Review - The Legend of Julie Taymor, or The Musical That Killed Everybody!

The obligatory Spider-Man: Turn Off The Dark spoof that everyone figured would be a part of the 2011 New York International Fringe Festival obviously did not benefit from a series of workshops and readings before making its debut at the Bleecker Theatre. This one had to be a rush job.

In fact, bookwriter/lyricist Travis Ferguson and composer/lyricist Dave Ogrin only started writing The Legend of Julie Taymor, or The Musical That Killed Everybody! in April, before one or two of the pivotal plot twists of their show had even occurred in real life. Granted, reasonably talented theatre professions can be counted on to at least put up ninety minutes of silly inside humor and catchy tunes in such a short window of time, but the boys have whipped up more than just a fun little summertime Fringy spoof. They've actually written a good musical; clever book, interesting characters, funny lyrics, attractive music and an actual message. With a spirited cast under the swift comical guidance of director/choreographer Joe Barros, this musical has everything the bland bore at the Foxwoods lacks.

It even has what might turn out to be a breakout musical comedy performance. Jennifer Barnhart, the skilled puppeteer whose theatre career consists mainly of playing supporting roles in Avenue Q, plants her feet center stage in this one, lifts up her belty voice and campy sense of comedy, and knocks it out of the park, playing the manically obsessive Julie "Paymore" like she was Ethel Merman cast as Evita. (With a slight detour into Grace Slickness as she wails out her anthem, "I'm The Only True Artist.") The inspired lunacy of the plot has Paymore making creative decisions based solely on choosing the most expensive options, showing no regard for her cast as human beings (At one point she paints a shirtless actor as though her were nothing more than a canvass.) and even arranging for a publicity-making accident. But underneath, the authors steadily push the issue of questioning art's place on Broadway, in regards to what audiences really want out of theatre.

Also great fun is Clint Carter, as the smug, heavily accented composer Bruno of the band U[squared], who has no interest in musical theatre until he's told it'll be his opportunity to save Broadway ("I already saved the rainforest. And then I saved the children."). Christopher Davis Carlisle's slimy portrayal of newspaper columnist Lionel Weasel, is easily recognized as a knock-off of Michael Riedel, and his gossipy observations ("BroadwayWorld is owned by Glee.") and name-droppy adventures (He sings, "I gave Nick Adams steroids, which Mario Lopez hasn't forgiven / But I bet you didn't know that I fed the sushi to Jeremy Piven.") draw plenty of laughs from audience members in the know.

And that's the tricky thing about The Legend of Julie Taymor; while the casual theatre fan, and even a theatre novice, can follow the follow the story well enough, the jokes tend to be so inside the business that it's difficult to see the musical, as well done as it is, attracting an audience outside of industry professionals and obsessive fans. Most would find the humor in the excellent musical scene that has first preview audience members quickly Twittering negative comments about the show as it's being performed, but fewer would get the connection between Spider-Man's "Boy Falls From The Sky" and Taymor's "Boy Falls From The Rafters," sung by Barry Shafrin as a naïve actor based on Christopher Tierney, whose near-fatal dive during a preview performance made headlines around the world.

Jokes about Sutton Foster's love life, the inclusion of a Greek chorus to introduce the show and actual quotes from the real-life participants could fly over too many heads for the musical to have a life outside of the Fringe Festival, but cutting them would remove a good deal of the show's heart. Perhaps a musical theatre genius can figure out a solution. I wonder if Julie Taymor is available.

Photo © Sam Morris PR: Kiley L. McDonald, Michael Titone, Shaun Rice, Jennifer Barnhart, Clint Carter, Barry Shafrin and Lynn Craig.

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It's inevitable that The Woodshed Collective's The Tenant, a site-specific theatrical interpretation of Roland Topor's novella via Roman Polanski's film adaptation, will be compared with the downtown hit, Sleep No More. Both require audience members to freely walk through several floors of rooms, exploring the contents and running into actors playing out scenes. But despite its less elaborate production values, I found The Tenant to be a far superior and much more entertaining experience.

Whereas the buzz about Sleep No More indicates that there's a great deal of luck involved in finding a stimulating evening of theatre in its 100 rooms (I myself, despite my enthused exploring, witnessed only about 15 minutes worth of scene work and little more of interest during my three-hour stay.), The Tenant is a tightly woven ninety minute psychological thriller, played in the compact environs of West-Park Presbyterian Church, where 23 actors are continually tempting spectators to travel from one intriguing scenario to another.

It begins in a cramped little lounge, where the audience sees a short, silent orientation film followed by a quick scene in a Paris hospital room where a grim-faced building concierge (Lynne Rosenberg) tends to the expiring body of one of her tenants, who tried committing suicide by jumping out a window. She's interrupted by a quiet gentleman named Trelkovsky (Michael Crane), who inquires about the availability of the dying woman's room.

From there, the audience members are free to roam around the building as the company plays out six different interlocking narratives, written separately by Bekah Brunstetter, Sarah Burgess, Paul Cohen, Dylan Dawson, Steven Levenson and Tommy Smith. Each section centers on one or more residents of the building. There's the demanding elderly lady (Judith Greentree) being cared for by her crippled daughter (Jocelyn Kuritsky), the manipulations of the building's landlords (Dan Cozzens and Molly Ward), the grim goings-on in a wig shop where the album cover of The Rolling Stones' "Some Girls" is prominently displayed and the daily gossip and gathering at an outdoor café. The Common ground of each scenario is that Trelkovsky is gradually coming to the conclusion that his room's previous occupant was driven to suicide by the other tenants and now they intend to do the same to him.

Co-directed by Teddy Bergman and Stephen Brackett, the terse dialogue of the moody evening is played with delicious aloofness, even when audience members are standing inches away from the actors. Music by Duncan Sheik and David Van Tieghem, as well as sound design by Brandon Wolcott, subtly adds to the tension and designer Gabriel Hainer Evansohn provides the wonderfully dingy settings for the dilapidated residence.

You won't see all of the play in one visit, although you can follow a character and experience one entire section. But sound travels easily in the venue and while you're watching a conversation in one room you may want to go investigate that loud commotion you hear from down the hall. Or, while sitting in the café, you might notice an attractive woman undressing in the window above and be tempted to go upstairs and see what that's all about. Each room also has a video screen or television and at set moments there are film clips that catch everyone up on important events. Throughout the evening there was never more than a minute or two of time when I didn't run into an actor doing something interesting, even if it was just pushing me out of the way so he could run into the shower and throw up.

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