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And then it’s gone…


Most of you are well aware of my complete and total admiration for the Broadway production of August: Osage County, from my overwhelming adrenaline-fueled experience of its opening night onward. By the end of today’s closing performance at the Music Box, I had seen the play a total of seven times. Twice with Deanna Dunagan, twice with Estelle Parsons and twice with Phylicia Rashad (oh, and once with understudy Susanne Marley for good luck). The play never lost its spark or its edge with the departure of original cast members, remaining a strong vibrant piece of theatre that made an indelible mark on the Broadway scene 648 times, the longest-running play in seven years.

Today marked a final pilgrimage to a piece of theatre I respect and love wholeheartedly for its ambitious size and length, for its seamless and intelligent staging and above all else for its superlative acting. So I arrived at the Music Box Theatre expecting another mammoth three and a half hour catharsis. I didn’t expect to be taken completely by surprise.

At 1:45, I arrived at the Music Box Theatre to pick up my ticket at the box office. Turning away from the ticket window, I was organizing myself when I saw that a name was up on the understudy board. Curious, I walked over and I read “MATTIE FAE AIKEN – RONDI REED.” I read it a second time, and as that piece of info registered in my head, I proceeded to drop my ticket, my cell phone and my ipod. It took me about five minutes to recover, at which time I posted on twitter, facebook, text message and All That Chat. I just couldn’t contain my unbridled enthusiasm at this little tidbit.

Rondi Reed, a thirty year veteran of the Steppenwolf Ensemble, originated the part of Mattie Fae at Steppenwolf and transferred to Broadway, playing the role for six months and picking up the Tony Award for Best Featured Actress along the way. She was also part of the original London cast at the National Theatre this past November. Reed is currently back in NY playing Madame Morrible in the Broadway production of Wicked. For the last several months, Broadway legend Elizabeth Ashley had been playing the part, and I had seen her in the role only three weeks ago. It was an unexpected and unusual turn of events as actors who have departed the company rarely reappear for the final performance of the show.

Just before the house lights went down, the Stage Manager appeared onstage to make an announcement. She welcomed us to the theatre and production and disclaimed: “Unfortunately I’m sorry to tell you one of our cast members, Liz Ashley called us this morning and told us she was sick and unable to do today’s performance. But luckily for you, filling in for her today will be Rondi Reed (ROAR FROM CROWD… when the din died down she resumed) who played the role in the original company and won the Tony award for her performance.” She then took a moment to talk on behalf of the company about how grateful they were for the long and successful run, before the obligatory comment about cell phones, etc. Then we were off…

The performance was explosive. Phylicia Rashad became the one and only Violet I’ve ever seen earn entrance applause during the Prologue. The audience was even more enthusiastic when the lights came up on Rondi Reed, who was decked out in the revised costume designed for Liz Ashley, a loose fitting blouse that favored blue, and the open toe matching shoes as well. (One thing I’ve loved about this show is how they have managed to find variations in the costume design to fit each actor’s interpretation).

Reed, coming in at a moment’s notice had instant rapport with each and every actor and whose mere presence and voice took me back an entire year to the last time I saw her onstage. Her definitive delivery of so many of her lines brought me right back: “This situation is fraught” Just….show a little class…” “I’m having a cocktail!” “You have to tell us something!” and the deathless “That’s my casserole!!” All delivered with the same nuance and humor that earned this brilliant actress her Tony. I never thought I would see Rondi in this part again, which only heightened the experience for fans who were making one last visit. (To think that I saw Rondi Reed and Phylicia Rashad play off of each other as sisters for the one and only time during the run!)

Amy Morton was yet another to receive entrance applause. As I’ve often stated, Morton’s performance is one of the best I have ever seen in my life, a marriage between actor and role that is pure, unadulterated alchemy. Mariann Mayberry as Karen broke the collective heart of the audience. Even the more troublesome performance of Sally Murphy showed signs of considerable restraint, that is until the infamous “Eat the fish, bitch!” scene in the third act. It was at this point that Murphy dipped back into her bag of histrionic tricks, jumping an octave and screaming so unintelligibly that some vital lines were lost to the ages.

