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[0:00] Robert W. Schneider: There are some stars whose careers can be divided neatly into acts. Act One, the rise. Act Two, the reinvention. And in between, the intermission. For Barbara Cook, Act One was the stuff of Broadway legend. She created Kuniganda and Candide, Marion the Librarian and Amalia in She Loves Me. She introduced songs like "Till There Was You," "Glitter and Be Gay," and "Vanilla Ice Cream." By the 1960s, she was widely considered one of the greatest sopranos musical theater had ever produced. And then, the phone stopped ringing. The ingenue roles disappeared. Broadway changed. Personal struggles mounted. The golden girl of musical theater found herself increasingly adrift. Most people know what happened next.

Barbara Cook reinvented herself as perhaps the greatest concert and cabaret performer of her generation. The comeback that began in the mid-1970s transformed her from a Broadway star into a living institution. But here's the question. What happened during the intermission? What happened between the Barbara Cook who sang "Till There Was You" and the Barbara Cook who filled Carnegie Hall? The answer may lie in a forgotten musical called Halloween. But Halloween arrived at a pivotal moment in Barbara Cook's life. It was one of her last attempts to find a place in the musical theater world that had once adored her. And when the show failed, it forced an uncomfortable question. What happens when the career you've built no longer exists?

For many performers, that question marks the beginning of the end. For Barbara Cook, it marked the beginning of Act Two. This is the story of Barbara Cook, the musical Halloween, and the show that may have closed a door only so a much bigger one could open on this episode of Broadway Bound, the musicals that never came to Broadway.

[1:47] Robert W. Schneider: Hi, I'm Robert Schneider, and welcome back to another episode of Broadway Bound, the musicals that never came to Broadway. And today, we are looking at one of the greatest stars of the American musical theater, a woman who was known for having two incredible acts in life. Act One revealed her to be a soprano that seemed to be gifted from the gods of music. As the star of countless Golden Age Broadway musicals, she introduced the world to such songs as "This Is All Very New to Me," "My White Night," "Glitter and Be Gay," "Vanilla Ice Cream," "Till There Was You," "Dear Friend," and the list goes on and on. Her second act showed her as the premier solo artist of musical theater concerts and cabarets, being the premier interpreter of Sondheim, Herman, Gershwin, Berlin, Porter.

The list goes on and on. Her name was Barbara Cook. Between these two acts, however, was an intermission, an intermission filled with bad career moves, bad romantic moves, weight gain, addiction, and one flop after another, most of which got to Broadway. The one that didn't, well, trick or treat, kids, that is today's story, the story of Halloween, a 1972 show so bizarre that Cook didn't even mention it in her autobiography. So, what exactly is Halloween? Well, it came from the mind of a playwright named Sidney Michaels, who had a nice string of hits in the 1960s, including Chin Chin, Dylan, and the screenplay for The Night They Raided Minsky's. And he was no stranger to musicals, including writing the book for Ben Franklin and Paris, and a collaboration with Richard Rodgers about Nefertiti that was to star Diane Carroll, but never got beyond the planning stages. I would love to have seen that.

[3:21] Robert W. Schneider: In the early 1970s, Michaels began to fall in love with the avant-garde theater scene that was upending traditional musical theater storytelling. Think The Fantastics, Cabaret, Zorba, and match that with the cultural zeitgeist of what exactly does crazy mean? Who are the crazies? Think Anyone Can Whistle, King of Hearts, Lady in the Dark. Well, Michaels wrote a play, a play called Saltpeter in the Rhubarb, which is a title that makes you question why you would even purchase a ticket to such an evening called Saltpeter in the Rhubarb. Honestly, the only thing that would make this sound even more absurd is if you were to say Saltpeter in the Rhubarb, a musical comedy, which is exactly what happened.

