Michael Dale — Theater Critic

While our century began with inane 'jukebox musicals' that crowbarred pre-existing songs that were not written for the stage into makeshift plots (a refresher course in the genre is still being offered at The Winter Garden) American Idiot (along with the still-running Jersey Boys) shows it is possible to intelligently use such material to create a dramatically intriguing theatre piece. American Idiot may not offer an uplifting story, or even especially sympathetic characters, but most likely anyone who has gone through a youthful rebellion can see a bit of their determined, frightened, naïve and somewhat stupid selves on stage at the St. James Theatre.

Of course, the Sherie Rene Scott who describes herself on stage as, 'one of Broadway's biggest and brightest semi-stars,' in the enormously entertaining variety hour (and a half) she calls Everyday Rapture, is actually a character created by the Sherie Rene Scott who co-authored the smart, semi-autobiographical musical with Dick Scanlan. Which details are factual and which are, shall we say, enhanced, are for them to know and for us to not give a damn about as we're laughing, tapping our toes and enjoying the fizzy charms of this impeccably funny, semi-funked up chanteuse.

Of course, the Sherie Rene Scott who describes herself on stage as, 'one of Broadway's biggest and brightest semi-stars,' in the enormously entertaining variety hour (and a half) she calls Everyday Rapture, is actually a character created by the Sherie Rene Scott who co-authored the smart, semi-autobiographical musical with Dick Scanlan. Which details are factual and which are, shall we say, enhanced, are for them to know and for us to not give a damn about as we're laughing, tapping our toes and enjoying the fizzy charms of this impeccably funny, semi-funked up chanteuse.

While I wouldn't exactly use the exalted theatrical term 'ridiculous' to describe the newest Broadway mounting of La Cage aux Folles, it did strike me from time to time that director Terry Johnson's view of Jerry Herman and Harvey Fierstein's landmark musical tasted a bit like what the great Charles Ludlum might have done with the piece.

Like many of those unrevivable musicals from the early decades of the 20th Century, The Addams Family works best as a star vehicle, and the Lunt-Fontanne is presently hosting a constellation full of 'em.

I suppose if you've never seen a play or film about a bullying self-important artist who finds him or herself growing out of style and now must reluctantly pass the torch to the younger generation's new voice, then John Logan's Red is as good an introduction to the genre as any. It's a perfectly competent play receiving a perfectly competent production that never bores and even provides some interesting moments in its ninety minute life. But for a subject so involved and characters so passionate, Red doesn't excite.

Ken Ludwig's hotel suite farce, making comic fodder out of what happens when a 1934 Cleveland opera company arranges for a world famous Italian star to play the title role in a one-night gala performance of Otello, only to have him suddenly unable to perform minutes before curtain, may not be the most uproarious of entertainments, but it's certainly good for a decent stream of laughs when the pacing crackles and the door slamming is well-timed. Tucci, however, directs the piece as a comedy, seeming to want the laughs to come from a realistic exploration of the characters. And, of course, realistic explorations are what kills farce. While he does come up with some appropriately nutty visuals, the production suffers from too much thinking time.

While all is not sunshine, lollipops and rainbows in Martin McDonagh's newest gruesome comedy, A Behanding In Spokane, it is, by the playwright's standards, considerably lighter fare. No cats or children are harmed, nobody's shot in the head at point-blank range and there are no pots of urine involved at any time during the playwright's first piece set in America. Yes, there are characters that have gasoline poured on them and are then threatened with a lighter, but in moments like that the real suspense lies in whether or not we're about to see a really cool special effect.

Newcomers to Mamet will probably find Race more interesting than those familiar with his career. All the characteristics that satirists use to spoof the style of the author's more familiar works are there; the clipped, testosterone-driven dialogue, the uncensored language, the self-centered characters with a cold, unsentimental view of the world. Race is a bit like what would happen if the professor from Oleanna was getting legal advice from the Hollywood execs of Speed-the-Plow.

Fela! certainly isn't meant to be a complete portrait of its title character. The action of the show takes place before the man dismissed AIDS as a myth (he eventually died from it) and his practice of polygamy (he married 27 women at once) is treated more like nightclub shtick than fact. But the music radiates and Jones and his crew never allow Fela! to be less than visually entrancing. Set and costume designer Marina Draghici turns the entire theatre into The Afrika Shrine with colorful murals and portraits painted on the walls and dresses the cast in an appealing mixture of traditional and 1970's contemporary. Robert Wierzel's lights are appropriately clubby and Peter Nigrini's videos nicely accent key moments. Most importantly, the kinetic force of the hard-working dancers and the talented star make Fela! a worthy celebration.

