What a courageous book this is. The contents of four of its five chapters first appeared in highly polished form in The New Yorker: “Opening Night” and “Closing Night” ran as “Talk of the Town” pieces on May 15, 2017, and March 18, 2019, respectively, and much of the wide-ranging conversation presented in “New York Run” and “Traveling Company” appeared online on February 14, 2022, almost three months after Sondheim’s death.
The magazine pieces were fun to read and highly informative when they appeared, since they offered insights into the new “Company” and other recent productions; reminiscences about Broadway; glimpses of Sondheim at ease with Meryl Streep, Liam Neeson, Mia Farrow, and Paul and Alex Gemignani; and bits and pieces about Sondheim’s slow progress on the music and lyrics for “Here We Are,” his long-awaited final musical, which will begin previews at The Shed in New York on September 28 and open on October 22, 2023.
What’s missing from The New Yorker pieces but richly available in this slim book is the full transcript of the conversations that D. T. Max and, I imagine, his editors carefully shaped into the brief “Talk” pieces and the longer but still concise interview. I’m sure I’m not the only subscriber who enjoyed comparing the book with the magazine articles, yet this is risky business for a writer, since publishing transcripts inevitably leads to second-guessing. About the editing. About inadvertent flubs corrected or allowed to stand. Even about the preparedness of the interviewer and the quality of questions asked. After all, so much has already been written about Sondheim, including by Sondheim himself.
Yet every writer has started interviews with compliments and chit-chat, lobbing softballs while saving the more difficult questions for later, and all good writers ask questions when they already know the answers. And Max is certainly a good writer. What he knew or didn’t know in the moment isn’t that important, at least to me; the goal during any interview is to get the subject to talk, to answer questions using his or her own words, to explain his or her thinking. And this Max achieves.
True, Sondheim chose not to go ahead with what Max was hoping for -- a lengthy, in-depth, personal profile for the magazine. (Attention paid to an October 2017 interview with Lin-Manuel Miranda in the New York Times’s T Magazine, Sondheim said, had reminded him how he disliked publicity. “I’d forgotten how much I hate being in the spotlight,” he told Max; it was one reason he had become a writer, rather than a concert pianist.) So the amount that Sondheim reveals about himself, his personal life, his growing up Jewish, even his health, remains slim.
Nonetheless, I bet I’m not the only reader who relished the opportunity to visit Sondheim’s living room in Turtle Bay or Connecticut, or to sit at his table at the PEN America spring gala, and to listen in as he talked and laughed about music and Broadway and his celebrity friends, not to mention his dogs or his orreries or his neighbors, including E. B. White, one of The New Yorker’s most famous writers. These second-hand experiences are all the more precious now that Sondheim has died, leaving us to wish for more time, as you do whenever a loved one passes.