Mendacity

Went to see the revival of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof this afternoon. It was an extraordinary experience, as the Broadhurst was completely sold out and the audience was alive and kicking. Truth be told, this is my first Wednesday matinee since I saw Urinetown on, would you believe it, Wednesday March 12, 2003.

I was fascinated by the mixed critical response. The ways in which they were divided only made me want to see the production more. Many critics singled out one of the four leads as the chief asset of the play; making you wonder if they saw the same production. I thought that it was a decent production; well staged, well-acted. It could have used some tightening and reigning in at points, but the experience was never ultimately hindered. In fact, my only problem was the tendency for broadness. The ever-youthful Anika Noni Rose of Caroline, or Change is all grown up as the sexually frustrated Maggie the Cat. Rose is alluring, sensual and really manages to convey her character’s sincerity. Phylicia Rashad and James Earl Jones are forces of nature as Ida and Big Daddy. Rashad storms onstage during the first act like whirling dervish and you just can’t help but adore her. Her third act arc is beautifully realized with pain and humor. Jones is having more fun than should be allowed by law – and he makes no attempt to hide it. Big Daddy is the scene-stealer of the piece; he gets the bawdier jokes and has the most dynamic character arc. When he’s raunchy, he is RAUNCHY, but is incredibly poignant in the second act when confronting Brick for the truth behind his problems. Terrence Howard made an impressive stage debut with a subtly nuanced turn as Brick. I’m hoping that he continues to look for stage work as he could amass an impressive body of theatrical credits; and become an even more stellar stage actor in the process. Giancarlo Esposito and Lisa Arrindell Anderson are Gooper and Mae (Sister Woman), the conniving brother and sister-in-law, who are characters straight out of melodrama, and go overboard far too often.

The change in the characters’ race adds a fresh perspective on a classic work; it is also bringing out a larger African-American audience, who were the majority of the audience at this afternoon’s performance and were thoroughly engaged. The audience as a whole had an energy that may have surpassed the high-octane charge onstage. What surprised me so much was the amount of laughter that has been the response. I’m not sure it was directed as such; I think it just happens. We’ve grown used to hearing shocking and depraved things on TV, the news, etc. that our sensibilities have softened. The frank talk of sexual desire and homosexual overtones that shocked audiences in 1955 (and had to be toned down for the highly entertaining film adaptation of 1958) doesn’t have the same impact today. Our tendency nowadays is to laugh at dysfunction rather than let it shock us. A couple of times I felt uncomfortable – laughter when Brick was chasing Maggie around the bedrom with the crutch and during the candles exchange between Ida and Big Daddy (Rashad is heartbreaking in that moment, I might add). Later on at dinner I thought more about that: the characters and themes at August: Osage County are much more dysfunctional and shocking than anything in Cat and the audiences are howling even more at that one. Just the way things are. And that’s okay. It’s fun to be at a matinee crowd that wasn’t saddled with students or elder theatre patrons. This performance was alive on and offstage and that kind of energy just fuels the fun factor in such an experience. If not the perfect production of the play, it’s a highly entertaining and engaging experience.

And it might be insidious to add, but Tennessee Williams sure writes fantastic and memorable dialogue. Always a good time.

"The 39 Steps"… and a Birthday Tribute

Before the Oscars last Sunday, I jetted down to the city to take in the matinee of The 39 Steps as part of my Roundabout subscription. I should preface anything I have to say with the following: I am an enormous fan of Alfred Hitchcock. In fact, it’s easier for me to list his films I haven’t seen: Topaz, Marnie, Under Capricorn, The Paradine Case, Spellbound and Jamaica Inn. Don’t worry – I plan on getting to them in the near future. There are many of his films I love and only a couple that I dislike (Torn Curtain is my least favorite; even though as is the case with any lesser Hitchcock, there’s always something to be appreciated). I have been obsessed with him ever since I first caught a glimpse of the shower scene when I was 7 and it scared the bejesus out of me – imagine my horror when I was told only a few minutes later it was time to shower and get ready for bed. I’ve devoured his films, read a lot about them and just enjoy them on many levels. (And a lot of them are surprisingly hilarious. Take for instance Mr. & Mrs. Smith with Carole Lombard in Hitch’s sole screwball comedy; he uses his trademark styles to heighten the comedy and with hilarious results). I can only assume that the more you know Hitchcock, the more you’ll enjoy The 39 Steps.

Anyway, the film is one of Hitchcock’s early classics, released in 1935. I won’t give away much of the plot, as it’s a film that should be seen to be fully appreciated. Robert Donat stars as Richard Hannay, who is an early prototype for Hitchcock’s trademark “wrong man” protagonist. Anyway, there’s a murder; he’s wrongly implicated and gets involved in an espionage plot as he and only he can try and stop the agents from fleeing the country with valuable information. All the while, he is being chased from London into Scotland by the police. Episodic and plot-driven, the film is a tour-de-force for Donat, who is supported by Madeleine Carroll (the first Hitchcock blonde…?) and the always perfect Peggy Ashcroft in a small but crucial role as a Scottish housewife. There are twists and turns and chases across the moors; great one-liners from Donat and one of the sexiest scenes to get by the censors when he and Carroll are handcuffed together (whether or not you see the play or film, you’ll know the one I mean).