Now, I should be very fair to Michaels because his play, I believe, is actually a very smart idea for a musical. Let me tell you the story of Saltpeter in the Rhubarb, which was later called Halloween. The curtain rose on the exterior of a haunted house where two neighborhood children are gathering for trick-or-treat. The man accompanying them tells them that this home is not a haunted house but is actually a mental institution, and he proceeds to tell them a story about three of its residents who lived there, Lieberwitz, Victoria, and Charlie. Now, Lieberwitz was a gay man with separation issues, especially when it comes to his teddy bear. Victoria is a widow with children who feels responsible for her husband's suicide, and Charlie, a charismatic yet grieving poetry professor whose daughter has passed away. Needless to say, these three sound like a real, real fun time.

[5:04] Robert W. Schneider: Professor Charlie operates under the strict maxim that every day should be Halloween, hence the title. He says, "Until it's a world for children and a world of laughter, I would prefer to live in my private world," is his reasoning. Thus, he is able to conjure fabulous adventures for the three of them to escape the confines of the institution using just their imaginations. Together, imagination only, they go on adventures through the Spanish Inquisition, turn-of-the-century barbershops, 1940s lover's lanes, and many others. Throughout the course of the evening, Lieberwitz begins to wonder if he is gay after all, and begins to fall in love with Victoria. Guess what? He's cured of being gay. But Victoria is in love with Charlie, and her love for him is curing her issues, meaning she's going to have to leave the Institute.

But maybe she'll take Charlie with her, and he stops her. He'll never get better, so the two will never be able to share a life outside of these walls. He will be confined there. She is better. She has to leave. When Victoria tells Charlie, then she will never leave as long as he is living in the institution. Charlie wills himself to die, so Victoria may live. Just as Victoria is about to leave the institution with Lieberwitz, she realizes she could use her imagination too. She will imagine that Charlie is still alive, and she'll conjure him back, which she does, and the two of them will live happily ever after in the asylum. As the doors close on Charlie and Victoria, the audience is reintroduced to the two children from the beginning, who are actually Victoria's kids, and the man with them is Lieberwitz, who has made a vow to raise Victoria's children in her absence. End of play. Well, not play anymore. A musical!

[6:30] Robert W. Schneider: Producers Albert Seldin and Jerome Minskoff thought it could be a musical, and they both knew a little bit about musicals. Seldin was the original producer of Man of La Mancha and the man who turned Goodspeed Opera House into a breeding ground for new musicals, and Jerome Minskoff, on the other hand, was a land developer who had an interest in moving into the theatrical space. One has art, the other has money. This is not a bad combo. Now, remember, this was the era of the David Merrick-type producer, a single visionary whose productions were filtered through their tastes and wants. Seldin and Minskoff were not David Merrick. Seldin's biggest hit was only Man of La Mancha after a string of flops, and Minskoff had never produced before, so even if the show was traditional as can be, they would still be a bit at sea.

That would be fine if it were in the hands of a conceptual team who could create a surreal world of magical realism and who had experience on guiding a bizarre, non-traditional show to success. What about Hal Prince's director and producer, Sondheim, or Tom Jones and Harvey Schmidt, to write the score? The problem was none of them were interested in this project. They saw it as a film or a book. Tilting at windmills, these producers pressed on. Seldin, who knew that Man of La Mancha was a cash cow, thought if he could make magic once, he could make it again, so he called his old buddies Albert Marr, La Mancha's director, and Mitch Lee, the composer, had them come on board to see if they could do it again.

They would keep Michaels on as a book writer and lyricist. For both, this would be their big return to Broadway since Man of La Mancha, and this is where the story of Halloween begins to truly grow awry.

[8:04] Robert W. Schneider: Now, Man of La Mancha and Halloween do share a common theme, the thin line between reality and illusion. So, in theory, the La Mancha team would be a smart idea, but that is where the commonalities end. Don Quixote wasn't a gay man in a homophobic society, and Al Danza had never abandoned her children after driving her husband to suicide. La Mancha was about the past glories of an imaginary hero. Halloween was about the now. This show was incredibly subversive and unconventional, and it was now being helmed by a team that were the epitome of conventional and rigid. Every show has a muscle, the individual that is really the final word on a show, despite the usual theatrical protocol of collaboration.

