It's not that Frank Gorshin has any philosophical objections to analytical discussions—about, for example, his particular aesthetic or the dynamics of his craft. They're just foreign. Without rancor of any discernable kind, he often says, "I don't know." Indeed, Gorshin is an affable fellow who, if anything, seems a bit startled by questions that address sensibility and technique.
He is not sure, as a case in point, whether his star turn as George Burns in his one-man show, "Say Goodnight, Gracie"—which bowed Oct. 10 on Broadway at the Helen Hayes Theatre—is impersonation or interpretation. Nor does he care. What's clear is that he hasn't thought about it.
Nor has he thought about what steps he has taken to capture Burn's gravelly voice and sly deadpan delivery (not to mention his trademark shuffle, with unlit cigar in hand)—all of which are uncannily right on. But then, so was the roster of stars Gorshin stunningly mimicked—most notably Burt Lancaster and Kirk Douglas—that made him (Gorshin) a cultural icon on the TV variety show and nightclub scene of the '60s and '70s.
Gorshin just inhabits his characters, an instinctual process, if ever there was one. Although one suspects—this reporter does, anyway—that he's far more concerned with the character's mask than his inner demons and conflicts.
Nonetheless, there has to be something beneath George Burns' slightly amused persona that continues to make Burns such an enduring figure, Gorshin speculates in his dressing room before a preview performance.
"It was his lifelong love for Gracie [Allen]. To the day he died [31 years after her death], he visited her in the cemetery every week. Burns knew he wouldn't have had the success he had without her. Yes, he had style, delivery, and timing. Would he have made it without her? Who knows? Burns loved being an entertainer and that also makes him very appealing," notes Gorshin, a wiry, 70-ish Pittsburgh native with a marked smoker's cough. "This was a man who truly wanted to be performing on his 100th birthday.
"I think he was basically a good person," Gorshin continues. "But I don't know much about him personally. I know what I read. But who knows who anyone is behind closed doors? Did I think about who he was behind closed doors? No.
"We know he and his pal Jack Benny were philanderers. In his autobiography, Burns was open about the fact that he cheated on Gracie—once. But that wasn't in the play originally," Gorshin points out. "And that bothered me. I felt the piece was too snow white. I felt there had to be something that made Burns a little more human. So I encouraged the creative team to write something about his philandering. They fought me. They said they wanted Burns unsullied. I said it was not real."
Convincing God
In the end, Gorshin won; a slightly flawed—but still fundamentally benign and happy—George Burns emerges in "Say Goodnight, Gracie." Set in limbo (between heaven and hell), the play features a recently deceased Burns recounting his life for God—from his turn-of-the-century roots on the Lower East Side (where he was still known as Nathan Birnbaum) to his vaudeville partnership and romance with the kooky Grace Allen to their radio days and movie appearances and legendary TV show, and on and on. Burns wants to convince God that he has had a worthy life so that he can go to heaven and see Gracie again. Throughout, film clips of the real Burns and Allen are projected onto the back wall.
Interestingly, Gorshin did not spearhead the project, written by Rupert Holmes. Indeed, Burns was never one of his regulars, although he played George Burns in a movie that was neither finished nor released. Nevertheless, a friend-cum-former manager saw the tape, urged Gorshin to include Burns in his nightclub act, and invited one of the current producers to see Gorshin. One thing led to another and "Say Goodnight, Gracie" was forged—initially playing to wonderful responses in Florida, which in turn encouraged the team to take the show to Broadway.
"For the older people, there's nostalgia. They remember George Burns from the movies and especially the TV show," Gorshin reflects. "But I've also had younger people in the audience. They're familiar with him, too, from the television reruns and the successful 'Oh God' movies. And if they're not familiar with him, they've heard about him.
"And maybe they've heard of me. They want to see Frank Gorshin do something. Maybe I'm flattering myself. But I don't think so." He pauses, "It's probably a combination. But I think this show is interesting for another reason. It describes the evolution of show business—from vaudeville to radio to television."
"Say Goodnight, Gracie" marks Gorshin's return to Broadway after more than 30 years. He made his Broadway debut in 1970 as the star of "Jimmy," based on the life of New York Mayor Jimmy Walker. In the interim, he has appeared in a host of touring companies and many movies. But what put him on the map was his stint as the high-cackling Riddler in the campy "Batman" TV series of the late '60s, for which he received an Emmy nomination. He then went on to earn a second Emmy nomination as a guest star in a classic "Star Trek" episode that considered the meaning of racism.
Despite his extensive resume, Gorshin concedes that doing a one-man theatre piece is in a league by itself in terms of the demands and challenges. "You've got to sustain what you're doing for an hour and a half. You want variety, the highs and lows. Of course, that's true of any presentation, including my nightclub act. But that's a lot of little pieces juxtaposed to each other. Here I'm telling a story."
During the course of our brief chat, Gorshin is at once elusive—he feels unknowable—and, oddly enough, straightforward. Most striking, he is refreshingly devoid of special pleading, even in describing the at-times-disappointing trajectory of his career.
In a most matter-of-fact tone, he observes that although he has never had to take a job outside of show business, "My career has waned. I'm not in demand. So I need something. This could be the catalyst. I'd like to play Willy Loman, Iago."
A Flair for Mimicry
The son of a railroad worker, Gorshin had no particular goals growing up, short of being an artist, but dropped that idea "when I saw how good other painters were and I felt intimidated."
Gorshin discovered he had a flair for mimicry, however, upon seeing the movie, "The Jolson Story." Suddenly Gorshin was imitating Jolson and, within short order, he was entering talent contests with his Jolson stint and winning.
Later, he added James Cagney, Edward G. Robinson, Burt Lancaster, and Kirk Douglas to his ever-growing roster. He knew he had enough for an act—and toyed with taking it on the road—but he auditioned for and was accepted into the prestigious theatre program at Carnegie Mellon, then known as Carnegie Tech.
After two years, he was drafted to serve during the Korean War. Still, his tour of duty was spent in Special Services, where he performed and honed his acting skills. And when he left the military, he launched his show business career—performing in both theatre and nightclubs.
"In those days, I didn't care which direction my career went. I just wanted to work."
The high points, not unexpectedly, were his TV appearances on "The Steve Allen Show" (his first national exposure) and then "The Ed Sullivan Show." Still, the performance that changed Gorshin's career was his memorable portrayal of the Riddler in the "Batman" series.
"That made me a headliner in Vegas," he says. "Up until that point, I opened for others. I started by opening for Alan King."
Throughout the '60s and '70s, Gorshin was indeed a hot commodity in Vegas and Atlantic City. But then the scene changed. Comedy clubs replaced nightclubs and the former were not to Gorshin's liking.
The comedy-club sensibility was not to his taste, he admits, noting that he prefers the glitz and theatricality of the nightclubs "with the lighting and the full band behind me when I'm on stage."
At the moment, his thoughts are most focused on "Say Goodnight, Gracie," and his hope that New York audiences respond as positively as their Floridian counterparts.
His dreams of playing Loman and Iago notwithstanding, what he'd really like, he quips, is that "when audiences leave the theatre, they come up to me and say, 'Do Kirk Douglas. Do Burt Lancaster.' A little Burt, a little Kirk."