EDGE
EDGE Interview: Marc Shaiman: A Sore Winner Reflects on a Lifetime of Happy Accidents
By Steve Duffy
Feb. 18, 2026
In Never Mind the Happy, musical dynamo Marc Shaiman looks back on five decades of Broadway triumphs, Hollywood hijinks, and unforgettable collaborations. Along the way, he charts the personal highs and heartbreaks that have shaped him—spending his teenage years in community theatre, starting a decades-long collaboration with Bette Midler in the ’70s, surviving the AIDS crisis of the ’80s, his award-winning film music career in the Hollywood of the ’90s, right up to the peaks (and valleys) of creating Broadway musicals from 2000 on.
To understand how this dazzling, chaotic, and heartfelt career became a book, Marc started with the moment that sparked Never Mind the Happy.
EDGE: Tell us about Never Mind the Happy.
MS: The title “Nevermind the Happy” comes from something my mother said one morning that defined Judaism for me. My sister called first to wish her a happy and healthy new year. My mother replied, “Nevermind the happy.” That point of view, for better or worse, has been flowing through my bloodstream for all of my 66 years. This book is my attempt to push back against that reflex and to actually look at the happy—because, truthfully, so many phenomenal things have happened to me.
That’s where the subtitle comes in: Showbiz Stories from a Sore Winner. I’m always complaining about something, and once someone—probably after looking around at all the posters, plaques, and awards—said to me, “Marc Shaiman, you are a sore winner.” It was the ultimate touché. So I decided to acknowledge that maybe I should stop complaining and instead tell the stories of this remarkable, unlikely career.
Over the years, I’ve worked with so many new generations of performers. On one show—a day I remember vividly—a member of the ensemble (formerly known as the chorus, but apparently we’re not allowed to say that anymore) came up to me and asked, “Did you work on Sister Act 2?” I said, “Yes, I worked on Sister Act 1 and 2, and lots of other things.” Honestly, I almost titled this book Google Me, because part of its purpose is simply to say: here is everything I’ve worked on that you, your mother, or now even your grandmother may have loved. (Beaches has officially become someone’s grandmother’s favorite movie.)
I’ve had an incredible run of luck—almost a fairy tale—in the projects that have come my way. Yes, I did the work, but the timing and opportunities have been extraordinary. And somewhere along the way, I realized I had accidentally written an inspirational book. It could probably sit in the self-help section at Barnes & Noble, because if there’s a message in these pages, it’s this: I just kept showing up and saying yes. And amazing things happened. Maybe they can happen to anyone who simply shows up.
EDGE: Explain why your mom, Claire, may have been adverse to ‘the happy.’
MS: I think the pessimism I feel sometimes is tied to something very Jewish — and I say that with pride. Humor and pessimism go hand in hand in Jewish culture, and it’s a part of myself that I both love and occasionally wish I could shake off. There’s that constant feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop. And the older you get, the more you realize the other shoe does drop.
There’s also that expression Kenahora — don’t tempt the evil eye, don’t boast. In some ways, my entire book could be seen as one giant kenahora. I suppose I am tooting my own horn, and I’d be a hypocrite to pretend otherwise. But the truth is, I decided to write it at a moment when I was dealing with yet another disappointment in show business. Then I heard Jane Fonda on Julia LouisDreyfus’ podcast talking about writing her memoir because she felt it was time for a “life review.”
Now, I’m not putting myself on Jane Fonda’s level, but that phrase stuck with me. It made me think, Yes — maybe it’s time to look back at all these incredible opportunities I’ve had. All the projects I’ve been part of that have brought joy to people.
For example, I didn’t write “The Wind Beneath My Wings,” but I discovered it and brought it to Bette Midler. It had been recorded before, but I had the brainstorm that it would fit perfectly in that moment of the film. And the song exploded in a way it never had before. I’m just as proud of that as of something I’ve written myself, because that song has meant so much to so many people.
And then there’s Hairspray. Scott Wittman and I would sometimes peek out from the wings and look at the audience during “You Can’t Stop the Beat.” No matter their age — seven or seventy-seven — no matter their background or color or walk of life, everyone in that theater had the same expression, the same energy, leaning forward in pure happiness. To have co-created something that unifies people like that is an extraordinary feeling. Especially now.
Honestly, I wish Hairspray were running on Broadway right this moment, giving 1,700 people the chance to be united — at least for two and a half hours. That kind of collective joy is so rare these days. If anything, the only unifying emotion out there lately seems to be anger.
So yes, the pessimism is there — but it sits right beside pride, humor, gratitude, and the hope that the work I’ve been lucky enough to do might bring people together, even briefly.
EDGE: What surprised you most when you revisited your own story?
