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Have you ever sat in on a production of Moliere's classic comedy Tartuffe and wondered what exactly it was about the religious services of the title character that made the wealthy Orgon want to donate everything he had to his church? Me neither. But apparently playwrights Alfred Preisser and Randy Weiner have and their answer is the Classical Theater of Harlem's crazily entertaining semi-spoof, Archbishop Supreme Tartuffe.
Now, this is not exactly a full-out adaptation of Moliere's story of a religious shyster who tries to charm a well-to-do lamb out of his fortune while snaring a snog or two from the guy's wife. No, Weiner and Preisser (the latter also directs) thin the plot into the simple fact that Orgon (a cute and amiable Ted Lange) has begun donating every cent he has to a man of the crushed red velvet cloth whose bible says, "The best way to help the poor is by not being one of them," and his family wants to stop him.
But the plot of this 90-minute cavalcade supplies little more than breathing breaks and costume changing time for the sensational André De Shields, who, in the title role, dominates the evening delivering funkified song and dance sermons with blinding electric force.
"All this shazam and shazizzle is my humble offering to you," insists the multi-blinged, gaudily-garbed holy man from 125th Street, who is enthusiastically assisted by a pair of back-up boys (Tyrone Davis, Jr. and Gerron Atkinson) and a scantily clad Supreme Choir (Jennifer Akabue, Gina Rivera, Charletta Rozzell and Kisa Willis) in delivering the message that sex, wealth and fun are all meant to be enjoyed in this life without regard for what comes after. Unlike Moliere's infamous hypocrite, Preisser and Weiner send us a messenger that is very open about the fact that donation dollars go to pay for his Cadillac and fabulous wardrobe. In a sense they are investors in his show and their return is the flash and dazzle of an entertainment that makes them feel good about enjoying life. Costume designer Kimberly Glennon gets numerous laughs with her creations for both the title character and the lovely ladies, who at one point are clad in pink Cadillac bikinis with strategically placed headlights and license plates. ("It's said in Genesis, chapter 25, verse 1: 'Baby's got to have back!'")
In the intimate Harold Clurman Theatre, there's no escaping the fact that nearly each audience member will feel directly addressed by the flamboyant holy man ("Didn't they tell you there is no fourth wall in this church?") and at times De Shields will literally climb over seats to place his "healing hands" on a lady of his choosing and practically lap dance her to salvation. He also deputizes the ladies of his choir to heal any suffering men out there with various body parts. (It's all suggestive, but ultimately clean.)
Unfortunately, the cleverness of the production is sapped dry every time De Shields & Co. leave the stage and we're left with Orgon's family performing uninspired song parodies. His daughter Marianne (Soneela Nakani) hops around like a cheerleader expressing a special attraction for her father in "I'm Just Wild About Daddy," his wife Elmire (Kim Brockington) describes her sexual kinkiness in Edith Piaf style and her brother Cleante (Lawrence Street) uses the Chiffons' hit "One Fine Day (You're Gonna Want Me For Your Girl)" as the theme for his own sermon on gay marriage rights. The actors admirably dive into the bland and sometimes embarrassing material while the audience waits for Mr. De Shields to arrive once more; perhaps this time with a bottle of sacramental Thunderbird.
Photos by Lia Chang: Top: Gina Marie Rivera, Charletta Rozzell, André De Shields, Jennifer Akabue and Kisa Willis; Bottom: Ted Lange and André De Shields
Posted on: Saturday, July 04, 2009 @ 02:10 PM Posted by:Michael Dale
The entirety of The Public Theater's positively scrumptious new Shakespeare in the Park production of Twelfth Night is played on and around designer John Lee Beatty's grassy field, which is dominated by two large hills. It's the kind of setting that might remind you of dozens of locales in Central Park where brave little tykes might scurry down the steep inclines or where lusty couples might settle down for a quick afternoon make-out session or where a toddler's parent might amuse his kid by popping his head out from behind the soft green hiding place. It's a playground and director Daniel Sullivan - who incorporates all the above in his lighthearted staging - seems to have encouraged his delightful company to play, making an all-star cast of theatre pros (joined by a movie star ringer with legit experience) charm like a summer stock company showing off their youthful enthusiasm.
Twelfth Night certainly works if played darker than the Delecorte's current entertainment, if simply for the fact that, if we go strictly by Shakespeare's words, the play ends with its most selfless and heroic character facing the rest of his life in prison. Grief for loved ones and unrequited passion also figure in heavily, not to mention the opportunity to explore erotic possibilities as its cross-dressing central female character must hide her gender from both the man she's smitten with and the woman she's accidentally attracted.
But such approaches can be reserved for indoor autumnal settings. The only darkness here is supplied by Raul Esparza, whose hilarious portrayal of the lovesick Orsino, Duke of Illyria, plays like a satire of the aloof, tension-filled performances New York audiences have grown accustomed to seeing from him.
Through the work of costume designer Jane Greenwood and wig designer Tom Watson, Illyria is beautifully filled with late 18th Century European elegance, a fashion well-suited to disguising the shipwrecked Viola (Anne Hathaway) as young boy. A stranger in Illyria, and mourning the loss of her twin brother Sebastian (Stark Sands), who she believes drowned in a violent storm, Viola avoids the dangers of traveling alone as a woman by assuming the role of a young lad named Cesario and gets hired by the Duke to help him woo the Countess Olivia (Audra McDonald). Hathaway's tender affections for the romantically afflicted Orsino, combined with her chipper earnestness while disguised as Cesario, gives the production firm grounding for the inspired lunacy that surrounds her; the most triumphant of which is McDonald's transformation from a grim, sorrowful woman who is also mourning the loss of her brother to a giddy coquettish lover whose lustful urges have been awakened by the young Cesario. Of course, when it turns out that Sebastian is indeed alive and well and wandering about Illyria, Shakespeare is not above recycling some of the gags and plot twists that worked so well in The Comedy of Errors.
Twelfth Night's subplot, which figures just about as prominently as the main one, is also stocked with exceptional performances. Jay O. Sanders, an old pro at playing boisterously fun drunkards, and the verbally biting Julie White are terrific as Olivia's uncle, Sir Toby Belch and his lusty companion, his niece's gentlewoman, Maria. In an outlandish comic turn, Hamish Linklater sports long blonde tresses and a loopy Valley Boy accent as Olivia's would-be suitor, the thickheaded Sir Andrew Aguecheek, stumbling down hills and blurting out lines with crowd-pleasing humor. As the dour Malvolio, who falls victim to a revengeful prank, Michael Cumpsty is a model of Dickensian smugness, getting broad laughs by playing straight.
The Celtic folk ensemble HEM supplies the hearty musical sound of Illyria, and while there are many fine voices among the company, the featured singer is David Pittu, whose wonderful turn as Feste has him playing Olivia's clown with the wry, underplayed wit of a contemporary political commentator. Smaller roles such as Sands' Sebastian and Jon Patrick Walker's Fabian are well played; with special mention to Charles Borland, who gives a firm, commanding appeal to Antonio, the sea captain who rescues Sebastian and risks his life to see to his safety.
Clocking in at over three hours, every minute of this Twelfth Night is pure theatrical delight and a hell of a good time.
Photos by Joan Marcus: Top: Raul Esparza and Anne Hathaway, Bottom: Audra McDonald, Michael Cumpsty and company
Posted on: Monday, June 29, 2009 @ 07:58 AM Posted by:Michael Dale
While collectors of musical theatre trivia may be quick to mention that Anika Larsen - the cherubic-looking blonde with the belty R&B voice - was the only performer to be in both the original Broadway cast of Xanadu and the original Off-Broadway cast of Zanna, Don't!, it's her unusual upbringing that supplies the real fun facts in her very enjoyable and even thought-provoking bio-musical, Shafrika, The White Girl.
The first child born of a pair of Norwegian-American 1970s liberals who believed in population control and getting American troops out of Vietnam, Anika was actually the fourth addition to the Larsen family, coming after three of her six adopted siblings and before her three biological ones. This racially mixed bunch (each given a Norwegian name in an effort to create a family identity) could teach Mike and Carol Brady a lesson or two about the realities of blended families.