“I long for something mindless and trivial. Something utterly pointless…I know! I’ll go to the theater!!”

So Mr. Hannay decides in his opening monologue. You already know that this fateful decision is going to incite a slew of mystery and intrigue. But who knew slapstick comedy was going to be a part of the equation? This stage adaptation opened in London last season, winning the Olivier for Best New Comedy. In an incredible feat of unending creativity, the film is recreated onstage. The catch? There are four actors: one playing Hannay (the spot-on Charles Edwards, who originated the part in London; the lone actress (Jennifer Ferrin) playing the three pivotal female roles and two actors (Arnie Burton and Cliff Saunders) playing EVERYONE ELSE, in a feat that is so audacious and clever, there aren’t enough superlatives to praise the actor’s hard work.

For a film that is as much a travelogue of Scotland as well as thriller, its staging is devilish fun. The proceedings keep things to a minimum with a lot of fun theatrical tricks and clever use of minimalist scenery (and props) to recreate large panoramic scenes (like the Moor chase) and even the uncanny and hilarious ability to recreate the many crowd scenes in the film (the moment where Hannay joins a parade to escape the police brought down the house). The show uses the wit of the screenplay to their best advantage, adding indelible low-comedy that will leave you breathless from excessive laughter. Watch Burton and Saunders as they portray about five characters having separate exchanges all at the same time. My favorite was their recreation of the famed hotel scene where the spies encounter the proprietor and wife. Nothing short of genius on their part.

There are also musical and textual references to other Hitchcock films, many of the music cues getting huge applause and a lot of strangely enjoyable groan-inducing puns (the music hall and vaudeville tradition put to use was welcomed wholeheartedly by the audience). The play flies by; each act is 45 minutes and is a decidedly engaging mix of absurdist parody and low-brow comedy. (Think of say, Airplane! as opposed to Spy Hard). My only qualm to the powers that be – it would be even better if the show ran without an intermission. You don’t have to have seen the film to enjoy the play, but what the hell, it enhances one’s appreciation for Mr. Hitchcock and I still find it quite good 73 years removed. It’s worth of the price of admission alone to see the two supporting actors do their thing; I’m still reeling from their performances.

Oh, and for the curious, Mr. Hitchcock has a cameo. I won’t tell you where or how, but it too stopped the show.

Before I sign off for the night, just wanted to wish the ever-youthful and ever-beautiful Bernadette Peters a happy 60th birthday. That is not a misprint. The beloved diva is reaching her milestone birthday looking nowhere near her age. Hopefully you all put on your favorite BP album (what did you listen to, I’m curious? I listened to Sunday in the Park With George) and take a glass to celebrate. This raises an important question: when is Bernadette coming back to Broadway and in what star vehicle? (Whatever the answer, it’s not soon enough).

Rifke! …and other anecdotes from my trip to "Applause"

I’ve had a taste of, the sound that says love… ApplauseHm. Roxie and I attended the final performance of the Encores! presentation of this 1970 Best Musical winner. It was a great afternoon. I watched the impressive natural wonder of a arctic cold front push across the Hudson River while I waited for the train. Wandered around the Times Square area with Roxeleh before the show. Had a most amusing dinner at a diner down the street from the City Center. The title of this post comes from a rather absurd moment where this woman sat next to us while we were eating. First off, as she was being handed the menu she asked the waitress what I was eating as if I wasn’t even there. Her voice was also at a volume where her entire conversation was privvy to the both of us. And let me just say hilarity ensued. The woman was in her sixties and sounded like Mae Questal with a post-nasal drip. Roxie and I burst into a quiet frenzies of hysterical laughter when the woman started talking about her Yiddish class to a random friend and went on about her classmate Rifke. “Oh my goodness, Rifke put down she was 24! Can you believe it?! Oh that Rifke!” Now those of you who are familiar with Fiddler on the Roof know that Rifke is the first recipient of “The Rumor.” But the combination of the elements led Roxie and I into hysterical fits of laughter. You had to be there, but it could possibly rival seeing Ms. Ebersole tear up the stage as the highlight of the day.

Anyway. Applause. You can see my previous post back in October about the guilty pleasure status of this score. Well. It was certainly a fun time. The show is rather poor in practically every way. Yes, I’m well aware that 20th Century Fox wouldn’t allow the musical theatre team to use any of the screenplay; yes, I’m aware that the 1970s was a different era, and contemporizing was the rage. But did no one stop to think that what they were writing was pretty much sub-par?

Pros:

Christine Ebersole. Yes, everything about her is true. She is a musical theatre diva with endless energy, voice, charisma, beauty and presence. Probably a whole slew of other things wondrous as well. Margo has never been more attractive and so relatable as she was last evening. For the first time, I felt “Hurry Back” worked. In the original production, it was performed as a part voice-over (what?!) and then Bacall, in her basement keys took over live. It just felt like dead weight that didn’t go anywhere. Ebersole brought it to life with a great deal of heart and some delightfully jazz vocals. Fortunately for the comfort of all in the house, the keys for Margo were brought up 4ths and 5th, allowing Ebersole her comfort belt and tones, which sold every number; especially her powerhouse rendition of the second-rate “Welcome to the Theatre” (if the first half of the lyrics were as good as the second half, I’d consider a change). And especially for someone who missed a great deal of the rehearsal time due to influenza, she scored big time and unlike Stokes in Kismet, I was able to forgive her reliance on the prompt book.
Mario Cantone. Playing the role of the sassy gay sidekick to the diva usually lends itself to caricature; but Cantone played Duane, Margo’s dresser as a friend and confidante who also just happened to be a very funny individual. Cantone’s exercise in restraint and nuance was much appreciated by those in attendance. You knew he cared for and protected Margo; and it showed with a very warm relationship between the two characters.
– The ensemble. They danced it up; especially the boys in “But Alive” who managed to send up the camp while delivering it. (Here’s the clip from the 1973 telecast with Bacall. Outrageous. http://youtube.com/watch?v=71dRwNTN69I). They brought down the house with the title song. They even managed to work with the dreck of “She’s No Longer a Gypsy,” the bizarre “Fasten Your Seatbelts,” and “Backstage Babble.”
Kate Burton. Who can do so much with so little. What a treat. And what a waste of a role. This woman deserves to be doing anything from Phyllis in Follies to Vera in Mame.
Michael Park and Tom Hewitt. In choice supporting roles as lover and producer of the star; they take a necessary backseat to the Margo-Eve story.
– The first act. It plays much smoother. What is bad, is at least enjoyable camp and therefore more amusing to watch and hear.
– The gentleman behind us who was so excited to see Christine Ebersole we thought he was going to have a diva fit. It was priceless. Especially Roxie’s enjoyment of the entire proceeding.
– The orchestra. They sounded phenomenal. Great sound, great musical direction and a great complement to the singers.

The In-Between:

Erin Davie. A fresh-faced delight from Grey Gardens; her best scenes were opposite Ebersole. However, I don’t think she was well-directed. She was too “Little Evie” for my liking. Noah was incredibly accurate in describing her “One Hallowe’en” as “Daddy’s Girl.”
Chip Zien. He’s rather annoying. But he wasn’t terrible.
– The midsection of the title song. It was cute, but it got cloying. They removed the original mid-section of the number with a send-up of various hit musicals by replacing lines with “applause.” Here, they did an Encores! best-of run-down, setting up a small gold proscenium and people performing snippets from a slew of musicals that have been done in recent years. A few of them were amusing, but come on. Also, he glaring anachronism of using “All That Jazz” and “Beautiful Girls” in a song that takes place in early ’71 was rather irritating. (Granted Follies was a few months away, but it’s highly doubtful this chorus boy would have been singing “Beautiful Girls” at this point). The original was also quite famous for its Oh, Calcutta! moment where the boys flashed their asses to the audience; something that was also telecast on the Tony’s in 1970 ON CBS!!!! (I’m surprised they got away with it).

Cons:

– The score. I’m sorry Sarah, in spite of occasionally amusing campy numbers, and one really good song (the title), this is the worst score of a Best Musical winner. Strouse and Adams have run the gamut – Bye Bye Birdie to Bring Back Birdie should say it all. The second act is particularly hideous (“One of a Kind” takes it cue from a coffee tagline; then crams too many words into too short a space and just kinda sits there awkwardly).
– The book. Jesus Christ. One of the greatest films ever. A pretty middling book. It lacks bite. It lacks character development; And it lacks a satisfying ending. In fact, the ending was a complete rushjob. Comden and Green have delivered class and wit in many of their shows; in spite of a few great one liners, they were not the people for this job. Certain characters (Karen, Buzz, etc) just lose so much in this translation.
– The second act. There is little to salvage even for a camp factor. And who the hell thought “Truman Capote’s balls” was a good idea for a lyric?
– The ending. A combination of the two previous entries. Not only was it rushed, it was unsatisfactory. All of a sudden everything was wrapped up; Eve was basically a kept woman by her producer and Margo decides to give up the theatre for marital bliss. WHAT? Well, at least that’s what came about from the terrible eleven o’clock number “Something Greater.” The hook: “There’s something greater.” I’m still not sure if it was intentional, but suddenly it feels as though the actress playing Margo is commenting on the song she’s singing… When you get the revelation that Margo wants to “be what to her man what a woman should be is something greater and finally that’s for me.” Horrible. When Encores! did Fiorello! in its first season, they revised the creaky “strikes me” line from “The Very Next Man.” Besides, someone as interesting and in love with theatre like Margo couldn’t possibly give up one for the other; but try to find a balance between the two. It’s not Bill would ever give up his directing career for her, so why would she not be the diva to her adoring public? Also, we lose the book-end effect of the flashback, where we come back to the awards and everyone gets in their parting shots (Bette Davis has what I think is the greatest exit line on film) and also the incredibly memorable final scene of poetic justice.
– Direction. I don’t think Kathleen Marshall showed up.
– Playbills. How could the City Center run out of Playbills for a 5 performance run? Most of the gallery received photocopied programs that you might get at an elementary school production. Fortunately Roxie spotted some while we were making a brief trip to the rear mezz to see Sarah and Kari. Though it felt like we were going to have to ward off the angry mob when we got back up after intermission.

Imagine if:

Arthur Laurents wrote the book, with Jule Styne and Bob Merrill providing the score. Perhaps Angela Lansbury was Margo Channing; we can keep Penny Fuller, who may be the definitive Eve; watch her on the telecast and prepare to be floored. She even, after the flashbacks, makes early Eve likable. Just throwing that out there….