If Hal Prince was directing, he was the muscle. If Nathan Lane is the star, he is the muscle. On Halloween, Man of La Mancha was the muscle, represented by an obstinate Albert Marr, who went out of his way to make sure that Sidney Michaels felt left out and not part of their club. Something would have to bend, and it would always be Michaels' story that would be sacrificed. Why? Well, just to show that he was in charge, Albert Marr. Marr was a traditionalist when it came to directing. His shows, like Kismet and Milk and Honey, were representations of the solid, workmanlike direction he could do, even though those shows were hits, they are not really remembered for their ingenuity or staging or storytelling.

Halloween did not need a craftsman. It needed a visionary, one who was willing to take the show into unseen and uncharted territories. First thing Marr did, perhaps to flex his muscle on page one, was to remove the children, which meant the sweet ending of Lieberwitz being a father to the abandoned kids was gone, losing the show's framing device and a very touching conclusion. Then, the powerful choice of having Victoria choose to stay crazy and stay behind was gone, so she now was mentally healthy and left the asylum, giving the audience a traditional happy ending. Lieberwitz was also now, in this change, a transvestite. He's not gay. Really removing any bite from the show and any discussions of sexuality was a choice.

Safe, safe, safe, all the way around, Albert Marr, safe, safe, safe, even in the casting. To reinforce his La Mancha milieu, Marr hired Jose Ferrer to play the magical Charlie. Now, you see, Charlie should be impish, charming, and incredibly endearing. Think like David Wayne or Robert Morse or Jack Cassidy. Jose Ferrer was sonorous, blustery, and he radiated no charm, but he had played Don Quixote, so Marr liked that fact. Marr even had Lee and Michaels write a pseudo "The Impossible Dream" in a song for Charlie called "It Will Be Green Again," about how you can always return to the beauty of the meadow after the harshness of spring. Nothing like trying to repeat a past success. Once again, folks, here is the lovely song "It Will Be Green Again," so if you can't sing "The Impossible Dream" anymore, listen to "It Will Be Green Again."

[11:19] ♪ Musical number: "It Will Be Green Again" — performed by Unknown performer ♪

[12:01] Robert W. Schneider: For though it was gray today, or looking so black, it will not stay that way. Green will be back, it will be red and white, and blue in the breeze again, and it will be rainbows bright, marching to please again.

[12:09] ♪ Musical number: "It Ain't Even Brown" — performed by Unknown performer ♪

[13:32] Robert W. Schneider: I don't think anyone will be singing this during the Olympics anytime soon. But the character also got the title song with a very 1970s orchestration. Take it away, Mr. Ferrer.

[13:45] Unknown speaker: Do I interrupt you, sir?

[13:46] Robert W. Schneider: No, I have a suggestion. I have a love of the marvelous and a desire to share it with people. Years ago, I found out what I could do. And ever since, I've been around here and singing. Halloween, Halloween. There's a pretty, jazzy theme. For a witch, a groom, or a ghost in a room. So they won't be coming Halloween.

[14:15] Unknown speaker: Halloween, dark and cold. No one knows, really, though. On a strange weekend, we stand and yell. Let me make a wish. Who should sing Halloween?

[14:45] Unknown speaker: Halloween, Halloween. Halloween, Halloween. I'll be king. You'll be queen. Before everyone turns in the house. We'll come to make your finest. We'll get back to you. I'll take your hand. For you are Halloween.

[15:23] Robert W. Schneider: But, I will say, he had a very touching song. A song that everybody seemed to like, including the critics. And this song is called, This Life is a Fantasy.

