The evening of delicious dish is called I’ll Eat You Last: A Chat with Sue Mengers, but the centerpiece is really the Divine Miss M. She plays the late Hollywood super-agent Mengers who dishes about her “twinkies.” If it weren’t for the audience’s love affair with Midler, John Logan’s (Red)one-act memoir at the Booth Theater would fade under its own scantiness and irrelevancy. Midler, back on Broadway after 40 years, injects her charm, lights a cigarette, whisks back her frosted wig and offers a fantasy invitation to watch her channel the super agent in her gorgeous Beverly Hills living room. Just remember, you won’t be staying on for one of Mengers’ famed dinner parties later that evening. That’s only for her A-list clients, and the talk will be only about the “business of show,” the emphasis on “business.” As a hostess, Mengers advice was, “Honey, work the room. You ain’t here to eat.”
There is quite a story to Sue Mengers, who emigrated with her parents to the United Stated as a child from Nazi Germany. As directed by Joe Mantello, Midler’s familiar brash persona shines over the personality of Mengers, who learned English from the movies and here sounds like a mingle of Bette Davis, a profane truck driver and Midler. Lounging on a sofa as Mengers did, wearing the trademark, large tinted glasses, Midler shares tidbits of Mengers’ life, but not the whole story. What Mengers did was propel her way into a man’s world with brains, chutzpah and a devilish wit, collecting the prize stars of the ‘60s and ‘70s (Ali McGraw, Mike Nichols, Gene Hackman, Faye Dunaway, Steve McQueen) the way other women might collect diamonds. These were her jewels, and Mengers devoted herself to keeping them shined and displayed. Midler captures Mengers’ sharp-as-nails insight and arrogance brassy enough to force William Friedkin into giving Hackman an audition for “The French Connection” after the role was already cast.
I’ll Eat You Last takes place in 1981, as Mengers’ superstardom as an agent is being threatened. She is waiting for a personal call from her prize client, Barbra Streisand, having heard earlier that day (from Streisand’s lawyers) that Barbra is leaving Mengers. The agent never moves off the peach sofa, phone set on the arm, a cocktail table with nibbles, cigarettes, pot and liquor, ready to grab the phone whenever it rang. It does ring, but it’s not Streisand.
Midler captures the audience with moments of profanity, coy glances, hilarity and, by the end, hints of poignancy. Occasionally, cigarette in one hand and a joint in the other, she cajoles a man in the audience to come on stage and bring her a drink or box of bonbons. Mengers was not one for any physical exertion.
Scott Pask’s living-room set is a study in perfection, exquisite with decorator touches and mood-lighted by Hugh Vanstone. The azure caftan by Ann Roth fits the bill. Bette Midler is close to perfection herself, if you consider what she was given, a skimpy story with just enough gossip to titillate the audience for 85 minutes.
Apparently, there was a lot more to the driving, single-minded Sue Mengers, who died in 2011. She said about herself, “I rolled in there like a tank, but in any revolution you have to do something to get their attention.” I’ll Eat You Last: A Chat with Sue Mengers grabs audience attention but only because of one thing, the enduring mischievous warmth of Bette Midler.