Written by Larsen and co-conceived by director April Nickell, the small but abundantly fun and energetic production is played in style that suggests theatre for teenage audiences, but deals with issues we don't necessarily grow out of. A company of 13 actors, all appearing to be in their early 20s, play her brothers, sisters, parents, friends and relatives in an exploration of how growing up in an ethnically mixed family in an integrated school district of Cambridge, Massachusetts shielded her from the realities of race issues. (A telling clip from a family home movie shows Anika and six of her siblings, all under 7, singing a boisterous chorus of "We Shall Overcome.") Her adolescent loss of innocence comes in the form of a co-worker assuming he can tell racist jokes in her presence. Her love of soul and R&B music wins her a spot in her college's gospel choir and even though she's given the solo spot at a concert for Black Solidarity Day, it hurts her to realize she could never fully be a part of the culture that created the music and poetry she was raised on.
A running conflict throughout the evening has the author trying to edit out scenes she'd prefer not to revisit (like the time she first felt uncomfortable talking to one of her brothers about their difference in skin color) but giving in when the ensemble insists that darker family secrets be revealed. (Larsen does mention in the text that every family member has been given a copy of the script to read.) But Shafrika, The White Girl (the title comes from a hip urban image of herself the author first uses to describe the difference between her inside and her outside) reveals more during its musical moments. There's the eerily satisfied look the mother (Amanda Hunt) has as her children sing "Ebony & Ivory" during a long car trip. And the competition for attention in the schoolyard as the girls show off more than just their rhyming skills while chanting "Shake Ya Booty." Larsen contributes lyrics to songs like an intentionally sappy duet, "If You're Just Like Me" (music by Tim Acito) that reveals her parents as naively idealistic and "Be A Light" (music by Joshua Henry) that provides the upbeat conclusion.
Coincidently, Shafrika, The White Girl opens in New York the same week that a popular singer staring in a major New York production of The Wiz received many critical pans for her lack of acting ability. Though it's doubtful Anika Larsen will ever get the same opportunity to play Dorothy, she's certainly got the chops for the role.
Photo of Anika Larsen & Company by Corey Hayes
******************************************
The flag of Scotland hangs proudly behind Euan Morton during his quite charming and sincerely patriotic stint at The Metropolitan Room called Caledonia: Songs For The Homecoming. This being the 250th Anniversary of the birth of poet and songwriter, Robert Burns, Scotland has declared 2009 as "The Year of the Homecoming," encouraging countrymen and countrywomen abroad to visit the homeland once more in a cultural celebration of music and theatre. But for now, Morton brings a bit of Scotland to New York, the town where he's contributed some excellent stage performances since coming to these shores to star in Taboo, and has also grown into a very fine cabaret artist.
The boyish and soft-spoken Morton uses the evening to educate the audience a bit on the history and significance of his selection of traditional Celtic tunes. Burns is well represented with "Red Red Rose," "Auld Lang Syne, "Ae Fond Kiss" and even a bit of poetry reading. The star's light, sweet tenor (with a nice lower range), melodic and tenderly expressive, warms the heart with traditional ballads like "Danny Boy" and "Loch Lomond." A livelier tune, "Miari's Wedding," has him dancing about the small stage and a more contemporary hit, Charlie & Craig Reid's "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" is a joyously quirky highlight.
Directed by Lee Armitage, Morton is joined on stage by music director Bryan Reeder and Irish violinist and backup vocalist Maud Reardon, with whom he banters about some good-natured competitive ribbing between their two cultures.
Photo by Genevieve Rafter Keddy
Posted on: Thursday, June 25, 2009 @ 11:01 AM Posted by:Michael Dale
Along with contempt, familiarity is also pretty good at breeding hit Broadway musicals. Take The Wiz, for example; the perfectly pleasant but sketchily written 1975 Tony winner for Best Musical that, if it weren't based on L. Frank Baum's classic The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (which became an iconic American story once MGM got its hands on it), would probably leave audiences completely baffled as to what the devil was going on.
Bookwriter William F. Brown short-hands the tale of how farm girl Dorothy Gale gets caught up in a twister that transports her to a land of witches, munchkins, a yellow brick road (suitable for easing down) and one deceptive wizard. His Spartan scenes quickly surrender to Charlie Smalls' catchy assortment of soul, funk, jazz, gospel and disco songs; some of which have lyrics that are actually somewhat associated with the plot. For good measure Luther Vandross contributed a celebratory anthem that just screams for radio play.
But maybe that's all that was needed in the mid-70s; a time when urban unrest turned even the Broadway district into a sketchy part of town. With minority neighborhoods in Harlem and The Bronx suffering from serious decay, an upbeat musical that translated a classic American story into a celebration of black culture that sermonized on believing in yourself and having love and respect for the home that raised you probably didn't need to delve deeply into details its audience already knew.
And while things aren't perfect today, The Wiz's place in our musical theatre heritage seems to have settled into the comfortable role of fluffy nostalgia. The jokes can get a bit corny, but the humor is genial, and the score - if not exactly top-drawer musical theatre - is the kind that allows strong actors to take center stage and perform.
Gratefully, the Encores! Summer Stars production of The Wiz has strong actors who know how to smack some life into their underwritten characters and director Thomas Kail's swift and stylish production gives everyone plenty of elbow room to do their stuff.
Happily, this Wiz begins and ends with the luminous singing actress LaChanze, who opens and closes the evening in two roles that require her to do little more than say a few lines and then wrap her gorgeously expressive mezzo around a ballad. Her lovely warmth as Aunt Em is just a warm-up for her Act II appearance (Kail gives her an Eartha Kittenish re-entrance), glimmering charm and exceptional vocal phrasing as the good witch Glinda.
In between her appearances, it's Joshua Henry's Tinman who threatens to steal the show; first with a jaunty song and dance performance of "Slide Some Oil To Me," and later with a thrillingly heartfelt, "What Would I Do If I Could Feel?" James Monroe Iglehart provides rich, booming vocals for his stint as the lion and Christian Dante White's rubbery scarecrow nicely completes the trio. As Addaperle, the daffy Good Witch of the North, Dawnn Lewis admirably dives into some of the book's least effective comic material while Tichina Arnold, blessed with a role that allows her to strut with campy brassiness, gets the second act to a rousing start as Evilene, the Wicked Witch of the West.
Unfortunately, the two above-the-title stars (who total one stage acting credit between both their Playbill bios) do not supply the wattage of their fellow players. As Dorothy, Grammy winner Ashanti has a pretty voice and can deliver the money notes when required, but she sings and speaks with little emotion and barely displays any physical presence. Orlando Jones certainly works hard as the title character, but there's little variety or nuance to his portrayal.
But such annoyances can (almost) be set aside when treated to the dynamic contributions of set designer David Korins, costume designer Paul Tazewell and lighting designer Ken Billington, who each combine glittering fantasy and urban grit to provide a playground for Andy Blankenbuehler's dancers to dazzle as they impersonate flowers, winged creatures, brick roads and whipping winds. And with Alex Lacamoire conducting 22 pieces through Harold Wheeler's funked up orchestrations, Encores!'s The Wiz smoothly eases over the occasional bump in the road.
Photos by Robert J. Saferstein: Top: LaChanze and Ashanti; Bottom: Joshua Henry and Ashanti
Posted on: Tuesday, June 23, 2009 @ 12:26 PM Posted by:Michael Dale
One of the unique and cherished aspects of the musical theatre is how the preceding plot and character development can allow a musical moment to achieve ethereal heights that establish a triumvirateof joyful feeling between audience, performer and character. Take, for example, Amalia Balash's dizzying high note at the end of "Vanilla Ice Cream," which is not just a showy moment for the actress playing the role, but a release of amazed emotions caused by a simple act of kindness. Or the wacky exuberance of the impromptu tango that follows Eliza Doolittle's mastery of the proper pronunciation of an Iberian precipitation phenomenon.
