A 1999 Broadway play and a 2024 movie that my wife Barb and I watched last week resonated deeply with both of us. Warning: I am probably going to cry a couple of times during the writing of this. That’s a side effect of open heart surgery, which I had in 2017 – emotional reactions. But I think I might have cried, if not quite wept, in any case, considering these two men who passed recently.

Both Robert Morse and Richard Roundtree deserved more from their respective careers, and we deserved more from them, though that we didn’t wasn’t their fault, and what they did give us is to their eternal credit. At least I hope it will be, in this amnesiac culture.

I’ve spoken about Robert Morse before. Like here. And here.

Few actors, few performers, have enjoyed better first acts – Robert Morse appeared on Broadway in major roles in The Matchmaker (1955), Say, Darling (1958, written by Iowa author Richard Bissell), Take Me Along (1959) and finally as J. Pierpont Finch in How to Succeed In Business Without Really Trying (1961). His movie career seemed to be taking off in a big way as the lead in Honeymoon Hotel (1964), Quick, Before It Melts (1964), and significantly the controversial funeral business satire, The Loved One (1965) from then-hot director Tony Richardson. This latter film was the only one that at all captured the Morse who’d made such a splash on Broadway.

It’s hard to overstate the impact Morse made in the Broadway version of How to Succeed. The two revivals of the play find leading men/boys (Matthew Broderick, Daniel Radcliffe) desperately trying to recapture Morse’s magic. The film version of How to Succeed certainly captures Morse at his best, but on its first release coming a bit too late – post-JFK assassination, Beatles era – to be more than a minor hit…and today a cult one.

Watching the film version of How to Succeed, though, it’s difficult to understand how Morse could, well, not have succeeded further. I once described him as “Jerry Lewis goes to graduate school.” He is charming, casually manic, and plays the camera like a kazoo. I know of no other film, for whatever minor flaws, that better captures a great Broadway star performance.

What happened?

The movie roles Morse landed around that time were either underwhelming – Guide for the Married Man (1967), unworthy of him (the aforementioned Honeymoon Hotel and Quick, Before It Melts) or disliked – the uncomfortably dark comedy of The Loved One and the disastrous Oh Dad, Poor Dad, Mamma’s Hung You in the Closet and I’m Feelin’ So Sad, made the same year as the film version of How to Succeed. Oh, Dad co-stars the great Rosalind Russell and yet this hardcore Morse fan has never made it all the way through. It’s a trip to the dentist minus the Novocaine.

The second act of Morse’s career begins dismally with leads in Where Were You When the Lights Went Out (1968, a flop Doris Day picture) and the toothless Disney comedy, The Boatniks (1970). That’s Life (1968), an ambitious TV series trying to mount a Broadway musical on a weekly basis (!) was a noble failure and the last look at the vital young Bobby Morse. Ahead were a lot of TV guest star work and such indignities as playing Grandpa Munster in a TV movie. He worked in nearly 80 TV episodes and movies, sometimes as a voice actor in cartoons.

On Broadway, in 1972, Morse made something of a comeback in Sugar, a musical version of Some Like It Hot that might have been a bigger deal had the music been better. Nonetheless it ran over 500 performances. Morse played his role as Jerry/Geraldine in the national touring company as well – a bright spot in his dismal second act.

The other bright spot in this dreary middle act was, however, very bright indeed. His astonishing portrayal of Truman Capote in Tru ran almost 300 performances and won Morse his second Tony. It’s very difficult to see Morse in his funny, moving, spot-on performance as Capone, and when he emerges for a last curtain call with his Capone make-up pulled off to reveal his still youthful, tousled-hair persona intact, it’s almost a gut punch.

His third act had, of course, a delightful finish as he became Bert Cooper, the boss on Mad Men – a sizeable and important supporting role in this TV classic, with a memorable, wonderful finale. As Vanity Fair put it, “Not a bad way for Morse to go…as series creator Matt Weiner gave him a final song-and-dance number, ‘The Best Things in Life Are Free’ — a touching and characteristically ironic song choice.”

What can be said of Morse’s career with its sky-rocketing first act, its sad second one (Tru aside), and a third act that finds him on one of the great television series of all time (and with a sweet send-off to boot)? What lessons are to be learned, if any?

Let’s reserve trying to answer that until we’ve talked about Richard Roundtree.

Roundtree’s John Shaft is a major pop cultural touchstone, and one hell of a performance, particularly as seen in the three Shaft movies (Shaft, 1971; Shaft’s Big Score, 1972), and Shaft in Africa, 1973) and even in his laundered but better-than-remembered series of seven TV movies (1973-1974).

