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From Show Boat to Finian's Rainbow to Ragtime to Hairspray the racial divide between white America and Americans of African decent has been one of the richest resources for both Broadway musical dramas and musical comedies. And a popular theme of such musicals has been the assimilation of African-American music into the white mainstream. The latest to tackle this topic, Memphis, certainly wouldn't look like the best of the lot on paper, but on stage the gritty sincerity of Joe DiPietro's book coupled with David Bryan's infectiously melodic compositions (they collaborated on the lyrics), under Christopher Ashley's dynamic staging, frequently threaten to tear the roof off of the Shubert Theatre.
Suggested by the real-life story of 1950s Memphis disc jockey Dewey Phillips, a white guy who was instrumental in giving air time to black rhythm and blues artists, Memphis boasts a surefire contender for the most unlikely of romantic leading male characters to appear in a Broadway musical. Here named Huey Calhoun, he's played by Chad Kimball (who first caught Broadway's attention playing a cow in the Into The Woods revival) with an irritatingly nasal drawl, smart-ass arrogance and a posture that jauntily leans in all directions. Driven, naïve, idealistic and sometimes just plain stupid, Kimball's fascinating warts-and-all portrayal of Huey's rise from department store clerk to the city's number one deejay because of his passion for what was then called "race music," gives the musical a realistic edge.
Montego Glover sings with vibrant and forceful sexuality as Felicia, the blues vocalist he falls for both professionally and romantically. As with all the other black people Huey encounters, Felicia has an initial distrust for this crazy white guy who claims that the music of her people is in his soul. (This kind of distrust is very effectively played out in a musical scene where black kids in a playground suspiciously view white kids who show an appreciation for their music.) And while a romance does develop between them, Glover always shows the side of her character that, aware of the times they live in, cannot completely give herself to Huey.
While the supporting players get few standout moments, Michael McGrath (as Huey's uptight station manager), J. Bernard Calloway (as Felicia's protective brother), James Monroe Iglehart (as a janitor with a breakout turn in a Chubby Checker-type number) and Cass Morgan (as Huey's fearful mother) all make significant contributions.
The singing and dancing ensemble sizzles performing Sergio Trujillo's exuberant period choreography, which blends nicely into Ashley's kinetically brisk staging. When the movement halts it's only to spotlight Glover hitting emotional peaks as she considers the risks she's taking in her ballad, "Colored Woman," or to allow Kimball to defiantly state Huey's convictions as he brings down whatever's left of the house with his 11 o'clocker, "Memphis Lives In Me."
Yes, there are moments of predictable schmaltz and the ending is most definitely contrived, but the rest of Memphis is bursting with gutsy story-telling, convincing performances and exhilarating moments that more than make up for a bit of predictability.
Photos by Joan Marcus: Top: Chad Kimball; Bottom: Montego Glover.
Posted on: Monday, November 02, 2009 @ 10:35 AM Posted by:Michael Dale
As I took my seat for what I believe was the final press performance of The Roundabout's revival of Bye Bye Birdie, I was, as always, prepared to take in the production with an open mind. But of course I was aware, as I'm sure were most of the assembled playgoers, of the drubbing director/choreographer Robert Longbottom's mounting had received from the vast majority of the first round of critics. (Except for that pushover, John Simon, who we all know loves everything.)
And while I have to agree with the critical majority on this one, there's really no sense in subjecting you dear readers to another reviewer's attempt to describe the jaw-dropping mess that now occupies Henry Miller's Theatre. You don't need to read again how the two leading players lacked the necessary skills to play their roles. You can get on with your happy lives without perusing another attempt to find the proper metaphors to describe that oddball performance by an otherwise respected stage actor. The strange costume designs, the inappropriate set, the lack of decent choreography and the cutting of the musical's two ballets; one of which can be at least be called a semi-classic; no I'm not going to write about that here.
Let's just say I arrived at the funeral after the body was buried. No sense in throwing more dirt on the casket. I'll just send my condolences to the late Michael Stewart, that master craftsman of musical theatre bookwriting, Charles Strouse, who wrote such peppy, attractive melodies and Lee Adams who contributed cute and clever lyrics. They wrote a charming, funny musical comedy that serves as an excellent star vehicle for polished song and dance performers. The strength of their words and music still shine at Henry Miller's Theatre, but Bye Bye Birdie deserved so much better.
So let's just remember the good times, shall we?
Like the performances of Allison Strong, Julia Knitel, Emma Rowley, Jess LeProtto, Daniel Quadrino, Paul Pilcz, Deanna Cipolla, Kevin Shotwell, Riley Costello, Catherine Blades and Jillian Mueller. They were the singing and dancing ensemble of teenagers who threw themselves into their numbers and livened up the proceedings with real show-biz energy every time they were on.
And the lovely 14-year-old singing voice of Allie Trimm, who gave a good acting performance as Kim and who I suspect would have given a better one if someone had told her why the role was funny. I'll say the same for Nolan Gerard Funk, who, despite looking far too young to be Conrad Birdie, played the role with sufficient pop-star swagger. I'm sure it's not his fault that the role's satirical edge never entered into the picture.
That In My Life survivor, Brynn Williams (the youngest recipient ever of The Gypsy Robe), who was mighty impressive in her small role in 13 and here appears as the hyper-enthused Birdie fan, Ursula, continues to grow as a strong Broadway singer and dancer. I wouldn't be surprised to see her stopping shows in starring roles in ten years or so.
It's always great to see three-time Tony nominee Dee Hoty on stage. A real musical theatre pro who exudes elegance and charisma. Too bad she's stuck with the minor role of Mrs. MacAfee. And what a shame to see the enjoyable talents of seasoned musical comedy men like John Treacy Egan (a former Max Bialystock in The Producers) and Jim Walton (Merrily We Roll Along's original Franklin Shepard, inc.) underutilized in their tiny roles.
Of course, no matter what's written by "those mean New York theatre critics" (excluding that nice John Simon, naturally) this Bye Bye Birdie could wind up being a popular hit after all if audiences are satisfied with simply seeing a beloved oldie with a pair recognizable name stars. After all, some may say, it's just a musical. And while I like to see theatre folk employed, such public acceptance doesn't make me put on a happy face.
Photos by Joan Marcus: Top: Brynn Williams, Jillian Mueller, Daniel Quadrino, Emma Rowley, Allison Strong, Jess LeProtto, Catherine Blades, Paul Pilcz, Kevin Shotwell, Deanna Cipolla, Julia Knitel and Riley Costello; Bottom: Nolan Gerard Funk and Company
Posted on: Thursday, October 29, 2009 @ 02:51 AM Posted by:Michael Dale
In 1992, when David Mamet directed the premiere production of his controversial play, Oleanna, the name "Long Dong Silver" was still fresh in the minds of Americans who followed the Anita Hill/Clarence Thomas hearings. Susan Faludi's bestseller, Backlash, was urging women to stand up to "The Undeclared War Against American Women" while Camille Paglia criticized the feminist movement for teaching women to see themselves as victims. Take Back The Night rallies on college campuses encouraged women to publicly announce the names of men who have raped them, though the definition of what exactly constituted a rape was still being publicly debated.
Mamet's quick, 80-minute drama was ample kindling for the fire. The first scene shows college student Carol in the office of her professor, John, voicing her frustration at not being able to understand his course. John, who is up for tenure, offers help but is also preoccupied by phone calls regarding the home he and his wife are trying to buy. In the second scene we find that Carol has filed a sexual harassment grievance against John, based on things he said and did during their first meeting. She also makes vague mention of some "group" that supports her stance. I'll leave it to the author to explain what happens in the third and final scene.
What gives Oleanna its heat is that we never see one character without the other. We know nothing about them except for what is discussed in their meetings. So is Carol misinterpreting John's intentions? If so, is her perception of a threat against her less important than what he actually means? Or is John making intentional vague suggestions to Carol that he can argue were misunderstood? Is this group coaching Carol? In a sexual harassment case that boils down to one person's word against the other, should the word of the alleged victim be given more credibility?