[15:30] ♪ Musical number: "This Life is a Fantasy" — performed by Unknown performer ♪

[17:10] Robert W. Schneider: For the role of Leibovitz, the creators went for a unique choice. The comedian Dick Shawn, best known for his bizarre stand-up acts and for playing LSD in The Producers, was going to tackle this role. And Shawn said, quote, "Leibovitz is a very easy character for me to understand. He's a man who is asexual. A man who is afraid of people, men as well as women. He's afraid of homosexuality. He becomes straight when he gets rid of his doubts and finds out he is who he suspected he was all along. A man. When I was trying to understand Leibovitz, I tried to think of the times I was afraid of women. When I felt inadequate and insecure. But as a person gains more confidence, he realizes he likes women and can relate to them.

Or can't relate to them. Those who can adjust to it like losing a parent or going bald prematurely. Well, fuck you, Dick Shawn. You learn to adjust to your situation. I feel like a homosexual who has adjusted to it can be a stronger man than a weak person who is straight. Only a few things have been done on homosexuality in life. The movie, Boys in the Band. This is the first I believe. It's a good thing to get the subject out in the open. All right, Dick Shawn. Don't insult bald people, but I appreciate you being an ally. For Leibovitz, they gave him this song about why he wants to be a woman or dress like a woman or have sex with men. No one really, really knows because the character is more and more confusing with each rehearsal draft that comes through. Anyway, this is the song that Leibovitz sang called I Want to Be Your Mother.

[18:48] ♪ Musical number: "I Want to Be Your Mother" — performed by Unknown performer ♪

[21:22] Robert W. Schneider: And for Victoria, the role of Victoria, you would assume Mayer would use his frequent collaborator and wife Joan Deeter, but he did not. The creative team's top choice for this role was Penny Fuller, fresh off of her triumph in Applause, but she turned the role down, smart job, Penny, as did her co-star in that show, Bonnie Franklin. So like I always say, if you can't get Bonnie Franklin, you get Barbara Cook. At this point, Cook, like we mentioned, was not at the top of her game. She was an alcoholic, had put on some weight, was doing summer stock, she was on Broadway and shows that closed quite fast. Something more. In 1964, it lasted for two weeks. Little Murders, the play, in 1967, only one week, and The Grass Harp in 1971, less than one week.

In fact, the reason they thought of Cook was because when The Grass Harp closed, the producers grabbed it to rehearse Halloween at that theater and saw Cook's name on the marquee. It must have been painful for Miss Cook to walk into the Martin Beck Theater every day where The Grass Harp played and still have that marquee up to rehearse Halloween, which would also open at the Martin Beck Theater on October 30, 1972. For Barbara Cook, they would write a beautiful song of reflection called Where Have I Been? Take it away, Miss Cook.

[22:34] ♪ Musical number: "Where Have I Been?" — performed by Barbara Cook ♪

[24:17] Robert W. Schneider: I'm walking alone, following all the paths leading back from the forest. Where have I been walking? I'm walking away from my life. Now, this song, which was supposed to be the end of the show, was not the original choice. The original choice was a song that was much grittier and much more visceral. And it was called "Nothing I've Ever Read," but Albie Marr felt it was too dark of an ending. Let's give the audience something cheery on the way out in Cook's lilting soprano. The song that was supposed to be there originally was called "Nothing I've Ever Read." And this is from a concert that I actually did at 54 Below called Broadway Bound. Surprise, surprise. And this is the great Christy Cates from Wicked singing that song, which I actually prefer. Let me know what you think.

[25:24] ♪ Musical number: "Nothing I've Ever Read" — performed by Christy Cates ♪

[27:04] Robert W. Schneider: Now, one thing that was needed in every musical was an ensemble. And Marr had an idea. In the original casting breakdown for the show in Variety, it said, quote, aside from the three leading roles, three midgets will be needed. They represent the little people of America. Yes, one more time, friends. Aside from the three leading roles, three midgets will be needed. They represent the little people of America. Yes, an ensemble of little people. Why? Who knows? Marr thought it would make the evening feel wacky. Well, that quartet of little people, well, they actually got one more than three. Congratulations. There's a joke there, I'm sure, but I'm not going to say it. I don't want to get canceled.