For a short span, Roundtree and his charismatic presence could be seen in major Hollywood productions, both movie (Earthquake, 1974; Man Friday, 1975) and TV (Roots, 1977); but by 1980 he was taking a guest star role on The Love Boat. Jesus. Years of TV guest shots and B (and C and D) movies lay ahead.

He was capable and deserving of so much more. Occasionally he got the chance to show it – movies like Brick (2005) and Wild Seven (2007), his appearances in the two updated Shaft movies with Samuel Jackson (including stealing the show in the 2019 Shaft, despite a relatively late entry into the proceedings). Mostly, however, it was a little of this and a little of that.

He died in 2023. Barb and I looked at a couple of the Shaft movies by way of tribute. And I wrote about him here.

The other day at the Davenport Barnes & Noble I saw, on a 50% off sale, Roundtree’s last film, Thelma (no Louise). I’d heard about this movie and its premise, and that it starred June Squibb, the elderly actress who was nominated for an Academy Award for Nebraska in 2013. So that was a little on my radar, though not the fact that her co-star was Richard Roundtree, in his last role. Anyway, I got the Blu-Ray and Barb and I watched it.

First, it’s a delightful movie. I would say it’s the best movie I’ve seen in a very long time, but for the excellent Sinners. Supporting Squibb are indie legend Parker Posey (Waiting for Guffman), Clark Gregg (Agent Phil Coulson in the Marvel Cinematic Universe), and Fred Hechlinger (Gladiator II). This collection of characters portrays and represents three generations – the grandmother whose daughter and son-in-law are considering putting her in a retirement home, and whose socially awkward (perhaps mildly on the spectrum) grandson loves and helps his grandma with amused love. The patronizing if well-meaning treatment by the middle generation of the older and younger ones are key here.

The basic premise is simple: Thelma falls victim to a phone scammer who, pretending to be her grandson, gets $10,000 out of her; and Thelma sets out on a probably ill-advised trek across Los Angeles to get her money back. It’s kind of a goofy revenge plot that is used to sweetly explore the foibles of each of the three generations. It never gets sentimental or cloying, and is often very funny and frequently touching. The icing on the cake is Malcolm McDowell (who acted in radio plays I wrote!) turning up.

Where does Richard Roundtree come in? He’s Ben, an old friend of Thelma’s, but fairly far down the list of those, as Thelma finds out through a series of phone calls that most of her old friends have passed away or are infirm. Ben is in assisted living and, after Thelma hijacks his scooter, joins her on her quest with the proviso that he get back to the retirement home in time for opening night of an in-house production of Annie, in which he is playing Daddy Warbucks.

Eccentric enough for you? I promise, it’s a hoot and a (scooter) ride and a delight.

And it’s a lovely send-off for Roundtree, who even gets one nice Shaft action moment but mostly shows off his acting chops as a quietly dignified elderly man happy in assisted living, but reluctantly ready for one more rumble. The humor and the depth of his performance, which is nimble and at times heart-breaking and others heart-warming, demonstrates what a waste his career, post-Shaft, really was.

Look. I don’t exactly feel sorry for Robert Morse and Richard Roundtree. They had been big enough early on to carve out a career thereafter – they always seemed to work, and made the lives of their fans better when either Bobby or Richard turned up on a TV show or movie and a fan could say,
“Shit! Look! It’s Richard Roundtree!” “Omigod – that’s Robert Morse!”

For a creative person, an artist, sometimes a great artist, it’s enough to be able to keep working. I understand that. I understand that choices I made, that breaks I got, that breaks I didn’t get, ended up in a career that allowed me to make a living doing something I loved. In my case, I had opportunities to write things that I was urged to take on by smart people, like my agent, but that I turned away from because I preferred to write about Nathan Heller, Quarry and Ms. Tree (among other mental children of mine). I stayed with Dick Tracy longer than some smart people thought I should. I spent more time rehabilitating Mickey Spillane’s reputation than nurturing my own.

I have no regrets.

Other than maybe I wish the likes of Robert Morse and Richard Roundtree had been blessed with the careers they deserved. That alone would have improved life on this planet.

This is the complete Tru on YouTube. This is a Chicago production, but Tru ran on Broadway for around 300 performances.

Thanks, Richard.

Bye, Bobby.

I would appreciate it if you’d buy the Nathan Heller audio drama, True Noir: The Assassination of Anton Cermak at Truenoir.co. Ten episodes, under thirty bucks for all of ‘em.