Oleanna (named for a Norwegian folk song about dreams of a perfect society that go awry) supplies no answers. At least it didn't in 1992 when Mamet had Rebecca Pidgeon play Carol as a timid, frightened woman who tentatively grows more confident in each scene and William H. Macy play John as an unflappable professor who seems in perfect control of what he says and does. The play successfully sparked debate, sometimes less than civil, among audience members.
But in the hands of Doug Hughes, who directs the current Broadway production, the play is more about a man who is defenseless against seeing his career and home life crumble because of accusations made against him, whether he is guilty or not.
Hughes sets Oleanna in the present (indicated by John's modern cell phone and laptop computer); a big mistake for a play where the ideas express are so much of their own time. (These issues are certainly still important, but attitudes do shift. Heck, even Susan Faludi went on to defend the blamelessness of individual males in Stiffed: The Betrayal of the American Man.) But more damaging to the piece is the way he interprets the two characters. As played by Julia Stiles, Carol is right from the start presented as a mature, confident and well-spoken woman who is simply unbelievable when she claims to be too stupid to understand John's class. When she mentions her group, you might very well think she's the president of it. John, as played by Bill Pullman, is first seen as being a bit flustered when he meets with Carol; his mind so preoccupied with family matters that it appears he might be talking off the top of his head without thinking. In some moments Stiles' Carol seems to be guiding him to say things she later claims were inappropriate.
While both actors give fine performances, the interpretation of the characters kills the play's balance. In a talkback held after the performance I attended, a show of hands had the audience nearly unanimously siding with John. From what I've read on chat boards and have heard from others, overwhelming support of the professor seems to be a regular occurrence.
Perhaps Hughes' point was in fact to depict the helplessness of those accused of sexual harassment and other sexual crimes; arguing that facts read in the papers and heard in courtrooms may not accurately represent what has occurred. If so, then a less obvious touch is necessary if the smirks and laughter I heard from the audience during some of Carol's accusations are also a regular occurrence at the Golden Theatre.
Photos of Bill Pullman and Julia Stiles by Craig Schwartz
Annie Baker's genial but somewhat aimless Circle Mirror Transformation begins with five rather ordinary people lying on a floor and trying, as a group, to count from one to ten. When the mood strikes, one of them calls out a number and any of the others, when the mood strikes, may call out the next number, but if two or more speak at the same time they must go back to one and start over. Soon after, the group members are walking around the room at high speed, shaking hands with anyone they encounter. Later, the group stands in a circle and one of them makes a body motion and emits a sound the others must mirror until another person transforms it into another motion.
If you're smiling with recognition then no doubt you've taken an improvisational acting class similar to the one Baker depicts in the community center of a small Vermont town. Its perpetually smiling and upbeat teacher, Marty (Deirdre O'Connell), spends the six week course leading her students in such theatre games to help build physical awareness. There's her husband, James (Peter Friedman), being happily supportive; Theresa (Heidi Schreck), a New York actress who moved to Vermont to escape the competitiveness of the business; Schultz (Reed Birney), a divorced furniture maker a bit lacking in personality and 16-year-old Lauren (Tracee Chimo), an aspiring actress who hopes that taking the class will help her win the role of Maria in her high school's production of West Side Story.
The author's idea is a good one; introducing relationships between the characters in short scenes taking place just before class or during breaks and seeing how they start revealing themselves through the various exercises. Director Sam Gold keeps his very likeable cast on a naturalistic level (though perhaps a few too many "significant" silences) but the play never truly takes off on its concept. The marital problems between Marty and James, the short-lived romance between Schultz and Theresa and Lauren's disappointment that the class doesn't involve reading from actual playscripts are touched upon but not sufficiently explored to carry much interest through the intermissionless hour and fifty minutes. Subtlety is nice, but the play is dramatically weightless.
Photo of Tracee Chimo, Deirdre O'Connell, Heidi Schreck, Reed Birney and Peter Friedman by Joan Marcus.
Posted on: Monday, October 26, 2009 @ 03:17 AM Posted by:Michael Dale
Those four Jews were in a room bitching again last Sunday afternoon. No, I don't mean The Marvelous Wonderettes. I mean Whizzer, Jason, Mendel and Marvin, also known as Stephen Bogardus, Jonathan Kaplan, Chip Zien and Michael Rupert. As any fan of neurotic, gay musical theatre will tell you, they were the quartet who first opened the 1992 Broadway production of Falsettos with William Finn's frenetic patter, "Four Jews in a Room Bitching."
Town Hall was the room where the original Broadway company of Falsettos reunited as a special feature of this year's edition of Broadway Originals, the traditional Sunday afternoon finale to Town Hall's fifth annual Broadway Cabaret Festival. Taking his usual spot at the stage left podium, Scott Siegel explained how the unusual gestation of this musical about a charming fellow named Marvin who tries to mold a functional family out of Trina (the wife he divorced), Jason (the son he adores) and Whizzer (the man he loves) began with Finn's three separately produced one-act Off-Broadway musicals: In Trousers (1979), its sequel, March of the Falsettos (1981) and finally Falsettoland (1990). The latter two (with a bit of material from the first) made up acts one and two of the Broadway production.
Having originated the same roles in March..., Falsettoland, and Falsettos, the trio of Rupert (Marvin), Bogardus (Whizzer) and Zien (Mendel, the family psychiatrist) are naturally strongly identified with this material. Joining them were Barbara Walsh (Trina), a 29-year-old Jonathan Kaplan (who played the 13-year old Jason) and, as "the lesbians from next door," Heather MacRae as Dr. Charlotte and Janet Metz as the kosher caterer, Cordelia. (Metz, though she originated her role in Falsettoland, did not appear in the Broadway production because she was already contracted to another show.) The camaraderie and affection the performers have for both the material and each other was clearly visible through the multiple on-stage hugs and warm smiles throughout the ten-song presentation.
Bogardus' heavily emotional "The Games I Play" and Rupert's tender "What More Can I Say?" were gorgeously sung highlights, as was Walsh's hilariously frustrated, "I'm Breaking Down." Zien and Kaplan (whose voice has developed into an attractive baritone) set comical sparks with "Everyone Hates Their Parents," and MacRae and Metz joined Rupert and Bogardus for a beautifully harmonized "Unlikely Lovers." By the time the evening ended with Rupert singing "Father to Son" to the now grown-up Kaplan (who would be flying off to get married the next day) there were very few dry eyes both on stage and off.
But that was only Act II of Broadway Originals. The first act followed the usual form of having various original cast members from the past sing a number they either introduced on Broadway or re-introduced in a revival. While previous editions have featured performances that stretched back to over fifty years of Broadway history, this year's show focused on the more recent past. Sharon McNight held the distinction of presenting the most vintage performance, reprising her rousing showstopper from 1989's Starmites, "It's Hard to Be Diva." Marc Kudisch followed his comically self-satisfied "Breezing Through Another Day" (The Wild Party) with snake-like moves for The Apple Tree's "Forbidden Fruit."
Celia Keenan-Bolger displayed her vocal versatility, first perkily explaining the joys of "My Friend, The Dictionary" (The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee) and then with an intense and emotional "On My Own" (Les Miserables). Kerry O'Malley's charming "Moments in The Woods" (Into The Woods) was followed by her lush and sensual "Love, You Didn't Do Right By Me" (White Christmas), where she was joined by Bogardus who countered with "How Deep Is The Ocean." And it was a pleasure to once again hear Julia Murney ("Beautiful Boy" from Lennon), Manu Narayan ("The Journey Home" from Bombay Dreams) and Stephanie J. Block ("Get Out and Stay Out" from 9 To 5) repeat their personal successes from not quite successful musicals.
The special surprise guest, Daisy Eagan, who at age 11 became the youngest female Tony Award winner ever for her performance in The Secret Garden, flew in from Los Angeles to sing a lovely rendition of "The Girl I Meant To Be."
With music direction by John Fischer and stage direction by Scott Coulter, this year's Broadway Originals was once again an immensely enjoyable afternoon for lovers of musical theatre.
Photos by Genevieve Rafter Keddy: Top: Stephen Bogardus and Michael Rupert; Bottom: Daisy Eagan.
