Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1966)

In December 1986, Mary Tyler Moore was preparing for her second Broadway show called Sweet Sue that co-starred Lynn Redgrave, and she sat down with morning television host Eileen Prose to talk about this production:

Prose: “So Sweet Sue, now I gotta ask you of how nerve wracking it is to prepare for Broadway. You and Lynn float on the stage, but inside, as changes are being made and nobody wants to flop on Broadway. So it is a big. Must be a tumultuous feeling.”

Moore: “But you know what? I have flopped on Broadway already. There was a play called Breakfast at Tiffany's which played out of town in Boston…It went to New York and it closed in previews before it opened. So I've had that experience and I know that the world has not come to an end, you know, so I will survive it. It is not all that important.”

Well, important or not, Breakfast at Tiffany’s has become one of the most notorious flops in Broadway history. But on paper, it really shouldn’t have been.

You take a popular book and turn it into a film, then turn that film into a Broadway musical…it’s a formula that has worked time and time again with shows like Les Misérables, The Color Purple, and Phantom of the Opera. But more often than not, that formula can backfire as well in shows like Lolita, My Love that we’ve previously discussed, where stage versions never come close to the level of success that their books or movies achieved.

Still, that didn’t stop notorious Broadway producer David Merrick from trying. He saw gold in Truman Capote’s beloved novella about an eccentric party girl named Holly Golightly and the neighbor who becomes utterly fascinated with her. Breakfast at Tiffany’s had already been a wildly successful film starring Audrey Hepburn, but turning it into a Broadway musical? That would prove to be a very different story.

Merrick assembled an A-list group of artists: the beloved actress Mary Tyler Moore, a television heartthrob in Richard Chamberlain, and an award-winning creative team led by the legendary Abe Burrows.

But what started as a promising new musical called Holly Golightly would soon spiral into chaos: Creatives were fired. Out-of-town tryouts were a mess. Critics were brutal. Entire chunks of the show were rewritten—first by Burrows, and then by none other than Edward Albee, who was brought in as a last-ditch effort to save the show. And Melissa Hart, Moore’s understudy in the show, remembers the turmoil all too well.

“It's sad and it's funny. And I don't think there were a lot of redeeming qualities there in terms of the show. And it just started off on the wrong foot.”

And by the time the show limped its way into New York, it only survived three days. What was meant to be a glitzy Broadway launchpad for Moore and Chamberlain ended up almost derailing both of their careers. It was a glamorous failure in every sense of the word, and one that’s still talked about today for all the wrong reasons.

“Welcome to season two of closing night, a theater history podcast that dives into the stories of Broadway's famous and forgotten shows that closed too soon. I'm Patrick Oliver Jones, an actor and producer based in New York City. And this season, I'll be your guide as we uncover the mysteries of productions that never made it to opening night. Whether they closed out of town or during previews, you’ll hear firsthand from those involved in these productions, revealing just how unpredictable and unforgiving the path to Broadway can be.”

CAPOTE'S NOVELLA

Truman Capote may have been born in New Orleans in 1924, but he spent much of his childhood in Alabama—right next door to Harper Lee. The two became lifelong friends, cheering each other on as their careers took off. In fact, Capote based the character of Idabel in his first novel, Other Voices, Other Rooms, on Lee… and she later used Capote as the inspiration for Dill in To Kill a Mockingbird.

Then in the late 1950s, Capote began writing the story that would define his career, Breakfast at Tiffany’s. It’s set in Manhattan and narrated by a young, unnamed writer who becomes captivated by his neighbor, Holly Golightly—an alluring yet mysterious socialite who makes a living by charming wealthy men, hoping one of them might lead her to a better life. She nicknames the writer “Fred” because he reminds her of her brother, and the two strike up a friendship that’s equal parts affection, fascination, and poignancy.

Here is Capote himself in front of a live New York audience in 1963, reading a selection from Breakfast at Tiffany’s where the nameless writer meet’s Holly for the first time:

“‘I’ve got the most terrifying man downstairs,' she said, stepping off the fire escape into the room. ‘I mean he’s sweet when he isn’t drunk, but let him start lapping up the vino and oh God, quel beast! If there’s one thing I loathe, it’s men who bite.’ She loosened a grey flannel robe off her shoulder to show me evidence of what happens if a man bites. The robe was all she was wearing. ‘I’m sorry if I frightened you. But when the beast got so tiresome I just went out the window. I think he thinks I’m in the bathroom, not that I give a damn what he thinks, the hell with him, he’ll get tired, he'll go to sleep, my God, he should, eight Martinis before dinner and enough wine to wash an elephant.’”

