Word: chinatown
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Flower Drum Song. A routine but expertly guided tour, conducted by Rodgers and Hammerstein, of San Francisco's Chinatown. Among the three-star sights: Singers Miyoshi Umeki and Pat Suzuki...
...more carats, according to the greater or lesser degree of beauty"-Rodgers and Hammerstein operatives went to work in Hong Kong, Paris, London, San Francisco, Chicago and New York. Director Gene Kelly and Choreographer Carol Haney scoured theaters, nightclubs and Y.W.C.A.s. Co-Author Joseph Fields judged a San Francisco Chinatown beauty contest and watched for talent that would look right on Flower Drum's riotous Grant Avenue...
Safety in Numbers. R. & H. did not quite write Flower Drum Song for Pat, but at times it seemed close to becoming her show. As Linda Low-hymning "Grant Avenue, San Francisco" with all the fire-cracking verve of Chinatown itself-Pat worked with so much authority that by the time the show opened in Boston, she was practically in command. Stage mikes had to be turned down to keep her lusty voice somewhere within range of Miyoshi's. "Pat have very very sweet voice when she little girl," says her 66-year-old father, Chiyosaku Suzuki. "I like...
This is borne out by a natural comparison between this tale of San Francisco's Chinatown, of Oriental parents and Americanized children, and The King and I. Once again East meets West; once again there are clashing customs and picturesque ceremonies. Doubtless Rodgers and Hammerstein were properly determined that never their twain should meet; in any case, they operate at such different levels that they cannot. Where, in musicomedy terms, The King and I seemed truly exotic and aromatically blended fable, score and choreography into one. Flower Drum Song has no distinctive elements to blend and is never really...
...Yeah, man, I know; the Buddha kick. I remember I was on it for two weeks when I saw the wild Frisco nights from my Chinatown pad. Man, that was some living; creeping through the back alleys at night, yogi parties, the red lights of the east end, the drowning sounds of Powell Street in the afternoon, and in the early evening as the sun set on the bay the soft odors of won-ton soup drifting up through the air vents. Crazy! But take my advice, and give up the Oriental bit, and go domestic. Contemplation, inward communion...