Arts Vanity: Sleuthing Sondheim, or A Thank You to Amy Wilkins & Others (Whoever You May Be)

In the year 2019, I found myself standing before a towering set of shelves at New York City’s The Strand. Being a bookstore in New York City, their theater collection stretched as far as the eye could see. Back in the Bay Area, the ‘Drama’ section of our local bookstore fit within my wingspan. This bookcase stretched as far as my eyes could see. It felt like paradise. Yet, only one text from this treasure trove would suffice.

There in front of me: “Company.”

“Company” is not the most popular of Stephen Sondheim’s musicals (probably “Sweeney Todd” or “Into the Woods”). It is not the most personal (probably “Sunday in the Park with George”). That being said, it is my favorite. One of three collaborations between Sondheim and George Furth — the other famous work being the recently redeemed “Merrily We Roll Along” — the story chronicles Robert, a 35-year-old bachelor pondering marriage as he interacts with the many imperfect couples in his friend group. With some of the most iconic songs of Sondheim’s career, Furth’s biting dialogue, and a message that can only grow with age, one thought that more bookstores would have the libretto. Alas, it had eluded me up to that point.

The Strand only had one copy of ‘Company’ — a somewhat battered, used version. As long as this precious text had all its pages, I would still take it. I opened it, eager to check. There, on the inside of the cover, was a name. On the otherwise stained but empty page, was “Amy Wilkins.” Searching online turned up no results of anyone who seemed like a performing type. This intrigued me — my favorite musical and a mystery to solve? I bought the copy immediately.

Once I brought it home, I checked for clues. On the listing of “Musical Numbers,” Wilkins underlined three names: Joanne, April, and Marta. While an unusual combination of characters for one woman, this illuminated a fairly straightforward story. Wilkins had been a cover for these three roles, and thus annotated the libretto as she saw fit to best learn her lines. Case closed. I opened Scene One, and began to read.

Immediately, something was wrong. Wilkins had highlighted Joanne’s line, but not April’s. Instead, Amy (the character, not Wilkins) was highlighted. A mistake, perhaps. Amy and April are both very similar names. Although, I thought, you would expect a woman named Amy to tell her own name apart from another. My hypothesis could still stand. Turning to page five, I saw that besides Marta — who I had expected — Susan, Sarah, and Jenny’s lines had all been highlighted.

I felt miffed. Not only had my deductions been foiled, I grumbled at the fact that apparently every other name in this text would be highlighted. So much for a neat reading experience. Much to my initial appreciation, as I continued to read, the annotations stopped altogether. As Wilkins’s markings dwindled, my appreciation for the plainness did too. While I had initially wanted this kind of reading experience, it didn’t feel right anymore. The theatricality of the text, its origins as the instructions for a performance felt so real when reading the highlighted lines and the underlined passages. What happened to Wilkins? Why didn’t she finish highlighting?

In retrospect, it’s very likely that this score went through multiple hands. Perhaps some of the highlights are Wilkins’s — some of them might be from other people altogether. Some of them are probably mine at this point. I’m glad that this copy has introduced me to someone I would have otherwise never met, even if the copy is less pretty. After all, isn’t ‘Company’ all about embracing the discomfort and imperfections that come with knowing other people? Like Bobby, I had presumed that my theoretical partner, or libretto in this instance, should be flawless and make perfect sense to me. Meanwhile, my own scripts have markings and notations in them — how could I ask blankness from anyone else? In many ways, Wilkins taught me more about the message of the show than I could have if I had read a never-touched libretto.

So to Amy Wilkins, thank you for your annotations. You perplex me and for that I am very grateful. Whether you performed the entire production, did a cabaret selection of songs and scenes, or nothing at all, pondering all these options has been a pleasure. I encourage everyone to annotate their scripts and scores. Whether for your academic, artistic, or personal use, your enigmatic scribbles can provide enjoyment or enlightenment for someone in the future. Someone is waiting — they just might not know it yet.

—Incoming Theater Executive Ria S. Cuéllar-Koh is grateful for Winter Intermission but excited for next semester’s Entr’Acte. She’s in line for the restroom right now, but can be reached at ria.cuellarkoh@thecrimson.com. Follow her on X at @RiaCuellarKoh.