Posted on: Saturday, October 24, 2009 @ 06:59 PM Posted by:Michael Dale
No, that steady rumble you may hear and feel beneath your feet as you walk along 50th Street between 8th and 9th Avenues these evenings is not the A train making its way to Columbus Circle. It's the sound of laughing audiences having a swell time in the underground quintet of auditoriums called New World Stages. The former movie multiplex turned Off-Broadway house seems to be experiencing a happy renaissance, with its long-running anchor production, Altar Boyz, having been joined by laughter-inducing hits like The Toxic Avenger, Naked Boys Singing, My First Time and The Gazillion Bubble Show (which I haven't seen but I'm sure brings out many giggles from the youngsters). The hilarious Love Child, which previously ran at 59E59 will be moving in shortly, but first the welcome mat (and perhaps a red carpet) has been set for the center's new crown jewel as the Tony-winningAvenue Q completes its successful Broadway run and returns to its Off-Broadway roots.
The show that asks the musical question, "What if the generation of American kids who grew up learning life's little lessons by watching television shows like Sesame Street and The Electric Company had the same kind of program that used puppets, catchy songs and friendly humans to help them learn the big lessons they need to know after graduating college and entering the real world?," started as the brainchild of composer/lyricists Jeff Marx and Robert Lopez. When their hilariously educational tunes like, "Everyone's A Little Bit Racist," "If You Were Gay (That Would Be Okay)" and the who-are-the-losers-in-your-neighborbood? anthem, "It Sucks To Be Me" were combined with Jeff Whitty's very funny and surprisingly touching book, Rick Lyon's personality-laden puppets and Jason Moore's crafty direction that enhanced the material's satirical edge while keeping the characters loveable, a truly original Broadway hit was born.
I haven't seen Avenue Q since shortly after its Broadway opening but if my memory serves well, aside from a some slight staging changes and perhaps one or two book revisions, everything looks the same, right down to Anna Louizos' slumscape set that hides surprises in secret compartments. (Okay, one aspect that changed with the times is that when one character sings of a "mixed tape" of songs another has recorded for her, she's not longer hold a cassette tape, but a CD. However a couple of reliable sources have clued me in that the term "mixed tape" is still used in such cases.)
The new Off-Broadway cast is a talented and likeable ensemble made up of Q vets from Broadway and national tours. Seth Rettberg is all wide-eyed enthusiasm manipulating Princeton, the 22-year-old college graduate ready to take on the world armed with nothing but a B.A. in English. Anika Larsen, whose rich, expressive belt has livened up many a Gotham musical, tones it down to a sweeter level as Kate Monster, Princeton's puppet love interest, but gets to show off her sassy vocals as over-sexed nightclub entertainer known as Lucy The Slut.
Rettberg also scores as the closeted gay Republican investment banker Rod, who is nervous about not being able to keep the door shut much longer as he grows more and more attracted to his roommate, Nicky (a merrily goofy Cullen R. Titmas who doubles as the porn-obsessed Trekkie Monster.) While Maggie Lakis doesn't have any large roles to play (she's an adorable half of The Bad Idea Bears), she's most visible while being a second hand to help manipulate puppets voiced by others, doing a charming job of silently expressing whatever is being said.
On the human side, Nicholas Kohn (as the genial, underachieving wannabe stand-up comic, Brian), Sala Iwamatsu (as his demanding fiancé named Christmas Eve) and Danielle K. Thomas (who sings with a raucous R&B swagger as former child star Gary Coleman) all make very funny contributions to this sharp and breezy mounting of a gem of a show.
Photos by Carol Rosegg: Top: Maggie Lakis, Cullen R. Titmas and Seth Rettberg; Bottom: Anika Larsen
Posted on: Thursday, October 22, 2009 @ 10:47 AM Posted by:Michael Dale
In the 1920s, George S. Kaufman was one of the primary reasons New York was firmly establishing itself as the nation's capital of wit. Until his death in 1961, Kaufman could be called the quintessential New Yorker; continually working on Broadway as a playwright and director, reluctantly venturing out to Hollywood on occasion and regretting every moment of it and frequently quoted for his crackling cleverness ("I understand your new play is full of single entendres.").
But while Kaufman was a singular individual, his plays were almost always collaborations and each of his frequent writing partners seemed to influence the style of the project. With Morrie Ryskind (Animal Crackers, Of Thee I Sing) he wrote wildly zany books for musicals. His partnership with Moss Hart (You Can't Take It With You, The Man Who Came To Dinner) produced his most sentimental works and with Edna Ferber (Stage Door, Dinner at Eight) his most colorful female characters came alive.
And in 1927 it was with Ferber that the first major, lasting work of the Kaufman catalogue, The Royal Family, was created. Spoofing the country's first family of the theatre, the Barrymores, The Royal Family is not only a sharp-witted commentary on American celebrity, but an earnest portrait of three generations of women who deal with the peculiar family legacy of being a star. Director Doug Hughes mounts a positively sumptuous new revival, grandly dignified in design and madly farcical in spirit.
Rosemary Harris is warmly regal as family matriarch, Fanny Cavendish; a woman so devoted to the theatre that even at her advanced age she excitedly awaits another national tour. Her old-school dedication was shared by her late husband, who died minutes after the last performance of a contracted run, but not before taking four curtain calls. Her granddaughter Gwen (Kelli Barrett, charming as a spirited modern) is expected to make her Broadway debut in a substantial supporting role in her mother's (Jan Maxwell) next play, but when the demands of the theatre get in the way of her love life, Gwen reevaluates what she wants for her future.
Maxwell, a canny and intelligent comic actress, is deliciously showcased as Julie Cavendish, the family's main breadwinner who is trying to raise a daughter, take care of her mother and consider marriage while rushing to make her curtain eight times a week. The role allows her to be over-the-top in a manner that is realistic for the character, climaxing in a positively hilarious second act nervous breakdown where she swears that she's given up the theatre for good.
Reg Rogers is grandly hammy fun as he flamboyantly eloquates his role as Tony Cavendish (a/k/a John Barrymore), hiding out from the press after a physical altercation with an incompetent Hollywood director. Anthony Newfield filled in for the recuperating Tony Roberts at the performance I attended and was very pleasing as the father-figure family manager. John Glover, as Fanny's less successful actor brother, Anna Gasteyer, as his crass and condescending actress wife and David Greenspan and Caroline Stefanie Clay, as the servants who calmly manage the constant calamity of the household lead an excellent supporting cast.
John Lee Beatty's duplex apartment set - a gorgeous creation dominated by a grand staircase and decorated with an imposing assortment of framed portraits and theatre posters - and Catherine Zuber's smart assortment of character-specific period costumes fill the stage with a distinguished tone that plays straight for the savory antics of Kaufman, Ferber and Hughes' positively perfect company.
Photos by Joan Marcus: Top: Jan Maxwell, Kelli Barrett and Rosemary Harris; Bottom: Ana Gasteyer and Reg Rogers
Posted on: Monday, October 19, 2009 @ 03:20 AM Posted by:Michael Dale
Contemporary black costumes for the whole cast? Check.
Imposing, but minimalist, set? You got it.
Annoying side-lighting that keeps the actors in shadows for most of act one? It's in there.
Aggressive, sexy, darkly humorous performance by the title character? Oh, yeah.
If you're a frequent theatre-goer who has seen a decent number of Hamlets, or just a decent number of contemporary Shakespeare productions, chances are you'll get that old feeling of déjà vu watching Michael Grandage's Donmar Warehouse import, now parked at the Broadhurst for a limited run. While the mounting has its highs and lows, several directorial choices - once considered edgy, now pretty standard - keep this Hamlet draped in familiarity. The evening is lean, professional, fast-moving and not particularly interesting.
As the young prince seeking revenge for the murder of his father, Jude Law is certainly no melancholy baby. His attention-grabbing presence commands the stage in an actorly way that stresses vengefulness, eloquence, athleticism and an arrogant, though not especially effective, wit. (Does he really need to impersonate the animal when suggesting that the king keeps Rosencrantz and Guildenstern around, "as an ape doth nuts...?") What's missing is any kind of vulnerability or hesitancy that would add some realistic textures. It's doubtful that the Prince of Denmark goes around avenging murders every day, but this Hamlet seems a fearless professional at it.