As “Fred” learns more about her—a secret husband, a brother in the army, even a mobster friend in prison—he watches Holly’s carefully constructed world slowly unravel. And in the end, she disappears from his life as suddenly as she arrived, leaving behind only a note… and a nameless cat.

Capote originally sold the story to Harper’s Bazaar for $2,000, but then they got nervous about its “tart” language and were concerned was that Tiffany & Co.—a major advertiser—wouldn’t love being associated with such a risqué story. So Harper’s backed out, and Capote quickly resold the story to their competitor Esquire for $3,000. It appeared in the November 1958 issue, and shortly after, Random House published it in a collection with three other stories. The reviews were glowing, and the buzz was massive. Capote had turned a publishing rejection into a cultural phenomenon. That’s when Hollywood took notice.

GOING TO HOLLYWOOD

By the time Breakfast at Tiffany’s hit theaters in 1961, it had taken some pretty major detours from Capote’s original novella. It all started when Paramount producers Martin Jurow and Richard Shepherd bought the film rights from Capote for $65,000—that’s a little over $700,000 in today’s dollars.

To write the screenplay, George Axelrod was brought in, having shown a knack for adapting novels like The Seven Year Itch, which starred Marilyn Monroe. Working closely with producers, Axelrod completely reshaped Capote’s bittersweet, character-driven story into a glossy romantic comedy. The setting moved from the 1940s to the early '60s, new characters were added, and—most notably—the unnamed, gay narrator from the novella became Paul Varjak, a straight and struggling writer, played by George Pappard, who falls in love with Holly—completely changing the novella’s melancholy ending into a happy one.

While he didn’t care for these changes, Capote was at least hopeful they’d cast the one person he wanted for the lead: Marilyn Monroe. Axelrod had even been adapting the script with Monroe in mind. But her acting coach, Lee Strasberg, warned her that playing a “lady of the evening” wouldn’t be good for her image.

So the studio considered Shirley MacLaine, Kim Novak, and others, before finally offering the role to Audrey Hepburn, who was still under contract at Paramount. Well, Capote was furious, claiming the studio had now double-crossed him in every conceivable way. But truth be told, Hepburn herself had doubts that she was right for such a bold and extroverted character.

Meanwhile, the film’s original director, John Frankenheimer, had been developing the project for months. But once Hepburn signed on, her team pushed for a bigger name, and Frankenheimer was replaced by Blake Edwards, writer and creator of the popular Peter Gunn TV series and director of Operation Petticoat.

While most of the interiors were filmed in Hollywood on the Paramount lot, the first scene was shot in New York City in October 1960. Here is producer Richard Shepard and director Blake Edwards discussing this iconic opening sequence:

Shepard - “The first day of the film, we were shooting the first scene in the movie, which is when the taxi cab pulls up to the curb in front of Tiffany's at 57th and 5th Avenue.”

Edwards - “Came the time to shoot, and it was as though God said, well, I'm gonna give you a break now, but for the rest of your career, you're just gonna have to live off of this one. And nobody appeared. No cars, no people. It was suddenly deserted. With the sweep of his hand, CB DeMille wiped out the whole traffic situation and we had our shot.”

And then of course, there’s the song “Moon River” written by Henry Mancini and Johnny Mercer. It was tailor-made for Hepburn’s limited vocal range. Mancini said that it was one of the hardest melodies he ever had to write and that it took him almost a month to get it right:

“Two drifters off to see the world

There's such a lot of world to see…”

Believe it or not, after the very first test screening in San Francisco, Paramount’s head of production thought this song slowed the pacing of the scene and suggested bringing in someone else to record a different song. But thankfully, the producers—and possibly Hepburn herself—refused to let that happen. Because this gentle tune has become one of the most iconic movie songs of all time, winning numerous awards, including the Oscar for Best Song and the Grammy for Record of the Year.

MERRICK AT TIFFANY’S

When Breakfast at Tiffany’s was released in cinemas across the country in 1961, David Merrick was a well-established and often cantankerous Broadway producer, having earned the nickname “The Abominable Showman.” Yet by the time his face appeared on the cover of Time Magazine in 1966 it was estimated that 20% of the Broadway work force was in his employ. And over the years he’d had a string of hit musicals including Gypsy, 110 in the Shade, and Do Re Mi. But one of his greatest successes would have to be Hello, Dolly! And following that same winning formula, which centered on a smart, strong, independent female lead, he saw a potential Broadway smash in Holly Golightly.