But perhaps Broadway's most unusual musical expression of uninhibited joy passed on from stage to house is the final moment of The Full Monty, when six non-traditionally shaped male strippers remove their final wisps of coverage and stand before the patrons fully frontally naked. (Yes, I know I just gave away the ending, but please... you don't have to be a Yale dramaturgy student to know this musical must end that way.) Even though a lighting trick keeps the moment at a PG-13 level (and I have a strong feeling that the moment would not be as effective if the audience was able to see everything) just the awareness that these fellows are standing there starkers, combined with Terrance MacNally's funny and romantic book and David Yazbek's kick-ass, jazz-infused score telling the story of love, desperation, bravery and personal change that brought them there, is an uplifting theatrical moment as magical as when the audience helps bring Tinkerbell back to life. (Oh dear, guess I gave away that one, too.)
The Paper Mill's very enjoyable new production of The Full Monty, mounted by the company's Artistic Director Mark S. Hoebee, never strays very far from the standards set by the original 2000 Broadway production; a show that was famously overshadowed by The Producers when it came time to award the Tonys. John Arnone's industrial set has been adapted for the Millburn stage by Rob Bissinger, Randall Klein bases the costumes on Robert Morgan's Broadway designs, original cast member Denis Jones choreographs and the talented cast gives familiar interpretations of their roles. But that's not to say this is a musty old revival. This is exceptional material played earnestly and a damn fun night of grown-up musical comedy.
Based on the 1997 film's screenplay by Simon Beaufy, the musical's setting is shifted from Sheffield, England to Buffalo, New York but still concerns a group of steel workers left unemployed by massive layoffs. Jerry (Wayne Wilcox), the show's flawed but determined central character (nice work by the authors in keeping this guy sympathetic) is the divorced dad of young Nathan (Alex Maizus & Luke Marcus Rosen alternate), who lives with his mom. Unemployed for months and unwilling to take a job that he feels is beneath him, Jerry is way behind on child support and his ex-wife Pam (Kelly Sullivan), who has a perfectly good job with her company waiting for him if he'd only take it, has decided to withdraw his visitation rights unless he catches up. Looking to score a big payday, Jerry notices how Buffalo women happily shell out the bucks whenever a local nightclub holds their male stripper nights. And, assuming that those dancers are all a bunch of, as he puts it, fairies, he figures the ladies would be willing to pay out even more to see a bunch of "real men" like him. But after investing time and money to gather a group of chums to form the stripping ensemble "Hot Metal," ticket sales are abysmal, and don't pick up until Jerry announces that, unlike the professionals, his crew are willing to go The Fully Monty.
Wilcox is terrific in the non-traditional leading male role. His Jerry is scruffy, worn and angular with a strong "regular guy" singing voice. But this is an ensemble show with lots of interesting characters to cheer for. Jerry's big lug buddy Dave (the very funny and endearing Joe Coots), feels emasculated because his wife Georgie (Jenn Colella) has become the breadwinner, despite her attempts to be emotionally supportive. Their former supervisor, Harold (Michael Rupert), has been hiding his unemployment from his stuff-loving wife Vicki (Michele Ragusa) because he fears she'll leave him without his executive salary. Lonely Malcolm (Allen E. Read) has been spending most of his life taking care of his ailing mother and while he's grateful for the friendship Jerry and Dave offer, it's his new relationship with the likeable but thickheaded Ethan (Jason Babinsky) that brings him real happiness.
Then there's the elderly Noah, a/k/a "Horse" (Milton Craig Nealy), who was apparently quite a dancer in his day and uses the mystique of the "Big Black Man" (which also happens to be the name of his show-stopping solo) to earn a place on the line. With a deep soul-singing voice and funky moves that he pulls off in between bouts with stiff joints and dislocating hips, Nealy is just riotously funny.
While her role is a small (but meaty) supporting one, the reason why plenty of those bridge and tunnel tourists from Manhattan will be making the trip to Jersey is because Elaine Stritch is on hand to play Jeanette, the salty-tongued, hard-drinking rehearsal pianist. It's the kind of droll, wise-cracking role the 84-year-old Broadway trouper is famous for and she shines with her usual musical comedy moxie.
But the real star of The Full Monty is composer/lyricist Yazbek, whose breezy combination of jazz, showtune, funk and rock - perfectly matched with the blue collar cleverness of his words - provide a sterling score. There probably has never been a character-driven comedy song quite like "Big Ass Rock," getting laughs out of dark-humored male bonding. "Michael Jordan's Ball," a number where the boys learn to dance by utilizing basketball moves, snaps with the jaunty syncopation of a one-on-one match-up and "You Walk With Me," (beautifully sung by Read) is a quiet contemplation on love and support. Broadway rocker Colella gets to show her impressive chops leading the hard-driving "It's a Woman's World" and Ragusa, who is just hilarious throughout, nails the tricky comic rhyming of "Life With Harold."
Sure, the final moment of moment of The Full Monty will always be its main selling point (forgive me, Ms. Stritch) but the excellent Paper Mill production demonstrates what lovely, heartfelt and realistically humorous theatre the show has to offer before the final g-string is dropped.
Top photo by Kevin Sprague: Wayne Wilcox and Luke Marcus Rosen; Bottom photo by Jerry Dalia: Elaine Stritch and Milton Craig Nealy.
Posted on: Sunday, June 21, 2009 @ 10:46 AM Posted by:Michael Dale
While the casting of Phylicia Rashad as the manipulative, pill-addicted matriarch of Oklahoma's abundantly dysfunctional Weston family in Tracy Letts' epic comedy/drama, August: Osage County may seem an odd choice for those who only know the actress from her television roles as the elegant Clair Huxtable on The Cosby Show and... uh... Clair Huxtable II on Cosby, she might be considered a natural for the part by New York playgoers who have seen her rip up the stage as the anguished and dominating Bernarda Alba or have observed her communicating silent volumes as a symbol of African heritage in Gem of the Ocean.
There is, of course, the biology-defying factor of casting a black woman as the mother of three white children, but while certainly a playgoer has the right to object to the color-blind casting as unrealistic, there's nothing in the play's content that didn't allow me to suspend disbelief and accept the production's parameters of reality.
This is my first visit to Letts' swiftly played (under Anna D. Shapiro‘s direction) three and a half hour Pulitzer winner since its Broadway opening and the production is in solid shape with a mixture of original cast members and well-known replacements. John Cullum, so masterful at these grizzled and literate characters gets us started "round a prickly pear" as poet Beverly Weston, the family patriarch whose disappearance brings his three daughters and their families together under one roof, where issues of betrayal, abandonment, infidelity, pedophilia, addictions, incest, suicide, family secrets and inheritance threaten to blow the roof off the place.
At the center of the play is the struggle for control of the household between Rashad's Violet (whose addictions to her assortment of cancer-treating medications have left her mentally unstable) and the wonderful Amy Morton as eldest daughter, Barbara. As played by the role's originator, Deanna Dunagan (who won a Tony for her efforts), Violet's abrasive behavior seared with a sometimes outlandish anger-on-her-sleeve intensity. Rashad, however, gently simmers. There is more a sense of deep hurt in her Violet; a quiet vulnerability and sadness that draws you in. This interpretation offers a change in the dynamic between the two characters, especially when Barbara's forceful actions meant to restore family order start to look like bullying. The play is less funny this way, but more involving.
Picking up some of the laugh slack is Elizabeth Ashley, who has been playing a broadly comical Aunt Mattie Fae since shortly after her Dividing The Estate engagement. Original cast members Sally Murphy and Mariann Mayberry (as the younger Weston sisters) and Kimberly Guerrero as the peacefully serene Cheyenne housekeeper, deliver strong character work.
Sadly, a June 28th closing date has just been announced for the Broadway production of August: Osage County. This sterling piece of drama shall be missed.
