When I heard her voice on the phone, I instinctively stood up. "This is Kitty Carlisle Hart." The mellifluous voice with the slight traces of a New York accent were unmistakeable. I had heard her since I was a boy watching her on "What's My Line?" and "I've Got a Secret", fascinated by her pearls and her laughter. Now she was on my phone, and her inherent nobility required me to stand. In 2005, I was directing "Light Up the Sky", written by her husband Moss Hart. One month earlier I had written to the play's publisher with a few questions I needed the answer to in order to feel I had fully researched the piece. I had expected a polite refusal letter from the publisher in response, but my letter had been passed on to her and she had called me directly. She answered my questions with alacrity and verve, and with an obvious loving regard for her husband's work. She told me of her experiences in acting the part of the imperious actress in "Light Up the Sky" in theatres across the country. She even confessed that, though she had performed the part so often, she never felt she had gotten right the character's first glittering tearful entrance. She talked about creating that first moment and what it demanded of her as an actress, the many different takes she had tried, never quite achieving what she felt the play demanded. But she also spoke of her joy in performing it, of her favorite laugh lines, and the wonderful sense of company that the paly created in each cast. She was especially pleased that I would be directing the piece with college actors, that Mr. Hart's work would be tackled by a new generation of theatre folk. She wished me luck at the end and welcomed me to call her back if I had any more questions during rehearsals. When I hung up the phone, I felt what the audiences on those TV shows had felt so long ago - they had been in the breezy company of a true hostess, someone urbane and naturally witty, someone who made you feel that everything was possible and everyone (even you) was particularly charming that day.
When I heard her voice on the phone, I instinctively stood up.
"This is Kitty Carlisle Hart."
The mellifluous voice with the slight traces of a New York accent were unmistakeable. I had heard her since I was a boy watching her on "What's My Line?" and "I've Got a Secret", fascinated by her pearls and her laughter. Now she was on my phone, and her inherent nobility required me to stand.
In 2005, I was directing "Light Up the Sky", written by her husband Moss Hart. One month earlier I had written to the play's publisher with a few questions I needed the answer to in order to feel I had fully researched the piece. I had expected a polite refusal letter from the publisher in response, but my letter had been passed on to her and she had called me directly.
She answered my questions with alacrity and verve, and with an obvious loving regard for her husband's work. She told me of her experiences in acting the part of the imperious actress in "Light Up the Sky" in theatres across the country. She even confessed that, though she had performed the part so often, she never felt she had gotten right the character's first glittering tearful entrance. She talked about creating that first moment and what it demanded of her as an actress, the many different takes she had tried, never quite achieving what she felt the play demanded. But she also spoke of her joy in performing it, of her favorite laugh lines, and the wonderful sense of company that the paly created in each cast. She was especially pleased that I would be directing the piece with college actors, that Mr. Hart's work would be tackled by a new generation of theatre folk.
She wished me luck at the end and welcomed me to call her back if I had any more questions during rehearsals. When I hung up the phone, I felt what the audiences on those TV shows had felt so long ago - they had been in the breezy company of a true hostess, someone urbane and naturally witty, someone who made you feel that everything was possible and everyone (even you) was particularly charming that day.