One of the most memorable scenes of the entire play is the notorious dinner scene at the end of the second act. Lasting twenty minutes, the family sits wearily and on edge as a drug-addled yet surprisingly lucid Violet eviscerates and excoriates every single person at the table (with the noted exception of her sister). Violet is driving at exposing truths among the family members, without a care as to the impact of her own words. Choices and spontaneity provided me with some unexpected moments: for example, I laughed to the point of tears at Rashad’s delivery of “Who ARRRRRRE you?” to Brian Kerwin’s Steve. The situation boils until Amy’s Barbara physically attacks Violet to take away her bottle of pills. The energy level at the moment was pitch perfect, with Barbara’s “I’M RUNNING THINGS NOW!!!” a total war cry at Violet and one that sent the audience into a cheering frenzy at the act-ending blackout.

Phylicia found such freshness in her approach that made for an even stronger performance than the one I had seen a mere three weeks ago. Violet Weston was beautifully served by Phylicia Rashad; the only tragedy here is that the show closed before most of you had the chance to witness her genius performance.

Ever the pro, Rondi Reed had to hustle out of the Music Box (where on the street she was met with an appreciative roar) in order to make it to the Gershwin Theatre. While Reed had called out for the matinee performance of Wicked, she was insistent on playing the Actor’s Fund show that evening. So after making her way through a complex three and a half hour drama, she had less than an hour to get costumed as Madame Morrible for the evening’s performance. I must tip my hat to such utter professionalism and energy. Reed is a one-of-a-kind actress and an absolute treasure to the NY theatre community. Also, if I’m not mistaken I think she is the only actor to ever appear in a Broadway play and musical on the same day.

The performance was overall rock solid; I could hear people crying during the final moments as the stage lights dimmed on Phylicia…wandering the house calling out the names of the family members who’d all abandoned her. By the time the lights were up for the curtain call, the house was already on its feet, cheering this brilliant ensemble for their fine work as well as saluting this captivating piece of theatre. Mariann started taking pictures from onstage, the actors left and house lights came up. Yet the audience didn’t budge. They sustained the applause and kept the momentum of their cheers up to warrant a second curtain call, something that didn’t even happen on opening night.

Waiting outside of the theatre was our beloved SarahB, who had been allowed in to see the final fifteen minutes. As I pulled myself together from the performance, none other than Tracy Letts walked by, with whom we spoke briefly and who signed our Playbills. I haven’t gone to the stage door in three years and though I considered it, I opted not to today. With a closing performance, it’s a crowded and hurried affair. But I did get a great picture courtesy of Sarah standing next to one of the billboards:

Sarah and I headed over to Angus, where we spent four hours knocking back concoctions and laughing about the good times we’d had while having many more. We had a blast with our congenial bartender and one of the waitresses, Sarah Fishbeck, with whom I attended college. The banter inevitably led to a discussion of all the shows that are coming up this season. Soon most of the theatres around Shubert Alley will be housing new shows. Finian’s Rainbow at the St. James, Memphis at the Shubert, Jude Law in Hamlet at the Broadhurst and Tracy Letts’ second Broadway play, Superior Donuts will settle into the Music Box this fall; the first play of the new season.

As always, the story goes on…

An Open Letter to Roundabout

To Whom It May Concern,

I have been a loyal subscriber with the Roundabout Theater Company for two seasons. When I first got the solicitation call, the ticket seller and I discussed the recent production of 110 in the Shade, a delightful musical revival with Audra McDonald that was an unmitigated pleasure. I decided to take the plunge and see how it worked out. I didn’t regret that decision, as I was mostly pleased with the 2007-08 season as well as my seating arrangements. There was no hesitancy when it came to renewing for the following season, plus there was the offer of upgraded seating.

There have been many shows I have appreciated at Roundabout, with especially fond memories of Sunday in the Park With George, Pygmalion, The Marriage of Bette and Boo and Old Acquaintance. Others I may have appreciated less, but still was grateful for the opportunity to see the works live onstage.

Regardless of what was being presented, there has never been an issue with the front of house staff, or any of the ushers. I have had no problem with needing to exchange a ticket when something such as inclement weather or illness got in the way. For those amenities and customer services, I am exceptionally grateful.

Looking back on your Broadway season, you hit a decent mark with your underrated revival of Robert Bolt’s A Man for All Seasons in the fall. Pal Joey and Hedda Gabler were much talked about in theatre circles, and you brought Godot back to Broadway in lieu of Fosse. (A decision that pleased me, as I feel we’ve hit the ceiling on Fosse revivals-tributes-revues for the time being). However, my focus today brings us to the current production of The Philanthropist.

