Annie

I grew up in the same town that my parents did, down the block from the house my mother grew up in. Her mother, widowed when I was two, still lived there. She tended her rose garden, played bridge on a regular basis, and was very often responsible for watching my sister and me. An older grandparent, she was not one for games of make believe or hours spent outdoors and was more inclined to teach us how to play card games or leave us to our own devices to play with my mothers old dolls or rummage through her things. 

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She was ahead of the curve when it came to screen time, however. There were only so many games of go fish or sibling squabbling that she could tolerate, so inevitably the tv would click on so we could all watch the Golden Girls or Empty Nest (a Golden Girls spin off) or best of all, a movie. 

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I don’t remember exactly when I first watched the 1982 movie version of “Annie”, but all I know is that forever after that first time, the VHS was consistently at the top of the pile, waiting to be popped in so I could loudly sing along to “Maybe” and “Little Girls”.  I was neither an orphan nor a dog owner, and I knew nothing about the Great Depression or wealth inequality, but that movie spoke to me (as I’m sure it did to thousands of other little girls. It’s Annie.) Annie and the orphans were bold, courageous, scrappy. They sang all their feelings. They hated cleaning. Their primary care taker really liked gin. They wanted nothing more than to live in a mansion in New York City with an indoor pool and a rich emotionally distant man who bought children’s affections. Sounded like a dream come true! Yes, I wanted to be a princess, but I think even as a young child I knew that real power would be had by being rich in New York. Daddy Warbucks was friends with the president, after all. 

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The best part of this movie though was the cast. Whoever cast that movie deserved an Oscar. Daddy Warbucks? Alfred Finney, balancing his gruff yet kind manner and bald cap with his twinkling, mischievous eyes and unruly eyebrows. 

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Daddy Warbucks’ secretary Grace was played by Anne Reinking, floating in a yellow dress and moving in a way I didn’t know humans could, exuding so much warmth and loveliness that I probably would’ve traded my own mother for her, if given the option. 

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Miss Hannigan? CAROL FUCKING BURNETTE. Yes she was mean to the orphans, yes it was technically child abuse, but dear lord that woman made me laugh. She taught me comedic timing. She made me root for her. Kids can be annoying! Imagine being surrounded by so many of them! During the depression! Whatever that was! 

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Her scheming brother and his partner in crime? Tim Curry and Bernadette Peters. Franklin Roosevelt? Edward Herman, aka Richard Gilmore. I was introduced to all of them, in one film, before the age of 7. That film is not only a core memory for me–“Annie” proved to be my gateway drug to musicals.  

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My grandmother, perhaps out of a desire to hear me sing something that wasn’t from “Annie” (or “The Little Mermaid”)  started taking me to see productions at The Papermill Playhouse, a well known regional theatre. It was there, while sitting on a booster seat, that I saw Papermoon, Victor/Victoria,  Anything Goes, Les Miz, Carousel, Brigadoon, and many others. Inadvertently, my grandmother turned me into a theater kid. 

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That one VHS tape led to those special shared weekends with my grandmother, sitting in a cool, dark theatre, in awe of the talent on display in front of me.  I started participating in community theatre and learned to love the thrill of being on stage. I convinced my parents to sign me up for voice and acting lessons, performed in the school musicals, sang in choir and jazz band, and would go on to eventually study theater in college. 

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I no longer perform, but I am still a theater kid at heart. I keep a google sheet of all the shows I see in a year (I’ve seen 13 so far this year, which means I’m on track to beat my 2019 high of 18). I still belt show tunes in the shower or at Marie’s Crisis, and there are few things I enjoy as much as discovering a new musical. Theatre is my drug of choice. It is my lifeline. I strongly believe that if more people had regular access to theatre that more people would have empathy, and the world would be a better place. Just look at how Annie changed Daddy Warbucks’ life, and mine too. 

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Kerry is a new writer who loves to watch tv and then read about the tv she just watched. She is excited to expand her creative endeavors by partnering with Gal Pal. She is based in Queens, NY, the world’s borough, and lives with her husband and their two jerk cat sons.