Naturally, Merrick’s first call was to Truman Capote, asking him to adapt his own novella into a musical. And this made perfect sense because in 1955 he had written the book and lyrics for the adaptation of his short story “House of Flowers” with Harold Arlen writing the music. It starred Pearl Bailey, Alvin Ailey, and Diahann Carroll in her Broadway debut. It had all the makings of a hit… except it wasn’t. The show fell apart out of town as the producers fired the choreographer and switched directors, leaving the show with no real point of view. And it only lasted a disappointing 165 performances on Broadway.

And Capote had been there on the road, watching his show fall apart. So when Merrick came calling about turning Breakfast at Tiffany’s into a musical, Capote didn’t hesitate to say no. He wanted nothing to do with the frenzy of making another musical and would rather keep his obligations to a minimum.

“I was involved to the extent of giving advice. But I didn’t stay on the road meddling. I didn’t sit in a room all night long rewriting scenes. All that was somebody else’s responsibility. I said after House of Flowers that that was going to be my last—positively last—confrontation with the boards! And I still feel that way so much that I don’t even like to go to the theatre particularly.”

So if Merrick couldn’t get Capote to write the show, he’d find other people who could give the story a fresh spin. First up was director Joshua Logan—a Broadway legend with eight Tony Awards and a Pulitzer to his name thanks to hits like South Pacific and Annie Get Your Gun.

For the score, Merrick brought in Bob Merrill, who’d written Carnival!—a Merrick production—and was the lyricist of the highly successful Funny Girl, which was still playing to sold-out audiences at the Majestic Theatre. And for the script, he hired two heavyweights: Oscar-nominated screenwriter Nunnally Johnson and playwright Sidney Michaels, who’d been Tony-nominated three years in a row. It was the kind of dream team that any producer would’ve be grateful to have had, but Merrick wasn’t just any producer and this “dream team” didn’t last long.

Before casting even began, Logan was out. Whether it was creative differences, bad timing, or maybe he saw the storm clouds coming…no one really knows. So in his place Merrick brought in the venerable Abe Burrows. He had made his Broadway debut writing the book for Guys and Dolls and over the years had racked up four Tony Awards for writing and directing, along with a Pulitzer Prize for How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying. More recently, he’d directed Cactus Flower—a 1965 Merrick production that was still running on Broadway.

When it came to choreography, Burrows got to work with his Guys and Dolls collaborator and five-time Tony winner Michael Kidd to handle the musical staging. And with his reputation as a script doctor, it wasn’t long before Burrows took over writing duties as well, replacing both Johnson and Michaels. The problem, though, was that Merrill had already written most of the score based on their version of the script. Now, he was scrambling to revise songs for a new script and a show that was now officially titled Holly Golightly.

So as you can see, from the very beginning this was a shifting show that was still trying to figure out what it wanted to be…and who it wanted to make it. But with a creative team finally in place—for now—the focus could shift to finding a cast. And while the film may have influenced the creation of this musical, it was television that would influence its casting.

CASTING THE SHOW

Having starred in a previous Capote musical, Diahann Carroll was “the original choice” for the title role. But it ultimately went to Mary Tyler Moore, who had just finished the fifth and final season of The Dick Van Dyke Show, having won two Emmys and a Golden Globe during its run. For Moore, who had originally trained as a dancer and always wanted appear in a Broadway show, this was going to be “the fulfillment of a lifetime ambition.”

The problem was that Moore was still under contract with Universal Studios, having just completed filming of the soon-to-be-released Thoroughly Modern Millie, so the studio was hesitant to let her go to New York. But after tense negotiations that Moore called the hardest battle she’d ever fought, they granted her a reprieve from her contract with two major stipulations: 1) Moore would not play matinees and thus make herself available for daytime film shooting in New York, and 2) she would have to give up the right of approval on any future film projects.

And joining Moore, in the role of the author (now named Jeff Claypool), would be Richard Chamberlain. He had spent five seasons as the lead character in Dr. Kildare, which won him the 1962 Golden Globe for Best Male TV Star. Here he is in 2010, talking about what it was like after wrapping up that fifth and final season in 1966:

“I was delightfully happy to be free for about three weeks. And then that actor thing happened: "God, is the phone ever going to ring again? Am I ever going to work again? Oh, my cushy job is gone. What's going to happen?" And then this musical came up, Breakfast at Tiffany's with Mary Tyler Moore. And I was thrilled that that happened…it was really fun for a while.”

