Exit Through the Little Shop: A Q&A with Ellen Greene

by Tom Blunt

[This interview was originally published by Penguin Random House in 2015]

"I apologize you haven't heard from me in so long," says Ellen Greene, almost out of habit by now. The Broadway and cabaret star gained nationwide recognition as Audrey, the browbeaten heroine of 1985's Little Shop of Horrors, but despite occasional appearances in TV and movies ever since, her seismic vocal talent remained curiously absent from the stage — a result, we learn, of the impact of the AIDS crisis on Greene's family of fellow artists and performers, including original Little Shop writer and director Howard Ashman.

She returns to her star-making role for two nights in July, playing Audrey opposite Jake Gyllenhaal's Seymour at New York City Center. In the interview below, she describes the self-lacerating work ethic that will keep her from coasting through a now-familiar performance, and acknowledges all the ghosts who will be watching from the rafters.

TOM BLUNT: Does a short run like this demand as much prep work as a full production?

ELLEN GREENE: Yeah, because no matter whether it's long or short, it's my work ethic. There's only one way to do Audrey, and it's the right way, and there's a lot to it: the costume, the makeup, the wig, just the physicality of it. And then all the music! I went through three scripts, which I had to remember or relearn, so I've been working on this for months. And I love it, because I represent Howard [Ashman's] success. This is the way Howard lives again.

TB: Has your Audrey changed over the years?

EG: Actually no. I'm sure what will happen is there will probably be more depth to her, but it's the same performance. I notice from watching earlier performances that she got more subtle — obviously I reviewed a lot of material, from the very first performance. Even from the stage to the film she became a much deeper character; we were working on the film for over nine months, and when you're working in film you work on a scene over and over again, so my performance grew tremendously.

But the film was different in that she was way more of a heroine. Onstage it's a little sillier, just ... different. But you know, I don't really know what it will be until it happens. It's partly Jake, and myself, and the other actors, and then the audience — and I'm sure it's going to be a very smart audience. So it will play differently every day. And that's why I'm doing it: for all the people who were around for that amazing, magical time when this whole piece came together. I'm doing it for people who've written and asked me over the years if I would ever do it again. I'm thrilled about it!

TB: At the beginning, would you ever have thought Audrey was the one you'd still be playing all these years later?

EG: No. I never hoped to get the film, and I was thrilled when Howard gave me the film as a gift, and told me he wrote "Somewhere That's Green" for me. It was five years of my life. What's odd is I noticed I became more famous as years went on, and the musical became more important, because in those days of so much death and violence, this became like a respite for people. It let you giggle and be silly, but it's also poignant and snags at your heart. Just when you're about to laugh, all of a sudden you're crying, and the other way around. It's all so unique.

I've been a bit reticent; the '90s were a tough time for me. I was newly married and there was this weird cycle: people were finding out they were sick, people were in the middle of being sick, and people were dying. Everyone seemed to be in one of those three categories, and it happened over and over again. And I was there for my friends, so finally I left New York and kind of stopped singing. My heart was broken. Also from those artistic losses: an endless cycle of heavy hitters, gone.

TB: So what was it that brought you back?

EG: I was in L.A. and I met a pianist who wanted to work with me. I met Christian Klikovits in a gym of all places, and I was so thrown — he had seen Little Shop, and I didn't know he knew me. And well, he became my second husband actually. Now he's remarried, but we're still best friends and he's my musical partner. We just did a great Christmas album at the end of the year, it's called "Songs for a Winter's Night."

Anyway, he's the one who got me to sing again. Because my heart was in my throat. I think the last concert I did was for Peter Allen, and it was a glorious three nights, but I realized when it was over I was just devastated by it all. And then so many more people went, and I just didn't feel like singing anymore. With Christian, the joy came back.

I get shy at the weirdest times, and I get terrible stage fright, but I love creating and I love the work. I never hear applause: whether I think I'm terrible, or I think I'm good, it doesn't matter. I was brought up in the Public Theater; you left your ego at the door and you walked in, and everyone was talented so no one was talented. It was a wonderful place to grow up.

TB: How did those years performing at the Public lead up to Little Shop?

EG: I started in July, 1973. I heard about the show In the Boom Boom Room. Well, everyone else walks in with a diploma, and I didn't finish college. I auditioned over and over again, and they said "Why should I give this to you?" and I said, "Because I can do it." It was all instinct — I'm basically an instinctual actress who adds technique. I finally got Boom, which gave me Next Stop Greenwich Village, which gave me The Threepenny Opera, and it was really wonderful. But sometimes life asserts itself, and I believe you need to live life in order to create, so sometimes it's taken me away from career things.

TB: Many performers never give themselves a chance to do that. There seems to be so much pressure to keep performing and producing work no matter what.

EG: It's also a question of: how do you color your work? How can you be your authentic self if you can't grow as a human? When all these people were sick, I was a caretaker, I was there. I do think it colors my work — not selfishly, I don't do it for that reason. I do it because you've got to be a human first.