Photo of Phylicia Rashad by Robert J. Saferstein
**************************************** I fear I'm running out of superlatives with which to describe the sublimely sophisticated (see, I've used that one already) Marilyn Maye. Now playing her sixth brand spanking new Metropolitan Room engagement since ending a fifteen year hiatus from Gotham back in '07, I've already described the 81-year-old vocal miracle (another recycled quote) as "sweetly intoxicating" with "pipes a 25-year-old would envy," and praised her combination of "exacting, versatile tones" with "phrasing artistry and emotional insight that comes from decades of wisdom." I suppose I can dig up an old chestnut like how she makes any stage she performs on "the coolest spot in town," but since her newest gig is dedicated to the lyrics (and occasionally music) of Johnny Mercer, I suppose the most appropriate plaudit to hand Ms. Maye is that she's just too marvelous for words.
Also quite marvelous is her regular accompanying trio of music director Ted Firth on piano, Tom Hubbard on bass and Jim Eklof on drums. There's a heck of a lot of titles covered in this one so much of the show consists of medleys, such as the peppy jazz arrangement combining "My Shining Hour," "Day In Day Out," "Too Marvelous For Words," "You Must Have Been a Beautiful Baby," "Jeepers Creepers" and "Something's Gotta Give."
Her delicacy with dynamics floats a saloon standard like "One For My Baby" into sonnet-like poetry, but her money notes are firm and sure, as in the brassy tornado she makes of "Blues In The Night." Firth's solo on the latter is one of the many times throughout the evening he and the vocalist feed on each other's jazz stylings to whip the music into frenzied peaks.
Her "Skylark" lands on the ear like a soft rain, but she can bust out the fun with a combination of "I Wanna Be Around" and "Goody Goody," surrender to the optimistic joy of "Come Rain Or Come Shine" and just get a little silly with "Arthur Murray Taught Me Dancing In A Hurry."
By the time she's wrapping things up with "Anyplace I Hang My Hat Is Home," you'll probably have a few fresh superlatives of your own with which to describe Marilyn Maye. Do me a favor and send some over to me. I'm sure I'll need them for her next engagement.
Posted on: Thursday, June 18, 2009 @ 12:31 PM Posted by:Michael Dale
If you're old enough to recall the pre-Jimmy Carter era of American comedy, when dark pieces like Jules Pfeiffer's Little Murders and Robert Altman's MASH drew humor from a sense of being emotionally anaesthetized from the ugliness of your surroundings, you may be tricked into assuming that Theresa Rebeck's Our House is a revival of some long-forgotten black comedy with an outlandish portrayal of television news that grew more realistic decades later. But this is a new piece premiering at Playwrights Horizons and despite some high moments, some clever lines and a sharp, sexy production helmed by Michael Meyer, Our House ends up seeming innocuously nostalgic and satirically toothless.
The young and attractive Jennifer (Morena Baccarin) has become one of her network's hottest stars by doubling as both a morning news anchor (easily gliding from stories of war atrocities to introducing segments on punk-inspired fall fashions) and the host of a reality series where America relishes in the manufactured tension created by a group of strangers sharing a house. Job security comes in the form of her sexual hold on Wes (Christopher Evan Welch) the smarmy, fast-talking network executive who resents the FCC's mandate that the airwaves are only free when stations provide news programs as a public service. ("Staying informed, in America, is optional.")
Meanwhile, in a seemingly unremarkable St. Louis home, four real-life roommates actually do share a tense living arrangement, mostly due to the socially inept Merv (Jeremy Strong), who is addicted to Jennifer's programs. When a newsworthy event takes place in the Midwestern home, Jennifer is the only reporter given special access to the locale, where the difference between professional ethics and a depraved indifference to human suffering becomes debatable and journalistic integrity is no match for a thirst for ratings.
The cast is solid, particularly when Welch's megalomaniacal Wes delivers a report to his board of directors on the patriotism of ignorance (Rebeck's sharpest writing) and when Baccarin's Jennifer freaks out over the on-air wardrobe choices she's handed. (Costume designer Susan Hilferty contributes fine character-defining work, particularly in the sexed-up progression of the anchor's outfits.) Strong plays Merv with the kind of exaggerated dumbness that seems fake until you see someone on TV who really acts that way and Stephen Kunken serves as an acerbic voice of reason as news exec, Stu. Derek McLane's set nicely contrasts the imposingly sparse and edgy world of the network offices with the improvised hominess of the St. Louis dwelling.
With today's audiences cynically savvy enough to question the truthfulness of anything packaged as reality, Our House may amuse, but moments that seem intended to shock with its social commentary instead feel as familiar as a comfortable old re-run.
Photos by Joan Marcus: Top: Christopher Evan Welch and Morena Baccarin; Bottom: Christopher Evan Welch and Stephen Kunken.
Posted on: Sunday, June 14, 2009 @ 04:02 AM Posted by:Michael Dale
Just in time for the centennial of the great lyricist's bar mitzvah, Mark Nadler arrives at The Metropolitan Room with a smashing celebration of the words of Ira Gershwin. Titled ...His Lovely Wife, Ira, after an infamous fopaux made by a British radio announcer, Nadler explains his mission here is to explore beyond the "indelible ampersand attaching him to George" and honor the elder Gershwin's brilliance outside of his more gregarious brother's shadow.
Gregarious, of course, is a word I'd wager has been used to describe Nadler himself quite often. Combining the zaniness of Groucho, the joyousness of Harpo, the musicality of Chico and, well... a much more versatile singing voice than Zeppo, this singer/pianist/arranger/historian can always be counted on to put on a show that entertains ferociously while educating audiences on the intricacies of the American Songbook. The humor is only slightly subdued this time around, but Nadler's textbook knowledge and tremendous gift for pointing out fresh nuance in songs we've heard a hundred times before helps make this one of his more beguiling efforts.
After a pairing of "Gotta Have Me Go With You" and "I'll Supply The Title (You Supply The Tune)" (both with music by Harold Arlen) to introduce the evening's theme of collaboration (He calls songwriting, "Two arts under emotional pressure coalescing into a third.") Nadler gives a practical demonstration of the craft involved as he "becomes" Ira Gershwin trying to fit words into an especially intricate George Gershwin composition. He claps out the rhythm several times, letting it sink in and creates "dummy lyrics"; the nonsense sentences used by lyricists in the days before tape recorders to help them remember how a melody scans. All the while he complains aloud, "Fascinating rhythm, you've got me on the go. Fascinating rhythm, I'm all a-quiver," until realizing that the words he uses to express his struggle are the perfect companions for that advanced syncopation. It takes a while to figure out exactly what he's doing (well, you have a head start now) but the result is an, indeed, fascinating playlet.
Another example of the artistic sweat exuded by this perfectionist is a series of lyrics set to the same Jerome Kern melody, showing how after many, many revisions the oddity "Manhattan Madness' evolved into the sumptuous "Long Ago And Far Away."
Ira Gershwin's insistence on not using the phrase," I love you," in his love songs is demonstrated with a wistful "Someone To Watch Over Me" and an especially tense, "Embraceable You," where a hopeful lover carefully chooses the right words to help win his heart's desire. What is especially evident in ballads is Nadler's captivating ability, as both vocalist and pianist, to give classic compositions unexpected conversational phrasing that is both melodic and natural.
"Love Is Sweeping The Country" is an old standard that has been given new life by the gay marriage rights movement, but when Nadler places meaningful emphasis on, "Each girl and boy alike / Sharing joy alike," it makes you feel like the all-encompassing interpretation was intended all along. The performer's optimism for the country's new administration feeds his sincere rendering of "It's A New World" (music by Arlen) and with a wink to those who would have religion dictate politics, he sings "It Ain't Necessarily So" with incredulous wonderment at the unbelievable accomplishments of Jonah, David & Co.
In one of the evening's most heartfelt moments, Nadler "becomes" Ira Gershwin once again; this time reacting to the unexpected death of his 38-year-old brother and artistic partner. When his mourning brings new, but oh-so-right, meaning to "The Man That Got Away," one can't help but wonder what the magnificent scores the pair might have produced during what we now call Broadway's Golden Age.
Mark Nadler's ...His Lovely Wife, Ira plays Thursday nights through June 25th. It's a chance to see one of cabaret's brightest and most inventive stars in peak form.
Posted on: Thursday, June 11, 2009 @ 02:39 AM Posted by:Michael Dale
While the situations presented by playwright Geoffrey Nauffts in his drama Next Fall are certainly realistic, the evening suffers from a steady feeling of contrivance as the storytelling pieces fall too neatly into place and a nagging sense that the playwright has avoided certain obvious issues that would add some needed depth to the piece.