Grandage surrounds the star with an acceptable supporting cast, highlighted by Ron Cook's irritatingly intellectual Polonius and wryly comic gravedigger, Peter Eyre's richly-voiced elegance as both the ghost of Hamlet's father and the Player King and Gwilym Lee's aggressive and energized Laertes. On the other hand, Kevin R. McNally's Claudius could use some emotional punch and Gugu Mbatha-Raw's barely audible Ophelia hardly registers.
The tall and thick walls of Christopher Oram's set appropriately suggest the title character's reference to Denmark as a prison, but combined with his almost uniformly black costumes (it's a clever move when the players, in performance, wear white) and Neil Austin's frequently dim lighting (the actors are significantly more visible in the second half), the design is more frustratingly alienating than mood enhancing. Sadly, aside from a handful of performances, that seems to be a consistent theme with this Hamlet.
Photo of Peter Eyre and Jude Law by Johann Persson.
Posted on: Sunday, October 18, 2009 @ 01:07 AM Posted by:Michael Dale
"The hardest thing to understand about homophilophobes is their obsession with my sex organs (some of which they claim not even to recognize as sex organs). Why in the world do they care?"
The old cliché says that New York audiences will always bow in awe and rampage box offices whenever a play from Great Britain washes upon its shores. But in recent seasons it seems that type of grandiose reception has been reserved for productions that land on our stages by way of Chicago. I have no idea what the new black may be but I have a strong hunch Steppenwolf is the new Old Vic.
The latest import from that incubator of American plays is Tracy Letts' funny and heart-tugging Superior Donuts. Yes, yes, I've heard the complaints that its story of a lonely older white man's rejuvenation triggered by his unexpected friendship with a young, brash, ethnically different employee smells of a rehashing of the 70s sitcom, Chico and The Man. So what if it does? Letts' look at a fading neighborhood evolving into the sameness of gentrification is filled with warm, decent sentiment, lots of good character-driven laughs and people you can care about.
Michael McKean, in his first leading role on Broadway, gives a quietly detailed performance as Arthur Przybyszewski, a former hippie and draft-dodger, rejected by his father, who has spent his later years as owner and operator of the family business; a creaky old donut shop that manages to survive by holding on to the regulars who haven't migrated to the Starbucks across the street. James Schuette's impressively realistic set depicts a business that was probably a smartly designed destination around 1975 or so, but has suffered through decades of indifference and neglect.
Enter into the picture a 21-year-old black dynamo named Franco Wicks (Jon Michael Hill), desperate for a job (for reasons that will become evident in time) and bursting with ideas on how to transform the dingy shop called Superior Donuts into a hip, cultural hotspot. At first Arthur finds the excitable youth abrasive, but gradually the kid grows on him; especially when Franco shares with him the bound up pile of notebooks and pads that contain his handwritten attempt at The Great American Novel, "America Will Be."
Under Tina Landau direction, the humorous give-and-take chemistry between the leads propels the first act, though the two never sacrifice character for a laugh. McKean's Arthur is a convincing portrait of a man whose past disappointments have led him to be satisfied with a private, uneventful life, and, with Franco's encouragement, it's a pleasure to see him evolve into someone who can take risks. Hill gives go-getter Franco appealing buoyancy and innocence that makes the events of the second act hit the heart sharply.
They're surrounded by a fine ensemble playing colorful locals. Yasen Peyankov infuses the Russian electronics entrepreneur Max with enough hearty gusto to make his seemingly insensitive remarks appear to be merely cultural miscommunications. Kate Buddeke, as the sweet police officer with a crush on Arthur, James Vincent Meredith, as her community-minded partner and Jane Alderman, as the somewhat delusional homeless woman who is one of the shop's few remaining regulars all make solid contributions to this uplifting comic drama.
Photo of Jon Michael Hill and Michael McKean by Robert J. Saferstein.
************************************************ Ya know that scene in The Producers (the film or the musical, take your pick) where Max Bialystock reviews all the wrong moves he and his partner made in an attempt to sabotage their new Broadway production and, dumbfounded by the show's success, exclaims (or sings), "Where did I (we) go right?" Well, I'm not going to suggest that playwright/performer Carrie Fisher and her director Tony Taccone set out to sabotage Wishful Drinking, the autobiographical solo piece based on Fisher's best-selling book, but here's a case where a show succeeds beautifully despite the fact that so much about it is so damn wrong.
What we have at Studio 54 can be boiled down to a lone performer who seems to be wandering aimlessly around the stage for two hours, talking about herself in a flat monotone via a text that has no clear direction. And yet it's an absolutely hilarious night of theatre. Why? Maybe the anti-theatricality of the whole thing creates a refreshing atmosphere of casual authenticity. Maybe it's because the star talks of her demons with a wry, self-depreciating smirk, philosophizing, "When time passes and tragic turns to funny it cannot do you harm." Or maybe it's because the evening is packed with quotable zingers like, "Oscar time in Los Angeles... Which is kinda like New Year's Eve for the vapid." Whatever the reason, it works splendidly.
Carrie Fisher, of course, is the first-born child of movie icon Debbie Reynolds and not-so-iconic but still very popular singer, Eddie Fisher. Many will recall that Fisher left Reynolds for Elizabeth Taylor shortly after her husband Mike Todd died ("He consoled her with flowers and ultimately he consoled her with his penis.") but in case you're not familiar will all the tragic details of the life of our heroine, she opens the evening with a rather sardonic warbling of "Happy Days Are Here Again" while haphazardly dumping glitter on front row patrons. (Warning: the front row gets a real workout in this one) In the background, Alexander V. Nichols' projects newspaper headlines sensationalizing her parents' divorce, their assorted re-marriages and divorces and Fisher's own marital woes; not to mention bouts with drug addiction, bi-polar disorder and manic depression.
Building on that cheery start, she then tells the audience about the time she woke one morning and found her gay Republican friend lying dead next to her. Soon the houselights come up and she's inviting us to ask any questions we'd like about what it's like to wake up next to a dead gay Republican friend.
This kind of dark irreverence merrily continues on throughout the show, most uproariously and scathingly when she explains how her daughter was interested in dating Elizabeth Taylor's grandson, but first she wanted to be certain they weren't related. The leads us to a lesson in "Hollywood Inbreeding 101," where Fisher reviews her family's various marriages, divorces, offspring and re-marriages, using a chart filled with 8x10s and a pointer. This bit is undoubtedly the "hit song" of the night and might well turn out to be the funniest ten or fifteen minutes of the Broadway season.
Anecdotes like how her mother tried to get Fisher to have a baby with her stepfather because the child would certainly have beautiful eyes or how her biological father, in his senior years, seems to be dating all of Chinatown are mixed with tales of her marriage (and ultimate divorce) to Paul Simon and of having a daughter with Hollywood agent Bryan Lourd who, almost obligatorily, turns out to be gay.
Oh yes, and she discusses Star Wars, too. Particularly how her image as Princess Leia was marketed as a Pez dispenser, bath soap, a shampoo bottle (the head twists off) and, of course, a life-sized sex doll which she invites an audience member to have fun with.
Don't expect a deep exploration of her mental breakdown and addictions. Quips are the rule of the day ("When you're manic, every urge is like an edict from the Vatican.") but as she explains early on, "If my life wasn't funny, it would only be true."
Photo of Carrie Fisher by Joan Marcus.
Posted on: Tuesday, October 13, 2009 @ 11:07 AM Posted by:Michael Dale
If you take a whiff of air somewhere in the vicinity of the Schoenfeld Theatre these days and sense a slight essence of Mickey Spillane, it's undoubtedly due to the presence of Keith Huff's hardboiled police melodrama, A Steady Rain. A crackling good story told with potent language and a couple of terrific performances, this is a hearty plateful of good old fashioned meat and potatoes theatre.
