POLLY GETS A WAKE-UP CALL: A TRUE GENTLEMAN ACTOR REFLECTS ON THE BUMPY ROAD FROM HOLLYWOOD FAME TO MISFORTUNE AND BACK AGAIN
Reported to LaughingPlace.Com by Rhett Wickham

NEW YORK - On a chilly February afternoon we are escorted down a winding passage littered with folding chairs and bottles of water on the floor. An older man sits quietly by a rack of pins and ropes, with a jewelers pen-light duck-taped to his visor and reading a copy of the New York Post by the thin blue beam that follows the slow movement of his head from side to side.

Finally we descend a set of stairs into a sub-basement, and are led down a long hall lit by bright, bare fluorescent bulbs. We are shown into a small room toward the end of the hall, a half a dozen doors away from a beautifully stained wood door with a bright gold star reading “Ms. Brown.�? The sign refers to Ashley Brown, the current star of the Broadway production of “Mary Poppins�?, and we are in the dressing rooms of The New Amsterdam Theatre on 42nd Street.

We are the guests of P.H. Bumbershoot, in whose dressing room we are seated. Mr. Bumbershoot is making his Broadway debut in a role he first created on screen nearly half a century earlier. He is best known as the Parrot Head Umbrella whose wisecracking comments in the closing moments of the Academy Award nominated Disney masterpiece “Mary Poppins�? made him an overnight success. He finds himself in New York after an acclaimed run on London’s West End in the original stage production. How it got here, tonight, is nothing short of minor miracle, and what we learned is that not everything comes easy to a Disney legend.

It’s a small but charming dressing room, decorated in subtle mauves and gold tones, with a large comfortable wicker sofa and an ample supply of caraway, sunflower and pumpkin seeds in highly polished silver trays sitting on every available surface around the room. On the dressing table are an atomizer, a Waterpick and several photographs in ornate silver frames decorated with rhinestones. One, in particular, stands out. It is an eight-by-ten black and white photograph of Zazu, the hornbill from Disney’s “The Lion King�? and inscribed in silver ink. It reads “P.H. – Never let them tell you it’s about the title character. That’s just to help them sell tickets to the groundlings. It has been, is now, and always will be all about the bird. XO – Zaz P.S. – Insist on watching Schumacher sign your checks in person.�? Next to is a Western Union telegram in a simple store-bought frame that reads “dear p.h. stop you are the link from walt to all of us stop we are forever grateful for the privilege of your company stop welcome to broadway stop break a beak stop love roy.�? The most prominent of all, however, is a simple Polaroid of our host and a strangely familiar woman in a Hawaiian mu mu and oversized sunglasses sitting on a beach with a breathtaking sunset and vast ocean behind them. It is tucked gently into one corner of a framed letter that reads “Dearest P.H., What would the simple folk do without you? They’d be whistling in the dark! Blake and I treasure your friendship. Break a wing, darling! Love, ‘Jules’.�? It is clear that we are in the den of a great and greatly loved star of the highest order.

But we already knew that, because we’ve spent the past twenty-four hours in the company of this Broadway bon vivant, starting with complimentary house seats to the stunning and brilliant production that traveled across “the pond�? earlier this season to bow on the Great White Way. It is easily the finest night of theatre you could ask for, and in the grand tradition of great Broadway musicals, “Mary Poppins�? usurps the other Disney “King�? as the true ruler of theatrical magic.

We first met up with P.H. – or more properly Parrot Head – after the Saturday evening performance, and he took us to dinner at the world famous Sardi’s, where he has an umbrella stand at his favorite table waiting for him every night .

A single acrylic tear rolls down the side of his highly polished, dark-stained teakwood beak. He speaks in a slightly less high pitched and more refined accent than his stage voice for the character he made famous on film, and now repeats eight times a week on Broadway.

He (Logan) so loved their chicken soup at Sardi’s that he had it flown in when he returned to Hollywood to direct films. His last meal was from here. Logan was a gentleman, and a brilliant director.