Welcome to a new Musical Theatre Monday! This month is my annual tribute to Ethel Merman, who was born on January 16, 1908. To celebrate the queen of American Musical Comedy, I am spotlighting one of her greatest triumphs — Call Me Madam, which is also enjoying an anniversary this year (its 75th!), having first opened on Broadway in 1950.

Although there are better shows in the Ethel Merman canon, I consider Call Me Madam, the only stage musical she got to recreate on the big screen with any degree of faithfulness, to be the quintessential Merman vehicle — the one most designed to capitalize upon her unique persona, predicated on the juxtaposition of sophistication and simplicity, or the chic and the crass, which all her prior stage roles often tried to successfully navigate. Typically, she just played some version of herself — a profane chanteuse, wearing beautiful gowns while swearing like a sailor — but in the post-Oklahoma! (1943) trend towards more dramatically integrated book musicals, more defined characters developed, as in her biggest hit, Annie Get Your Gun (1946), where she was real-life sharpshooter Annie Oakley, an uneducated hick who nevertheless becomes a decorated superstar because of her extraordinary talent. The sophisticated simpleton… singing songs by Irving Berlin — a composer with a similar duality in his own style.

Berlin and Merman collaborated again on Call Me Madam, which also took a bit of real-life inspiration when building a character for its leading lady, this time casting her as Sally Adams, a D.C. socialite modeled on Perle Mesta, a wealthy Democrat fundraiser whom President Truman had just appointed as the Ambassador to Luxembourg. This foundation — with some big tweaks, like a fictionalized European country (Lichtenburg) — plus a script by Anything Goes scribes Howard Lindsay and Russel Crouse, was tailor-made for its star, affording Merman the chance to be the chic “hostess with the mostes’,” a wealthy party-giver with all the glamour and success of, well, a Broadway titan like Merman… but also a sense of crass money-loving Americanism with limited education and social graces, clashing against old-world European romanticism and tradition. In other words, this was Ethel Merman — rightfully existing in the world of sophistication (and looking like it!) while shocking others with her own affable but sometimes jarring simplicity. No other role — not even Annie or the more dramatically complex Rose in Gypsy — got her persona so right, molding itself to reflect her exact appeal.

Of course, while having the right character is key, the most vital demand of any Merman musical is merely that she’s got good songs to belt — and Berlin once again gifted his muse a variety of terrific ditties: character numbers, romantic numbers, just plain fun numbers. Most impressively, his score capably reflected the contrast between European sentiment and American exuberance, with an appropriately old-fashioned sensibility in numbers sung by representatives of the former and a lot of swinging (but not try-hard) modernity in those by the latter (including Merman). Her introductory “Here I Am” spot, “The Hostess With The Mostes’ On The Ball'” is one of Berlin’s best — a toe-tapping tune with clever lyrics that never get cleverer than the character herself (see above). And the highlight of the lot is “You’re Just In Love,” a classic Berlin counterpoint song for Merman’s Sally and her twenty-something attaché Kenneth (originally played by Russell Nype), the male half of the show’s secondary couple, which constitutes its B-story. It’s an exciting piece — the kind of number you don’t see in Annie Get Your Gun, for instance, as the secondary couple there is narratively irrelevant, while in Call Me Madam, this romantic subplot is intwined with the primary drama (and that’s especially so in the film, with Donald O’Connor as Kenneth), as both involve diplomatic relations between the United States and Lichtenburg when both Americans find themselves falling for their new European friends — a politician and a princess, respectively. In “You’re Just In Love” (added during the out-of-town tryouts) the two Yanks warble about their heartache.

However, aside from a few outstanding highlights, it would be dishonest to pretend that this score is completely on par with Annie Get Your Gun, which is one of those rare shows where every single number is perfect and perfectly placed. Oh, Call Me Madam is all of a high Berlin quality (you can hum every tune!), but it varies in quality, and while each song nods in some way to the plot and/or its subject matter, I don’t think as many of them further the action and/or reflect the moment quite as precisely or inextricably, with details that narratively matter, as those within Annie or any of the other great book musicals that counted Madam as a contemporary.