That quartet of little people was led by the iconic Billy Barty, Felix Cillia, who was best known as Cousin It from the Addams Family TV show, Emery Souza, and Tommy Madden. This foursome loved actually working on Halloween because they were used as actors with no jokes made at the expense of their height. That's true. Although they were the first to laugh at their status. One day on a lunch break from rehearsal, the four of them were on the street corner when a woman passed and said, look, midgets. To which the four of them began searching frantically and said, where? Where?

[28:14] Robert W. Schneider: In the pre-workshop age, the producers needed a safe place to try out this show and a place cheaper than Boston or New Haven. Today, it is common for new musicals to try out on college campuses before going to New York. But Selden and Minskoff had the bright idea of partnering with Florida State University. The school would allow the show to try out there, and in exchange, the students could be random roles in the show and shadow the creative team, and the actors would all be enrolled as faculty members. I hope that they were teaching theater classes. I can't imagine like Barbara Cook being like, here's mathematics. Not a bad idea. And one that would be used more as time went on. In fact, it's very frequent now to see shows trying out at college campuses.

The plan was to open there in Florida on May 17th, 1972, then a tour to Sarasota, Fort Lauderdale, Palm Beach, then up to Bucks County Playhouse in Pennsylvania, and then to the Martin Beck for opening. Now, had it gone to Broadway, it would have been playing alongside the musicals, A Little Night Music, Pippin, Sugar, Don't Bother Me, I Can't Cope, plus a revival of Irene with Debbie Reynolds. That's some pretty stiff competition to be coming into that season.

[29:23] Robert W. Schneider: Rehearsals began at the Martin Beck, and it was soon clear that there would be trouble on 45th Street. Mayer would rewrite all of Michael's dialogue before even having the cast read it out loud to see if it worked. Lee was able to write some strong melodies, but Michael's lyric writing was weak. Lee had wanted his La Mancha lyricist, Joe Darian, but Michael's had it in his contract that he got to write the book and the lyrics. Now, a stronger producer would have rejected that outright, but these producers were novices, and they did not. So, for example, of the problems Michael's was having, there was a song called "In the Autumn of the Night," the moment Victoria realizes what is happening to her, and Michael's provided the lyric, "As the harvest starts to rot, what I have is not a lot."

Now, this was Cook's big moment, and it was set to an incredible Lee melody, and she did not want to stand on stage and sing that lyric. She begged Michael's to change it, and after many sleepless nights, he came into rehearsal and exclaimed he had it, he had it, a wonderful new lyric to replace that one. His new lyric was, "As the harvest starts to rot, what I have is really, what?" That being the best he could do. The team soldiered on with more lyrical moments like that throughout the show. Here is Barbara Cook singing that song, "In the Autumn of the Night."

[30:38] ♪ Musical number: "In the Autumn of the Night" — performed by Barbara Cook ♪

[33:06] Robert W. Schneider: And the actors also did not take to each other. Farrar played Charlie with no charm, or Joy coming off as a bit sadistic, but Sean clearly did not like one another. Cook was a creature of the theater. Discipline was in her life's blood. Sean, on the other hand, was a neurotic comedian whose greatest asset was his spontaneity. No one knew what he was going to do on stage, which worked usually. Well, we say usually because in 1987, Sean collapsed on stage, and no one called the police because they thought Sean was just being spontaneous, that it was part of his act. He had not. He died, but people thought it was part of the show. One of the biggest blowups between Cook and Sean actually led to one of the show's rare moments that worked.

A scene involved the two of them in a tiny car's backseat making out. Two people who did not like one another right in each other's laps, trying to figure out where they could touch one another, and no matter what one did, it never seemed to please the other. As they squabbled about where their hands would go, Marr realized he could not see them from the audience, so he asked them to stay in the car while they got a jack to elevate the backseat. Still not good. He then asked them to stay in there while they installed an angled mirror above the backseat. Still not good. As Sean and Cook kept trying to negotiate space, Marr would be yelling directions, and Michaels would be running up with new lines of dialogue.

