Sheedy, has finally grown up. In fact, it will be hard to
think of her as a teen-ager again after her appearance as Maddy, the sexy,
intense, career-driven Government agent in the Stan Dragoti comedy ''The Man
With One Red Shoe."
''I love it,'' Miss
Singer, who is actually 23 years old, said in an interview. ''After 'Fame' and
'Footloose,' I kept getting offered all these teen parts. It's really nice to
play an adult for a change.''
In the film, Maddy
falls in love with a violinist (played by Tom Hanks), who unknowingly becomes
involved in a bizarre conspiracy in which he is bugged, shadowed and almost
wiped out by a band of Government agents.
Miss Singer said she
had prepared for the part by talking with two female C.I.A. agents, and by
copying the mannerisms of a New York management consultant named Susan Engel,
who is a friend. ''Susan really inspired me,'' Miss Singer said. ''I got
Maddy's intensity and sharpness and speed from her.''
Miss Singer, who is
5 feet 10 inches tall with long blond hair, originally planned to be a cellist.
She is a graduate of Juilliard, where she was first cellist in the school's
orchestra, and she has played professionally with a number of groups. Her
father, Jacques Singer, was a symphony orchestra conductor, and her mother,
Leslie, is a concert pianist. Her twin brother, Gregory, is a violinist.
But, like her older
brother, Marc Singer, star of the television series ''V,'' she chose acting.
''In a world where such terrible things are happening,'' she said, ''it's just
so fantastic to become someone else.''
She was first
noticed in the role of the shy cellist in the television series ''Fame.'' In
the film ''Footloose,'' she played the daughter of a preacher who longs to
break out of her strict small-town environment, and in ''The Falcon and the
Snowman'' she played Timothy Hutton's girlfriend.
Miss Singer lives in
New York with her husband, Richard Emery, a civil liberties lawyer. She said
she was not worried that her part as the secret agent would cause her to be
typecast in sexy roles, because she has just finished an Alan Rudolph film
called ''Trouble in Mind,'' with Kris Kristofferson and Keith Carradine, in
which her character is very different from Maddy.
''She's an innocent,
backwoods character,'' she said.
A young man in a
leopard-skin leotard swung from a street light. A girl in a polka-dot tunic
pranced below. Other capriciously dressed teen-agers hugged and mugged
yesterday at Broadway and 43d Street.
They could have been the usual denizens of Times Square. Except that the usual denizens were across the street, quietly watching them.
''Who are those people, man?'' one Times Square habitue said with sniff. ''What is that girl doing?''
Life watched art. It made for an odd looking glass.
A producer, Ken Ehrlich, and the cast of the television show ''Fame'' were filming sequences for the fall season, one on a subway and one about dancing in the streets of New York.
The city provided a subway train free from graffiti. The dance number was more realistic.
Valerie Landsburg, Darryl Tribble and other ''Fame'' regulars are frolicking at a dozen locations, from Bowling Green to the South Street Seaport, for several days - all for a three-minute scene.
The number will be a reflection, in dance, of the youths' reluctance to part with the joys of summer and return to the confines of the classroom.
That, for those who were wondering, is who those people are and what they were doing.
Drug Sweep Nets
Relatives of Actor
Published: June 23, 1983
The mother, a grandmother and other relatives of a star of the television program ''Fame'' were among 14 people arrested over two days in Harlem and the Bronx and charged with peddling heroin and cocaine, a Federal spokesman said yesterday.
Mr. Ray, who was in the movie ''Fame'' and the recently canceled TV series, was not involved in the 10-month investigation that preceded the arrests, Mr. Pucher said.
Mr. Ray's grandmother, Viola (Lilly) Ward, 66, had six ounces of cocaine and a .38-caliber pistol when she was arrested at her home at 270 West 153d Street, Mr. Pucher said.
Practicing dance
steps on the sidewalk and humming to themselves, hundreds of young people
mobbed the Minskoff studio at 1515 Broadway on the edge of Times Square, hoping
for parts in the television series ''Fame.'' It was still dark when they lined
up.
''It's such a long shot, for them and for us,'' Bill Blinn, the executive producer, said. ''We've probably turned away three Judy Garlands already.'' A handful will be considered for parts.
Gabby Casseus, who lives in Roosevelt, L.I., and works in a J. C. Penney store. arrived at 6:30 A.M. Six hours later, his eyes shining, he said, ''It feels wonderful!'' He said he had made it through the second round of auditions. ''
Paula Saunders of Brooklyn apologized to Mr. Blinn for not going all out on some strenuous routines. ''I'm pregnant,'' she told him, ''and the baby's due today.'' Mr. Blinn said he'd keep her in mind.
''It's rough,'' said Otis Sallid, the assistant choreographer, remembering his own tryout days. ''Now pay attention.'' he told the dancers. He demonstrated a routine. ''And have a good time.''