MS: I think the biggest surprise has been realizing — only now, in retrospect — that I’ve lived a life that could actually inspire others. You don’t think about that while you’re in the middle of it, simply taking the opportunities as they come. But over these past few weeks of talking about the book, with people bringing up project after project — “You did this!” “And that!” — hearing my own career reflected back at me has made me hope that people not only enjoy the work, but also take away the idea that this could happen to anyone. I’m just one very lucky guy who kept putting himself out there.
Another surprise: that Bette Midler didn’t yell at me. I honestly thought she might say, “How could you write so much about me? I don’t want people knowing how we made the sausage!” She used to be very private about that sort of thing, but she’s mellowed. The fact that she was touched by the book — and didn’t mind how extensively I wrote about our work together — was genuinely unexpected.
And then there was Barbra Streisand. Her best friend Jay Landers — who’s co-produced her albums and is essentially her A&R partner — bought the book, gave them copies, and ended up reading her the entire Barbra chapter. I truly wasn’t sure how she’d take it. I talk about her perfectionism, which she’s said she wishes people wouldn’t focus on so much. And I mention her dear friend Marilyn Bergman in a humorous story about a debate over who was supposed to pay a bill. I wasn’t even sure Barbra would ever read it — let alone find it funny. But Jay told me she laughed and laughed. That was a wonderful surprise.
And then comes the biggest surprise of all — and it’s one I never could have imagined. I married a man who, besides being a 20-year U.S. Navy veteran (making me a military spouse!), is also a huge sports fanatic. So in the past few years, out of love, I’ve gone to more sporting events than I had in my entire life. If my father could see me at basketball, football, and baseball games, he’d keel over in shock.
So there I was at a Knicks game with my husband, Lou — who doesn’t love it when I’m glued to my phone — when a text came in from Jay Landers. I quietly peeked and thought, Oh my God, this is going to be about Barbra. Jay wrote, “I want to tell you her reaction. I don’t want to do it via text. Can I call you?”
And there I was, at Madison Square Garden, texting back:
“Jay, I’m at the Knicks game with my husband. I’ll have to call you back.”
I mean, who would’ve thought I’d ever say that? That I’d have a Barbra Streisand story that ends with, “I have to call you back — I’m at a basketball game.”
That, truly, is the biggest surprise of all.
EDGE: You write movingly about living through the AIDS crisis, describing years marked by “fear, death, and crushing grief.” How did that era shape your identity and the emotional honesty in your work?
MS: I suppose what stayed with me most was the realization of how quickly people can disappear — and how lucky I was to survive that era. That awareness, that undercurrent of melancholy and grief, runs throughout the book. I especially noticed it while recording the audiobook. Hearing all the lyrics I chose to quote — songs I referenced because they felt connected to the stories I was telling — it struck me how many of them are about loss and grief, all the way up to Mary Poppins Returns and “The Place Where Lost Things Go.”
I end the audiobook with a new song that I mentioned earlier in the AIDS chapter. Back during the height of the epidemic, I once joked to myself that I could write a song called “If Tears Were Only Calories — Just Think How Thin I’d Be.” It wasn’t meant as a harsh joke; it simply sounded like the title of a country-western song. It wasn’t about fat-shaming — God knows, I’ve been every size imaginable. What I meant was: if only all this crying, all this grief, had some kind of silver lining. If tears had calories, at least I’d look fabulous.
I finally wrote that song with Scott Whitman just a few months ago — decades after the thought first came to me. I’d had such a year of loss, and when Scott and I sat down to write, I was in a place where I was crying every day. My face was constantly a blotchy mess. I said to him, “If there was ever a time to write that song I joked about in the book, it’s now.” And Scott said, “Well, then let’s write it.” So we did — and that song closes the audiobook. So yes, the AIDS era left me grateful to be alive and deeply aware of how fast life can vanish. And if I wasn’t aware enough back then, this past year has made it even more painfully, unmistakably clear.
EDGE: Your memoir is candid, funny, and unfiltered. Was there anything LGBTQrelated—personal or professional—that you hesitated to include but ultimately felt was important to share?
MS: One thing I shared — although I softened the language a bit in the book — is a story I’ve only told a few people in its fuller form. It happened on what was unquestionably the gayest day of my teenage life. When I was 15, I cut school to see Bette Midler in New York. I arrived hours earlier than I needed to and thought, What am I going to do until then? Then I noticed that Funny Lady was playing nearby. So I went to the theater and ended up watching Barbra Streisand in Funny Lady twice in a row. During that time, a man sat down next to me and put his hand on my knee. To make a long story short — and in the book I wrote it carefully enough so my mother could read it — that day included my first anonymous sexual encounter of any kind, in between watching Barbra Streisand and seeing Bette Midler.