Fela! certainly isn't meant to be a complete portrait of its title character. The action of the show takes place before the man dismissed AIDS as a myth (he eventually died from it) and his practice of polygamy (he married 27 women at once) is treated more like nightclub shtick than fact. But the music radiates and Jones and his crew never allow Fela! to be less than visually entrancing. Set and costume designer Marina Draghici turns the entire theatre into The Afrika Shrine with colorful murals and portraits painted on the walls and dresses the cast in an appealing mixture of traditional and 1970's contemporary. Robert Wierzel's lights are appropriately clubby and Peter Nigrini's videos nicely accent key moments. Most importantly, the kinetic force of the hard-working dancers and the talented star make Fela! a worthy celebration.

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.

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.

And while I'll admit the loud, raucous and darkly-humored Feeling Electric was more to my personal taste ('Taking a semi-automatic and shooting as many popular kids as possible is really the only sane response to high school.'), the latest incarnation of Next To Normal - which has turned a 180 from being a musical about depression to one about a family's efforts to keep the disease from tearing them apart - is a far better musical. In fact, it's only the existence of a Broadway revival of Guys and Dolls that keeps Next To Normal from being the best written musical currently on Broadway; and having West Side Story around is all that keeps it from being the most daring.

I enjoyed quite a lot of Rock of Ages; even though the songs don't carry the same nostalgic appeal for me as it does for its target audience. (Though I will admit a quick mention of Reunite on ice did bring back memories.) Sure, it would have been better off as a ninety-minute intermissionless show, as the production really starts losing steam early in Act II (Hint: When an author suddenly starts going Pirandello in the second half it usually means he's run out of ideas.), but much of it is good, stupid, noisy fun that doesn't take itself as anything more than good, stupid, noisy fun.

There's a fine, fine line... No, let me rephrase that. There's a wide gaping canyon between clever social commentary and unmotivated slapstick. And while I'm not suggesting that Yasmina Reza's God of Carnage had me longing for the subtle nuances of Messrs. Moe, Larry and Curly I will admit to being reminded of the famous Tallulah Bankhead quip, 'There's less to this than meets the eye.'

But if I seem less than completely enthused about what is undoubted the best anti-Margaret Thatcher musical to hit Broadway since Blood Brothers, it's because, despite an interesting story told through exceptionally vivid, dramatic visuals delivered by director Stephen Daldry and choreographer Peter Darling via a mostly excellent cast, the music of Elton John and the book and lyrics of Lee Hall, while never awful, rarely achieve a quality that surpasses reasonably competent. Now, reasonably competent is nothing to be sneered at these days. I can name a few recent productions that might have welcomed the opportunity to display the quote 'Reasonably Competent!' outside their theatres. And while good direction, impressive production values and fine casting can sometimes make an evening of lesser material somewhat bearable, Messrs. Daldry and Darling skillfully dangle so many pretty, shiny things in front of the audience that if you block out the shoddy jokes, serviceable songs and plethora of moments that screech the evening to a halt you might find yourself convinced you were witnessing high art.

The beauty that Rodgers and Bennett provide musically is matched visually by set designer Michael Yeargan, who utilizes the Vivian Beaumont Theatre's thrust stage to create a vast beachscape that peaks at an upstage sand dune, and Donald Holder, who sumptuously lights evening scenes and romantic interludes. And what Bartlett Sher's production does so well is contrast the beauty of the locale with the ugliness displayed by some who occupied those innocent shores during World War II.

Musical theatre lovers who like their leading characters emotionally aloof and commitment-phobic can now enjoy a worthy companion piece to the upcoming revival of Company. Mary Poppins has flown into town in a ravishing production that kicks all that sentimental nonsense about familial closeness into the wings and pushes the heartwarming thrills of good ol' fashioned music hall song and dance fun downstage center. Don't go expecting to see a stage version of the movie, but by all means do go.

Now we have Jersey Boys; an exceedingly fun and electrifyingly staged tale of the rise and fall of The Four Seasons, which smartly uses their hit songs as a sort of background soundtrack to the story of a group of blue-collar guys establishing a distinctive sound during the early years of rock and roll. They sing songs on stages, in clubs, and in recording studios, but, aside from a couple of missteps, never as part of a book scene. And yet director Des McAnuff, by being very stingy with applause breaks until the audience is ready to burst, and bookwriters Marshall Brickman & Rick Elice, by deftly weaving the dialogue in and out of the music, have found a method to use songs to fuel the story without overwhelming it. Fans of The Four Seasons may walk in excited to hear familiar favorites like 'Sherry', 'Big Girls Don't Cry', 'Rag Doll' and 'Walk Like a Man', but they should leave the theatre impressed with how plot-driven the entire production is without ever short-handing the music. The jukebox musical has found its Pal Joey; a bit flawed, but ambitious, gritty, clever and professional.