Review: Bright Lights, Big City

    When Bright Lights, Big City opened at the New York Theater Workshop, reviewers were not kind.  Based on the acclaimed, semi-autobiographical novel by Jay McInerney, this tale of one young man's encounters with sex, drugs and rock-and roll in the hedonistic 80's was supposed to be the next Rent.  But that didn't happen.  Still, like many failed musicals, the show developed somewhat of a cult following.  It was recently resurrected and performed in concert form as part of the Guggenheim Museum's Works & Process series, giving avid fans a chance to revist the show, and allowing those who never saw the initial production to see what all the fuss was about.

    In its original incarnation, many of the problems with Bright Lights seemed to stem from the structure of the storytelling, with composer/lyricist Paul Scott Goodman appearing on stage as a narrator.  For this streamlined concert version-- 20 minutes shorter than the original show-- the focus was entirely on the music.  During a short interview that served as an "intermission" at the concert, McInerney kept asserting that "the music is better than the story."  And it's clear that Goodman can write catchy, rock infused  tunes, like the rousing title number, the comic "I Hate The French", and the heartfelt ballad "Calling My Brother."  But there was also a fair amount of  cringe-inducing material  like "Mummies at the Met " and "I Want to Have Sex Tonight."

    The cast was stellar, boasting some of Broadway's greatest talents-- Gavin Creel, Norm Lewis and Maya Days, all in fabulous voice.  The real standout was Annemarie Milazzo, who has been with this project since its inception. As the deceased mother of the protagonist, she sang a heart-wrenching song about watching her son celebrate his birthday over the course of time.  She deserved, and got, the most sustained applause of the evening.  Beyond this emotional high point, though, there's not much heart or depth to Bright Lights, Big City, so it's likely to remain part of the ever increasing canon of American musicals that would disappear but for a cadre of loyal and vociferous fans.

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