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Sondheim On Sondheim
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Opening Doors
作词：Stephen Sondheim
How's it going?
Good, you?
Fair
Yeah, tell me
Chinese laundry
Hi
Mary
Say hello
I think I got a job
Where?
True Romances
Posing?
Thank you, writing captions
What about the book?
What about the book?
Nothing, are you working on your book?
Yes
Good
No
Mary
Right, I know, yes, me and Balzac
I finished the one act
I got an audition
I started the story
Rehearsal pianist
So where are we eating?
I'm moving to Playboy
The publisher called me
I'm doing a rewrite
My parents are coming
I saw My Fair Lady
I rewrote the rewrite
I sort of enjoyed it
I threw out the story
I'm meeting an agent
We'll all get together on Sunday
We're opening doors
Singing, 'Here we are'
We're filling up days
On a dime
That faraway shore's
Looking not too far
We're following every star
There's not enough time
I called a producer
I sent off the one act
I started the story
He said to come see him
I dropped out of college
I met this musician
I'm playing a nightclub
They're doing my one act
I'm working for Redbook
I rewrote the ballad
I finished the story
We started rehearsals
I threw out the story
And then the musician
I'm moving to Popular Science
We're opening doors
Singing, 'Look who's here'
Beginning to sail
On a dime
That faraway shore's
Getting very near
We haven't a thing to fear
We haven't got time
How's it coming?
Good, You?
Done
One minute
Hamburg Heaven
Hi
Mary
Say hello
I got another job
Where?
Chic
What's that?
A brand new concept:
Pop up pictures
What about the book?
What about the book?
Did you give the publisher the book?
Yes
Good
No
Mary
Look, I
Finished
Let me call you back
Right
This is just a draft
Right
I haven't had the time to do a polish
Will you sing
Right
'Who wants to live in New York?
Who wants the worry, the noise, the dirt, the heat?
Who wants the garbage cans clanging in the street?
Suddenly I do
They're always popping the cork
I hate that line
The cops, the cabbies, the salesgirls up at Saks
You gotta have a real taste for maniacs
Suddenly I do
That's great, that's swell
The other stuff as well
It isn't every day
I hear a score this strong
But fellas, if I may
There's only one thing wrong
There's not a tune you can hum
There's not a tune you go bum, bum, bum, di, dum
You need a tune you can bum, bum, bum, di, dum
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Give me a melody
Why can't you throw 'em a crumb?
What's wrong with letting 'em tap their toes a bit?
I'll let you know when Stravinsky has a hit
Give me some melody
Oh sure, I know
It's not that kind of show
But can't you have a score
That's sort of in between?
Look, play a little more
I'll show you what I mean
Who wants to live in New York?
I always hated the dirt, the heat, the noise
But ever since I met you, I
Listen, boys, maybe it's me
But that's just not a humable melody
Write more, work hard
Leave your name with the girl
Less avant-garde
Leave your name with the girl
Just write a plain old melodey
They're stopping rehearsals
They ran out of money
We lasted one issue
My book was rejected
The nightclub was raided
I have to start coaching
My parents are coming
They screwed up the laundry
My wallet was stolen
I saw the musician
We're being evicted
I'm having a breakdown
We'll all get together on Sunday
They're slamming doors
Singing, 'Go away'
It's less of a sail
Than a climb
That faraway shore's
Farther every day
We're learning to ricochet
We still have a lot to say
You know what we'll do?
What?
We'll do a revue
What?
What?
We'll do a revue of our own
What? Where?
Why? When?
Not just songs but stories, scenes
Piano pieces, mime
Yeah
Frankly Frank
A showcase of our own?
Where?
The club's reopening
We'll write a lot of new stuff
Rewrite the old stuff
What about the girl?
What about the girl?
Only that we're gonna need a girl
Well, Mary
Thanks, I don't perform except at dinner
Who wants to live in New York?
Who wants the worry, the noise, the dirt, the heat?
Who wants the garbage cans clanging in the street?
Thank you for coming
Next eight, please
They're always popping their cork
Up a tone
The cops, the cabbies, the salesgirls up at Saks
Up a tone
You gotta have a real taste for maniacs
Thank you, you're hired
I'm Beth
I'm Frank
I really thought I stank
I'm Mary
Charley
By the way
I'm told we open Saturday
What
You're not serious
Nobody's ready
Apparently someone cancelled a booking
The songs aren't finsihed
And what about costumes?
And how do I learn all these numbers?
I'll bring you the copies of everything later this evening.
Okay, but I'll have to have all the music and
Saturday I've got to sing at a wedding
Oh God, is there dancing 'cause I'm not a dancer?
Not to mention I still haven't finished the
Synanon song or the Kennedy number
You don't have to, we'll segue the
End of it into the dance we cut out
And what'll we do about getting publicity
Run around town putting stickers on windows?
And have we decided or not on the restaurant sketch?
I need two or three days to replace it
| No, we'll use it but not with the long introduction
We'll worry about it on Sunday
We're opening doors, singing, 'Here we are'
We're filling up days on a dime
That faraway shore's looking not too far
We're following every star
There's not enough time
We're banging on doors, shouting, 'Here again'
We're risking it all on a dime
That faraway shore's looking near again
The only thing left is when
We know we should count to ten
We haven't got time, we haven't got time
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