Overheard while waiting for the train…. Three actors talking in Grand Central Station… “Oh my goodness, we just came from the final dress of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. It was embarassing. We couldn’t even stay for the third act.” Oh dear. Well, I guess I’ll find out for myself on March 12.

‘What the eye arranges is what is beautiful…"

It took me years to warm up to Sunday in the Park with George. There I admit it; in fact the first time I saw the taping of the original Broadway production, aside from Bernadette Peters and the end of the first act, I was bored. The jaunty atonal score was initially unmemorable; leaving little to no impression on me. Plus, I have never been a big fan of Mandy Patinkin, so that didn’t help any.

However, the more I matured, the more I kept pushing myself back to the score; I always felt like I was missing something important about it; and was intrigued. It took years of listening, and several attempts at viewing the production; reading about it plus reading the libretto that started the thawing process. Not that every musical should have that laborious nature (indeed, while I have come to respect and admire Passion, I will never love it).

Anyway, the clincher was in 2004 when I was asked to work on my college’s production as dramaturge. I immersed myself in the information around the show: I read all I could on Sondheim and Sunday from varying texts and sources. Reviews, biographies, intricate analyses, you name it. I also auditioned for the show, merely for fun, since I knew that as an outsider who wasn’t a major in the theatre department, I would never be seriously considered for any roles. My audition went very well. I sang the patter section of “It Would Have Been Wonderful” and the last A section of “Love Can’t Happen” (in the show key, to toot my own horn) and did a Nicky Silver monologue. It went much better than I (and I think they) expected. I got a callback. Well, that didn’t go very well. (The confidence I had at the initial audition was thoroughly depleted when met by the condescending glares of the other actors). And I wasn’t cast. So we set about working on the show; I was rarely utilized by the cast and crew for questions throughout the rehearsal period, but was ready to be a source if necessary.

Then I got put into the show (the person playing “Man with Bicycle” and “Man on Shore” opted not to accept his part); mostly to add my voice to the choral numbers, an extra person to hit the high G’s in “Sunday.” However, getting involved in table work and talking about the productions; and even seeing things in the Lincoln Center TOFT archive (which included the original Playwrights Horizons workshop), my eyes were opened to the artistic genius at work. Anyway, I’ve experienced this feeling of protectiveness whenever I’ve been involved with a show where I develop a sort of unconditional love for the work; even if it be a red-headed step child of the theatre.

I came to love Sunday in the Park with George.

And I saw it live as an audience member for the first time last night at the first preview of the Broadway revival playing at Studio 54. It’s an import of the British production that played the Menier Chocolate Factory in 2006 and contains the Olivier-winning stars of that production; Daniel Evans and Jenna Russell (the latter making her Broadway debut). Supporting the two superlative stars are the superb Broadway veterans Michael Cumpsty, Jessica Molaskey, Anne L. Nathan, Ed Dixon and the delightful Mary Beth Peil.

The production affected me in many ways. I was mesmerized by the animation of the scenic design which cleverly altered itself to show a flash of a figure of the painting here and there or even the subtle encroachment of autumn during “Beautiful.” (They even used the animated projections for the multiple George sequence in “Putting it Together”). The twilight effect of the streetlamps on La Grand Jatte 1984 during “Lesson #8 was a sheer marvel of subtlety and of scenography complementing the onstage action.

Evans is particularly stunning as George. Though Mandy has his teeth firmly embedded into the role (which was also aided by the original Broadway cast recording being the only album of the score for 22 years), for the first time I felt I understood George. I saw an artist so dedicated to his work and so close to a breakthrough that he shuns the world and eventually loses the great love of his life as a result. His George wasn’t a cryptic brooding mess of nerves; there was a heart to Evans’ George that took on new and refreshing dynamics, especially driving home “Finishing the Hat” (which received the Peter Filichia applause: the audience response was huge; it started to dissipate only to re-emerge louder and more pronounced than before). The song “Beautiful” is one of the most quietly poignant moments Mr. Sondheim has created; you have juxtaposing opinions of perspective and change between George and his somewhat senile mother. George finds such promise in change; “Pretty is what changes…” while nostalgia and a dislike of change gets the best of her “How I long for the old view.” It’s a moment of remarkable depth; especially hearing George find beauty in all that he sees, whether it be old or new, and his commitment to capturing it as an artist. Russell founds ways of both reinventing Dot and yet at times, coming so close to reminding me of Bernadette. She’s beautiful, she gets the laughs and while she may not be as warm as the famed originator of the part, she does manage to give Dot a loving heart. She scored especially well as Marie in the second act with a devastating “Children and Art.”

What was most surprising was the amount of polish since it was their first performance in front of an audience. The lighting cues are many (the tech rehearsal must have been hell) and so much of the production revolves around the lighting and projections for its full effect. While there could be a little tightening in spots (particularly “Putting it Together” which has always been too long), they have a rich foundation on which they will continue to grow throughout the run.

Speaking of quibbles… the pit. Five pieces, are you kidding me? Why don’t you just get Dick Van Dyke to reprise his one-man band Bert from Mary Poppins and save even more money. The loss of the French horn is the most mournful in the instrumentation; the sax substitute is lackluster. This is not Sunday in the Park with Kenny G. Others had quibbled with the use of British accents in the first act, but I was strangely okay with that; which also got me wondering how well the show would translate to French… Another weak spot: Alexander Gemignani is rather annoying onstage. Didn’t love him in Sweeney Todd and didn’t care for him here as the Boatman.