What’s more, I can’t pretend this story is as well told, for the political nature of the premise requires an oversimplification of detail that nevertheless also feels deliberately complicated (the 1953 film massages the plot but it’s still goofy), while the clash between materialism and romance, as represented in the contrast of values between Merman’s Sally and her love interest Cosmo (originally played by Paul Lukas), is standard romantic comedy fodder, almost clichéd. Similarly, the piece’s timely references — which are actually quite funny in the context of 1950 — render Call Me Madam a more obvious period piece than many shows actually set well before they were written. (“They Like Ike” pins the show so much to a date that it has been sometimes cut.) Now, I don’t mind this (in fact, I think it’s great!), but a surface glance suggests quaintness, especially compared to something like, again, Annie Get Your Gun, which has fewer explicit markers of its own era (“I’m An Indian Too” is an easy deletion) and can exist as sort of a timeless western fantasy, with more original trappings. Accordingly, I think the political elements of Call Me Madam, and how they exist around the central love story, are more of a complication than a benefit when it comes to this show’s reputation alongside others from the Golden Age.

There’s also the Merman of it all. Because the role was tailored for her, so much of its charm depends on having a lead of a similar temperament and magnitude — a star power that’s not easily matched. However, just as with Annie and Rose, it’s not impossible, and indeed, boasting such a delightful musical comedy role for any brassy leading lady somewhat near the Merman mold is actually one of its major attributes — a reason to still produce it today, for a lot of gals who’ve done Merman-anchored shows before have taken on Sally Adams to great success, like Tyne Daly and Kim Criswell, proving that it not only can be done, but should be done. That’s why you’d go to see Call Me Madam anyway: Merman — or someone with just as much wattage. And Berlin’s score, plus the Lindsay/Crouse book, ensures that any star who can handle the material will indeed shine… So, on that note, I’d like to share some Call Me Madam goodies with you, subscribers who comment below to alert me of your private, non-commercial interest.

There are several official recordings — selections from the original 1952 London cast with Billie Worth, the 1953 soundtrack with Merman, and various compilations of the original Broadway cast (who went in studio with Dinah Shore in place of Merman), often slotting in Merman’s own tracks that she recorded separately under a different label. I also enjoy the cast album of the 1994 Encores! production with Tyne Daly — who also starred in a concert that aired on BBC Radio. Above is an excerpt of that radio broadcast, which is one of my offered rarities.

Nine years later, there was another BBC concert — this time starring Kim Criswell (who had earlier presented a few numbers on her own Irving Berlin album). I’m also offering this to interested subscribers. See the sample above for a preview.

In terms of other divas who’ve played this role in the last few decades, among the best I’ve heard is Beth Leavel from 2012’s Lyric Theatre of Oklahoma production — via an audio (songs only) that’s also offered up for interested subscribers and sampled above.

As for the original production, you can see Merman in the movie, listen to her recorded tracks, and even check out a clip earlier in this entry of her and Nype on Ed Sullivan’s show. (Merman’s understudy and eventual replacement on the tour, Elaine Stritch, also sang this duet with Nype on TV. See above.) But, more interestingly, Merman appeared with Paul Lukas and Nype on the November 1950 debut program of Tallulah Bankhead’s comedy-variety radio program The Big Show — just a few weeks after Madam’s October opening. The trio sings five songs on this broadcast — the complete version of which (in high quality) I also offer to those interested subscribers, in honor of Call Me Madam’s 75th anniversary and the great Ethel Merman, who counted this as perhaps the finest star vehicle of her entire legendary career. (Below is an excerpt — a clip of the amusing post-performance banter between Ethel and Tallulah!)

Come back next month for another musical rarity! And stay tuned for more Old Christine!