Aspiring actor Luke (Patrick Heusinger) lies in a coma after being hit by a taxi, while his partner Adam (Patrick Breen), with whom he's been living in a committed relationship for four years, stresses in the waiting room. Only family members are allowed to see him and if Adam explained to Luke's somewhat ditzy mom (Connie Ray) and gruff, domineering father, conveniently nicknamed Butch (Cotter Smith), why he should also be at their son's bedside it would out his lover to his parents. (The issue of whether or not the hospital would consider an unmarried gay couple in a committed relationship as family is never brought up.) Compounding the matter is that Butch is making serious decisions regarding Luke's treatment, unaware of any reason why Adam should be consulted in the matter.
Scenes alternate between the present day hospital events and a progression of flashbacks that bring us up to speed on the fellows' relationship, beginning when the young and handsome Luke, on a cater-waiter gig, sets out to meet the older, nebbishy Adam by giving him an unnecessary Heimlich maneuver. ("I just wanted to get my arms around you.") The steady conflict in their relationship stems from Adam's objection over Luke's devout Christianity; not because of his own atheism, but because he doesn't see the sense in a gay man following a faith that condemns his own sexuality. His partner's insistence that accepting Christ insures you a place in heaven despite your sins - there is no argument from Adam when Luke's beliefs suggest that two men making love is a sin that requires forgiveness - is countered by a sobering hypothetical ("So then, if Matthew Shepard hadn't accepted Jesus Christ before he died, he's in hell, and his killers who, say, have, are going to heaven? Is that what you're saying?") but the subject is dropped just as things are getting interesting.
Nauffts can write funny lines for his two central characters and have them bring up thought-provoking topics for viewers to ponder later on, but he never gives us any sense of them as a couple in love. There is amusing bantering but nothing in the way of tenderness and affection. In one scene Adam frantically tries to hide anything in their apartment that hints of homosexuality, anticipating an unexpected visit from his Bible-revering dad. His insistence that his life partner make himself scarce and Luke's refusal to do him that favor doesn't exactly build empathy for their relationship.
While Butch is presented as the obstacle between Adam and his desire to be with his partner during what could be his final moments, the conflict lacks impact because the father is never made aware of his son's sexuality and the true nature of their relationship. He comes off as a bit of a bully, but given that his son's life is on the line such behavior might be understood, especially in a climactic scene where Luke starts standing up for his own rights and Butch has no idea why this stranger is telling him what to do. The scene ends with a moment that seems aimed to strike hard emotionally but is just too coincidental to be believable. Also not believable is quick exchange where Butch uses both a homophobic and a racial slur, because nothing else in the script justifies suddenly painting him as a bigoted man.
But despite holes in the plot the evening's surface is smooth and rather enjoyable, thanks to crisp staging by Sheryl Kaller that emphasizes the wit of Nauffts' dialogue. While the characters lack empathy, the actors (including Maddie Corman and Sean Dugan in roles that exist primarily to give Adam a chance to speak openly) give appealing performances. There are some especially nice moments between Ray and Breen as the mother silently hints that she's beginning to understand Adam's position.
Next Fall is that kind of play that, at first, appears to be tackling some weighty issues. But as the evening progresses it becomes apparent that the author is only lightly tapping them.
Photos by Carol Rosegg: Top: Patrick Heusinger and Patrick Breen; Bottom: Patrick Heusinger and Patrick Breen
Posted on: Tuesday, June 09, 2009 @ 02:37 AM Posted by:Michael Dale
I suppose if Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weill ever took a crack at writing theatre for young Weimar audiences, their effort might have had a strong likeness to Stephin Merritt and David Greenspan's creepily enchanting fantasy, Coraline, receiving a production from MCC that's far too interesting for viewers to be overly concerned with the occasional bumps.
If you're wondering how the new musical compares with Neil Gaiman's source novel or the recent feature film, please wonder elsewhere, as this was my first exposure the video game inspiration. (At first I thought I was off to see a revival and was wondering why they removed the words "or Change" from the title.)
The always engaging mid-50s character actress Jane Houdyshell plays the central role of Coraline, a precocious 9-year-old tyke with a proper Brit accent. This brilliant casting move spares us from the annoyance of having to endure 90 minutes of watching an actual precocious 9-year-old tyke with a proper Brit accent. (address your hate mail to mdale212@yahoo.com) Suspend your disbelief and she's quite convincing as the wise, brave and tricky lass who, tired of being ignored by her workaholic parents, finds passage through a secret door in their new home which leads to an alternate world where she's greeted by the loving and attentive Other Mother and Other Father. In this new world, variations of the people she knows in real life have eyes that are actually buttons sewn onto their faces and Other Mother (Greenspan reserves this juicy role - with a grandly overdone exit song - for himself) plans to have her pupiled guest undergo the same treatment.
Director Leigh Silverman is especially good with this kind of slightly off-kilter theatrics and the production has that impish little theatre feel. Christine Jones' set is a clutter of doors and nearly three dozen pianos (toy, grand, spinet and prepared) many of which are played by Phyllis Chen for both musical accompaniment and sound effects. Merritt's short, character-driven songs - ending without applause buttons - appropriately sound like dry, unsentimental nursery rhymes with their uncomplicated melodies and simple poetry.
The ensemble of actors play multiple roles as various rodents, ghosts and people, with fine turns by January LaVoy and Francis Jue as a pair of aged actresses living in the imagined glories of their past and Julian Fleisher as a snidely grinning cat.
But while Coraline almost always claims your attention, the material lacks the perpetual forward motion that musical theatre demands in order to inspire emotional involvement. The score has its charming tunes and pleasing wordplay, but the songs tend to linger on moments instead of taking the story anywhere. And while the theatricality of the production entertains, it sometimes comes at the expense of adding real urgency to the title character's predicament, particularly when Other Mother leans to the campier side.
But Coraline is one of those cases where the flaws are just a matter of the musical not quite being up to the high ambitions of the creators. If the text as a whole can use a bit of dramaturgy, there are enough individual pieces here to admire and enjoy.
Photos by Joan Marcus: Top: Francis Jue, Jayne Houdyshell, Elliot Villar and William Youmans; Bottom: David Greenspan
Posted on: Thursday, June 04, 2009 @ 09:37 AM Posted by:Michael Dale
One of the many reasons I've been a fan of the Opening Doors Theatre Company since their debut production of Bring Back Birdie two-and-a-half years ago is the consistent ability of their directors and choreographers to have as many as a dozen actors singing and dancing on the small cabaret stage of The Duplex (already occupied by a piano) without ever looking crowded. But that's not a concern with their newest venture, the hilarious and tuneful Cy Coleman/Michael Stewart 1977 musical, I Love My Wife.
But the fact that the latest entry in their Closing Notice series employs the same number of performers that were needed when the show opened at the Barrymore (8) is not the only thing that separates this one from Producer/Artistic Director Suzanne Adams' previous mountings. While Closing Notice has been dedicated to revisiting less-successful outings such as Fade Out-Fade In and The Best Little Whorehouse Goes Public, I Love My Wife was a pretty popular hit in its day. The story of two married couples from Trenton, New Jersey who awkwardly try and spice up their sex lives by arranging a Christmas Eve foursome (only to discover that their heart's desire lies no further than their own back yard) ran for 857 Broadway performances and earned Tony Awards for director Gene Saks and star (though nominated as featured actor) Lenny Baker. Sadly, this would be Baker's last stage role as he succumbed to cancer in 1982. The cast also included future Tony winners James Naughton and Joanna Gleason.
And while I Love My Wife hasn't been completely ignored by regional theatres and amateur groups, its post-Broadway popularity was most likely stifled by the tragedy of the AIDS epidemic, which quickly made the idea of a musical comedy about casual sex less hip and less funny. Also, the comical second act vaudevillian showstopper about recreational drug use called, "Everybody Today Is Turning On," may not have played well during the era of "Just Say No."