The show has always been plagued by its second act which is necessary to the authors’ intent, but doesn’t live up to the magic of the first (one review of the original production said act one was the best new musical in town; act two the worst). I have never seen the problematic second act run as smoothly and enjoyably as it did last night. Moment to moment, I was continually impressed; particularly the final 20-30 minutes; rich are the songs “Children and Art” (the lyrics in this song alone are enough to warrant its Pulitzer Prize win, followed by “Lesson #8” and the long-awaited musical release in “Move On” (which no doubt would have brought the house in on itself had it not been directed to move directly into dialogue and leave us without the opportunity to applaud; I’ll be quicker next time). It was ethereal.

The moment that has haunted me through the day the most and will likely continue to do so for a long time was the final moment of the show. There is the reprise of the “Sunday” anthem with 1984 George connecting with Dot and the characters of the painting. In the moment following the exit of the characters from the stage, the projections have reversed themselves and gone back to a pure white stage.

George reads: “White. A blank page or canvas. His favorite. So many possibilities…”

My breath was drawn and my heart exploded with emotion when he turned upstage and made his breakthrough; gasping with rapture and openness at the white canvas that lay ahead for him as an artist. The words that I have just written can’t even begin to explain just how stunning this final flourish was as the lights went out. All I know is that it will stay with me always.

The ovation was extraordinary. As the house lights came up, the audience only increased its roar of approval; and it was clear no one was going anywhere until the cast came out one more time, which they did. Both Evans and Russell were visibly overwhelmed by the reception. I love impromptu moments like that.

Not everyone I was with shared my enthusiastic view, but Sondheim interpretations generally tend to polarize than unite. It’s the nature of the beast and that’s all right with me. It was just enough to share the night with a slew of classy friends and acquaintances.

I’m already going back. It can’t be soon enough for me.

Side note: Miles said observed that Sunday is the MILF of musicals; it gets better with age. Not the classiest observation I’ve heard, but he’s actually not far from the truth (though in his favor, he also referred to it as a fine wine, but I found this reference more amusing). Sweeney Todd is the masterpiece, Follies the cult favorite, and Pacific Overtures the most intriguing; Sunday in the Park With George is probably Sondheim’s most fascinating score.

Second side note: I apparently bear a striking resemblance to Georges Seurat (at least the onstage version) as was pointed out to me by two strangers in the lobby at intermission.

Theatrical Highlights of the Year

1. Follies. February 12, 2007 @ the City Center. A star-studded, riveting performance of a landmark musical; possibly the ultimate in cult status. Donna Murphy and Victoria Clark were at the top of their game. The rest of cast rose to the occasion, save for Christine Baranski‘s psychotic and off-key rendition of “I’m Still Here” which still stopped the show. It was a real treat to hear the score unadulterated and with its complete original orchestration. An event that was not to be missed and woefully went unrecorded. Saddest part? The rumored transfer never came to fruition.

2. Coram Boy. May 17, 2007 @ the Imperial Theatre. A delightfully and unapologetically Dickensian romp through plot machinations and melodrama that made for an inventive evening at the theatre. British actress Xanthe Elbrick successfully played an aristocratic adolescent male in the first act and a cockney orphan of 8 in the second, earning the Theatre World award and nominations from all the awards committees. Jan Maxwell, as a self-preserving feministic accomplice to the villain, delivered a fully layered and realized performance, also worthy of much praise. Ran for 30 performances, becoming one of the most expensive flop plays in history. Deserved better reviews and audience for its theatrical inventions and concept.

3. Deuce. May 22, 2007 @ the Music Box Theatre. Terrence McNally‘s second rate play wouldn’t have made my list save for one exception: it brought Angela Lansbury back to Broadway. For that reason alone it deserves much praise in spite of the inherent weakness of the work itself. Lansbury and co-star Marian Seldes were a marvel of technique (with 110 years of Broadway between them) and a chance to see Lansbury back on Broadway (the last time she was in NY was a flop revival of Mame in 1983 that closed when I was 6 weeks old) was worth the price of admission alone.

4. Journey’s End. June 5, 2007 @ the Belasco Theatre. Admittedly, I was severely disengaged with the first act; even to the point of nodding off (though that may have been the free wine from the Theatre World award reception I attended that afternoon). However, the second act put everything into perspective and the last five or ten minutes of the show were among the most harrowing spent in a theatre. The audience was so numb they forgot to applaud. Remarkable work by the ensemble; most notably Boyd Gaines and Stark Sands. Truly an event that should have been seen by more, especially given the inescapable relevance of an 80 year old anti-war play.

5. Grey Gardens. June 12, 2007 @ the Walter Kerr Theatre. Though I’d seen this musical in 2006, this particular performance was the most memorable I attended. It was the first performance following the Tony awards at which Christine Ebersole and Mary Louise Wilson took home the Best Actress and Best Featured Actress in the Musical Tony’s. The house was abuzz with fans and newcomers; creating that certain palpable energy that comes oh so rarely in the theatre. Never have I witnessed a star receive a standing-ovation on a second act entrance. I doubt we may ever have cause for that again.