In fact, it was Moore who told Chamberlain about this musical, and suggested he submit for it. And for both of them, this musical would be their Broadway debuts. In fact, as casting continued several other debuting actors were brought on as well.

Sally Kellerman was given the role of Mag Wildwood and chosen to be the understudy for Mary Tyler Moore. Kellerman had mostly done TV and film up to this point, including a guest starring spot on the second pilot episode of Star Trek, just three months before joining Holly Golightly. And then there was 18-year-old Priscilla Lopez, who had just graduated from the famous High School of Performing Arts in Manhattan. She was brought on as a dancer in the chorus.

And I got to sit down with another actress and singer, Melissa Hart, who was pretty new to the city when Holly Golightly came along. Here she explains what led her to audition for the musical:

“I was working upstairs of the Broadway Theater for a publicist. And I was in New York about 10, 11 months, and I hadn't auditioned for a musical yet. And I kept saying that I was going to, but I was terrified. And ... I had on a homemade dress. It was gingham or calico or something like that. And my ... workmate said to me, ‘Hey, you know what? There's an audition today downstairs at the Broadway theater on stage…Yeah, you know what? You keep saying you're gonna audition and you don't. So I dare you’ That's what she said, I dare you.”

Well, she took that dare. But there was just one problem—Melissa didn’t have her audition book with her. So she raced back to her apartment on the Upper West Side, grabbed her music, and hurried back…only to find the line of hopefuls already wrapped around the block. Turns out though, that was the non-Equity line. And since Melissa was a card-carrying Equity member, she got to walk right past everyone, straight into the theater, and a few minutes later found herself on centerstage, singing for music director Stanley Lebowsky.

Hart: “And I sang a song from Carnival! ... Stanley was standing in the house, and the whole theater was dark. ... And I remember looking up and seeing two exit signs in the balconies, one on the other side. And I thought, this is my home. This is where I'm supposed to be. ... So anyway, I finished, and Stanley Lebowsky, he was kind of a short man, a little bitty round man with big dark-rim glasses, and he came on stage and he said to me, "You know, I want you to come back on Monday, and I want you to sing for David Merrick, and I want you to wear something a little sexier. And so I did, and I wore another homemade dress. But it was, like, scooped. And I wore high heels, you know. And that was my first audition, and that was my first show.”

This would be a first for Moore as well, having never sung on stage before—let alone carried a big musical. So, shortly after moving to New York and months before rehearsals even started, Moore began working with a vocal coach in long, grueling sessions. She would admit later that it was the hardest thing she’d ever done—even more demanding than the dance training early in her career. She quickly realized that singing wasn’t just about pitch; it was about stamina, breath control, and vocal placement. By the end of every lesson, her back would ache from trying to project properly.

Moore and the rest of the company would certainly need their stamina as they started what would eventually become a never-ending series of rehearsals. More on that after the break.

HOLLY GO REHEARSING

By the summer of 1966, rehearsals for Holly Golightly were underway, and expectations couldn’t have been higher. The musical had become the most anticipated show of the season, with advance ticket sales beating out Cabaret, The Apple Tree, and Merrick’s other production I Do! I Do! The Broadway opening had also changed from October to December, and was replaced with two out-of-town tryouts in Philadelphia and Boston.

In the rehearsal room, the atmosphere was upbeat and focused. Abe Burrows kept things light, creating a space where actors felt supported and ideas could flow freely, and he was regularly sharing anecdotes of his many years in the business. He and choreographer Michael Kidd had a natural shorthand from their past collaborations, and their easy rhythm helped keep the process moving along. Meanwhile, Bob Merrill was busy at the piano, reshaping songs and adapting lyrics to match the latest changes to the script.

For a while, it seemed like things were on track. But as the first act came together, it became clear that something wasn’t working. The tone felt too mild, too polite—and worse, the second act lacked any real narrative throughline. Burrows now found himself stretched thin trying to direct and reshape the script at the same time. On top of that, there was a growing disconnect between the book and the score. And then, as those issues piled up, it became clear that one key piece of casting needed to change as well.