But don't get me wrong. Despite its dark, dangerous and sexy atmosphere, this is not a story of some infallible gumshoe that gets the babe and the crook. Huff's story glues our attention to a flawed Chicago cop who insists he's doing the right thing to protect his family and his best friend who inadvertently betrays him.
Childhood buddies Joey (Daniel Craig) and Denny (Hugh Jackman) are a pair of cops who have been continually passed over for promotion to detective. Though they insist it's because minorities who score lower than them on the test are favored, the reason may have more to do with Joey's alcoholic past and Denny's politically incorrect language regarding certain ethnic groups. Also, as the story goes on, it becomes apparent that they may not be especially bright, either.
Denny, a proud family man - though his behavior toward his wife and kids suggests an attitude that's more possessive than loving - frequently tries to set up his bachelor pal with single women. When one potential mate turns out to be a prostitute who Denny has been providing with extra special protection from her pimp, it triggers off a complicated tale of sex, drug-dealing, bribery and infidelity that endangers his family, leading the hot-headed dad to take care of matters by means that go beyond regulations. Meanwhile, the soft-spoken Joey has taken on the responsibility of looking after his friend's wife and kids, proving himself the more dependable and supportive father figure.
The actors begin the ninety-minute piece seated side by side under hot interrogation lamps explaining their sides of the situation with individual monologues addressed to the audience, only occasionally interacting with each other. Under John Crowley's direction, the pair gives convincing and engaging performances; Jackman oozing bad-boy charm to defend his actions and Craig overwhelmed by a weary placidness that only shows spirit when he finds himself needed.
Beautifully accenting the narrated events is Scott Pask's set, a background of imposing brick buildings ominously lit with shadows by Hugh Vanstone.
Much has been made of the box-office pull of having two actors far more famous for their movie stardom than their stage work headlining this piece. Forget it. All we got here is a couple of strong actors in a solid production of a damn good play.
Photo of Daniel Craig and Hugh Jackman by Joan Marcus.
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Set designer Ricardo Hernandez lets a row of tall mirrors hang from the semi-circular back wall, slightly angled toward a floor that supports a plain white couch and coffee table on one side and a plain white table and chairs on the other. It's a blank canvas perfectly suited for the theatre's living documentary, Anna Deavere Smith, to paint her many portraits.
As with past endeavors such as Twilight: Los Angeles, 1992 (inspired by the riots triggered by the first Rodney King trial), Smith's new work of theatre/journalism was created by transcribing personal interviews with real people and having the actress bring them to life on stage. Never in the ninety-five minute piece does Smith appear as herself.
Now gracing Second Stage, Let Me Down Easy, might well have been titled Our Bodies, Our Selves if that one wasn't already taken. Through twenty precisely drawn subjects, Smith explores how we relate to our own bodies in terms of physical prowess, sexuality, disease and death. And while the subject of universal health care for all Americans is not directly advocated, in this time it is the inescapable underlying current pulling beneath the play's surface.
There are the celebrity guests: Cyclist Lance Armstrong tells how his philosophy of training and sacrifice allows his body to accomplish his goals. Joel Siegel talks of his colon cancer with the same kind of arch humor found in his film reviews. Lauren Hutton observes how social class and wealth determines health in our society while choreographer Elizabeth Streb, whose work is known for its physical risk-taking, tells of time her body actually caught fire as part of a performance.
We also hear from Ann Richards and Eve Ensler, but the most striking tales come from the everyday people. A New Orleans doctor trying to keep a hospital in order during Katrina is shocked to hear how her patients just accept that they are of little importance to rescuers. A patient at Yale-New Haven Hospital is disgusted at how poorly she is treated until the staff finds out who she is. Less fortunate is the mother, lacking such pull, who explains how nurses' neglect killed her daughter.
Directed by Leonard Foglia, Smith's transformation into 20 subjects is complete and seamless, focusing on the speech rhythms and physicality of each person. Recognizing a pinpoint impersonation isn't the aim here; it's to demonstrate how the extreme diversity of the population creates vast differences in what we call "The American Experience."
Photo of Anna Deavere Smith by Joan Marcus.
Posted on: Sunday, October 11, 2009 @ 07:02 PM Posted by:Michael Dale
Charlayne Woodard and her husband, Harris, have raised three dogs. They're far easier to care for than children and they allow you the freedom to make choices in your life whereas a baby can determine all of your choices for decades. At least that's the reasoning they used when no less than Alfre Woodard called on behalf of an adoption agency that matches mixed-race babies with mixed-race couples and informed her that there was a young Stanford student at Cedars-Sinai giving birth to a boy at that very moment and all she and Harris would have to do is drive over, sign some papers and catch their very own baby boy, "hot out of the oven."
But while Charlayne Woodard seems perfectly satisfied with her choice not to be a mommy, her charming, moving and very funny new solo piece, The Night Watcher, is filled with a brood of nieces, nephews, godchildren and children of friends who call her Auntie Charlayne. As a temporary adult authority figure, somewhere between a parent and a friend, she demonstrates both the awkwardness and the rewards of these unique loving relationships using nothing more than a bare stage, a chair, a captivating text, attention-grabbing stage presence and knack for story-telling and light, humorous direction by Daniel Sullivan.
The title comes from a story of her nephew, Nala, who forces himself to stay up at night to watch over the house because his absent and abusive father threatened to burn it down if he doesn't get to visit. Before that we learn of Woodard's goddaughter, Indira, who confides in Auntie Charlayne about her unplanned teenage pregnancy. Her friend's daughter, Africa, is a confident, flirtatious girl who enjoys the attention she gets from men, but Woodard discovers she's also illiterate. A bit more comical is the story of a visit from her brother-in-law's adopted mixed-race materialistic daughter, Benamarie, who surprises her host with a prejudice against black people, despite her own appearance.
Each child is portrayed by Woodard with sincere affection, even when they're being annoying, but her most memorable portrayal is that of Rosa, a delightfully animated great-grandmother who tries to get Woodard to adopt her grandson's abused infant girl because she doesn't feel capable of doing it at her age. Her description of a horrifying act of violence which could have killed the baby is all the more effective because the story is told with a straightforwardness and simplicity that reminds the listener that such incidents are not as unusual as we may think.
From Jess Goldstein's flowing and flattering wardrobe to Geoff Korf's embracing lighting to Obadiah Eaves' jazzy sound design to the soft images in Tal Yarden's projections, everything about the production surrounds Woodard in a sweet and pretty atmosphere, perfectly framing the already irresistible words and performance.
Photo of Charlayne Woodard by James Leynse.
Posted on: Friday, October 09, 2009 @ 01:52 PM Posted by:Michael Dale
I can't say I've ever really associated important events in my life with what I was wearing. Oh sure, I remember the powder beige tux I wore to my 1977 senior prom (my date picked it out) but since moving to New York I think it's safe to just assume I was wearing black whenever anything significant happened. Not so for the ladies of Love, Loss and What I Wore, a show that my female guest assures me gives an accurate portrayal of how women tend to hold important memories in the stitches of their apparel. And though such sentiments may be foreign to my nature (or perhaps nurture) I found the ninety-minute evening warm, funny (often hilarious), cleverly written and terrifically performed.
LL&WIW, if you don't mind the abbreviation, began life as Ilene Beckerman's best-selling memoir of "Gingy" who, through words and illustrations, writes her life history as recalled by the clothing she wore as a way of reminding her children that she wasn't always a mother. She was once a girl who had friends and did stupid things just like them. In adapting the book for the stage, sisters Nora and Delia Ephron have crafted a piece where five actresses are seated in a row, their scripts in front of them on lecterns, reading excerpts from Beckerman as well as stories contributed by their friends.
The excellent opening night ensemble consisted of Tyne Daly, Rosie O'Donnell, Katie Finneran, Samantha Bee and Natasha Lyonne, but the rotating company will feature a new collection of stars taking the stage every four weeks. While the text often has the cast ping-ponging their speeches back and forth (director Karen Carpenter does a great job of continually varying the tempo of the piece), Daly marvelously anchors the proceedings with her sole responsibility of playing six segments as Gingy. With a rack of posters beside her that carry Beckerman's book illustrations, Daly gracefully takes us through Gingy's rebellious childhood, three marriages, personal tragedy and somewhat lonely senior years with warmth and dry wisdom.