And after a whole day spent on this one moment that was not working, a suggestion came. Do the scene in the dark so you only hear their lovemaking. It was in and got the biggest laugh in the show. The song leading to that is this one called "Organized Sex." Take it, Babs and Dick.

[34:39] ♪ Musical number: "Organized Sex" — performed by Barbara Cook and Dick Sean ♪

[36:26] Robert W. Schneider: Oh, yes, you might also act. A passionate I love you. The first thing you do is look as long as the country lane. The second thing you do is touch as gentle as earth and rain. The third thing you do is hold as close as two hands that pray. The fourth thing you do is kiss as if you had come to stay. The fifth thing is search and find an ear you can whisper for. The sixth thing is close your eyes as brave as a mad dog. The seventh thing you do is place your hand on a pounding heart. The eighth is present to each examples of classic acts. The ninth is the run up hill. Tenth is the postcard view. Oh, yes, I might also act. A passionate I love you. Oh, it's as simple as one can get. One can get down to four. I don't understand why I'm not loving you before.

[38:32] Robert W. Schneider: The cast and crew went on down to humid Florida where opening night became the first time the show was run without stopping, not to mention some moments never having been staged. Just make it up as you go along, kids. What's interesting to note is that the show was technologically sophisticated for its time. The entire back wall was a projection screen with a custom made projector, the largest slide projector in the world at the time, direct from Vienna to quote Carnival. This put the whole project at a budget of $450,000. Of course, nobody knew how to work the projector, but that's neither here nor there. Opening night was May 23rd, 1972 at Florida State University, and the reviews were mixed.

The Miami Herald said, keeping in mind that what the artist has produced is essentially in the formative stages, let it be said that Halloween aches for discipline execution of its basically sound ideas. It suffers from indulgences, pointless rambling, and situations that overextend themselves time and again. Sidney Michael's script turns around on itself like a bad joke, by the way, of which there are several. Take this, which made an already uneasy audience shift uncomfortably in its seats. The opening night audience collectively groaned aloud. Charlie says, I have to make a dummy, and Victoria replies, that's no way to refer to me. You laughing yet? That's okay.

[39:57] Robert W. Schneider: There was time between the short run in Florida to get the show in strong shape, yet there were no changes to the text, not really. The creative team felt that what they had was working. Sophisticated New York audiences, they'd understand it. These Floridians were just not smart enough. Both Farrar and Cook felt differently. Jose Ferrer said the show had potential, but he would not continue on without script changes, and he wanted them implemented in Florida. The authors refused. Ferrer left and was replaced by someone more appropriate for the role, the impish David Wayne. No problem for Jose Ferrer. He was an accomplished actor who could go perform much better material, including Man of La Mancha.

Cook, on the other hand, was not so lucky. The industry had changed. No one wanted sopranos anymore. They wanted rock singers. She was getting too old for the ingenue roles of her prime. The last musical she headlined in couldn't make it past one week. She had few choices. She could either stick it out and add another misguided musical to her resume, really ensuring her inability to lead a show, or she could take a chance, leave with dignity, and retire. Well, a job is better than no job, and Cook agreed to continue to Bucks County. But then something interesting happened. Two weeks before performances began on September 20, 1972, Cook left the show. She said it was personal reasons, but the show was not getting better, and her drinking was getting worse.

This was the rock bottom of her career, and she knew it. Replacing her was Margot Moser, an actress best known for understudying and replacing, and sadly, she was not as strong as Cook, and that left a massive sized hole in the trio of stars.

[41:36] Robert W. Schneider: The Bucks County production opened on September 20, 1972, after a two-week postponement to get Margot Moser up to speed, to unenthusiastic reviews. The Philadelphia Inquirer used the headline, and then continued with, Variety said, and a three-star cast that labors valiantly. At times, they almost succeed. The quality is uneven, a result of both casting and staging. Mitch Lee's music is bright at times and relatively tuneful, but lacks excitement. It is stronger, though, than Sidney Michael's book and lyrics, some of which are tasteless, such as the song, Saltpeter in the Rhubarb, and others simply banal. Friends, let's take a listen to my favorite song, Saltpeter in the Rhubarb.