But try telling that to the opening night crowd, laughing their assorted heads off at Stewart's fast and funny book coupled with the light wit of his first set of Broadway lyrics. Coleman provides a scrumptious assortment of musical styles including an insanely catchy barrelhouse number ("Hey There, Good Times") a twangy consideration of marital settling ("Someone Wonderful I Missed") and a jaunty jazz riff on the pleasures of pluralism ("By Threes"). With the show trimmed to an intemissionless 90 minutes (only one song, "Scream," has been completely axed), director/choreographer Marc Tumminelli's tone of sophistication and silliness helps the material play like a song and sketch revue that fits very comfortably in the cozy space. (Stephanie Fittro contributes as co-choreographer.)
The terrific octet of performers fit the comic style and familiar character types like a latex glove, with Nicholas Marinucci as the slightly sleazy wannabe swinger, Wally; Billy Ernst as his innocent and amiable pal, Alvin; Christy Faber as the cute and kittenish Cleo and Jean McCormick as the tightly wound Monica, who can get a little trashy in Alvin's musical fantasies. Adding to the fun are Ted Kociolek (piano/music direction), Dennis Michael Keefe (bass), Gregory Jon Phelps and Lou Steele as an ever present quartet of acting and singing commentators. While the score doesn't provide the opportunity for vocal flourishes (save for some charged up belting by Faber in her pop anthem, "Love Revolution"), the cast sounds great singing appropriately as everyday people, with tight harmonies sounding crisp and clear. (No amplification, by the way.)
Ultimately a clean little show that embraces monogamy, I Love My Wife is a refreshing evening of smart, low-key musical comedy for grown-ups. And Opening Doors serves it up with style and panache.
Photo by Hector Coris: Billy Ernst, Jean McCormick, Christy Faber and Nicholas Marinucci
Posted on: Tuesday, June 02, 2009 @ 02:05 AM Posted by:Michael Dale
"Oh, I get it. That one's Blanche and that one's Stella."
"No, wait that one's Blanche and that one's... Maggie the Cat?
"Hold on... I think they're both Blanche."
These are some of the random thoughts that whizzed through my head while trying to see through the clutter of Zakiyyah Alexander's 10 Things to Do Before I Die, a game effort but a frustratingly unfocused piece receiving a well-acted premiere production via Second Stage Theatre Uptown.
Vida (Natalie Venetia Belcon) is a tough-loving New York City public high school teacher leading her students through an analysis of Tennessee Williams' A Streetcar Named Desire in preparation for a field trip to see the play on Broadway. She hasn't spoken to her sister Nina (Tracie Thoms) since the latter's best-selling first book - a rehashing of how their absent mother and alcoholic father contributed to her numerous unsuccessful relationships with men - described the former as one who slept with numerous lovers in search of a father figure. When a large delivery of their recently deceased dad's possessions are shipped to Nina's apartment, the two of them are forced to, you might say, sort through their messy past together.
But while the playwright thankfully avoids some of the obvious "heartwarming" moments such a setup might inspire, she never allows the contents of the numerous brown boxes - including their father's personal list of "10 things to do before I die" - to have any significant impact. Sitting through scenes depicting unhealthy relationships with men, nightmarish hallucinations, pill addiction and the occasional panic attack (the New York equivalent of having The Vapors?) it becomes clear by the second act that this duo character study reveals little of interest about its subjects.
Which is such a shame because the two leading ladies are both putting in some very good work. Belcon makes Vida lovingly sympathetic woman with a firm grip on her defensive shield; just busting for a chance to allow herself to let loose. Thoms takes the classic cliché of the young, hip and neurotic New York creative type and spins her into a wisecracking whirlwind of self-doubt and commitment-phobia.
Perhaps it's because the Uptown series, meant to give early-career support to emerging playwrights, is budgeted for a limited rehearsal period and modest production values, that director Jackson Gay's staging provides just the simple meat-and-potatoes basics required for the piece. In good supporting turns, Francois Battiste (as Nina's ex-party boy turned clean-cut corporate boyfriend) and Dion Graham (as the married man Vida has been sleeping with) manage to keep their parts from appearing too much like underwritten stereotypes, but the guy who really makes an impression is Kyle Betram; very touching as a student whose interest in Tennessee Williams has at least a little to do with his crush on Vida.
Graham and Betram share the unfortunate task of playing out a ridiculously unrealistic scene where Vida angrily leaves the two of them alone in her own apartment ("When I'm back both of you are gone.") leaving the guys to fight over her by showing off their ability to quote Williams and Shakespeare. Like so much of the play, there's the hint of a good idea but the execution leaves more to be desired.
Photos by Joan Marcus: top: Tracie Thoms and Francois Battiste; bottom: Natalie Venetia Belcon and Kyle Beltran
************************************** In a Broadway season that has seen true love blossom from a farting contest and a schoolgirl with a crush offer to show the object of her affection her "hoo-hoo," how refreshing it is to have a revival of Samson Raphaelson‘s light 1934 comedy, Accent On Youth, to bring a little adult romantic charm to the street. While comparisons to that Noel Coward masterpiece playing a few blocks downtown are inevitable, and the decades-old characters are comfortable clichés to modern audiences, director Daniel Sullivan's neat little drawing room production is finely polished and performed by a company that accents the play's clever dialogue.
David Hyde Pierce, always excellent at this sort of sweetly droll humor, plays a successful 51-year-old author of comedies ("No children but 19 plays!"), whose colleagues are concerned that his newest piece - a drama about a man in his 60s winning the heart of a woman in her 20s - would be seen as distasteful by audiences. But when he makes a slight plot alteration based on a May/December situation that has cropped up in his own life, the play becomes a smash and its elderly leading man (Byron Jennings, delightfully distinguished as ever) becomes a matinee idol. But the success of the play winds up having an adverse effect on the playwright's love life with his younger secretary turned leading lady. (Mary Catherine Garrison is quite adorable as his mousey, efficient assistant who evolves into a believably unnatural imitation of Broadway elegance.)
Admirable contributors to the shenanigans include Charles Kimbrough as a foxy gentleman's gentleman who is quite adept at Indian wrestling, David Furr as an actor impeccable at playing society love interests, Rosie Benton as a leading lady leading the ever-so-madcap life and Lisa Banes as a seasoned actress more concerned with winning the audience's sympathy than serving the story.
While placing a single intermission after the first of the play's three acts lopsides the evening a bit, the abundance of snappy dialogue ("You write your women awfully well. Funny that you should be so stupid about them in life.") flows smoothly, with Jane Greenwood's comfortably stylish costumes and John Lee Beatty's unit set (the playwright's study lined with wood panels and neatly organized bookshelves) beautifully adding to the casual elegance of the period.
Now, if they could just do something about that bit of business where Pierce shakes his fanny at the audience.
Photo of David Hyde Pierce and Mary Catherine Garrison by Joan Marcus
Posted on: Friday, May 29, 2009 @ 03:29 PM Posted by:Michael Dale
Let me put it this way... If Spring Awakening was the kind of show that made you feel good about the future of the American musical, I'd say there's a fine chance you'll enjoy Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson: The Concert Version. On the other hand, if you couldn't for the life of you stand one moment of Spring Awakening, or at the very least was of the humble opinion that it was far from the ground-breaking musical theatre revolution so many proclaimed it to be, I'd say there's a very good chance you will looooooooooooooove Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson: The Concert Version.
Now, I'm not saying for certain that director/bookwriter Alex Timbers (co-creator of A Very Merry Unauthorized Children's Scientology Pageant) and composer/lyricist Michael Friedman (writer of playfully irreverent songs for The Civilians) are aiming their satirical darts directly at the Tony-winning Duncan Sheik/Stephen Sater hit, but it sure as heck seems that way for their musical's all-important mood-establishing first five minutes. The attractive, young cast - clad by Emily Rebholz in hot variations of 19th Century American garb - assemble on Donyale Werle set (a rustic saloon that looks converted into a 21st Century garage band dive bar) and stare out at the audience with contemporary attitudes and looks of glazed sexuality before the thin, pretty guy with thick, dark hair (Benjamin Walker as Andrew Jackson) announces, "I'm wearing some tight, tight jeans and tonight we're delving into some serious, serious shit."
