CARRIE FISHER is singing in the shower. Well, not in the shower, exactly; just in the bathroom. The reason? That's where the piano is.
That there is an upright piano in Fisher's bathroom is no more peculiar than anything else about her rambling 1930s manse in Beverly Hills, once home to Bette Davis. Decor-wise, the place is a Grimms' fairy tale -- that is, if the Brothers Grimm had moonlighted as Hollywood comedy writers.
The winding, multitiered walkway to the front door is studded with signs that, taken out of their original context, feel like postcards from the edge: "Sea Plane Rides." "Tunnel." "No Vacancy."
The grounds are peopled with garden gnomes, duck decoys and a multitude of other parallel life forms, including a living tree that, at second glance, has peering from its trunk a contorted face just like the ones on those bad-boy trees that hurl apples at Dorothy and the Scarecrow in "The Wizard of Oz."
No, the peculiarity rests not in the bathroom setting but in the fact that Fisher is singing -- belting fragments of classic show tunes in a low, cigarette-smoky voice, rehearsing for the world premiere of her one-woman autobiographical show, "Wishful Drinking," opening Wednesday at the Geffen Playhouse.
The show, which will predictably deal with Fisher's well-publicized failed marriage, addictions, overdoses, mental illness and, of course, her best-known role as "Star Wars' " Princess Leia, will also be ... well, sort of a musical.
Fisher, who recently turned 50, cracks that singing "will give me a break from all the talking" but acknowledges that the inclusion of songs in her monologue holds special significance for the daughter of musical stars Eddie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds.
In recent years, Carrie Fisher -- screenwriter; author of four novels, including "Postcards From the Edge" and her most recent, "The Best Awful"; occasional script doctor; and a regular contributor of jokes for the Academy Awards -- has become more noted for her writing than her acting. But Fisher the singer is barely visible on the radar.
Actually, Reynolds, who lives nearby, is more excited about hearing her daughter sing than Fisher is about singing. "It's been my dream for 50 years," Reynolds says.
"I think she always felt intimidated, because Eddie was singing and I was singing -- of course, Eddie left when Carrie was 2, but his reputation was there; his songs were on the radio," observes Reynolds in a separate conversation. "She used to sing as a little girl, but then it just stopped. She didn't want to sing in public anymore. But she certainly has a great gift."