So yes — that was, by far, the gayest day of my life.
EDGE: Your book is described as a “love letter to the melancholy that fuels creativity.” Many queer artists connect deeply with that duality of joy and ache. What do you think queer readers, in particular, will understand most about that balance?
MS: It’s funny you say that. The other night, when Bette Midler interviewed me at the Academy Museum in L.A. — which, if you had told 13-year-old me that Bette Midler would one day interview me about my life, I would never have believed — she said something that really struck me. I’m paraphrasing, but her point was that of all the gay people she’s known, I seemed to have had the least angst about being gay. And I realized she was right. When I realized I was gay, my reaction was basically, “Okay.” I was lucky — it was the ’70s, and gay liberation was just beginning. I remember being on a family vacation in Florida when the Anita Bryant situation was happening, seeing gay rights on the cover of Newsweek, and thinking, I’m part of this. I know I am. There was a show when I was a kid called Get Smart, and they had a character named Hymie the Robot, played by Dick Gautier. He was handsome, chisel-jawed, dimpled — the “perfect man.” I still remember wondering, as a little boy, Why does Hymie the Robot give me butterflies? So the signs were there early. Honestly, I’ve been blessed. From the moment I understood I was gay, it never felt like a problem. And I’ve been fortunate that it hasn’t held me back personally or professionally. There are two moments I mention in the book. Once, when I was in junior high, a jock friend of my sister’s was over at the house. He went into my room, found a piece of sheet music, and wrote “Fag” across it. My father discovered it, and I remember him quietly covering it with a piece of paper and painting over it so I wouldn’t have to see it. And I actually felt worse for my father than for myself. I thought, This hurts him that someone would say this about his son. The empathy I felt was toward him more than anything else. The only time I ever felt anything similar professionally was during my early days at Saturday Night Live. The tall, Ivy League comedy writers made me feel like I was “the gay musical theater guy down the hall.” No one ever said anything directly — it was more of a vibe. Maybe some of it was in my own head. Fortunately, that was the exception, not the rule. And of course, years later, I got to play for Barbra Streisand and Bette Midler on the same night — which is a pretty spectacular way to come full circle. As I write in the book, I ended up “the happiest homosexual in Hollywood.” I really have always felt that being gay is a blessing. My point in all of that is to embrace and celebrate who you are and never let anyone stand in your way or put you down.
EDGE: Out of all the films you have composed music for, which one would be the soundtrack of your life?
MS: Oh, it would definitely have to be a combination. The South Park movie would certainly be one… but really, I’d say the three musical films I’ve had the chance to work on. There’s South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut, then Hairspray, which was especially meaningful because I got to be part of the film adaptation of our own musical. Not every composer or lyricist gets the chance to work on the movie version of their show.
And then there’s Mary Poppins Returns. When I was a little boy, the Mary Poppins soundtrack meant everything to me. I listened to it day and night for years. So getting to work on the sequel and help continue the story of Mary Poppins and the Banks children was an incredible full-circle moment. Those three movies are so different—from the sincerity of Mary Poppins Returns to the outrageousness of the South Park movie, with Hairspray landing somewhere in the middle. I don’t think I could choose just one; those three together would have to be my answer.
EDGE: When readers finish the book, what do you hope they truly understand about who Marc Shaiman is?
MS: I hope that what ultimately comes through is gratitude—pure gratitude. Gratitude for the opportunities I’ve been given, for the incredible people I’ve been lucky enough to work with, and for the friendships I’ve made with some of the most wonderful human beings on earth. I’m grateful for the longevity of my career. I have so many friends in this business who had a moment, and then it passed, or who never got their moment at all. Why I’ve been so blessed to keep going, to keep being invited into new rooms and new adventures—I don’t know. But I don’t take any of it for granted. And now I’m even a New York Times bestseller. There was already enough in my obituary to make me a very happy man—and now there’s even more.
And that’s just the showbusiness part. The real miracle of my life is that I’ve had two truly wonderful relationships. I still work with and dearly love my first partner, and I have the most devoted, loving husband. If every bit of show business disappeared tomorrow, I would still be happy because of him. Being married brings me so much joy. I’m an antsy person—I can’t sleep with my rings on, so I take mine off at night. And every once in a while, I forget to put it back on before leaving the house. When that happens, I feel naked. I have to rush home and put it on, because I don’t feel like myself without that ring on my finger. And that gratitude extends all the way to Rob and Michelle Reiner, who played such a significant role in the fight for marriage equality—right up to the Supreme Court. They were part of the coalition that pushed it forward, and I truly thank them every single day of my life for my marriage.