Next, an emo rocker cowboy asks the musical question, "Why wouldn't you / Ever go out with me in school? / You always went out / With those guys / Who thought they were so cool." Other emo rocker cowboys reassure him that, "It's the early Nineteenth Century / And we're gonna take this country back," and soon the whole cast is performing simple, repetitive dance moves to the catchy anthem, "Populism, Yea, Yea!" while Justin Townsend's concert lighting makes periodic attempts to blind as many viewers as possible.
But as the ninety minute freestyle vaudeville disguised as a biography of our sixth president impishly scurries about, it becomes more evident that Timbers and Friedman are more specifically taking aim at the conventions followed by so-called unconventional musicals where writers and composers with little or no background in musical theatre find their loose dramaturgy, near-rhyming and foggy symbolism hailed as a reinvention of the art form.
The practice of having period characters singing in vulgar contemporary vernacular (a technique that goes at least as far back as Rodger and Hart's rebellious A Connecticut Yankee) is mocked to its over-analytical extremes as our hero sings, "Life sucks / My life sucks in particular." Vague symbolism is kicked in the pants in a scene where our future president bonds with his future wife (Maria Elena Ramirez) as he teaches her the pleasures of self-inflicted bleeding. The song, "Illness As Metaphor," has a third character commenting, "It's not blood. / It's a metaphor for love. / These aren't veins, / Just the beating of my heart. / The fever isn't real. / It represents how I feel. / My pain transformed into art," as the couple splash each other with a basinful of the red stuff while furiously making out. Even the title of the fully staged production, Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson: The Concert Version, smacks of spoofing the kind of high-energy rock concert staging that excites crowds and ignores subtext.
Underneath it all, of course, is the story of the first American president not to come out of Virginian wealth or Massachusetts intelligentsia (a/k/a being an Adams); elected on the strength of his campaign's obtuse logic of kicking out the "Injuns" and giving America back to the people. (His intense hatred of the British, the Spanish and George Washington serve as subplots.) While there are scattered references to made Reagan, Clinton, Obama and the Bushes, Jackson doesn't seem to represent anything more than the all-too-frequent emergence of a populist symbol of hope who is terrific at getting elected but lacking when it comes to actual service. Walker is great fun as a callow, sexy, empty-headed jingoist driven by hated who sees no choice but to turn tyrannical in order to survive the realities of politics.
Timbers has a very appealing supporting company working with knockabout comedy fury with especially hilarious supporting turns from Colleen Werthmann as an overly perky, wheelchair-bound, quadriplegic lesbian narrator with a goofy sweater and Jeff Hiller playing John Quincy Adams as a privileged nerd with an annoyingly winy mannerisms.
While Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson: The Concert Version is presented as part of the Public Theater's Public LAB series, and thus meant to be evaluated as a work in progress, the wild antics taking place on their Shiva stage are quite polished. The last twenty minutes or so can use some trimming, as the serious issues of Jackson's manifest destiny beliefs are seen through more humanist eyes, but otherwise the piece looks ready for continued life on the island once occupied by the Wappingers.
Photos by Joan Marcus: Top: Benjamin Walker and Company; Bottom: Lisa Joyce (on floor), Benjamin Walker, Darren Goldstein, Bryce Pinkham, Ben Steinfeld, Jeff Hiller and Lucas Near-Verbrugghe
Posted on: Saturday, May 23, 2009 @ 07:16 PM Posted by:Michael Dale
Now, this is not exactly a full-out adaptation of Moliere's story of a religious shyster who tries to charm a well-to-do lamb out of his fortune while snaring a snog or two from the guy's wife. No, Weiner and Preisser (the latter also directs) thin the plot into the simple fact that Orgon (a cute and amiable Ted Lange) has begun donating every cent he has to a man of the crushed red velvet cloth whose bible says, "The best way to help the poor is by not being one of them," and his family wants to stop him.
In the intimate Harold Clurman Theatre, there's no escaping the fact that nearly each audience member will feel directly addressed by the flamboyant holy man ("Didn't they tell you there is no fourth wall in this church?") and at times De Shields will literally climb over seats to place his "healing hands" on a lady of his choosing and practically lap dance her to salvation. He also deputizes the ladies of his choir to heal any suffering men out there with various body parts. (It's all suggestive, but ultimately clean.)
Twelfth Night certainly works if played darker than the Delecorte's current entertainment, if simply for the fact that, if we go strictly by Shakespeare's words, the play ends with its most selfless and heroic character facing the rest of his life in prison. Grief for loved ones and unrequited passion also figure in heavily, not to mention the opportunity to explore erotic possibilities as its cross-dressing central female character must hide her gender from both the man she's smitten with and the woman she's accidentally attracted.
Twelfth Night's subplot, which figures just about as prominently as the main one, is also stocked with exceptional performances. Jay O. Sanders, an old pro at playing boisterously fun drunkards, and the verbally biting Julie White are terrific as Olivia's uncle, Sir Toby Belch and his lusty companion, his niece's gentlewoman, Maria. In an outlandish comic turn, Hamish Linklater sports long blonde tresses and a loopy Valley Boy accent as Olivia's would-be suitor, the thickheaded Sir Andrew Aguecheek, stumbling down hills and blurting out lines with crowd-pleasing humor. As the dour Malvolio, who falls victim to a revengeful prank, Michael Cumpsty is a model of Dickensian smugness, getting broad laughs by playing straight.
The first child born of a pair of Norwegian-American 1970s liberals who believed in population control and getting American troops out of Vietnam, Anika was actually the fourth addition to the Larsen family, coming after three of her six adopted siblings and before her three biological ones. This racially mixed bunch (each given a Norwegian name in an effort to create a family identity) could teach Mike and Carol Brady a lesson or two about the realities of blended families.
The flag of Scotland hangs proudly behind 
Bookwriter William F. Brown short-hands the tale of how farm girl Dorothy Gale gets caught up in a twister that transports her to a land of witches, munchkins, a yellow brick road (suitable for easing down) and one deceptive wizard. His Spartan scenes quickly surrender to Charlie Smalls' catchy assortment of soul, funk, jazz, gospel and disco songs; some of which have lyrics that are actually somewhat associated with the plot. For good measure Luther Vandross contributed a celebratory anthem that just screams for radio play.
Happily, this Wiz begins and ends with the luminous singing actress LaChanze, who opens and closes the evening in two roles that require her to do little more than say a few lines and then wrap her gorgeously expressive mezzo around a ballad. Her lovely warmth as Aunt Em is just a warm-up for her Act II appearance (Kail gives her an Eartha Kittenish re-entrance), glimmering charm and exceptional vocal phrasing as the good witch Glinda.
But perhaps Broadway's most unusual musical expression of uninhibited joy passed on from stage to house is the final moment of 
Wilcox is terrific in the non-traditional leading male role. His Jerry is scruffy, worn and angular with a strong "regular guy" singing voice. But this is an ensemble show with lots of interesting characters to cheer for. Jerry's big lug buddy Dave (the very funny and endearing Joe Coots), feels emasculated because his wife Georgie (Jenn Colella) has become the breadwinner, despite her attempts to be emotionally supportive. Their former supervisor, Harold (Michael Rupert), has been hiding his unemployment from his stuff-loving wife Vicki (Michele Ragusa) because he fears she'll leave him without his executive salary. Lonely Malcolm (Allen E. Read) has been spending most of his life taking care of his ailing mother and while he's grateful for the friendship Jerry and Dave offer, it's his new relationship with the likeable but thickheaded Ethan (Jason Babinsky) that brings him real happiness.
There is, of course, the biology-defying factor of casting a black woman as the mother of three white children, but while certainly a playgoer has the right to object to the color-blind casting as unrealistic, there's nothing in the play's content that didn't allow me to suspend disbelief and accept the production's parameters of reality.