On the more raucous side, Rosie O'Donnell's brand of straightforward humor makes her stories of the humiliation of bra-shopping and the inconvenience of purse-wearing achingly funny while retaining sympathy for her character. But she also delivers sweet pathos in a self-written monologue about seeing her step-mother wearing a bathrobe strikingly similar to the one her deceased mother would wear.
Finneran, Bee and Lyonne mostly work together delivering short, snappy observations ("Never wear velvet before Rosh Hashana.") but they get also get individual chances to shine; particularly in Finneran's triumphant portrayal of a breast cancer survivor who finds a unique way to make herself feel in control.
And if you'll notice from the photo, costume designer Jessica Jahn has them all wearing black. Because as Rosie O'Donnell exasperatingly blurts out, "Can't we just stop pretending that anything is ever going to be the new black?"
Photo by Carol Rosegg: Tyne Daly, Rosie O'Donnell, Samantha Bee, Katie Finneran, and Natasha Lyonne.
Posted on: Tuesday, October 06, 2009 @ 11:49 AM Posted by:Michael Dale
One of the most interesting chapters in William Goldman's classic book of commercial Broadway, The Season, involves the pre-opening troubles with the musical, Golden Rainbow. (Yes, I'm beginning a review of Little House on the Prairie with an anecdote about a glitzy Steve & Eydie vehicle. Just go along with me on this.) Although the musical had a huge advance sale thanks to the popularity of its husband and wife stars, everyone agreed the book was a disaster. But, according to Goldman, spirits were boosted a bit when rumors started circulating that Neil Simon - who was not only the hottest playwright on Broadway at the time but a guy known for anonymously helping to doctor other shows that were in need of laughs - would be coming in to punch up the script. In the meantime another writer was recruited and told that he didn't have to come up with anything clever; just to write a straightforward, competent book that made sense of the story. Neil Simon would come in later and provide the gags. (P.S. He never did.)
So what does this have to do with the musical adaptation of Laura Ingalls Wilder's collection of "Little House" children's novels, now settled at the Paper Mill Playhouse at the start of its national tour? Simply that the show kept reminding me of the Golden Rainbow story because just about every aspect - from the book to the score to the production - seemed to get its job done competently, while lacking any extra spark or cleverness. If you're looking for a family musical that offers heartwarming homespun and promotes simple, wholesome values, Little House on the Prairie is certainly competent enough to get the job done, though in a rather standard, not especially memorable fashion.
Set in the late 1800s, after congress has passed an act allowing unsettled western land to be claimed free of charge on the condition that homesteaders live there for at least five years, the musical begins with Charles Ingalls (a hearty-singing Steve Blanchard) accepting the country's challenge and moving his family of five out to South Dakota. But the focus of the story is, of course, his rambunctious middle daughter Laura (Kara Lindsay), who starts off as an impulsive and tomboyish adolescent, but after her older sister Mary goes blind and the community is forced to deal with near-famine during a harsh winter and the destruction caused by wild fires, matures into a responsible young lady without losing her taste for adventure. While Lindsay is always completely engaging, displaying open-hearted enthusiasm and an impressive belt, bookwriter Rachel Sheinkin, understandably has trouble sustaining interest in this episodic story built on a series of hardships and their resolutions.
Also problematic is the fact that the production's star attraction is Melissa Gilbert, who played Laura on the popular Little House on the Prairie television series. Now playing Charles' wife, Caroline, Gilbert - appearing in her first musical - handles her singing and dancing perfectly fine and presents a sweet, sturdy character ready to get her family through numerous challenges. The trouble is that her role seems larger than what it would be if a lesser-known actress were playing it. She has a cute number in the first act where she teaches her children to dance as a way of keeping warm during the freezing months but giving her the last song in the musical, a ballad about her relationship with Laura, is an awkward choice because Laura's most developed parental relationship in the text is with her father.
Kevin Massey sings with an attractive tenor and matches Lindsay for open-hearted enthusiasm as Laura's romantic interest, Almonzo. And while Kate Loprest is perfectly fine as Laura's spoiled, self-centered rival Nellie Oleson, hers is another role given too much material, particularly a superfluous second act solo which I'm assuming was intended to be comic but, despite Loprest‘s efforts, falls flat. But despite that misstep, most of the plot-and-character-driven score is very pleasant. Donna di Novelli's lyrics make sufficient references to big skies and being free of fences and Rachel Portman's music has the expected traces of Aaron Copeland, giving the score the robust sound of the era. Nothing soars, but the craft of good musical theatre writing is always present.
Director Francesca Zambello provides the appropriate rustic visuals and Michele Lynch's choreography, while it never seems to build into anything exciting, sufficiently entertains. Adrianne Lobel's set is understandably sparse, as it's built to tour, but with Mark McCullough's lighting, the snowstorms, fires and changing seasons of the story are effectively portrayed.
I'd be at a loss to name anything especially wrong with Little House on the Prairie. The trouble is that there isn't anything special about it, either.
Photos by Jerry Dalia: Top: Kara Lindsay and Kevin Massey; Bottom: Kara Lindsay, Melissa Gilbert, Todd Thurston and Steve Blanchard.
Posted on: Monday, October 05, 2009 @ 10:37 AM Posted by:Michael Dale
There's very little I can recommend from Vigil, Morris Panych‘s two-person play which I'll assume was meant to be darkly humorous and quirky, but ends up a rather dreary and frequently ugly ninety-five minute affair.
Told in a pace-stifling collection of 37 quick scenes and blackouts (most of them a minute or so, many are shorter), Vigil opens with the bitter and insensitive Kemp (Malcolm Gets) arriving at the home of his aunt Grace (Helen Stenborg), whom he hasn't seen in thirty years. After receiving her letter saying she is close to death, Kemp has left his bank job and has traveled thousands of miles to sit at her bedside for her final moments. Buts when those moments stretch into weeks and then months, the nephew's threadbare patience snaps.
"Sign your will. You're leaving everything to me."
"I think you've eaten enough. You'll never fit in the box."
"Why are you putting on makeup? Why don't you let the mortician do that?"
That's a sampling of the hateful scene-ending zingers Gets must shoot at Stenborg, presumably in the theatrical tradition of scoring a big laugh before the blackout. While he's certainly a skilled enough actor to dig up some reason for the audience to like Kemp, director Stephen DiMenna, has Gets playing the role so distastefully harsh that by the time the play has progressed to the point where the character starts revealing the sadder details of his upbringing no one involved has proven the nephew human enough for us to care. Especially after he presents Grace with a suicide contraption worthy of the Wile E. Coyote playbook to hang over her bed. (Yes, there is a "comic" moment where the contraption backfires on Kemp and Gets must react with some cartoony physical shtick.)
As Grace, Stenborg remains silent and under the covers for nearly the entire play, reacting to Gets with fear, affection, confusion and pity. It's one of those sweet, little old lady performances that comes off as adorable, but the play is so weightless that she never registers as a character.
There's a slightly foreshadowed plot twist that guides the play to what is surely meant to be a heartwarming ending, but Vigil wears out its welcome even before the intermission.
Photo of Helen Stenborg and Malcolm Gets by Carol Rosegg.
Posted on: Friday, October 02, 2009 @ 10:20 AM Posted by:Michael Dale
In his lengthy notes discussing the thought process behind his LAByrinth Theater Company/Public Theater mounting of Othello, director Peter Sellars explains how our view of Shakespeare's drama of an outsider Moor put into a position of power in an otherwise white society, must change in an era where Barack Obama can become President of the United States. His is an interracial Othello, with Latino John Ortiz (LAByrinth Theater co-founder) as the Moor, white actor (and longtime LAByrinth associate) Philip Seymour Hoffman as the underling Iago who tries to bring him down and an assortment of white, black and Latinos rounding out the company.