It’s not that The Philanthropist is a bad production, it’s that the revival of Christopher Hampton’s wry comedy about an offensively inoffensive philologist is hands down the worst production I personally have ever seen executed on a Broadway stage. Perhaps executed is too kind a word to describe what happened onstage at the American Airlines Theatre. But I digress…

I have read that this production, which transferred from the Donmar in London, was a success in England due to a nuanced performance from star Simon Russell Beale. Unlike the transfer of The Norman Conquests, with its entire cast intact, this production falters immeasurably from the miscasting of Matthew Broderick in the role of Philip.

Now I realize that Broderick is an internationally recognized film star from his appearances in such films as Ferris Bueller and Election, and I assume that there must have been some worth to his talent garnering two Tony Awards along the way. A renowned performer is likely to boost interest and ticket sales for the more obscure offerings at your humble little home. But I would hope that the next time you consider doing an uninteresting play with little to no relevancy to anyone or anything, you at least find a leading man who will at least try to act. Or at least can manage enough charm and presence to fake his way through a performance.

There was a brief moment when I thought that perhaps the play wasn’t going to be as bad as critics and word of mouth suggested. Then Broderick uttered his first line and it was instantly clear that all hope was lost. Broderick is giving a performance that could easily be described as that of a high school freshman making his stage debut. But that in itself would be an insult to high school freshmen everywhere.

From beginning to end, the star makes no discernible effort. He speaks in an accent that is a parody of a parody of a British accent; there is no investment of his body into his performance. If Broderick is making any effort to act, it’s with his head alone and even then he looks bored, sounds lazy and doesn’t remotely care that there is a paying audience in attendance.

For someone who studied at the HB Studios, Mr. Broderick should be ashamed to be giving a performance in such complete contrast to everything the great Uta Hagen espoused. Can one’s Equity card be revoked for unabashed ambivalence? If not, there should be a special dispensation made here. It appears that the actor has hit a wall in terms of his ability and range.

Not all is lost. Thank you for offering Broadway newcomer Tate Ellington the chance to show us what appears to be a considerable potential as a stage actor. Perhaps my issue here is not so much with you, but more so with playwright Hampton that Ellington’s character shoots himself in the head less than ten minutes into the play. The most fascinating character in the play not only dies instantly, but his storyline has very little to do with the plot at all. If there had been any mercy in the world, his character would have shot Mr. Broderick’s Philip instead, sparing the theatregoers at my Sunday matinee a most excruciating two hours.

Thank you also for Steven Weber and Jonathan Cake, two game pros who both tried in vain to save the play. I have never seen actors working so hard, nor have I ever felt so embarrassed for professionals so lost at sea from a star’s complete lack of interest. My heart goes out to Samantha Soule, an actress with no dialogue who makes the most of her thankless cameo. For the majority of the second act, I couldn’t help but think “Where is Mark Rylance when you need him?”

Unfortunately, the presence of the other actors did absolutely nothing to salvage the afternoon. I have never seen an audience so completely disengaged by a play, a production or a performance in all my years of professional theatregoing. This play also marked the first time I seriously considered walking out at intermission. Though I decided I wouldn’t break my streak with this production, a part of me wishes I had.

Glancing around the house, I noticed people of all ages starting to doze off. While a production can be bad, it should never be boring. That is where this show falls from grace: it unforgivably manages to be both. There is the old adage of “phoning it in,” and Mr. Broderick has found a way of turning that into an art.

As I walked into the lobby, I turned in time to see a subscriber grab her husband by the arm and say loudly with contempt “That was pathetic.” I must say I agree; I have never felt so resentful at the curtain call of any play quite like this one.

So my friends at Roundabout, I regret to inform you that I will not be renewing my subscription for the next season. I will take each show on a case by case basis. There is still some remote hope for the coming season, especially as you are offering the first-ever revival of one of my favorites, Bye Bye Birdie.

I look forward to the future.

Sincerely,
Theatre Aficionado (at Large)

Walking Among My Yesterdays: ‘Gypsy’ (2004)

When I was a senior in high school, we had a new principal who used to sign off from her daily morning address with a clinical admonition of “The choices you make today, shape your world tomorrow.” Given that she was new and ingratiating (imagine a cross between Hillary Clinton and Miss America), we were reluctant to take anything she said seriously. However, I sit here this evening and I realize just how right she was.

You see, it was five years ago today that the revival of Gypsy starring Bernadette Peters closed on Broadway, and to this date that sole theatre experience has had a greater impact on my life than any other.

When it was announced for the second time that Gypsy would definitely close at the end of May, I decided it was time for me to get my rear in gear and see the show. I had never seen Gypsy, one of the best shows ever written, live. While browsing online at Telecharge, I noticed that tickets were available for the very last performance and I decided I would jump at the opportunity. I had never attended a closing before. On a whim I bought two tickets.

Then came the problem: no one wanted to go with me. “Some people can’t even give it away” rang true as I counted down to the big event. The day of the show I managed to get in contact with a friend from high school, who dropped everything and rushed to meet me at the train station. Sam is a writer and was just beginning studying to be a playwright at SUNY Purchase, so she was interested to look at it from that perspective, since she had only heard selections of the score and was almost wholly unfamiliar with the work.

That day, Bernadette and co. blew the roof off of the Shubert Theatre. The announcement of Marvin Laird as the musical conductor brought cheers from many regulars. That overture. That titanic overture brought the crowd to a standing ovation (something I’ve never seen before or since). In a few short minutes, the words “Sing out, Louise” rang out and the audience once again flew out of their seats to cheer Bernadette as she made her way from the back of the house to the stage. In spite of any critical misgivings certain people (Riedel) might have had, Ms. Peters delivered nothing short of a powerhouse performance as Madame Rose, with absolutely no vocal trouble and passionately intense acting. The energy was palpable, the book was ripe and Bernadette’s Rose finagled, seduced, charmed and ultimately horrified when she brought the house down on itself with “Everything’s Coming Up Roses.”

At intermission, Sam and I became engrossed in conversation with the woman to our left, who was there with her young son, who couldn’t have been more than seven, looking dapper in his suit. Turning to each other, we discussed the show from a written perspective. Sam had never heard “Everything’s Coming Up Roses” in its context before, so she floored at the underlying subtext. A younger gentleman making his way back to his seat in our aisle passed by as I was discussing the definitive nature of Ethel Merman with the role of Rose. Sam alerted me that someone behind me was disagreeing with me. I turned and had a congenial debate with the young, passionate theatregoer, who admired the theatre and in particular this production. We discussed all the actresses who have inhabited the part of Rose, having as big a conversation in about 6 or 7 minutes than many people have in an hour.

Then came the second act. Every song brought great applause; half the house even stood for the three strippers. Tammy Blanchard had to work hard on “The Strip,” though she didn’t quite pull off the transition from Louise to Gypsy Rose Lee. Then came that moment to end all moments. A dead, palpable silence filled the theatre as an embittered Rose emerged from the dressing room where she had just thrown down with her daughter. Rejected, vilified, humiliated yet defiant, she once again stood her ground by defiantly shouting to the empty stage that she could have been better than everyone else. This embittered cloud exploded into the storm that is the eleven o’clock number to end all eleven o’clock numbers: “Rose’s Turn.”

Bernadette Peter’s Turn was as devastating and cathartic as you could imagine; an emotional breakdown as you watched her seams come apart. On the final “For me!” The audience stood and cheered and cheered and then cheered some more. Bernadette bowed. And bowed. And bowed. Then she froze in character to wait for the applause to end, only to continue bowing as Tammy Blanchard entered clapping. This Gypsy still played to the more positive (and superior) ending, with both leaving arm in arm, the audience emotionally drained yet exhilarated.

I had hoped to say goodbye to the young man, but missed him as we exited the theatre. Someone else from my high school happened to be there and had grabbed my attention and focus. Such is the case with so many of the theatregoing acquaintances you meet, or as I like to call them: show friends. You share two to three hours with one another; if you’re lucky they are vibrant and intelligent conversationalists. But for the most part you never see them again.

The day also marked the first time I went backstage at the Shubert. Sam and I have a mutual friend from high school whose father was subbing in the pit that final week, and he arranged for us to get a brief impromptu tour of the wings and backstage area. We got to venture down into the pit and look up at the Shubert from the most unusual vantage point, the three tiers towering above us. It was a surreal and wonderful experience, especially as we emerged from the stage door and the crowd, expecting the stage stars, exhaled dismissively.

The next day, I posted something incredibly specific about the production on All That Chat and lo and behold, my theatregoing friend and I reconnected. We took our conversation to instant messenger, and I made a fast friend named Noah Himmelstein, who shared an exuberant passion for theatre, and in particular, musical theatre. Unbeknowst to me, he also met someone at the performance who also loves the live theatre experience and is always in the endless pursuit of entertainment. I would meet Our Sarah only briefly a year later at the Theatre World Awards. Within the next two years we developed a sturdy friendship that involved theatrical excursions and outings. It was due mostly to Noah and Sarah’s encouragement that I started writing anonymously as the Theatre Aficionado at Large back in October ’07.

Life has a funny way of leading you into unexpected territory. Though I wrote some theatrical criticism in college, I never loved it. In fact I rather hate it. When forced to turn a critical eye to everything, there is the risk of missing out on enjoying the experience and being in the moment. It was due mostly to Noah and Sarah’s encouragement that I started writing anonymously as the Theatre Aficionado at Large back in October 2007. The very first thing I wrote was “I refuse to be a critic.” This blog is my compromise, and I still don’t consider myself critic. At first I didn’t take it seriously, only occasionally posting and not thinking I would stick to it and frankly not sure anyone was reading what I was writing. However, I kept at it. As a result, I’ve made some wonderful friends; people I would never have met otherwise. I look forward to seeing them on a daily basis via their websites and twitter feeds, and also on their woefully infrequent trips to the New York City, where we gather for food, drinks, endless banter and of course, theatre. Whenever any of us get together, it is unquestionably an epic win.

Five years removed, I look back nostalgically on the friendships I treasure and look excitedly toward the next five. So to celebrate this anniversary, I raise a toast to all those good and crazy people, my theatre friends. Thanks for the laughs, the memories and the good times. My world is a better place because you are all a part of it.

And here’s to Bernadette Peters, for starting it all.

Not "Today"

You gotta take the rough with the smooth…so here goes. We looked at Seth Rudetsky’s fantastic deconstruction of Angela Lansbury leading the company in “It’s Today” from the original cast album of Mame last week. Well, I just stumbled on this clip of the same number from the notorious film version starring Lucille Ball. The film does everything it can to cater to its highly miscast star, who apparently put up the money for the project. The keys have been dropped, the tempo is erratic and the orchestrations have been muted from their brassy highs. The emotions are forced, the energy lacking, plus Onna White’s choreography seems a bit much for such a cramped looking apartment. (I wonder how many people got kicked in the head during rehearsals/shooting). The most criminal thing: there is absolutely no joy. The only thing impressive about this entire mess is Lucy’s hitch kick toward the end of the number (well, she was 62 and recuperating from a broken leg…)

While I’ll always love Lucy, it will never be for Mame.

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The I-Pod Shuffle for Today…

I’m suffering big time tonight. It happens every spring like clockwork – even before you see the buds on the trees, I start to feel it. Pollen is a nightmare for me, which belies my incredible enjoyment of the warm spring weather. So as the love-hate relationship continues and since I don’t have HBO (hope Grey Gardens is a good one!), here’s the first ipod shuffle I’ve done in a while. As opposed to the last time when I merely used my Broadway playlist, I’ve gone ahead and hit the full ipod shuffle – so we’re up for any of the 32,537 tracks on here…

“I’m Not at All in Love” – The Pajama Game. The introductory song for the fiery union rep Babe Williams, on this particular studio album sung by Judy Kaye. The song pits her against her other female cohorts at the Sleep Tite Pajama Factory, where they subject her denial of a crush on the handsome new foreman with some interoffice teasing. Oh she says she’s not in love, but oh she sure as hell is. One of the more infectious character songs of the 50s and one of the more unexpected uses of a waltz in musical theatre.

“Something Wonderful” – The King and I. In many of the big Rodgers and Hammerstein shows there was a character, usually middle aged, who sang a song of inspiration to one or more of the protagonists at a cross-roads in the score. It started with “You’ll Never Walk Alone” in Carousel and finished with “Climb Ev’ry Mountain” in The Sound of Music. This particular song is sung by Lady Thiang to persuade Anna to visit with the King after a major fallout, leading to a tentative reconciliation and the amusing first act finale. Terry Saunders, a replacement Thiang in the original Broadway production, sings it on the original motion picture soundtrack.

“A Bell is No Bell” – The Sound of Music. Oscar Hammerstein wrote this specifically for Mary Martin. The intention was to create a full song out of it, but his failing health prevented that from happening and the verse was incorporated into a reprise of “Sixteen Going on Seventeen” in the second act. It’s a simple and sweet few measures. When the show was revived in London in 1981, changes made for the film were put onstage for the first time. In doing so, they took away “My Favorite Things” away from the Mother Abbess and Maria and to fill the void they used this piece in a minor duet.

“Rehearse! – finale” – 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. The opening number is reprised at the end to emphasize the theatrical metaphor of the United States as a play in constant rehearsal. The song has a syncopated melody with that Leonard Bernstein, lyric by Alan Jay Lerner. There is an exuberance in the song that belies the weakness of the libretto surrounding it. By the time the show go into New York, the new creative team had stripped away most of the theatrical references. This bookend number plus one or two lines elsewhere through the score are the only allusions to the original concept (the show went into production unfinished and then premiered haphazardly in Philadelphia running four hours).

“The First Lady” – Mr. President. I guess between this and the last one, musicals about presidents don’t work out so well… Nanette Fabray sings a comic list song by Irving Berlin in which she grouses about the ardors of life as, you guessed it, the First Lady. It’s no “Duet for One,” but melody is tuneful and Fabray is game.

“Jeanette’s Showbiz Number” – The Full Monty. Kathleen Freeman was one of the great character actresses in film and television; an appearance by her would undoubtedly be followed by laughs. She made her Broadway musical debut as the salty, opinionated rehearsal pianist here, in a role created for the stage show. Freeman performed the show while dying of lung cancer, a fact unknown by most at the time. Her professionalism was incredible – her final performance in the show was only five days before her death. I’m looking forward to the prospect of seeing Elaine Stritch perform this song this spring.

“Don’t ‘Ah Ma’ Me” – The Rink. This fantastic duet between Chita Rivera and Liza Minnelli depicts the first meeting of a mother and daughter after a seven year estrangement. Chita as the Mother unleashes a rapid-fire barrage about her daughter and her shortcomings, while Liza tries to respond and rationalize. The comic timing is just spot-on.

“The Story Goes on On” – Baby. This stirring solo marks the act one finale of this Maltby-Shire musical that explores three couples and their three diverse experiences with pregnancy. Liz Callaway played Lizzie, the youngest woman of the couples and in a moment in front of her mirror has felt the baby kick for the first time. This emotional moment spurs the song, a song about her emotional feelings and of the greater chain of human life. I would venture a safe guess Callaway’s tour de force delivery of the number is what got her a Tony nomination in 1984.

“Civilized People” – Kean. Alfred Drake, Joan Weldon and Lee Venora are the singers of this amusing musical trio that conveys an awkward and decidedly restrained confrontation between Kean’s two love interests while he tries to calm both parties. The inevitable barbs are hurled back and forth between the two women before breaking into chaos. This show has a score strong enough to be a candidate for Encores (especially as its the only truly original Wright & Forrest Broadway score).

“He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands” – Mahalia Jackson; Gospels, Spirituals and Hymns. Taking on the risk of the full i-pod shuffle it makes perfect sense that there would non-theatre related music in the mix. Ms. Jackson may be the greatest gospel singer the world has ever known and though I myself no longer consider myself religious, I always enjoy whenever she pops up on here.

“Overture” – Christine. It’s a sumptuous celebration of Sammy Fain’s music and Phil Lang’s work as an orchestrator that make this overture sound better than it should. Really, it sounds big enough to be underscoring for a motion picture epic about India, however the score that follows it is such a colossal disappointment it’s not even funny. The musical reads like an incestual rip-off of The King and I, with so much awkward in its depiction of Indian life, it’s no surprise the show lasted a whopping twelve performances (I’m sure the fact it didn’t close opening night was based on the above the title billing of the lovely Maureen O’Hara in her only Broadway credit).

I figure that’s enough shuffling for now… but while I’m thinking of it, are there any other cast albums you’ve listened to where you’ve heard a phenomenal overture that was betrayed by the score that followed?

"Slaughter on Tenth Avenue"

I doubt we’d get another full scale revival of On Your Toes, an admittedly dated gem from Rodgers and Hart. But perhaps Encores! would give this generation the chance to see George Balanchine’s legendary choreography recreated. This is a clip of Lara Teeter and Tony-winner Natalia Makarova performing a large section of “Slaughter on Tenth Avenue” from the hit 1983 revival. The ballet appears at the climax of the musical, its story that of a hoofer (originally Ray Bolger in 1936) who falls in love with a dance hall girl, in turn shot by her jealous gangster boyfriend, who himself is killed by the hoofer. The musical itself has parallel story going on – two gangsters are waiting to kill the hoofer playing the hoofer when the ballet finishes and he continues to dance after the ballet is over in an attempt to save his own life. The piece was incorporated into the repertoire of the New York City Ballet over forty years ago.

