'God! I'm So Glad I'm Here!"

By Gerald Clarke

Raquel Welch: Broadway's ebullient new woman of the year

It is 11:30 on a humid summer night, and as usual a crowd is stationed outside the stage door of Manhattan's Palace Theater. There are restraining barriers and a policeman or two, but they do not prevent pandemonium when she comes out. Autograph hounds demand her signature, and as her limousine pulls away, men thrust their cards through the window. "Give me a call, Raquel," says one pudgy fan with a wink. She smiles and passes his name on to her husband, Andre Weinfeld. "This one," she says, "is an accountant."

Raquel Welch has been causing tumultuous scenes for so long that they seem ordinary. But the ones outside the Palace are different. They are on Broadway, where right now she truly is the woman of the year. After 18 disappointing years in films, Welch, 41, has found a new career doing what she always wanted but was rarely allowed to do: sing, dance and play comedy. "Woman of the Year has put me into a whole different category," she says. "Suddenly I've gone from being a Hollywood sex symbol to a legitimate actress in the minds of many people. This play allowed them to discover what I can do."

Welch first took the part during Lauren Bacall's two-week vacation last December, and the critics came down with a case of puppy love. "When was the last time you heard wolf whistles in a Broadway theater?" asked the New York Times. Box-office receipts dropped only slightly during Welch's first week; during the second week they soared. Broadway had not made such a fuss over a temporary replacement since Eve Harrington subbed for Margo Charming in All About Eve. And that was only a movie.

To put it mildly, Bacall was not amused. "She went wild," says a woman who works on the production. After Welch's brief triumph, an angry Bacall refused to speak to the producers and pressagents. Whenever a permanent replacement was mentioned, she had only one suggestion: Dina Merrill, who at 56 is only one year younger than Bacall. Welch got the part and suggested that she and Bacall be photographed together, so that they could forestall any silly rumors about a feud. Bacall said no. She has other plans. In January she is scheduled to star in the road company of Woman of the Year.

Choreographer Tony Charmoli redid several numbers to take advantage of Raquel's energy and training as a dancer. Where Bacall spent most of one number standing on a pool table, Welch is all over the boards, kicking almost to the second balcony and turning what was a rather boring scene into a showstopper.

So even on a muggy night, with fans thrusting cards into her face, Welch is in love with New York. She is also eager to talk during a late dinner at a French restaurant chosen by Andre, 35, a French film writer and producer. There the subject quickly turns to the imperial Bacall. "She was very regal in the part," says Raquel in a silky voice. "She was sort of saying, 'I am what I am. If you want me, I'm here.' What I feel is different. When the curtain goes up, I look out and see that the theater is filled and say, 'God! Isn't this great! I'm so glad I'm here.' "

The waiter tells Andre that a jeune fille at another table has a message for him. "There's a young Chinese lady that saw us somewhere and wants to say hello to me," Andre tells Raquel. "I'll go over and see her or she'll come here."

"Don't tell her to come here," says his wife, her eyes suddenly as dark as thunderheads. "Tell her we're busy."

"You don't want me to say hello to Chinese girls?" he asks.

"I don't care if you say hello to Chinese girls, Andre, but I just took a look at her and I never saw her before in my life.

It's O.K. Well, it's not a fit of jealousy.

I'm just trying to.....to....."

"I know."

"... continue the conversation without having..."

"Chinese girls..."

"... some strange woman I don't know who the hell is coming up and talking to us." Weinfeld stays seated, the storm clouds leave, and so eventually does the Chinese girl.

The conversation shifts to Hollywood, where Welch feels she was ill-treated by the film industry. She thought she had finally made a breakthrough into serious acting when she was chosen in 1980 to play the lead in the movie version of John Steinbeck's Cannery Row. She was fired a few weeks after work began, however, for reasons that are still murky, and the shock was traumatic.

It is approaching 3 a.m. Dinner and conversation are over, but Raquel cannot let go. A few days later she phones, eager to clear up possible misperceptions. She blames the press for many of the problems she has had trying to shed her role as sex goddess, and she wants to make a special plea for fairness. "I'm upstairs," she says into the telephone, somewhat breathlessly, "and even Andre doesn't know I'm calling you. I probably shouldn't call, but I think I've received a pretty bum rap from a lot of people. I don't want you to say I'm the greatest thing since sliced bread, because I don't believe that either. But, dammit, I'm good. I'm really good. I've taken a not-such-a-great play and made it work..."

"Yes, you have, Raquel."

"You seem like a decent person, with your sincere blue eyes."

"They're green, Raquel." The mood is broken, and after a slight, embarrassed pause the conversation quickly concludes. "But they are sincere, just like your brown eyes."

"Most people," she says, "call them sable." And so they are.

--By Gerald Clarke

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