M.A.C.

For those of you within traveling distance, this is a reminder that Death By Fruitcake will have its Quad Cities premiere at the Last Picture House in Davenport, Iowa, this coming Friday, May 9, at 7 p.m. Stars Paula Sands, a superstar broadcaster in this part of the world, and Rob Merritt, one of the most popular Iowa-based actors, will be on hand. So will I and Barb and producer/d.p./editor Chad Bishop.

As I’ve mentioned here previously, the Last Picture House is a terrific boutique venue (two screens) with a bar out front and classic framed movie posters hanging everywhere. It’s the brainchild of Scott Beck and Bryan Woods, the Quad Cities filmmakers who have achieved fantastic success with A Quiet Place, 65 and The Heretic, among others.

We are in discussion with several possible distributors and hope to have Death By Fruitcake (based on the “Barbara Allan” Trash ‘n’ Treasures/Antiques novels) on a streaming service for holiday season. (Our Blue Christmas is on Tubi right now.)

Something has been on my mind, nagging at me, which means I should probably risk boring you by discussing it here.

As anyone who knows me at all well – from those who went to school with me to audience members of my two rock bands to co-workers and readers of my work – know of the three obsessions that have followed me through much of my life. First came Dick Tracy, which I somehow managed to become the second writer of. Finally came Mickey Spillane, who I incredibly got to know personally and became his collaborator, both during and after his lifetime.

In between came Bobby Darin.

Music – popular music, chiefly rock ‘n’ roll and show tunes – was always a major part of my life. My father, for the first ten years of his professional life, was a high school music teacher of surprising renown and the director of a male chorus that won national honors. Our living room was often filled with students and local citizens rehearsing for my father’s various productions. As I’ve said here before, he directed the first high school performances of Oklahoma and Carousel (at least according to family legend and the Des Moines Register).

I saw Elvis debut on The Ed Sullivan Show. The first 45 record I owned, at probably nine or ten, was “Don’t Be Cruel.” Pat Boone led me to Little Richard. Throughout my adolescence and teen years, I spent my allowance on crime fiction paperbacks (Spillane, Hammett, Chandler, McBain) and 45 and LP records – soundtracks, Broadway shows, rock ‘n’ roll. I saw the Beatles in their first appearance (all of their appearances, actually) on Ed Sullivan. On Ed Sullivan I later saw Vanilla Fudge doing “You Keep Me Hangin’ On” and have never been quite the same since.

Anyway, Bobby Darin.

As a pre-adolescent, I had liked “Splish Splash” and “Dream Lover” on the radio, but can’t say Darin hooked me any more than other pop/rock performers. This is likely because I hadn’t caught him on a TV show in live performance. Not until I saw him do “Mack the Knife” on Ed Sullivan. And that really changed my life.

This convergence of crime fiction and pop music sent me flying from the house on my Schwinn bike to go the record shop and buy the “Mack” 45.

I became a devoted collector of Darin’s records, tracking down his early, unsuccessful Decca singles (which didn’t sound much like him, frankly). For Christmas, shortly after my enthusiasm for Darin began, my parents gave me his album That’s All, which remains his definitive album, with both “Mack the Knife” and “Beyond the Sea” on it. He would have been 23 years old.

What appealed about Darin to a kid in Iowa? Robert Walden Cassato (Barb and I named our chief-of-police character, Tony Cassato, in the Antiques books after him) had been a sickly but cocky Bronx kid. All I had in common with him was music and a certain cockiness grown out of insecurity. Only years later did I learn Darin had been born with the same heart valve issue I had, and that he’d overheard a doctor telling his mother (well, she was his grandmother, really, but never mind) that he’d be lucky to make it to eighteen.

That explains a lot about him. It’s why he told Life magazine he wanted to be a legend by 25. It’s why he jumped from rock ‘n’ roll to big-band swing with stops along the way to the end of his 37 years of living at country-rock, r & b, traditional folk, folk-rock, British Invasion rock, and Dylanesque protest music.

He died on the operating table having the same operation I survived.

So I feel a closeness with this great artist – this single performer who mastered every form of popular music he touched to where if he were the only 20th Century recording artist whose work remained, you’d still have a good picture of what popular music in that century had been. Did I mention he was a first-rate actor, who was Academy Award-nominated, and who co-starred in some terrific movies, including Hell Is For Heroes and Pressure Point? And some Doris Day/Rock Hudson type fluff with his then-wife Sandra Dee?