How well this concept may work is a mystery to me, even after sitting through the 4+ hour (one intermission) production, for any interpretation of the text is swallowed up by the combination of the Broadway-size NYU Skirball Center Theater and a collection of clichéd gimmicks that might seem lifted from The Complete Idiot's Guide To Experimental Theatre.
Set designer Gregor Holzinger gives us a bare and black stage, stripped of curtains, that frequently dwarfs the 8-member cast (the text has been edited and characters have been omitted and/or combined), especially when James F. Ingalls' lights are so dim that any attempt to decipher a facial expression (at least from my seat in row K) is a lost cause. At other times the lights are blared full force into the audience's eyes while scenes progress. Amplification, particularly in the first act, is frequently loud and artificial sounding; though sound designer Mark Grey keeps things more natural for most of the second half.
Mimi O'Donnell dresses the company in crisp military garb and stylish contemporary fashion, except for Hoffman's Iago who sports a loud green polo shirt that makes him looks as if he's ready to scoot out for the pub at any moment. (I'm assuming that costume choice was made after the accompanying production photo was shot.) Early scenes are played with characters communicating via cell phones and, on occasion, an actor sits on an upstage chair, echoing lines into a microphone.
But the main feature of the production is a large bed made out of rows of television screens where Othello and his pert little wife Desdemona (Jessica Chastain) often recline together while others are acting around them.
Unfortunately, and blame for this must be completely placed on the director, none of the acting registers. Hoffman's Iago is a one-note rage with little variation. Ortiz seems to be going for the soft poetry of Shakespeare's text but with the rest of the company performing with a naturalistic (and achingly slow, pause-laden) tone he comes off as overly melodramatic. Chastain, as the wife wrongly accused of infidelity, is bland and passionless. I'm sure the supporting players are far more capable actors than is demonstrated here.
Invention, when interpreting a classic play, is always welcome. However, clarity should always be demanded.
Photo of John Ortiz and Philip Seymour Hoffman by Armin Bardel.
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It'll be easy to point out the Mint Theater subscribers in the audience during their positively delightful little bon-bon of a production of Lennox Robinson's quirky 1933 charmer, Is Life Worth Living?; they'll be the ones smirking and guffawing whenever the playwright makes a punch line out of Leo Tolstoy's heavy drama, The Power of Darkness. Two seasons ago the Mint, that wonderfully adventurous company that specializes in reviving rarely-seen plays by significant authors, delivered a solid staging of the Russian novelist's early dramatic effort, a melancholy affair praised by one of Robinson's characters for one of its more gruesome plot twists.
Called "an exaggeration" instead of a play by its author, Is Life Worth Living?'s inspired premise is that the owners of an Irish seaside hotel in a sleepy little vacation town have decided to experiment a bit this summer; instead of booking troupes performing light entertainment they employ the services of a Russian theatre company that specializes in the works of Chekhov, Ibsen and Strindberg (with a side-order of Tolstoy). Attending more out of curiosity than a thirst for drama, the townsfolk gradually recognize aspects of their own lives - and the lives of their neighbors - in plays like A Doll's House and Uncle Vanya, filling the salt air with rumors and, for the first time ever, establishing an attempted suicide rate.
While the idea sounds farcical, the evening is more of a gentle comedy with the more extreme events described instead of acted out; letting audience members imagine the level of silliness sweeping the town for themselves. Jonathan Bank directs with the light touch of high comedy, emphasized by Susan Zeeman Rogers' circular drawing room set, whose floral-patterned walls make the space somewhat resemble a wedding cake. Jeff Nellis' lights subtly get into the act by reflecting the mood of the town as the weeks pass, then zips in a zinger to provide one of the night's big laughs.
As the husband and wife stars of the acting troupe, Kevin Kilner and Jordan Baker avoid some of the obvious clichés that go with such characters; Baker's charismatic and wittily tongued Constance and Kilner's passionately intellectual Hector are grounded in a true belief that what they are doing is of great service to the souls of their audience members combined with a weariness for their life on the road. Paul O'Brien, as the sweet-natured hotel owner who suddenly turns tyrannical on his wife and Graham Outerbridge, as his lovelorn son who only attracts the object of his affection when he turns from a amiable innocent to a sullen, dark-natured fatalist are two of the major charms of the delightful cast.
Photo of Jordan Baker and Kevin Kilner by Richard Termine.
Posted on: Monday, September 28, 2009 @ 10:17 AM Posted by:Michael Dale
Suggested by the real-life story of 1950s Memphis disc jockey Dewey Phillips, a white guy who was instrumental in giving air time to black rhythm and blues artists, Memphis boasts a surefire contender for the most unlikely of romantic leading male characters to appear in a Broadway musical. Here named Huey Calhoun, he's played by Chad Kimball (who first caught Broadway's attention playing a cow in the Into The Woods revival) with an irritatingly nasal drawl, smart-ass arrogance and a posture that jauntily leans in all directions. Driven, naïve, idealistic and sometimes just plain stupid, Kimball's fascinating warts-and-all portrayal of Huey's rise from department store clerk to the city's number one deejay because of his passion for what was then called "race music," gives the musical a realistic edge.
While the supporting players get few standout moments, Michael McGrath (as Huey's uptight station manager), J. Bernard Calloway (as Felicia's protective brother), James Monroe Iglehart (as a janitor with a breakout turn in a Chubby Checker-type number) and Cass Morgan (as Huey's fearful mother) all make significant contributions.
And while I have to agree with the critical majority on this one, there's really no sense in subjecting you dear readers to another reviewer's attempt to describe the jaw-dropping mess that now occupies Henry Miller's Theatre. You don't need to read again how the two leading players lacked the necessary skills to play their roles. You can get on with your happy lives without perusing another attempt to find the proper metaphors to describe that oddball performance by an otherwise respected stage actor. The strange costume designs, the inappropriate set, the lack of decent choreography and the cutting of the musical's two ballets; one of which can be at least be called a semi-classic; no I'm not going to write about that here.
And the lovely 14-year-old singing voice of Allie Trimm, who gave a good acting performance as Kim and who I suspect would have given a better one if someone had told her why the role was funny. I'll say the same for Nolan Gerard Funk, who, despite looking far too young to be Conrad Birdie, played the role with sufficient pop-star swagger. I'm sure it's not his fault that the role's satirical edge never entered into the picture.
Mamet's quick, 80-minute drama was ample kindling for the fire. The first scene shows college student Carol in the office of her professor, John, voicing her frustration at not being able to understand his course. John, who is up for tenure, offers help but is also preoccupied by phone calls regarding the home he and his wife are trying to buy. In the second scene we find that Carol has filed a sexual harassment grievance against John, based on things he said and did during their first meeting. She also makes vague mention of some "group" that supports her stance. I'll leave it to the author to explain what happens in the third and final scene.
But in the hands of Doug Hughes, who directs the current Broadway production, the play is more about a man who is defenseless against seeing his career and home life crumble because of accusations made against him, whether he is guilty or not.
If you're smiling with recognition then no doubt you've taken an improvisational acting class similar to the one Baker depicts in the community center of a small Vermont town. Its perpetually smiling and upbeat teacher, Marty (Deirdre O'Connell), spends the six week course leading her students in such theatre games to help build physical awareness. There's her husband, James (Peter Friedman), being happily supportive; Theresa (Heidi Schreck), a New York actress who moved to Vermont to escape the competitiveness of the business; Schultz (Reed Birney), a divorced furniture maker a bit lacking in personality and 16-year-old Lauren (Tracee Chimo), an aspiring actress who hopes that taking the class will help her win the role of Maria in her high school's production of West Side Story.
Town Hall was the room where the original Broadway company of Falsettos reunited as a special feature of this year's edition of Broadway Originals, the traditional Sunday afternoon finale to Town Hall's fifth annual Broadway Cabaret Festival. Taking his usual spot at the stage left podium, Scott Siegel explained how the unusual gestation of this musical about a charming fellow named Marvin who tries to mold a functional family out of Trina (the wife he divorced), Jason (the son he adores) and Whizzer (the man he loves) began with Finn's three separately produced one-act Off-Broadway musicals: In Trousers (1979), its sequel, March of the Falsettos (1981) and finally Falsettoland (1990). The latter two (with a bit of material from the first) made up acts one and two of the Broadway production.
