The Bride of Frankenstein (Laurie Gamache) performing the tune “Not Just Mrs. Frankenstein” from Miami Beach Monsters

As a playwright and screenwriter, I prefer to create universes and characters of my own, answering to nothing but my own exquisite imagination. But like many working writers, I spend much of my time in less than divine pursuits: pitching ideas and rewriting material, all within very defined parameters.

Of all such projects, doctoring the book of a musical is one of the most restrictive: You’re not only dealing with other peoples’ ideas, but you also have to function within a pre-made structure, with existing musical numbers. When the production is already in place and an opening date looms, your maneuverability is reduced further. A new piece of scenery? Forget it! The tension level can be high. If writing a musical is a joint effort, doctoring the book under these conditions might be deemed a stormy collaboration.

So when lyricist Georgia Holof, with whom I’d worked on such shows as A…My Name Is Still Alice, asked me to lunch in May 1999 to talk about revamping the book of an off-Broadway musical, I didn’t exactly jump for joy.

The show, called Miami Beach Monsters, had started as a revue. It had just finished a run at the Queens Theatre in the Park in New York City, with response good enough to justify moving it to Manhattan. In addition to Holof and myself, I also met with Helen Butleroff, who was handling director/choreographer duties.

The story opens with Frankenstein (Frankie), Bride of Frankenstein (Bridey), Dracula, The Wolfman, The Killer Tomato and Catskilla bored at their retirement condos in Miami Beach; all yearn to return to show biz. Then when the U.S. Postal Service issues “monster” stamps, they get hot again. The ghoulish characters return to Tinsel Town, landing jobs galore. But unlike the old days, they’re doing infomercials, cheesy TV movies, talk shows. Frustrated and depressed, the creatures return home, where they open a nightclub.

The basic problem: The story had evolved with the show and, without a bookwriter on board, there were gaps and inconsistencies, confusing transitions—and not enough jokes.

The good news: The musical numbers were sharp and clever, the actors were good, and, since Butleroff was one of those who had conceived the project, she knew intimately not only the performance aspects, but also what needed to happen storywise.

The bad news: The script, such as it was, was a mess. By the time I began to work on the script, it was July, and rehearsals were to start in September. My initial approach was drastic: I chucked virtually everything in the script and constructed an entirely new book—same story, same characters, but with entirely new scenes and takes on existing ones. I even changed the order of some of the musical numbers. Deep down, I knew they wouldn’t go for it all, but I figured it was like throwing a pot of spaghetti at the ceiling—some of it was bound to stick.

Frankenstein (Steve Elmore), The Bride of Frankenstein (Laurie Gamache), The Wolfman (Richard Rowan), The Killer Tomato (Diane Findlay) Catskilla (Jimmy Spadola) and Count Dracula (Craig Mason) catch up on the latest showbiz goings-on in Miami Beach Monsters.

A lot of it did—and didn’t. This was due primarily to practicality and not because the ideas were bad. For instance, Butleroff insisted on retaining certain scenes and jokes from the earlier production because, as she explained, while they may have looked lame on the page, they worked in front of an audience.

We both felt strongly that the relationship between Frankie and Bridey was the heart of the show, and while they needed to be funny, their romance had to be real. In my initial draft, I had gone for the laughs. Six drafts later, after much convincing by Butleroff, I still kept the characters funny, but made them less Young Frankenstein and more Now, Voyager.

As expected, the process wasn’t all smooth sailing. One cast member was a superb dancer, but had trouble with lines and lyrics. We devised the brilliant solution of giving his character stage fright, and adding The Invisible Man as an audible but unseen pal who “covered” for him. This would allow someone else to actually sing while the dancer dazzled with his footwork. Midway through the summer, the dancer got an offer he couldn’t refuse, and left the cast. Exit The Invisible Man and back to rewrite.

In the end, after countless phone conversations and e-mails, we had a working script. I flew to New York for the first week of rehearsals, to hear the actors and get a sense of the staging. Commitments in California beckoned, but the phone calls and e-mails continued, with Helen asking for another joke here, an alternate line there. Since I now had the actors’ vocal rhythms in my head, I could be much more specific when she needed a rewrite.

The show opened on Halloween at New York City’s Triad Theatre. Next morning, Georgia sent an ecstatic e-mail, telling me how well it had all come together. The New York Times commended “plenty of cleverness and show business savvy in this spirited musical entertainment.” We all breathed a great sigh of relief.

If you ever find yourself in the position of doctoring a musical script, here’s my advice:
» Listen to the people who have been working on the show. Make sure you know what they need and want, and do your best to give it to them.
» Marshal your arguments. Prepare good, solid reasons as to why you think your idea will work better than what’s there. If you’re persuasive enough, you may prevail.
» Check your ego at the door. Remember, it’s not your show, it’s our show.
» Live in the moment and be prepared to improvise. At a dance rehearsal I attended, Killer Tomato, a Mae West-like siren, was center stage for several bars as two of the men danced around her. As the music played, she shouted, “I feel like saying something here!” Within five minutes, I’d handed Helen seven possible lines—one of them made her laugh out loud, and it went into the show.

Doctoring a musical book isn’t easy, but, when it works, you have a wonderful sense of accomplishment, like completing the Sunday crossword in ink. In fact, I had so much fun doing Miami Beach Monsters that I’m doing it again: I’m currently revamping a musical about 100 years of the movies titled There’s No Place Like Hollywood! Coming soon to a theatre near you (I hope!).

For more information on Miami Beach Monsters, check out its website at www.butleroff.com; e-mail butleroff@aol.com. The show is licensed by RE Productions, the company operated by Helen Butleroff.