My father died when I was nineteen, and throughout my life there's a litany of people who have gone. The '90s were especially sad because they found a cocktail right after that kept people alive. And you know, I'd had epilepsy as a child, and then again as a grownup in '78. Life comes in, and you just have to deal with it and keep pushing through. I'm one who deals.

The most important thing is to be proud of who you are as a human, and I can say I was there for a lot of people. I would probably do it again.

TB: You mentioned stage fright earlier. Do you have any rituals that help with that?

EG: Work. I rehearse nonstop. I just believe in working your butt off. I mean, I don't want to disappoint anybody. They have this expectation of who Audrey's going to be, and look like, and sound like, and I know I'm also competing with my younger self. There's all these different audiences with hopes that I will fulfill — and since I am a caretaker, I would like to fulfill their fantasies. I know this show is a gamble, it's a very short time to work with, but is it thrilling? Yes.

TB: Do people treat you like you are Audrey, or expect you to be like her?

EG: They recognize me a lot, and people always want to hug me. I don't know, I've done so many roles — oddly enough I did more dramas than comedies — but people really do love Audrey. I don't mind at all, I love Howard and Alan [Menken] and every time someone loves it, that means my sweet Howard lives.

TB: Are there other roles from the past you'd want to reprise?

EG: I loved Vivian from "Pushing Daisies." I loved the company, and Bryan Fuller who reminds me of Howard actually. There's been talk of a musical for "Pushing Daisies," and I'd love to do that.

I always really wanted to do Man of La Mancha. I was going to do it with Raul Julia, I always wanted to play Aldonza. I'd love to do that with Kevin Kline, strangely enough. But things I want to go back to do? I'd wanted to do The Threepenny Opera again with Raul when he was alive. I mean, there are an awful lot of people I love who are not here. Someone asked me about this show, "Are you worried there will be ghosts here?" And I said "No." But then I realized it after I got here, and said, "Yes." I'm not worried, I just miss them. They'd be all the first people to cheer me going onstage.

TB: Are you still interested in performing cabaret?

EG: Christian and I built a show called Torch; we did it all over, and then the album came to be. I want to start working on another album. I do love working in clubs, but not in the sense of being just one act. I do torch. I've done it all my life. That's really what "Suddenly Seymour" is, it's a torch song. And actually, "Somewhere That's Green." They're songs of the heart, and that's what I do. At my shows I have to be really funny in between songs, because actually I could just depress anybody.

TB: Theater buffs still seem very interested in your connection to the 1973 musical, Rachael Lily Rosenbloom (And Don't You Ever Forget It), which closed before it ever officially opened. Do you recall it fondly?

EG: It was my first musical, the music was divine, and silly and funny. At the beginning, all we did were parties. We performed at parties over and over again. It was campier than I liked, but I loved Paul Jabara so much, and he was so talented that I did whatever he wanted. It was so many shows in one. We were getting tons of changes when Tom Eyen came in. We were having forty pages a night thrown at us! The story of that show is a big one, I don't know if anyone's ever really told it. You know, someone asked me about that show just last night — I'm still not sure I understand the fascination with this one.

TB: You worked with the legendary stage and film actress Shelley Winters in Next Stop, Greenwich Village. What are your recollections of her?

EG: Shelley and I did two films together, I did Stepping Out with her also. I loved Shelley. Shelley loved props. I don't really like props, but she really loved props. And one time the cinematographer was working the camera — the brilliant Arthur Ornitz, he also did The Goddess, extraordinary film — and he said to me, "Would the breasts move to the left?" And Shelley said to him: "Don't!" And I actually stood up for myself, too. I said something like, "My name is Ellen, that's what you will call me. And I will move to the left." I wasn't mean, but I was polite. I don't even know if he meant it to be derogatory, maybe he was just looking at the shot and just saying what he saw, but it was rude. He never did it again.

If you want to read about Next Stop, Greenwich Village, I wrote a tribute to Paul Mazursky on Playbill.com. It was all about what kind of director he was. I'm proud of it, if I do say so myself — I took a long time to write it, because he meant so much to me.

TB: What's your opinion of this new wave of film musicals?

EG: It's funny, I remember talking with Joan Rivers when Little Shop came out. She said "So you're in a musical, that's unusual." And I said, "I hope it starts a trend," and she said: "It will never happen."

Here's what I think a musical should do. It shouldn't be about hitting a certain note, or style or sound. All I want from anybody who's singing is: When you can't speak anymore, when you cannot speak, you have to sing. Okay? And when you can't move, but you have to, then you dance. Okay? If you don't make me laugh or cry or feel something, it's just froth. I want to feel something when I go to the theater. I want to be moved, to be fascinated. I want to think, I want to feel. And I want to learn! And I do love edge, which you can see in Little Shop.

The audience is part of it too, they are your acting partner. That's why live theater or cabaret are so fascinating, because you don't necessarily know what it's going to be, you just hope for the best, and the work will pay off.

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