Hart: “Sally Kellerman was playing Meg the model. And she was contractually Mary Tyler Moore's understudy, and she could not remember her own lines, let alone Mary Tyler Moore's lines. I mean, she was from television or film, actually, in California. So one day, and we're rehearsing in the lobby of the Lunt Fontaine Theater, whatever we could find, I guess. And Abe Burrows called me in. And he said, 'Now listen...' And he said what I just said about Sally Kellerman. She couldn't remember her own lines. And he said, 'Would you be willing to understudy Mary Tyler Moore?’ And for nothing. I mean, I didn't get paid to do this. Yeah, I didn't get paid. Which was cool. I mean, it was just like, ‘What? Okay, sure.’”

Even with the change, Kellerman stayed on as understudy, while Melissa remained in the chorus—only now, she was also called into principal rehearsals. And it was there she got a front-row seat to Moore’s take on Holly Golightly...as well as her struggles with the role.

Hart: “These were the days before body mic’ing…I had been taught in college at Northwestern, which is my alma mater, to project, to hit that back wall. Yeah, it was Ethel Merman, right? And so I could. But Mary Tyler Moore could not. And she had been a dancer, a chorus dancer, so you know, she was mute, basically. And poor thing, I really felt for her. She could not be heard beyond the fourth row.”

These struggles may seem surprising given the confident, self-assured woman from The Dick Van Dyke Show. But behind the scenes, Moore was carrying more than just the pressures of a Broadway debut. In her memoir, she opened up about her battle with alcoholism—something she said started in her late teens.

You see, her home life had been shaped by an entertaining but alcoholic mother who refused to quit drinking, and a father who was emotionally distant. Moore admitted she often reached for a drink “to soften the blows,” numbing the sharp edges of life—a habit that only grew worse as the demands of fame increased. Her drinking contributed to the end of her first marriage and made it difficult to be fully present as a mother to her son, Richie. In many ways, her alcoholism left no room for a healthy relationship with others or herself.

Hart: “She was very shy, as I recall. Very shy. And, when you go into the theater world, especially music theater world, how open are you to the other people in your cast? And she was not, as I recall. And I think it was because she was. She was really insecure, so she didn't open herself up to, you know, schmoozing with the rest of the cast.”

Despite her personal struggles, Moore pushed ahead and continued focusing on her scene work and musical numbers. When The Saturday Evening Post asked Burrows about her work ethic, he put it this way: "You follow pro football? Well, she's got what every great pro player has—desire. She works morning, noon, and night. She wants. But why? I don’t know.” Well, in that same article Moore gave the reason why she was working so hard: “I'm so terrified I'm going to be bad in front of a lot of people. I just have to good.”

And that stress was definitely starting to show. During their final run through in New York, in one scene Moore had the line: “I’m going back to Brazil!” But in what could be considered a Freudian slip, she instead screamed, “I’m going back to California—I mean Brazil.” But at this point there was no turning back.

PHILADELPHIA TRYOUT

By the time the cast arrived in Philadelphia, David Merrick was right there with them—keeping a close eye on the show’s progress. But with the production costing $500,000 (nearly $5 million in today’s dollars), he certainly wasn’t shy about adding his two cents.

Hart: “The cool part, I think, was that he would come in every, like, week or so, once we were up on the stage, and he would watch. And then he would reverse order things and switch stuff and say, ‘No, this doesn't belong there. This belongs at the 11 o'clock number. That's where that goes.’ That’s how he operated. And I think it was pretty, umm, it was reasonable…You know, the fact that he knew enough to hire somebody like Abe Burroughs. At least he in his vision, in David Merrick's vision, he kind of had an idea of what he wanted to do with the show.”

For Merrick, Holly Golightly would mark his 50th Broadway production, yet even with such a long and storied career, he admitted that he still never knew what was going to become a hit show. Just a few days before coming to Philadelphia, he had been at the opening night of his latest production, The Loves of Cass Maguire, where it got rave reviews. However the following night, not one single person showed up at the box office, not a one. And he said it was “the biggest theatrical disaster” he’d ever had. That Broadway play ran for only 20 performances before closing—but at least it opened.

Meanwhile, back at the Forrest Theater in Philadelphia, Holly Golightly was having a rough time of its own. Chamberlain was fighting off a terrible cold. One actor—a bartender in the show—got his hand caught in a moving piece of scenery and started bleeding onstage. He was patched up, and rehearsals carried on. Then during a run-through, Burrows was sitting out in the house, struggling to hear Moore. He asked if her mic had cut out. Moore simply replied, “It’s not the mic. It’s my voice.”