Also quite marvelous is her regular accompanying trio of music director Ted Firth on piano, Tom Hubbard on bass and Jim Eklof on drums. There's a heck of a lot of titles covered in this one so much of the show consists of medleys, such as the peppy jazz arrangement combining "My Shining Hour," "Day In Day Out," "Too Marvelous For Words," "You Must Have Been a Beautiful Baby," "Jeepers Creepers" and "Something's Gotta Give."
The young and attractive Jennifer (Morena Baccarin) has become one of her network's hottest stars by doubling as both a morning news anchor (easily gliding from stories of war atrocities to introducing segments on punk-inspired fall fashions) and the host of a reality series where America relishes in the manufactured tension created by a group of strangers sharing a house. Job security comes in the form of her sexual hold on Wes (Christopher Evan Welch) the smarmy, fast-talking network executive who resents the FCC's mandate that the airwaves are only free when stations provide news programs as a public service. ("Staying informed, in America, is optional.")
The cast is solid, particularly when Welch's megalomaniacal Wes delivers a report to his board of directors on the patriotism of ignorance (Rebeck's sharpest writing) and when Baccarin's Jennifer freaks out over the on-air wardrobe choices she's handed. (Costume designer Susan Hilferty contributes fine character-defining work, particularly in the sexed-up progression of the anchor's outfits.) Strong plays Merv with the kind of exaggerated dumbness that seems fake until you see someone on TV who really acts that way and Stephen Kunken serves as an acerbic voice of reason as news exec, Stu. Derek McLane's set nicely contrasts the imposingly sparse and edgy world of the network offices with the improvised hominess of the St. Louis dwelling.
Gregarious, of course, is a word I'd wager has been used to describe Nadler himself quite often. Combining the zaniness of Groucho, the joyousness of Harpo, the musicality of Chico and, well... a much more versatile singing voice than Zeppo, this singer/pianist/arranger/historian can always be counted on to put on a show that entertains ferociously while educating audiences on the intricacies of the American Songbook. The humor is only slightly subdued this time around, but Nadler's textbook knowledge and tremendous gift for pointing out fresh nuance in songs we've heard a hundred times before helps make this one of his more beguiling efforts.
Aspiring actor Luke (Patrick Heusinger) lies in a coma after being hit by a taxi, while his partner Adam (Patrick Breen), with whom he's been living in a committed relationship for four years, stresses in the waiting room. Only family members are allowed to see him and if Adam explained to Luke's somewhat ditzy mom (Connie Ray) and gruff, domineering father, conveniently nicknamed Butch (Cotter Smith), why he should also be at their son's bedside it would out his lover to his parents. (The issue of whether or not the hospital would consider an unmarried gay couple in a committed relationship as family is never brought up.) Compounding the matter is that Butch is making serious decisions regarding Luke's treatment, unaware of any reason why Adam should be consulted in the matter.
While Butch is presented as the obstacle between Adam and his desire to be with his partner during what could be his final moments, the conflict lacks impact because the father is never made aware of his son's sexuality and the true nature of their relationship. He comes off as a bit of a bully, but given that his son's life is on the line such behavior might be understood, especially in a climactic scene where Luke starts standing up for his own rights and Butch has no idea why this stranger is telling him what to do. The scene ends with a moment that seems aimed to strike hard emotionally but is just too coincidental to be believable. Also not believable is quick exchange where Butch uses both a homophobic and a racial slur, because nothing else in the script justifies suddenly painting him as a bigoted man.
If you're wondering how the new musical compares with Neil Gaiman's source novel or the recent feature film, please wonder elsewhere, as this was my first exposure the video game inspiration. (At first I thought I was off to see a revival and was wondering why they removed the words "or Change" from the title.)
Director Leigh Silverman is especially good with this kind of slightly off-kilter theatrics and the production has that impish little theatre feel. Christine Jones' set is a clutter of doors and nearly three dozen pianos (toy, grand, spinet and prepared) many of which are played by Phyllis Chen for both musical accompaniment and sound effects. Merritt's short, character-driven songs - ending without applause buttons - appropriately sound like dry, unsentimental nursery rhymes with their uncomplicated melodies and simple poetry.
But the fact that the latest entry in their Closing Notice series employs the same number of performers that were needed when the show opened at the Barrymore (8) is not the only thing that separates this one from Producer/Artistic Director Suzanne Adams' previous mountings. While Closing Notice has been dedicated to revisiting less-successful outings such as Fade Out-Fade In and The Best Little Whorehouse Goes Public, I Love My Wife was a pretty popular hit in its day. The story of two married couples from Trenton, New Jersey who awkwardly try and spice up their sex lives by arranging a Christmas Eve foursome (only to discover that their heart's desire lies no further than their own back yard) ran for 857 Broadway performances and earned Tony Awards for director Gene Saks and star (though nominated as featured actor) Lenny Baker. Sadly, this would be Baker's last stage role as he succumbed to cancer in 1982. The cast also included future Tony winners James Naughton and Joanna Gleason.
Vida (Natalie Venetia Belcon) is a tough-loving New York City public high school teacher leading her students through an analysis of Tennessee Williams' A Streetcar Named Desire in preparation for a field trip to see the play on Broadway. She hasn't spoken to her sister Nina (Tracie Thoms) since the latter's best-selling first book - a rehashing of how their absent mother and alcoholic father contributed to her numerous unsuccessful relationships with men - described the former as one who slept with numerous lovers in search of a father figure. When a large delivery of their recently deceased dad's possessions are shipped to Nina's apartment, the two of them are forced to, you might say, sort through their messy past together.
Which is such a shame because the two leading ladies are both putting in some very good work. Belcon makes Vida lovingly sympathetic woman with a firm grip on her defensive shield; just busting for a chance to allow herself to let loose. Thoms takes the classic cliché of the young, hip and neurotic New York creative type and spins her into a wisecracking whirlwind of self-doubt and commitment-phobia.
David Hyde Pierce, always excellent at this sort of sweetly droll humor, plays a successful 51-year-old author of comedies ("No children but 19 plays!"), whose colleagues are concerned that his newest piece - a drama about a man in his 60s winning the heart of a woman in her 20s - would be seen as distasteful by audiences. But when he makes a slight plot alteration based on a May/December situation that has cropped up in his own life, the play becomes a smash and its elderly leading man (Byron Jennings, delightfully distinguished as ever) becomes a matinee idol. But the success of the play winds up having an adverse effect on the playwright's love life with his younger secretary turned leading lady. (Mary Catherine Garrison is quite adorable as his mousey, efficient assistant who evolves into a believably unnatural imitation of Broadway elegance.)
Now, I'm not saying for certain that director/bookwriter Alex Timbers (co-creator of A Very Merry Unauthorized Children's Scientology Pageant) and composer/lyricist Michael Friedman (writer of playfully irreverent songs for The Civilians) are aiming their satirical darts directly at the Tony-winning Duncan Sheik/Stephen Sater hit, but it sure as heck seems that way for their musical's all-important mood-establishing first five minutes. The attractive, young cast - clad by Emily Rebholz in hot variations of 19th Century American garb - assemble on Donyale Werle set (a rustic saloon that looks converted into a 21st Century garage band dive bar) and stare out at the audience with contemporary attitudes and looks of glazed sexuality before the thin, pretty guy with thick, dark hair (Benjamin Walker as Andrew Jackson) announces, "I'm wearing some tight, tight jeans and tonight we're delving into some serious, serious shit."
The practice of having period characters singing in vulgar contemporary vernacular (a technique that goes at least as far back as Rodger and Hart's rebellious A Connecticut Yankee) is mocked to its over-analytical extremes as our hero sings, "Life sucks / My life sucks in particular." Vague symbolism is kicked in the pants in a scene where our future president bonds with his future wife (Maria Elena Ramirez) as he teaches her the pleasures of self-inflicted bleeding. The song, "Illness As Metaphor," has a third character commenting, "It's not blood. / It's a metaphor for love. / These aren't veins, / Just the beating of my heart. / The fever isn't real. / It represents how I feel. / My pain transformed into art," as the couple splash each other with a basinful of the red stuff while furiously making out. Even the title of the fully staged production, Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson: The Concert Version, smacks of spoofing the kind of high-energy rock concert staging that excites crowds and ignores subtext.
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