[42:48] ♪ Musical number: "Saltpeter in the Rhubarb" — performed by Robert W. Schneider ♪

[44:14] Robert W. Schneider: It was clear that Halloween was not going to succeed. So, on October 18, 1972, just 12 days before its opening on Broadway, Variety announced that Halloween was postponed indefinitely, with a capitalization of $450,000 going out the drain. In showbiz terms, it's done. But there were some praises buried under the damnation. The York Dispatch Theatre Critic, yes, the York Dispatch Theatre Critic said, quote, My companion, who's been known to doze during likes of La Mancha and Pearlie, stayed awake through the entire performance. Could you imagine that? Pull quote on the side of the Martin Beck. What if Halloween had succeeded? What if it opened on Broadway? Most likely, it would have changed the course of Cook's life, and not for the better.

It would have been one more failure in a book musical, and maybe Cook would have kept seeking other book shows, denying her true power as a solo artist. There comes a time when age catches up with all of us, and it is incredibly cruel to performers. Performers who feel that the public will only accept them doing the same thing over and over again, so they never deviate, think Lucille Ball. Or they do deviate, and the audience loses respect for their great career. Think of any comedy starring Robert De Niro. Cook was brilliant. She said, I will take what I do, and remove the things I cannot control. In 1975, Barbara Cook took tentative steps in that direction, performed at Brothers and Sisters, a little nightclub.

She was not the same ingenue. She went on stage, and the audience gasped at how different she looked. But then she opened her voice, and out popped a new career. Along with music director Wally Harper, she controlled how the world experienced her talent. Soon, it was Carnegie Hall, symphonies, concerts, sellout shows across the world, Kennedy Center Honors, Sondheim, Herman, Kander, and Ebb. They all threw their songs at her to sing. The book musical bug did bite her again in the late 1980s when she starred in the RSC production of Carrie, the musical. She also did not come to Broadway with that one as well, citing also personal reasons. Perhaps it was the fact she was almost decapitated by the set.

Suddenly, working with Dick Sean didn't seem so bad. But Barbara Cook's second act would not have occurred without Halloween, a wake-up call to the fact her assets were not utilized anymore in a book musical. She did not try to beat that dead horse after Halloween. She knew. She realized. Had she stuck with Halloween, it would have been an illusion, but it might have taken a lot longer. And at that point, perhaps people would not have cared and we would have been robbed a few years of appreciating her brilliance and artistry. So we have to say thank you to Halloween for giving us Barbara Cook 2.0 before she passed away in 2017. Barbara Cook's partner in art was the book musical until she realized she no longer needed it.

But what happens when one member of an iconic twosome decides to get up, they find a new and exciting medium they have never tried before. This story of Ginger Rogers, the Pink Jungle, and utter confusion on our next episode of Broadway Bound, the musicals that never came to Broadway. Bye-bye.

[47:30] Robert W. Schneider: Hi, friends. Thank you so much for listening to another episode of Broadway Bound, the musicals that never came to Broadway. We love to get these episodes produced and any financial assistance is always appreciated. If you like what we are doing, please head over to robwschneider.com. That's R-O-B-W-S-C-H-N-E-I-D-E-R dot com. Click the tab that says AMTA. That stands for the American Musical Theater Archives and make a tax-deductible donation to keep shows like this one on the air. Oh, my gosh. I sound so much like PBS right now. I'm so sorry. I'm going to wave energetically if I see you on the street. And isn't that worth the price of a donation alone? Actually, donate to PBS. That way they can send you a tote bag. You can put it over your head so nobody sees me waving at you if you're really ashamed and embarrassed of my vociferous energy. Once again, robwschneider.com. Click AMTA. Make a tax-deductible donation, and I will be forever grateful.