And so for the first public performance of Holly Golightly on October 15, 1966, Chamberlain was battling through his congestion, Moore was struggling with her laryngitis—and at one point, she even skinned her leg during the show. But things only got worse after the curtain came down.

The Philadelphia reviews were brutal—especially toward Moore. One critic wrote, “Let us be kind and say the lovely Miss Moore was tired and worn out… Her voice was hoarse and strained, and her singing quality was poor. Perhaps she will improve with a little rest.” But the critics didn’t stop there. They complained about the jarring choreography, the overdone comedy, the boring storyline. And the Philadelphia Inquirer seemed to question the whole production itself:

“While trying to be attentive to Holly Golightly at Saturday evening's press premiere…a thought kept reoccurring: What did producer David Merrick hope to gain by bringing this property to the theater? … The show that lurches about the Forrest stage comes close to being a totally unsatisfactory adaptation of Capote's Breakfast at Tiffany’s … This is like having a reunion with a cherished friend and realizing she isn't as you remembered: being disappointed and finally resenting who and what was responsible for the change.”

Despite these reviews, tickets kept selling and audiences kept coming, mostly to see the TV stars headlining the show. But Merrick didn’t just want to make money, he wanted to make a hit. The problem was…the show had no center. No spine. Burrows’ script was trying to squeeze Capote’s delicate, character-driven story into some brassy, flashy Broadway musical—and it just wasn’t working. And Merrill’s score wasn’t helping much either. For one thing, the iconic “Moon River” from the film was nowhere to be found, and audiences wanted to hear it. But the songs that were in the show somehow managed to skip right past the most heartfelt and meaningful moments—instead stuffing the show with big production numbers that felt more like filler than actual storytelling.

So Burrows and Merrill went back to the drawing board, frantically reworking scenes and rescoring numbers. And with every rewrite, the burden on the cast grew heavier. The actors were already exhausted from simply getting the show on its feet in Philadelphia. But it was the two leads who carried the greatest weight—especially Moore. She was juggling the expectations of Capote’s original novella and the glamour of Audrey Hepburn’s film performance. As for Chamberlain, he was so focused on the ever-changing script and his own character that he couldn’t see the bigger picture:

“I didn't realize the show was headed for the rocks. The gypsies all knew, and the people other people knew. I mean, it was being directed by and written by Abe Burroughs, who was one of the greats. And in Boston, we had played Philadelphia. And in Boston, it finally got through to me that we were in trouble.”

TIFFANY’S IN BOSTON

And he wasn’t wrong. By the time Breakfast at Tiffany’s landed at the Shubert Theatre in Boston that November, the wheels were already coming off. What happened those four weeks wasn’t just a rocky tryout—it was a slow, seemingly unavoidable train wreck. Audiences were restless, confused, sometimes openly hostile. And the Boston reviews were just as brutal as in Philadelphia.

For Mary Tyler Moore, the pressure was relentless—not just from critics, but from herself. Backstage, that uncertainty was everywhere. No one really knew what was going to happen. Melissa Hart remembers how aimless it all felt:

Hart: “The thing that really was upsetting was that we had no knowledge of where this was going, basically. And Richard Chamberlain was lovely as the main guy, but I know that she was very upset. She had very little confidence. And I remember taking a limo or a cab one day with she and Richard Chamberlain to some place and she just—I mean, she didn't know what to do with me. I mean, I was kind of an appendage.”

Capote came to see the show and didn’t hold back, telling Women’s Wear Daily, “I don’t like the score or the leading lady.” And soon, rumors were swirling that Merrick wanted to replace Moore, with names like Diahann Carroll and Tammy Grimes floating around. While that was never really true, Merrick did replace something—the set. Frustrated, he told designer Oliver Smith to scrap the tasteful, impressionistic Tiffany’s backdrop and replace it with an actual, literal Tiffany’s storefront. Maybe he thought a shiny new set could distract the audience from a show he thought was “too nice” and needed sharper humor.

But the real problem went deeper than punchlines. Even Broadway’s most famous script doctor couldn’t fix his own script. So Merrick made a bold—and frankly desperate—move: he called in Edward Albee, who wasn’t exactly an obvious choice. I mean, yes his Broadway debut Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? had won the Best Play Tony in 1963, and his newest work, A Delicate Balance, had opened to strong reviews just two months earlier. However, his most recent attempt at adapting a novel into a play, Malcolm, had flopped after just seven performances. And musicals? Not exactly his forte. His only experience was co-writing a libretto for a little-known off-Broadway opera called Bartleby, and a second opera called The Ice Age that never even got produced.

