I want to play this out as a hypothetical. I want to paint you a word picture. And I want you, dear reader, to immerse yourself in this yarn I’m going to spin for you.
It’s hot, and you just got off work. Where do you work? Some place with an elevator. It’s 6:15, a scorching day outside, and you’re in this elevator that’s just roasting you. It doesn’t matter
what you do for work; maybe you have one of those fun ‘email jobs’, but you’re now standing in this elevator just pooling in sweat. Let’s say this elevator has a nice chair for you too, so now
you can sit down. No AC though, no no, there’s a box fan whirring in your ear, but those have a negligible effect.
Ding.
The door opens, and a few people shuffle into the elevator with you. It’s a big elevator; you work in one of those places that has an industrial elevator that you can drive a small bus through,
so it’s not cramped. You smile, you nod, you recognise a few of them. They have a piano with them too, and a whole sound board. You make small talk and stiff introductions. They’re all
industry veterans. Cool cats. And one of them has a bona fide Broadway credit. It’s been a pleasant experience so far. So you ask them, “What are you guys up to?” And they say, “We’re
working on a new musical”. Very cool. You wish them all the best on the project, and to keep you-
REEEHHHHREHHEHECCH
The elevator jerks to a halt. A moment passes. And then two more. The elevator seems to be getting hotter now, the box fans louder. You had a late lunch, but you can feel you are minutes
from a blood sugar crash.
Danny Curtis asks you, “So you want to hear more about our musical?”
Sure, you guess. Might as well pass the time. One of them, Richard Danley (who you learn is their music director), unfolds the piano, and Lou Scarpatti begins to direct the remaining four as an ensemble.
“The musical is called FINAL DAY,” Explains Curtis. “It’s a new dramatic musical about the final hours of the European front. Based on true events, it tells the story of a forbidden love
between a German officer and a Jewish prisoner, set against the backdrop of the Uranprojekt Nazi nuclear program.”
You reply that sounds bleak but intriguing.
“There’s one setting, a German labor camp (Camp 7), which pressed Jewish scientists into slave labor to develop an atomic weapon and build V2 rockets,” Curtis elaborates. “Our star-crossed lovers are Einhorn and Hannah, who were separated at the outbreak of the war and now find themselves on opposite sides of the guardpost”
A four-person ensemble you ask, using your two eyes and basic logical deduction. “8 – 12 people actually” Before you can ask where the rest of the cast is, Curtis interrupts that thought. “Would you like to watch some of it”
The elevator is getting hotter, and the fan is getting louder. This quartet is, at best, only half the cast, and you have no idea how long you’re going to be trapped here.
And so Curtis begins walking you through FINAL DAY. The ensemble starts strong with an opening number (clearly meant for a larger chorus), and then Curtis goes blow by blow over the
plot and characters. Sometimes he stops to perform a scene, or the ensemble comes in with a swell of passionate music. Curtis does a scene as an old Jewish prisoner and sings a song as an
8-year-old girl. There are hats to keep track of whose playing which German, and piano flutters along to the score with the kind of gentle and somber tunes you’d otherwise expect from a
musical about a death camp.
It’s clear Curtis and friends have grand visions; the scope of what FINAL DAY will inevitably morph into reflects something truly epic. But something is clearly lost in translation, either by
the lack of a proper ensemble, accompaniment, or even just the time in the day to do a proper readthrough. What we are left with instead is FINAL DAY: The Elevator Pitch. Something
more suited for Kevin O’Leary than Kevin McCollum, much less a ticket-paying audience.
Much less you, poor reader, still trapped in this hypothetical.
The elevator is getting hotter and the fans are getting louder.
And after half an hour, Curtis describes a final scene of Germans getting shot, Allied tanks rolling in, and love enduring in the darkest of times. Both you and the elevator shudder and jerk upright, and you thank him for the pitch.
The doors swing open and you bolt for the fresh air.
On your way out they ask you for a hundred thousand dollars.
The Independent Artists movement 