NOODLEHEAD IN NEWTON
Dear Noodle:
Now, don’t you go stealing my favorite sayings! It’s one thing when a playwright does it — and didn’t he do a nice job of capturing my voice? — but a reader? That really puts a twist in my turban. Anyways: I think he made it work by really paying attention to the spirit of Ann Landers, and also capturing a lot of the pep and vim, if I do say so myself, of Eppie Lederer, me, the woman behind the pseudonym.
Probably it helped a lot that he had help from my darling daughter, Margo Howard. But he also had to be a heck of a good dialogue writer to make me sound so much like — well, like myself.
Dear Ann Landers:
I have often wondered what it feels like for an actor to portray a real person, and especially one who’s familiar to millions of people. He — or she, in this case, meaning Stephanie Clayman — needs to persuade us that she’s really that person, but she also can’t, and probably shouldn’t, be an exact copy. It’s acting, after all, not impersonation. So what’s the secret to playing Ann Landers?
CURIOUS IN COCHITUATE
Dear Curious:
Gosh, you should ask Stephanie Clayman! For me, though, I just loved the way she sounded so much like me: that genuine flat Chicago accent, with just a hint of a lisp, just the way I always had. She’s a snappy gal, too, and her kind of no-nonsense spunk and brisk delivery just seemed right on. She even has a dimple! Quite a gal.
Dear Ann Landers:
Who does your hair?
PERM-ANENTLY WONDERING
Dear Perm:
That secret is safe with me! Now, I know people just love to joke about my helmet hair, but you take a good look at that Stephanie. She looks trim, stylish, and neat as a pin with that nice curly brunette wig.
And I just adored the peachy satin robe that Gail Astrid Buckley, that nice costume designer, found for her to wear. It was just the thing for a woman of my taste and station to slip on after a late-night bath. That’s where I did all my best thinking, you know — and you can tell, because the play gets deeper after the intermission, which is when I supposedly go offstage to take a bath.
Dear Ann Landers:
