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rockfenris2005 07:44 am UTC 06/15/07 |
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I found this --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Phantoms of a Broadway star By Sondra Lomax Special to the American-Statesman Tuesday, September 4, 2001 On July 21, Steve Barton slipped into a deep sleep and never awakened. He died alone in an apartment in Germany, a country where he was a star and a cult figure to fans who made a best-seller of the soundtrack CD to his musical "Dance of the Vampire" and dressed like the Count von Krolock character he portrayed on stage. The man who had starred in "The Phantom of the Opera" on Broadway and had inspired slavish devotion from his followers, was found in his bed, an empty bottle of prescription heart medication nearby. Police ruled his death was self-inflicted, but there was no suicide note. No autopsy. The official cause of death was listed as heart failure. Word of his death rippled through the German Internet and into fan chat rooms. The brilliant stage star who'd been called the "Pavarotti of musical theater" by European critics was gone. News swept across the Atlantic via cyberspace almost before his wife, former Austinite Denny Berry, was notified at their home outside New York City. In shock, she got into her car and drove to Boston to deliver the news to their 17-year-old son, Edward, who was attending music camp. Her mind raced as she sped along the highway. She'd been separated from Barton for a year and was trying to comprehend what had happened. "How do I tell Edward that his father is dead?" she thought. "We thought he was getting better. Why now?" There were more questions than answers about Barton's death, but in his family's inner circle, a secret -- unknown to his adoring public -- held clues. Barton suffered from bipolar disorder, also known as manic-depressive illness, a disease that raged undiagnosed for more than 15 years. Treatment had begun only months earlier. Berry never suspected that her husband was mentally ill until it was too late. Now he was dead at only 47. For years, he had battled alcoholism, an illness he shared with his father and brother. She dismissed his mood swings and depression as a result of his drinking and his frustrations of dealing with chronic knee pain. Fourteen knee surgeries over 28 years had left him addicted to painkillers. But in recent years, signs of bipolar disorder became more obvious. He would become extremely manic, then deeply depressed, in ever-worsening cycles. During the height of his career, in the late '80s and early '90s, he was often despondent. During that time, he opened "Phantom" on Broadway and was hugely popular, yet he suffered low self-esteem, felt he was a failure and would often be unable to get out of bed and face reality. Barton's offstage existence became as tortured and tragic as the larger-than-life fictional characters -- the Phantom, Count von Krolock in "Dance of the Vampire" and the Beast in "Beauty and the Beast" -- he portrayed onstage. In the last year of his life, he needed constant medication and supervision. Hallucinations and severe panic attacks crippled him. Finally, on that lonely night in July, he gave in to his despair. Last month, at her mother's home in Northwest Austin, Berry sorted family photos as she tried to describe her husband's downward spiral. In one picture, Berry, Barton and Edward happily pose in the back yard of the dream home they built in the New York countryside. Barton is dressed in jeans and cowboy boots, Berry in a long summer dress. Edward cuddles the family dog. They are all smiling. "That was the last happy time in our lives," Berry said of the 1997 photo. "The years since have been hell." Looking back, Barton's friends and family now recognize the symptoms of his illness -- uncontrollable impulsive behavior, manic highs followed by crashing lows, dementia and delusions. But at the time, his frenetic, idiosyncratic personality and eccentric behavior were simply dismissed as offshoots of his creative genius. A ticking time bomb was chalked up to artistry. A natural star Steve Barton grew up in Nederland, dreaming of stardom. Although money was tight, he begged his parents for piano lessons and took advantage of his high school's drama program, performing every chance he could. His classmates never doubted he would be a success. "Steve was a high-energy kid, with an upbeat, outgoing personality who would do crazy things like dance spontaneously in the cafeteria line at Luby's," said Sherry Bell, a classmate at Nederland High School in southeast Texas. "We all recognized that there was a special quality about him. He was extremely charismatic and intense." Bearing high hopes and a theater scholarship, Barton entered the University of Texas in the fall of 1972. Nothing could squelch his energy or enthusiasm. He juggled multiple part-time jobs with classes and evening rehearsals, absorbing all the department of drama could offer. On advice of his acting professor, serious ballet training began. "He was a natural," said Alexandra Nadal, who, with husband Eugene Slavin, taught Barton ballet. "I've only known two people who have had the physical facility he possessed. Within a year he was performing with our civic company. Only his bad knees kept him from a classical ballet career." Ballet brought Barton and Berry together. They met in 1972 in Slavin's class at Austin Civic Ballet, discovered they both attended UT and soon started dating. The romance bloomed as they danced together in the ballet company, while Barton continued starring in UT theater productions. After college, nothing could stop them. Young, talented and in love, the couple left Texas in 1977 to pursue dance careers in Europe. First stop was a theater in St. Gallen, Switzerland, where they began performing American musicals -- in German. Since Barton spoke no German, he first memorized his lines and lyrics phonetically, until he taught himself the language. Within a year he spoke fluently, with no trace of an accent. Audiences loved the American's electric stage presence and rugged good looks. On a continent where performers were usually pigeon-holed in one medium, his reputation grew as a "triple threat" performer who could sing, dance and act with equal skill. Offers arrived for bigger roles. His first major break came in 1983, when he landed a leading role in the European premiere of "Cats" in Vienna after auditioning for famed British choreographer Gillian Lynne ("Cats" and "The Phantom of the Opera"). "The first time I saw Steve Barton is truly a memory that will never leave," Lynne said. "This golden person walked into the audition with a wonderful wide face and sparkling eyes. He was a terrific dancer, so I thought, `OK, he probably can't sing or act, then.' Well, he surprised us all. Not only did I cast him as Munkustrap in `Cats,' but I made the role bigger for him." "Cats" propelled Barton and Berry's careers to new heights. Directors and colleagues respected them as a team: the versatile leading man and his dancer/choreographer wife. But as their careers soared, their private life deteriorated. Offstage, mood swings accelerated, as did self-medication with booze and painkillers to ease the agony of Barton's recurring knee injuries, which began with an injury in high school and were exacerbated by the strenuous life of a dancer. Success and doubts In 1986, Lynne invited him to London to audition for Andrew Lloyd Webber's new musical "The Phantom of the Opera." Arriving on stage dressed in jeans and cowboy boots, he auditioned before three of the biggest names in the business: Lynne, Lloyd Webber and director Hal Prince. "I can't tell you how grateful I was when Steve Barton made the journey from Berlin where he was starring at Theater des Westens to audition for Raoul in `Phantom,"' Prince said. "He had the voice, the acting talent and he moved marvelously. It was a red letter day when our paths crossed." And one of the most important auditions of Barton's career. "When he began to sing, Hal (Prince) said excitedly, `That's it! He's our Raoul,' " Lynne said. "Steve wasn't even halfway through his song and got angry because we weren't listening. He started singing louder with that ferocious intensity of his. Such a talent!" After premiering "Phantom" in London, Broadway beckoned. The couple triumphantly returned to the United States in 1988 when "Phantom" opened in New York City. Barton's boyhood dreams of becoming a star were realized: critical acclaim as Raoul on Broadway followed by the leading role of "The Phantom;" platinum CD sales of "Phantom" and "Cats"; television roles on "The Young and the Restless" and "Another World"; and guest appearances at European galas. To the public, their life seemed idyllic: the talented, handsome couple from Texas who performed in the biggest show on Broadway (Berry by this time was the production's dance captain). But Barton couldn't appreciate the warmth of the spotlight. The darkness of depression deepened and turned to self-doubt. Past triumphs were forgotten. The drinking accelerated. Now, each night's performance included alcohol as part of his pre-show warm-up. Since he seldom appeared drunk, few noticed his alcoholism. But suspicions arose. "He couldn't seem to get on top of his own problems," Lynne said. "I knew he had experienced horrible knee injuries, which is devastating to a dancer, but I knew he also suffered terrible despair. It's sad that it's always the most talented who hit the lowest depths." Texas offered respite from the pressures of New York, especially the Berry family's vacation cabin nestled along the Blanco River in Wimberley. Trips back home to see relatives also kept ties strong with cherished UT friends. When the couple returned to Austin in 1990 for the Paramount Theatre's 75th Anniversary gala and again in 1992 for a special UT Littlefield Society performance, local director Rod Caspers suspected problems. "Steve had a boyish curiosity and an incredibly intense, burning energy about him. When he was focused, he was brilliant as a person, teacher and performer," Caspers said. "But I sensed something was wrong. He relied tremendously on Denny, and she in turn, was very protective of Steve. She really was the one who kept things together when they were working on a project." By 1995, the drinking could no longer be hidden. He entered a rehab facility, attended Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and got sober. His manic depression, however, remained undiagnosed. A wife's breaking point Onstage, the world brightened. First stop was Vienna to star in Disney's "Beauty and the Beast." Roman Polanski's "Dance of the Vampire" followed and was a smash hit. It garnered Barton an IMAGE Award, the European equivalent of a Tony, for best performance by a leading actor in a musical. Barton fan clubs sprang up in Austria and Germany, with Web sites devoted to the performer. Fans dressed as his character, Count von Krolock, and "Vampire" CD sales went platinum. Offstage, he couldn't stay sober. "I knew things had gotten really bad. Denny did everything to support Steve privately and professionally, including lots of covering up," family friend Warren said. "She loved him so much. Anyone else would've left him years earlier." "Vampire's" success opened other opportunities, and he left that show in 1998 to star in a new version of "Hunchback of Notre Dame" but dropped out before it opened. Returning home to New York in despair, he admitted to Berry that he couldn't face stage life again. Something was seriously wrong, yet neither suspected mental illness, just booze. Denial reigned. For two long years, blackness descended: cycles of mania and depression, drunkenness and failed attempts to resume working. While the mental anguish remained untreated, the physical injuries were tended. Five operations in one year -- three knee and two back surgeries -- offered some relief, but also more prescription painkillers. Meanwhile, Berry tried to kept the family afloat as primary wage earner, her husband's caretaker and both mother and father to Edward. By June 2000, the family reached its breaking point. "Steve was literally drinking us out of house and home," Berry said, nervously finger-combing her hair as she stared out the window into her mother's back yard. "We were horribly in debt and realized that he needed serious help. I told him I couldn't take anymore." What was once unthinkable became doable. She filed for legal separation. It was the only way she knew to save Edward and herself. They agreed Barton should return to Germany to work. The supportive German theater community offered access to jobs, a pension and, most importantly, free medical care. Close friends there would provide encouragement and an emotional safety net. It was a good plan. It worked for a while. But after only one week rehearsing for "Jekyll and Hyde" in Bremen, he collapsed. For the first time, he sought psychiatric help and was admitted to a mental hospital. The diagnosis: bipolar disorder. The statistics on the disorder are grim. The National Institute of Mental Health reports that more than 60 percent of bipolar disorder sufferers also abuse alcohol and/or drugs. About 20 percent commit suicide. In Barton's case, weeks of rehab proved promising. The hospital offered release time so he could resume rehearsals, Once again, the world went black. Depressed, overweight and delusional, Barton attempted suicide by overdosing on his high-blood-pressure medication and was readmitted to the mental hospital for several months. Weight gain is a common side effect of the mood-stabilizing drugs used to treat bipolar disorder, and for a performer -- to whom physical appearance is extremely important -- that can be devastating. Medication also subdues the highs and lows, taking the edge off extreme behaviors. To a manic-depressive, the mania cycles can be exhilarating, even intoxicating and addicting. And it's common for patients to feel the drugs suppress their creative and intellectual abilities. Medication allows rational functioning, but patients may not like how they feel. "When rational, Steve knew his talent and capabilities," Berry said. "(But) he couldn't accept reliance on medication that subdued his emotions, and of course, the weight gain was awful for his self-esteem. It was so tragic and illogical," she said of the suicide attempt. "He was convinced he couldn't memorize his lines and tried to kill himself rather than face a costume fitting. Thank heaven they found him in time." A tragic end At the end, Barton had stopped taking his bipolar medications. Despondent and panicked, he phoned Berry two days before his death. She suspected that he was drinking again, but he didn't sound drunk, which puzzled and frightened her. That was the last time they spoke. When news of his death spread, condolences poured in from around the world. "Steve Barton's death is very sad news indeed," said Lloyd Webber. "He will be hugely missed. . . ." "His death is a tragedy of the worst order. What could any of us have done? In the end, we each have to conquer the demons within us," Lynne said. "I had always hoped we might work on a new show together. He was everything I had always wanted in a performer." According to his European agent, Michael Staringer, fans mobbed the funeral home in Bremen trying to get photos or a death mask of his body. "Not only did the fans love him, critics called him `the Pavarotti of musical theater.' The other sad thing is that he was such a good teacher. He had so much to give and too little time," Staringer said. The legacy of the fair-haired Texan who starred on the Western world's largest stages are his CDs, the major roles he created and the memorable performances that his fans cherish. In addition to a recent Austin memorial service, friends and colleagues are planning memorial services in Vienna and New York this fall. In addition, Lynne hopes to dedicate London's 15th anniversary performance of "Phantom" to Barton. Without an autopsy, Berry feels she will never learn the truth of his death. But she hopes that revealing the details of his mental illness will help others. "I want people to become more aware of this disease, to know how to recognize the danger signs. Bipolarism destroyed Steve. The man who died was not the man we all knew. It destroyed my family unit and took my son's father," she said. "We had always hoped he would get better, but now that door is slammed shut. At least his suffering is over." | |
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