6. 110 in the Shade. July 23, 2007 @ Studio 54. Christine Ebersole’s greatest competition for the Tony award came from star Audra McDonald‘s nuanced portrayal of the love-lorn, insecure spinster Lizzie Curry in this 1963 musical adaptation of Nash’s The Rainmaker (memorably filmed with Katharine Hepburn in 1956). The score by Jones & Schmidt shone, the cast was outstanding and Audra made your heart feel light from the moment she entered to the moment the inevitable rains came. It’s very rare to see a matinee crowd respond with such vigor to a stage musical revival such as I did on this hot July day; but when McDonald finished “Raunchy”, the house erupted as though we were attending a rock concert. It was also a treat to see John Cullum performing as Lizzie’s father and Bobby Steggert‘s comic impression as Lizzie’s not-so-bright yet tender-hearted little brother.

7. Gypsy. July 25, 2007 @ the City Center. Patti LuPone finally got to tear it up as Rose in NY. In spite of the lack of a complete scenic design and a rather bizarre lamb puppet, the production was everything you would hope for in your presentation of this musical; a stellar Rose, a solid Herbie and a heart-breaking Louise. LuPone maneuvered her way through the role with fiery conviction, earthiness and a determination that could put the fear of God into Patton. Her “Everything’s Coming Up Roses” not only foreshadowed the second act “Turn,” but could very well be the most definitive delivery of that song. Laura Benanti was the greatest Louise I have ever seen. Someone so attractive could play awkward teen so well – and have a transformation into Gypsy Rose Lee that was nuanced and damn sexy. Boyd Gaines went above and beyond the call for what is required of Herbie. Tony Yazbeck was a most convincing Tulsa; and one you would think could elope with June without requiring a true stretch of our willing suspension of disbelief. Excited for the Broadway transfer this spring.

8. August: Osage County. December 4, 2007 @ the Imperial Theatre. Tracy Letts‘ new drama is one of the most riveting and enjoyable pieces of theatre to open on Broadway in a few years. A spectacular return to the old-school three-acter, the play explores the dormant volcano that is the Weston family and their myriad of dysfunction. Ferocious performances from Deanna Dunagan as Violet, the combination Mary Tyrone, Regina Giddens and Martha and Amy Morton as her equally volatile daughter anchor this brilliant work. There have been some people who’ve dismissed the critical plaudits and claim the work is an overrated variation on Mama’s Family. Those people are missing the subtextual boat here, especially when you view the dynamite second act; which has some of the best contemporary writing ever presented on a NY stage. Never mind the naysayers, see this play before it closes.

What I want to see next year: Come Back, Little Sheba, Sunday in the Park With George, The 39 Steps, Les Liaisones Dangereuxes, The Country Girl, November, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, In the Heights, A Catered Affair, South Pacific, Gypsy, Show Boat at Carnegie Hall, Billy Elliot, and also Saved! at Playwrights Horizons.

August: Osage County, or the greatest play ever

Okay, maybe not ever, but one of the most extraordinary in recent memory. Last Tuesday night I had the privilege of attending my second Broadway opening night, special thanks to Noah. It was thrilling to be able to attend; especially given the precarious situation the stagehand’s strike thrust upon this unknown play, without a name cast and a recognizable creative team. Thank God, the show is here. And unlikely to ever go away and for that we should be incredibly thankful.

My first ordeal came with the question, “what do I wear?” That was easily assuaged by a trip to the mall, abandoning my usual earth tones for a classier black and charcoal grey combination. Second of all, I had a trimming accident, so off came my beard of four years. Well, regardless, I looked like sex on legs. (Seriously).

Anyway, my point. The opening night was star-studded, much more than I think anyone would have realized: Angela Lansbury, Elaine Stritch, Marian Seldes, Alan Rickman, David Schwimmer, John Krasinski, Anthony Edwards, Christine Ebersole, Tim Daly, Zeljko Ivanek, Duncan Sheik, Ana Gasteyer, Laurie Metcalf, Melina Kanakaredes, Gary Sinise, Kate Walsh, Tom Hulce, Tamara Tunie, Kelli O’Hara, Penny Fuller, Lois Smith, Bobby Cannavale, Marsha Mason, among a slew of others that I’m probably forgetting at this point. Anyway, as exhilarating as it was being a King of the Hill wallflower in the lobby watching the glitterati arrive, the opening night experience itself was overshadowed by the masterwork onstage at the Imperial.

It’s hard to describe what is destined to be a contemporary classic. To see a play that returns to an older form (the first original three act play on Broadway in how long?) yet managed to infuse the drama with such a sense of humor and relatability. Every family has its dysfunctions, yet this one manages to pinpoint them all without ever becoming too absurd for its own good. The plot revolves around a family returning to its homestead in Oklahoma after the patriarch goes missing. The reunion unearths a slew of dirty laundry, grudges and secrets, led by the matriarch Violet, suffering from cancer of the mouth (oh how fitting), and in a stunning breakthrough performance (for a grandmother) by the Chicago-based actress Deanna Dunagan. Violet is constantly shifting between her natural no-nonsense, tell-it-like-it-is persona and her drug-addled incoherence; a volatile combination that helps her to force out family skeletons and lead them in a rousing cakewalk through the second and third act. It’s hard to describe what it is about her performance; the command of the stage, the ease at which she’s created her character or the fact that Vi is a cross between Mary Tyrone and Martha, with a dash of Regina Giddens thrown in for good measure. Also standing out is Amy Morton as her mother’s daughter, Barbara, who ends up trying to strangle her mother when things get out of hand and is slowly turning into her. Watching the two pitted against each other is one of the theatrical highlights of the year. Dunagan dominated the second; Morton, the third. It really feels though, that Barbara is the lead, but boy is Violet a good time. And in that one wonders if they’ll compete against each other for the Best Actress awards this season. I think Dunagan’s Theatre World award should be engraved today to save the time.