But that was only Act II of Broadway Originals. The first act followed the usual form of having various original cast members from the past sing a number they either introduced on Broadway or re-introduced in a revival. While previous editions have featured performances that stretched back to over fifty years of Broadway history, this year's show focused on the more recent past. Sharon McNight held the distinction of presenting the most vintage performance, reprising her rousing showstopper from 1989's Starmites, "It's Hard to Be Diva." Marc Kudisch followed his comically self-satisfied "Breezing Through Another Day" (The Wild Party) with snake-like moves for The Apple Tree's "Forbidden Fruit."
The show that asks the musical question, "What if the generation of American kids who grew up learning life's little lessons by watching television shows like Sesame Street and The Electric Company had the same kind of program that used puppets, catchy songs and friendly humans to help them learn the big lessons they need to know after graduating college and entering the real world?," started as the brainchild of composer/lyricists Jeff Marx and Robert Lopez. When their hilariously educational tunes like, "Everyone's A Little Bit Racist," "If You Were Gay (That Would Be Okay)" and the who-are-the-losers-in-your-neighborbood? anthem, "It Sucks To Be Me" were combined with Jeff Whitty's very funny and surprisingly touching book, Rick Lyon's personality-laden puppets and Jason Moore's crafty direction that enhanced the material's satirical edge while keeping the characters loveable, a truly original Broadway hit was born.
The new Off-Broadway cast is a talented and likeable ensemble made up of Q vets from Broadway and national tours. Seth Rettberg is all wide-eyed enthusiasm manipulating Princeton, the 22-year-old college graduate ready to take on the world armed with nothing but a B.A. in English. Anika Larsen, whose rich, expressive belt has livened up many a Gotham musical, tones it down to a sweeter level as Kate Monster, Princeton's puppet love interest, but gets to show off her sassy vocals as over-sexed nightclub entertainer known as Lucy The Slut.
But while Kaufman was a singular individual, his plays were almost always collaborations and each of his frequent writing partners seemed to influence the style of the project. With Morrie Ryskind (Animal Crackers, Of Thee I Sing) he wrote wildly zany books for musicals. His partnership with Moss Hart (You Can't Take It With You, The Man Who Came To Dinner) produced his most sentimental works and with Edna Ferber (Stage Door, Dinner at Eight) his most colorful female characters came alive.
Maxwell, a canny and intelligent comic actress, is deliciously showcased as Julie Cavendish, the family's main breadwinner who is trying to raise a daughter, take care of her mother and consider marriage while rushing to make her curtain eight times a week. The role allows her to be over-the-top in a manner that is realistic for the character, climaxing in a positively hilarious second act nervous breakdown where she swears that she's given up the theatre for good.
If you're a frequent theatre-goer who has seen a decent number of 
The latest import from that incubator of American plays is Tracy Letts' funny and heart-tugging 
What we have at Studio 54 can be boiled down to a lone performer who seems to be wandering aimlessly around the stage for two hours, talking about herself in a flat monotone via a text that has no clear direction. And yet it's an absolutely hilarious night of theatre. Why? Maybe the anti-theatricality of the whole thing creates a refreshing atmosphere of casual authenticity. Maybe it's because the star talks of her demons with a wry, self-depreciating smirk, philosophizing, "When time passes and tragic turns to funny it cannot do you harm." Or maybe it's because the evening is packed with quotable zingers like, "Oscar time in Los Angeles... Which is kinda like New Year's Eve for the vapid." Whatever the reason, it works splendidly.
But don't get me wrong. Despite its dark, dangerous and sexy atmosphere, this is not a story of some infallible gumshoe that gets the babe and the crook. Huff's story glues our attention to a flawed Chicago cop who insists he's doing the right thing to protect his family and his best friend who inadvertently betrays him.
As with past endeavors such as Twilight: Los Angeles, 1992 (inspired by the riots triggered by the first Rodney King trial), Smith's new work of theatre/journalism was created by transcribing personal interviews with real people and having the actress bring them to life on stage. Never in the ninety-five minute piece does Smith appear as herself.
But while Charlayne Woodard seems perfectly satisfied with her choice not to be a mommy, her charming, moving and very funny new solo piece, 
LL&WIW, if you don't mind the abbreviation, began life as Ilene Beckerman's best-selling memoir of "Gingy" who, through words and illustrations, writes her life history as recalled by the clothing she wore as a way of reminding her children that she wasn't always a mother. She was once a girl who had friends and did stupid things just like them. In adapting the book for the stage, sisters Nora and Delia Ephron have crafted a piece where five actresses are seated in a row, their scripts in front of them on lecterns, reading excerpts from Beckerman as well as stories contributed by their friends.
So what does this have to do with the musical adaptation of Laura Ingalls Wilder's collection of "Little House" children's novels, now settled at the Paper Mill Playhouse at the start of its national tour? Simply that the show kept reminding me of the Golden Rainbow story because just about every aspect - from the book to the score to the production - seemed to get its job done competently, while lacking any extra spark or cleverness. If you're looking for a family musical that offers heartwarming homespun and promotes simple, wholesome values, Little House on the Prairie is certainly competent enough to get the job done, though in a rather standard, not especially memorable fashion.
Also problematic is the fact that the production's star attraction is Melissa Gilbert, who played Laura on the popular Little House on the Prairie television series. Now playing Charles' wife, Caroline, Gilbert - appearing in her first musical - handles her singing and dancing perfectly fine and presents a sweet, sturdy character ready to get her family through numerous challenges. The trouble is that her role seems larger than what it would be if a lesser-known actress were playing it. She has a cute number in the first act where she teaches her children to dance as a way of keeping warm during the freezing months but giving her the last song in the musical, a ballad about her relationship with Laura, is an awkward choice because Laura's most developed parental relationship in the text is with her father.
Told in a pace-stifling collection of 37 quick scenes and blackouts (most of them a minute or so, many are shorter), Vigil opens with the bitter and insensitive Kemp (Malcolm Gets) arriving at the home of his aunt Grace (Helen Stenborg), whom he hasn't seen in thirty years. After receiving her letter saying she is close to death, Kemp has left his bank job and has traveled thousands of miles to sit at her bedside for her final moments. Buts when those moments stretch into weeks and then months, the nephew's threadbare patience snaps.
How well this concept may work is a mystery to me, even after sitting through the 4+ hour (one intermission) production, for any interpretation of the text is swallowed up by the combination of the Broadway-size NYU Skirball Center Theater and a collection of clichéd gimmicks that might seem lifted from The Complete Idiot's Guide To Experimental Theatre.
Called "an exaggeration" instead of a play by its author, Is Life Worth Living?'s inspired premise is that the owners of an Irish seaside hotel in a sleepy little vacation town have decided to experiment a bit this summer; instead of booking troupes performing light entertainment they employ the services of a Russian theatre company that specializes in the works of Chekhov, Ibsen and Strindberg (with a side-order of Tolstoy). Attending more out of curiosity than a thirst for drama, the townsfolk gradually recognize aspects of their own lives - and the lives of their neighbors - in plays like A Doll's House and Uncle Vanya, filling the salt air with rumors and, for the first time ever, establishing an attempted suicide rate.
11/7:
Intern Needed
11/2:
Bway Grosses & Quote
10/15:
The Great White Yay!
STAGE TUBE: The GLEE Cast Sings National Anthem at the World Series Game
Photo Coverage: Paper Mill's ON THE TOWN in Rehearsal
Photo Flash: THE ADDAMS FAMILY Revealed
Photo Coverage: GLEE's CD Signing at Borders NYC
STAGE TUBE: RAGTIME's New Viral Video
BWW TV: Lin-Manuel Sings in DC!
SPIDER-MAN Update: Carney is Parker, Cohl Lead Producer
Photo Coverage: FINIAN'S Gypsy Robe Ceremony!
STAGE TUBE: 'DREAMGIRLS' on TV!
Photo Spotlight: THE NEIL SIMON PLAYS Close on Bdwy