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This is just awesome…

One of the unexpected joys of today. Some Julie Andrews flavored guerrilla theatre at the Central Station in Antwerp, Belgium. (Thanks, Kari!)

Addendum: Turns out this was done on the morning of March 23, 2009 sponsored by a local station that’s hosting a reality show to cast Maria in a new production of the musical. Anyway, this is my favorite flash mob. Enjoy.

 

Notes from the Other Side of the World

My time here in Baguio City is coming to an end. I would have updated more but I had some considerable trouble logging into Blogger.com and at one point found the site translated into various languages including German. We’ve taken several day trips. The first of which was a week ago. We traveled several hours north along the coastline to the city of Vigan, which is a UNESCO World Heritage site as it maintains one of the only Mestizo cities in the Philippines to evade total devastation from Japanese bombers during the Second World War. As enticing as it sounds, the city is in total disrepair. Most of the buildings that are considered ancient are in great need of repair and maintenance, looking more as if it were recently uncovered than an actual heritage site. In fact, the best looking building in town is the McDonald’s which is housed in a converted Spanish style villa.

The next day we stopped up at the beach down the hill, though that was short-lived. However things were much better when we traveled to a water park complete with natural hot springs. I learned soon afterward the joy of country club living as my brother’s took me up to the club house to partake in the jacuzzi, steam room, sauna, etc. Whatever it did, I don’t think I’ve ever felt as clean in my entire life.

The piece d’resistance came on Saturday when we went to the Bolotoc mines, just outside of the town. It was about 10 miles, but given the twists and turns of the mountain roads (occasionally lacking asphalt at that), it took us a good half our to get there. It is an active gold and silver mine that employs several hundred Filipinos who live and work on site. Part of the hour long tour included a 400 meter trek inside one of the inactive tunnels. In an attempt to give us the most realistic experience possible, we are forced to wear mining helmets and knee high rubber boots. Quite possible the high point of our excursions this entire trip was the moment they detonated half a stick of dynamite 150 meters away from us while were inside the mine. We sat in a protected alcove called the miner’s lunchroom where the miner’s take their midday meal in total darkness as they blast. The concussion of the blast is one of those adrenaline inducing experiences that help preserve the memory of the trip. My brothers and I recounted that you could not do anything like that in the US.

As we wrap up here, my brothers and father golf while I get sent bowling with my mother and my sister-in-law’s mother and sister. There are none of the mechanics you find in the US. There is one man behind the alley, who sets up the pins after each set and sends the balls back up the lane. There is another man who sits and keeps score. There are no bowling shoes (trust me, something you never want to do in sandals) and you get three tries. Things got off to a great start when Mom-in-law hit the pin-man with the bowling ball on the first time out.

We leave for the area near the airport tomorrow morning. We say goodbye to my nephew and my sister-in-law’s gracious and hospitable family. We go around to Subic Bay, where my father was once stationed in the Marines back from ’59-61 and then I get to do the reverse of my first trip. Let’s hear it for another 15 hours in the Seoul-Incheon airport.

So much has gone on in the theatre world since I have left. We’ve had openings, deaths, announcements; life goes on, as it always does. Phylicia Rashad will be donning the teal pajamas of Violet Weston in August: Osage County starting on May 26. I am curious as to whether it’s going to be colorblind casting or if they will pull a David Merrick/Hello, Dolly! casting coup and recast the entire show with an all-African American cast. It will be interesting to see how it all turns out: either way I think it will be interesting. (Though improbable there is a part of me that just wants to see James Earl Jones deliver Beverly Weston’s opening monologue to Kim Guerrero). Speaking of August, I had the privilege to go to the theatre with my good friend Steve on Broadway for the first time prior to leaving and see A:OC for the fifth time. Unexpectedly we found ourselves seeing the understudies for both Violet and Barbara. Susanne Marley was angrily acerbic as the pill-poppin’ matron, molded very much in the vitriolic mold of Deanna Dunagan. Dee Pelletier gave a strong performance as Barbara, if less a force of nature than Amy Morton. The real draw to see the show again was the inclusion of that stage legend Elizabeth Ashley stepping into the gaudy (new!) shoes of Mattie Fae. She was everything you would hope she’d be in the part. Though we bloggers have seen the original cast and have our impressions tempered by that unstoppable energy, the play remains a vibrant piece for first-timers who were wholly engrosssed in the experience. (On a side note: as I predicted British legend Margaret Tyzack won the Best Actress Olivier award for her performance in The Chalk Garden, besting Ms. Dunagan).