When he died, little was written about him in the press. The much more minor Jim Croce died around the same time and was lionized. As Kurt Vonnegut said, so it goes. But every now and then something pops up in the culture to give Darin at least a mini-renaissance. A song of his will wind up on TV or in a movie – “Splish Splash” on Sesame Street, “Mack the Knife” appropriated by McDonald’s, “If I Were a Carpenter” (among others) on The Sopranos, “Work Song” on Severance.

The now-cancelled Kevin Spacey’s bio pic, Beyond the Sea, underrated but doomed because of the disparity between lead actor and age of the subject, nonetheless sparked renewed Darin interest. Spacey also did concerts in tribute to Darin – I saw one and it was very good. But anything Spacey touched seems tarnished now. People can’t separate art from artist, but that’s another discussion.

Anyway, Darin’s immense talent and his catalogue of songs (many of which he wrote himself) have kept him popping up in the public eye. Now there’s a Broadway show, Just in Time, with the gifted Jonathan Groff playing Darin.

Travel is less appealing to me, these days (I think that’s true for a lot of people, particularly older ones); but when I heard about this production, I immediately started looking in to making an NYC trip to see what promised to be a terrific production.

From what I’ve seen in excerpts on The Late Show With Stephen Colbert and on YouTube, it looks to be very entertaining. The Circle in the Square theater has been transformed into a nightclub – the kind of venue that Darin owned as few performers every have (or ever will). The seating is bistro tables. Man, did I want to see that show.

I’ve changed my mind, at least somewhat. As skilled and talented a performer as Groff clearly is, he is – again, based on excerpts from the show – a performer with nothing much in common with Darin but talent and a big ego. And the show – I stress I’ve only been able to see the Colbert performance and perhaps half a dozen YouTube videos – appears to unintentionally patronize its subject.

When Groff appeared on Colbert, he entered through the audience — something Darin himself did from time to time, particularly on Dick Clark’s nighttime show – and began by saying that he wondered what Bobby Darin might say about the young artist playing him appearing in the same Ed Sullivan theater where Darin had performed “Beyond the Sea.” Then he delivers a punchline, imagining Darin saying, “Who’s the gay guy?”

That sums up what I find off-putting about Groff’s undeniably energetic performance: it’s about Groff, not Darin. That flip (but calculated) remark is so at odds with Darin, who was a progressive who wept in the rain at RFK’s graveside and did not have a prejudiced bone in his body, that I knew Just in Time would be about Groff, not BD.

To a large degree, that’s okay. But I’m uneasy when Groff goes into the audience, singing “Dream Lover” to a man and changing the lyric to, “Someday, I don’t know how, I hope he’ll hear my plea.” He is playing Jonathan Groff, not Bobby Darin.

When I heard people saying Groff is channeling Darin, I can only say, “Really, though? Is he?” I don’t expect him to channel Darin, and I don’t even think trying to do that is appropriate. It’s not meant to be an impression, after all. But there’s nothing in Groff’s approach that is reminiscent of Darin. At all. Darin managed to combine the brashness and swing of Sinatra with the casualness of Crosby or Dino. He exuded energy even as he seemed to toss off one song after another. Few artists have ever combined intensity with nonchalance in such a winning way.

The dancing, from Groff and the three back-up dancers, is aggressive and, yes, impressive…but robotic. All calisthenic, calculated, no grace. Bobby had respect for the show business legends that preceded him – he could soft-shoe with George Burns, he could pay tribute to George M. Cohen, he could trade quips with Bob Hope. And he could then go on the Midnight Special and sit at the piano and tear through a medley including “Splish Splash” that would impress Jerry Lee Lewis.

Again – I have only seem excerpts. Maybe Groff does all this. But I am troubled by a video clip of Groff doing “My First Real Love,” the ballad Darin wrote for one of the several loves of his life, Connie Francis, as performed by fellow Just in Time cast member, Gracie Lawrence. Both are very good, but the performance is an over-the-top spoof – not just of the song, but of ‘50s rock in general. The band is solid. But they know jack shit about rock ‘n’ roll of the era they’re dabbling in, and patronizing.

Look, both Gracie Lawrence and Jonathan Groff just got Tony nominations. They no doubt deserve them. But when I said to Barb, “I don’t think we’re going to try to make it to New York for the Darin thing.” She said, “Good call. It would make you furious.”

Here’s Groff and Lawrence, and you may love it. I don’t, quite.

Here’s Bobby and Connie Francis.

And here is the real thing.

M.A.C.