They Just Keep Rolling Along

By WILLIAM A. HENRY III

When the Nygaard family of Cupertino, Calif., went to New York City for vacation this month, they didn't visit the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building. For them, as for more than a third of the tourists who visit the city, the lure was the Broadway stage. They had already seen Cats twice and Les Miserables three times, mostly in London and San Francisco, so they headed straight for The Phantom of the Opera and Miss Saigon. They emerged elated -- and ready, despite the $60 ticket prices, to go back and see the shows again.

The Nygaards and their fellow out-of-towners, from Omaha or Oslo or Osaka, account for nearly half of Broadway's ticket sales. They go in search of brand names. Although the season that ended June 2 offered 28 new shows and 21 holdovers (some admittedly short-lived), the perennial Big Three -- Cats, Phantom and Les Miz -- accounted for a quarter of the audience and almost a third of the revenues. On the road, where commercial theater reaps much more income than on Broadway, the Big Three were even more dominant: of $449 million in ticket sales, they commanded about 54%. (For investors, these shows are better than striking oil: they pay annual returns of up to double the amount originally put in.) Among newer offerings, only Miss Saigon, which arrived in March to a record $37 million advance sale and has already paid off half its $11 million start-up cost, is regarded as a solid contender to join the gilded trinity.

The top three shows have become institutions, seemingly permanent in a business that is notoriously ephemeral. They attract younger audiences than most other Broadway shows, including many first-time theatergoers, and draw a volume of repeat business more common for kiddie films or rock bands. In a celebrity-conscious world, the Big Three are star-proof and almost never feature anyone with a significant recognition factor. Yet Cats, which advertises itself as "now and forever," will celebrate its ninth anniversary on Broadway in October, having run longer than Oklahoma! and The Sound of Music put together. Les Miz, at 4 1/2 years, will soon pass South Pacific, while Phantom, at 3 1/2 years, is way ahead of Guys and Dolls and Annie Get Your Gun.

This popularity seems unwavering. Cameron Mackintosh, who produced all three and also Miss Saigon, projects that Cats "will run another two years or so in New York." He predicts "four to five years" of additional life for Les Miserables and "certainly at least five years" more for Phantom. About Saigon, he says it is too soon to tell, especially because the show is so elaborate. "With weekly operating costs close to $500,000," says Mackintosh, "Miss Saigon only breaks even when it makes what Les Miz does selling every seat."

Producers have always dreamed of long runs, but the semieternal run is a phenomenon of recent years. The four most enduring Broadway shows -- A Chorus Line (6,137 performances), the revival of Oh! Calcutta! (5,959), Cats (3,709 through last week) and 42nd Street (3,486) -- attained all or most of their runs during the '80s. If Mackintosh's projections prove right (and others in the industry believe they will), Les Miz and Phantom will outstrip Hello, Dolly! and My Fair Lady for the ninth and 10th spots among all-time long- runners.

Yet the phenomenon reaches beyond Mackintosh's megahits. Me and My Girl, a '30s Cockney farce that no one bothered to revive or import until the mid-' 80s, ran longer than the revered, Pulitzer-prizewinnin g How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying a quarter-century before. La Cage aux Folles, noteworthy only because of its gay theme, played nearly half again as long as the exquisite The King and I.

Are today's shows so much better? Not according to critics. Are they more obviously relevant? Hardly. Cats owes as much to bygone British music hall and pantomime as it does to rock. Les Miz and Phantom are stories of 19th century France told in traditional operatic style. Are they meticulously maintained, avoiding the decay of energy and skills that often besets long runs? Well, yes and no. Based on recent visits, Phantom and Les Miz are in splendid condition, better in some respects than on opening night. Cats, however, is a mess. The trademark feline movements erratically come and go. Most of the performers can dance, but only three or four sing adequately. Despite a deafening sound system, the diction is so bad that a spectator familiar with the lyrics often found them incomprehensible from the fourth row center.

What, then, accounts for the current era of long runs? One major factor is the rise of consumer air travel. Once tourism became another means of keeping up with the Joneses, or the Tanakas, seeing particular Broadway hits entered into the scorekeeping. Says Harvey Sabinson, executive director of the League of American Theaters and Producers: "It was not until at least the mid-'70s that we on Broadway began to think of ourselves as a tourist attraction and market that way. Once we did, it gave us a bigger audience and shows a longer life."

Another factor is the spread of TV commercials depicting action from shows. For the first time, the infrequent or hesitant theatergoer could get a tiny advance taste of the Broadway experience. The technique is effective, if costly. It arose, ironically, from Broadway's loss of musical influence. When its tunes were at the heart of the pop mainstream, Broadway enjoyed bountiful promotion via radio play both of original-cast albums and of recordings by other artists of the biggest ballads and showstoppers. As musical taste veered toward rock, however, producers had to find other lures. It turned out that showy staging and scenic spectacle were ideally suited to being sold via TV, so the look began to replace the score as a show's signature.

A third factor, shrewdly in keeping with the anti-elitist temper of the times, is Mackintosh's marketing. While most producers build their promotion around quoting reviews and citing awards, Mackintosh all but ignores critics. Instead he develops a memorable thematic image for each show -- the stylized face of the waif Cosette for Les Miz, a shimmering white mask for Phantom, a big pair of yellow eyes amid darkness for Cats, a helicopter rendered like a Chinese character for Saigon -- and highlights it everywhere. To keep ads and posters clear of anything that might compete visually, he negotiates with the shows' creators to omit or downplay customary credits. Mackintosh believes quote ads, or any other kind, are of minimal help: "You can remind people of your existence, but you cannot persuade. Word of mouth does that. In a long run, that is what any show depends on."

This marketing affirms a musical as something special, says Gerald Schoenfeld, chairman of the Shubert Organization, which owns or operates 17 of Broadway's 36 theaters, including those housing Mackintosh's hits. Canny showmanship, Schoenfeld adds, gets the media to convey the same idea: "When we cut a hole in the roof of the Winter Garden for Cats, it became news in hometowns across America. Events are what the public responds to. They want a sense of occasion."

What the public truly wants is, of course, impossible to fathom -- especially when it is as diverse as the 10 million people who have seen the Big Three on Broadway or the 72.5 million who have attended worldwide. Mackintosh says, "I have no formula. Any man is lucky to be involved in one major success in a lifetime. To be involved in four defies explanation." One clear lesson does emerge. Certain theatrical tastes may be passe, certain critics disgruntled. For all the doomsaying about the Fabulous Invalid, the joy of theatergoing -- to the right show, done in the right way for the right audience -- remains as robust as ever.

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CREDIT: TIME Chart by Steve Hart

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