For what it’s worth, the entire ensemble is extraordinary. Never once do you question these actors as a family (all but two veterans of the Steppenwolf production that played earlier this year in Chicago). I don’t want to give plot points away because the entire arc of the play is filled with little surprises and unexpected revelations. (And hell, if you want to know, see the damned thing). I will say this: the second act possesses some of the finest contemporary writing I’ve ever seen. The final line of the second act had a reaction unlike any I’ve ever witnessed at a drama; the audience was still cheering after the lights had come up for intermission. Think of the play as though Eugene O’Neill had been asked to write Arrested Development. (The midwestern setting is more reminiscent of Bill Inge than O’Neill, but that’s besides the point). The put-downs and family arguments and incredibly awkward situations that arise are incredibly humorous, but the work ends with an incredibly sobering punch. There is talk of the awards Pulitzer and Antoinette Perry for this esteemed production (which received practically unanimous raves; the lone hold-out was that out of step Jacques Le Sourd from the Journal News), and is currently only scheduled to run through March 9. If you have brains, get your hands on tickets immediately as you will not want to miss this landmark achievement.

I know I probably should have written some brilliant critical commentary on the piece, but we have eternity to judge the piece with that ethereal lens. For now, just see this magnanimous opus. (The fastest three hours and 20 minutes I’ve spent at a play).

Blah Blah Blah Blah: Horny Teen Angst at Spring Awakening

After months of my own reticence holding me back, I finally ventured to the Eugene O’Neill Theatre to absorb the uber-hyped Indie-rock experience that is Spring Awakening. For those reading this who may have been under a rock without internet access and a chatterati account at All That Chat or BroadwayWorld, Spring Awakening is a Frank Wedekind play of considerable controversy. Wedekind, a leading proponent of the expressionist movement in drama wrote the play as a scathing indictment of the sexual repressions faced by teens in 1890s Germany, replete with molestation, premarital sex (a moment that would hold up in today’s courts as rape), unwanted pregnancy, abortion, masturbation, homosexuality, oh, you know, all the good stuff… Well, anyway, now its an all-singing, all-dancing musical extravaganza created by composer-orchestrator Duncan Sheik, librettist-lyricist Steven Sater and director Michael Mayer.

Why I held back? Well, for instance, I have always been more of a Sondheim, Rodgers, Bock & Harnick type than one for Wildhorn, Lloyd-Webber and Larson. If it weren’t for my adoration of Adam Guettel as a composer, one might consider me a little old-fashioned in my tastes. The combination of the score, the type of music I admit that I only heard when out among friends in college or at certain trendy bars, as well as the insufferable hype of the New York critics (particularly my own injured pride when SA came along and these critics and the NY theatre scene pushed my darling Grey Gardens to the back-burner) and 8 Tony Awards set about so many preconceived notions in my head which led me to consistently balk in actually going to the show. Too many people told me it was changing the face of musical theatre forever. Too many people told me it was art. There’s something to be said for a backlash against such hype.

I for one appreciate when an opinion can be backed up by ample citations of merit than the purely sophomoric idea that any show is art. Peter Griffin farts, the crowd goes wild and Family Guy rightly spoofs the American notions of what commands merit. (Tangent: if you haven’t seen that episode, “The King is Dead”, the true musical theatre fans are in for a real treat). Though in recent weeks, I’d been hearing some divergent opinions the writing and dramaturgy. At one end, I was hearing about a show that possesses incredible universality, reaching out through pop music and explicit ingenuity to beckon a freshened outlook on the impending state of the American musical. On the otherhand, I was hearing about shoddy structure, an unfinished libretto and almost terrible lyric-writing.

So I finally put it to my own test. I had listened to the album, from which I couldn’t make much in the way of a dramatic sense, particularly as I was listening to expressionistic characters written in 1891 singing about their “junk,” with anachronistic allusions to stereos and with an overwhelmingly American vernacular steeped throughout the lyrics. Then after months of holding off (I had to see Grey Gardens several times, Gypsy at the City Center and catch the palpable revival of 110 in the Shade), the opportunity arose for me to see the show for myself.

Much to my surprise, I had a ridiculously good time. The score, especially in the angrier ensemble numbers, is a much-welcome adrenaline rush. Yes, through the anachronistic moments the actors pull out lavalier mikes and sing their inner monologues as though we are at a rock concert, there is that “universality” among ages. Let’s face it, the Protestants have left an indelible stamp on our sexual mores. Though we may be more lax in how sexuality is perceived today, there are a still a lot of leftover hang ups with controversies over sex education, birth control, etc. The failure of parents to communicate with their children over the issues that make our teenage years so utterly and inexplicably turbulent is still a baffling anomaly. I felt myself tingling with excitement whenever Tony-winner John Gallagher, Jr, as the unstable and misunderstood Moritz (think Timothy Hutton in Ordinary People meets Malcolm McDowell in If…), exploded his rage into song, or the build-up and release of my favorite song in the score, “Totally Fucked.” (Steven Sater’s lyrics lack subtlety, and I assume the choice was intentional).