So when Albee was handed the keys to Holly Golightly, he scrapped most of the supporting female roles and tossed out the traditional storytelling structure altogether. Instead, the show became a kind of experimental, meta-theatrical piece where Holly wasn’t even a real person—she was a character being created, shaped, and interrupted in real time by Jeff Claypool. Eventually, though, Holly rebels against his control and takes on a will of her own. Maybe this sounded crafty in theory… but it collapsed in execution.

Hart: “Abe Burroughs versus Edward Albee, that's a huge, you know, river to cross, I think, in terms of vision. Holy cow….So whether Albee was brought in to help her or encourage her or rewrite scenes or whatever he was doing…it was. It was sad.”

The core emotional connection between Jeff and Holly had completely vanished. And on top of that, Albee made Holly colder and more brittle than ever. He even brought in the novella’s reference to Holly’s miscarriage, leaning the show into a darker tone that clashed completely with Moore’s natural warmth and charm.

Merrick and Albee had hoped Burrows would stay on to direct this new version, but he wasn’t on board with all these changes. And things only got worse after Albee gave an interview to The Boston Globe, where he didn’t hold back: “All those awful jokes will be thrown out, and I hope to substitute some genuine wit.” That was the final straw. Even after sending Burrows a half-hearted apology—blaming the reporter, of course—the relationship couldn’t be salvaged, and Burrows walked.

Merrick then turned to director Joseph Anthony, who had previously helmed 110 in the Shade for him. A few cast members were shuffled, the score was reshaped to fit Albee’s new script, and the production—now officially back to the title Breakfast at Tiffany’s—left Boston and stumbled its way to Broadway.

BROADWAY AT TIFFANY’S

Chamberlain: “And we closed for a couple of weeks and opened to previews in New York. And this dark musical, man, nobody had ever seen a dark musical before. And the audiences just hated it. They hated it. They'd shout at us. They'd walk out. They really hated this. And Mary used to go off stage and weep. It was just an awful, awful, awful experience.”

That was December 12th, 1966, when Breakfast at Tiffany’s finally faced a Broadway audience. But amidst the chaos leading up to that first preview, there came one small, surprising moment of grace. As I mentioned, Truman Capote gave an interview that same month to Playbill, and whether it was honest reflection or simply an attempt to help a sinking ship, he admitted that he had reassessed his views of Moore:

“When I first watched her play this part in the musical, I didn’t like her. And then gradually I realized that she—just like Audrey Hepburn in the movie—was not my own physical idea of Holly. Holly was based on a real person, so I can never quite get away from that. And then I realized how wrong I was… because the truth of the matter is, Holly Golightly isn’t one girl. She’s kind of a universal girl. The moment I made that adjustment in my head, I began to like Mary Tyler Moore very much and see she has a great quality.”

And it was Moore in large part, driving advance tickets sales that totaled more than $1 million. But even with TV stars and Capote’s change of heart, the show was failing and Merrick knew it. And so the following notice was posted before the final matinee: "This is to advise all personnel of the Breakfast at Tiffany's company, i.e., actors, musicians, wardrobe, stagehands, etc., that this will serve as one week's notice of the closing of the play, effective immediately."

And with that, the entire show was closed down after only four previews on December 14, 1966. But that didn’t mean Merrick was truly done with the production. You see, the entire company numbered 66, of which 41 were actors, and Actors Equity said that the producer would be obligated to pay the cast a full week's salary, plus two-eighths, for failing to post the closing notice a week in advance. To add insult to injury, the NY Times may have called the closing an intelligent and honorable thing to do, but then proceeded to give a scathing review of this failed, closed musical:

“Rather soon after the curtain went up it became apparent that something was wrong. The audience was not laughing. The audience was not applauding. From the shuffling of feet and cracking of knuckles and rustling of programs and an extraordinary number of deep sighs that one heard, it seemed that the audience was not listening…Breakfast at Tiffany's had changed. Radically…Mr. Chamberlain and Miss Moore are troupers, but neither was ready for a Broadway musical. Neither could create a believable or sympathetic character…Their voices were small and clumsily amplified, their movements uncommanding. Whatever sparkle was left in the role of Holly after all those rewrites was missed by Miss Moore, and the unnecessary complexities of Mr. Chamberlain's role escaped him.”