Horton Foote is nothing short of a national treasure. Though his list of credits goes on and on – I did have the privilege of seeing Mr. Foote at the opening night of Dividing the Estate this past November – for me, his most impressionable work is his Oscar-winning screenplay for the film adaptation of To Kill a Mockingbird. His work is paramount to the success of the film, which is one of the most faithful film adaptations I’ve ever seen of any novel (which is one of my all-time favorite books). My high school drama teacher always made it a point to stop the movie in his English classes after Atticus Finch delivers his courtroom summation and announce to every class “That speech alone is enough to win any actor the Academy award.” A testament to Foote’s humanity and ingenuity as a writer. One of the most devastating scenes in film history is that moment when a silent yet dignified Finch slowly packs up his briefcase and exits the courtroom as the black community in the balcony rise in tribute. (I get chills just thinking about it). Foote passed away last week at the age of 92, living a full and rich life as America’s most prolific writers right up until the very end. We are blessed to have had him around to enrich us with his wisdom and pathos for so many years.

On a final note. My aforementioned pal Steve on Broadway has decided to hang up his blogger’s pen and go into semi-retirement. Instead of mourning the loss of his enriching columns, I will celebrate the insight he has given us for three years now. I am glad I am able to consider him a friend and look forward to meeting up with him when he comes to town to share in our usual brunches and theatre-going adventures.

I look forward to getting back to NY and getting back to the theatre. I hope to see you there!

In Baguio

I’ve been in Baguio City for four days now, adapting to the time zone change and taking in the local sights amidst family obligations. My nephew is quite something. He’s two weeks old, yet looks older. He is already trying to lift up his head and can hold his own bottle. We are staying on the grounds of Camp John Hay, formerly John Hay Air Base, a recreational facility originally built at the turn of the 20th century as a getaway for soldiers. We are situated a mile above sea level, so the climate is rather temperate in comparison to the rest of the country. The highs here have been around 80 degrees with low humidity. When the US military lease on their bases ended here in 1991, all properties reverted back to the Filipino government and they began working on adapting the property for public use. They brought in Jack Nicklaus to redesign the golf course (a sport I don’t particularly have any interest in, but am expected to play in the next week) and demolished most of the military buildings and facilities. They have turned it into a prominent tourist attraction for the wealthy in Asia. We are currently renting the private residence of a general who owns the home, but is rarely ever here. The place offers practically every amenity you can think of, so there have been many walks, hikes and time spent out in the sun. (I am a rather startling shade of red at the moment). I’ve also just started adjusting to the new sleep schedule. Tonight is the first night I’ve stayed up past 11PM and I’ve been getting up around 7AM. Who’d have thought it?

I arrived midnight on Wednesday where I met my brother at the Clark International Airport (formerly Clark Airbase, and one of the largest airstrips in the world). There is one thing I really enjoy when I fly and that is disembarking on the tarmac. There’s something decidedly old school about that, like in the older films. We got a taxi to take us to the bus station. Fate was on our side and the moment we arrived at the station, a bus to Baguio arrived. It’s a four and a half hour ride from Angeles to Baguio. After enduring one of the coldest rides (I had to put my sweater back on and unearth my scarf – my brother, who lives in the incredibly hot Singapore, borrowed my fleece and has yet to actually not wear it). We arrived at Clark at 5 in the morning where we quickly passed out.

Things have been mostly lowkey, trips to town to see the baby and walking around for the most part. My father has been helping my brother paint the in-law’s home in the downtown area. We’ve all had ample time to spend with the baby (one of two newborns currently in the vicinity – my sister-in-law comes from a family of seven children, twenty-five grandchildren and an undecided amount of great-grandchildren – almost all living in town). Loving the exchange rate and iced green tea lattes at Starbucks. There is one in the major mall across the street from my sister-in-law’s home and here on the Camp John Hay grounds. The one thing I cannot get over is the politeness of the baristas. They ask for your name on the cup, greet you with the name you’ve given. The kicker? When you’re leaving they wish you a goodbye -by name. I am going to like it here.

The only nightmare? The driving. How I long for the braving of New York City traffic. Every time you cross a street here, you only dare at your own risk and your life is in question. We will be venturing out of town for some day trips and the absorption of the local culture. Will keep you posted on where we go and what we do!