For all the want of it, I can’t really get into a laundry list of the pros and cons to maintain a formal musical theatre review. As I’ve been writing this, I want to address more the place of Spring Awakening in the history of the American musical rather than expound on its individual strengths and weaknesses. But I shall before I engulf further into my loftier ambitions. Jonathan Groff and Lea Michele are the leads as Melchior and Wendla, easy on the eyes and ears, and faced with two of the more unsettling scenes in the work). Christine Estabrook and Stephen Spinella play every adult in the show with aplomb (especially Estabrook). Gallagher Jr. is the standout, as previously mentioned and Jonathan B. Wright plays the gay Hanschen with the dry flippancy of a Bond villain. The scenography is a grungy post-modern hodgepodge, complete with neon lights (the lighting design was extraordinarily inventive), gothic brick architecture and a cleverly placed chalkboard listing all the musical numbers. Though sitting in the same theatre that John Doyle‘s acclaimed revival of Sweeney Todd played, I was constantly reminded of the previous tenant of the theatre. However, the show’s greatest weakness arrives in the form of Steven Sater. As librettist and lyricist, he fails to fully create a tangible libretto; you want more from his book than mere setups for each number. His lyrics are only marginally better; particularly excruciating is “The Word of Your Body,” at which I was unsure whether I was supposed to laugh or cringe (ironically it also possesses the most haunting melody composer Sheik has written for the musical).

For a show that is building in energy and momentum, Sater all but kills the moment with what feels like a rush-job of an ending. Also, the final song, “The Song of Purple Summer” felt like a bizarre variation on “Make Our Garden Grow” from Candide and didn’t really take the show anywhere. It must be stressed, the show wouldn’t take off it weren’t for Duncan Sheik. His gift for infectious and sophisticated melody brings us the evening’s highest points. You can see the audience becoming actively engaged, especially when the emotions of rage and anger vault out of the onstage band and the performers. The music is when Spring Awakening reaches the uber-heights that have been loftily established by the critics and fans. Kudos also to Michael Mayer for his lucid staging and clever use of space; and also to Bill T. Jones for his emotionally motivated choreography.

Has Spring Awakening changed the face of the musical? It’s probably too early to tell the kind of impact the musical will make on the genre, but it’s likely to be considered a benchmark of excellence. Going back 80 years ago to Show Boat, the first musical to attempt to integrate the song and story, while also tackling the serious subject matter of racism, alcoholism, failed marriages and miscegenation, we have the dawn of what is widely considered the modern American musical. Then Porgy and Bess in 1935; Pal Joey in 1940; Oklahoma! in 1943 gave birth to the musical play (yes, this was incredibly revolutionary in its day and changed the face of the genre as well, kids); West Side Story in 1957, with its revolution in dance; Fiddler on the Roof in 1964. Company in 1970, important for its innovation of songs as commentary on action and the first successful concept musical to grace Broadway. And most importantly for the purposes of writing here, Hair in 1968. Here we have the first rock score heard on Broadway, the introduction of the aural and rhythmic elements that began the decline of the musical theatre as popular song. We had nudity, simulated drug use, we had an expression of then contemporary counter culture, with a musical giving a voice to a cultural movement of iconic proportions. Jump ahead to Rent in 1996, with its update of La Boheme reflecting the AIDS crisis, winning the Pulitzer Prize and its immediate attachment to the youth of that generation.

When you examine all these elements, you find that Spring Awakening has been a long time coming. But so has Grey Gardens, what is essentially two (linked) one-act musicals based on a documentary. Or think of Adam Guettel’s neoclassical marriage of Rodgers & Sondheim in The Light in the Piazza (think his composition’s complex stream of consciousness sophistication, but cynicism-free gift for soaring romanticism in his melody). Or the R&B infused opera Caroline or Change (which has only grown in esteem since its closing three years ago). There’s also the infectious and satiric pastiche of Avenue Q and the tongue in cheek Urinetown. The process continues next spring when A Catered Affair by John Bucchino and Harvey Fierstein will open at the Walter Kerr.

Every new show is the product of everything that has preceded it. Thankfully, Spring Awakening is one of the few critical and financial successes that isn’t a tepid retread of a popular film or a poor excuse to showcase the songbook of a popular singer or group in a jukebox experience. It is an earnest attempt at reclaiming originality in a not-so-dead or dying artform (Further evidence on my opinion? Listen to “Intermission Talk” from Rodgers & Hammerstein’s Me & Juliet. That should put an interesting spin on the talk of the death of the musical theatre).

There are things about Spring Awakening I wish were different. I think it was incomplete on its opening and in spite of the seven or eight years of work put into the show, there was still room for improvement. However, it’s one of the greatest theatrical events currently offered in New York, that is bound to give you the adrenaline fueled feeling that you would find at a spirited rock concert. For the sheer theatricality and ingenuity of the experience, the show is a force to be reckoned with.

Footnote: Grey Gardens was the best musical of the 2006-7 Broadway season.