Now, as this podcast often highlights, closing a show during previews isn’t common… but it’s not unheard of. Yet the way Merrick did it was almost unprecedented for a producer at the time. He didn’t spin it. He didn’t sugarcoat it. Instead, he held a press conference and was brutally honest:

Interviewer: “Who's responsible?”

Merrick: “Well, I've had three top writers on it. Nunnally Johnson, Abe Burrows, and finally Edward Albee. None of them could bring it off. I would say it was my fault. I dreamed up the idea in the first place. And I just suppose Breakfast at Tiffany doesn't make a good musical.”

Interviewer: “Why close? You have a million dollars advance sale of material. Why close even before you open?”

Merrick: “Reason for that is that I rather imagine the advance came in at least partially on my name and reputation. And I didn't want to subject the drama critics or the public who invested the million dollar advance in an excruciatingly boring evening.”

This one moment made Merrick something of a Broadway folk hero. No producer had ever stood in front of the press and just admitted it—flat out—that his show was no good. I mean, with those advance tickets sales, the show could’ve run for months, but he closed it. Now, that’s unheard of.

As I mentioned, the show cost about $500,000—and 80% of that was Merrick’s own money, with RCA Victor covering the rest, hoping for a cast album that never came. But thanks to a big out-pf-town box office, it only lost $425,000. A disaster, sure. But not a total wipeout. In fact, for years down the road, Merrick would proudly mention Breakfast at Tiffany’s in his bios, right alongside his biggest hits like Promises, Promises and 42nd Street.

Mary Tyler Moore, though, hit a string of forgettable projects in the aftermath of Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Remember those contract stipulations she agreed to with Universal, where she gave up her right of script approval? Well, now she was stuck taking whatever film Universal handed her—including one involving a tropical toucan carrying a magical virus that spreads uncontrollable happiness. Yeah, that is the actual plot to an actual film.

Needless to say, this was the last thing Moore needed after her Broadway debut ended so disastrously. And though she did eventually reinvent herself by coming back to television, it would be another 14 years before she would set foot on a stage again. But when she finally did return in 1980, it was with Whose Life Is It Anyway?—earning her a special Tony Award.

Richard Chamberlain, on the other hand, left America altogether and went to England to train harder and reinvent himself as a serious actor. He did work on stage and screen there, but it would take him 10 years to finally give Broadway another chance—this time with a play revival of The Night at the Iguana for which he received a Drama Desk nomination.

As for some of the others actors, Sally Kellerman went on to earn Oscar and Golden Globe nominations for M*A*S*H*. Priscilla Lopez would star in the original productions of Company and Pippin before landing the role of Diana in A Chorus Line. And Melissa Hart would finally make her Broadway debut in The Apple Tree and later step into the lead role of Sally Bowles in Cabaret.

Nearly 20 years after the Breakfast at Tiffany’s debacle, Moore reflected on it all in an interview with The New York Times: “I think of myself as a stack of experiences and feelings and qualities that travels forward. If a few of those slabs fall out, it doesn’t mean I have failed.”

And really, that might be the best way to make sense of this show. No amount of rewrites, recasting, or reimagining could fix a musical that was never really gonna work in the first place. So all you can do is move on. Because in the end, no matter how big the names are, how famous the source material is, or how much money is on the line, there’s one rule that never changes…you cannot polish a flop. Not even one with Tiffany’s in the title.

“For a full list of all the resources and materials used in making this episode, you'll find a link to that in the show notes. Closing Night is a production of WINMI Media, with me, Patrick Oliver Jones, as writer and executive producer. Blake Stadnik created the theme music. And Dan Delgado is editor and co-producer not only for this podcast but also for his own movie podcast called The Industry. Much appreciation goes to Melissa Hart for sharing her experiences with Breakfast at Tiffany’s and to the voice talents of our very own Dan Delgado. Join us next time as another show makes it way to closing night.”

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Hart Outro: “All I remember is being on stage and there were really big two, three story brownstones in the set. I remember Barney Martin being on one. And I was, I was upstage and I was leaning on one. And we had to climb these plywood stairs or whatever so we could look out the window and sing. This was in one of those scenes where, you know. I remember it being, okay, this is what it's like. This is what it's like to be in a Broadway show. You never know from one day to the next or one, say, week to the next if you're gonna make it and if you're going to, you know, pull in the revenue that you need in order to stay open. And that was interesting. That was very interesting. And that's kind of where I was at. And I stayed right in that mindset, you know. That's what we did. That's what you did.”