What a Bunch of [tossers]

 

An Original Musical? Not so much. (Top: Jeff Bowen; Bottom: Hunter Bell)

[tossers]: what an apt moniker for fans of the little-show-that-could, [title of show], which debuted on June 17^th at the Lyceum Theatre.  Whoever came up with that fan name clearly is not British, or if so, thinks he or she is just as clever and witty as the show itself – which is to say, not very.

 

 

[tos] is a show about making a show, something we’ve seen many times before in incantations which were much more joyful and funny and that offered some kind of artistic merit (42^nd Street comes to mind).  Here, creator-stars Jeff Bowen (music lyrics) and Hunter Bell (book) outline their not entirely original journey from the inkling of a show possibility as they sit squandering time away in their respective New York apartments to the festival circuit to their hit off-Broadway run to finally hitting the big time on “The Broadway,” as they like to call it.   I hear that the You Tube campaign launched to create buzz for the show – in which they created a video-log of their attempts to approach individual Broadway theatres in a charming effort to convince them to produce the show – was a hoot, but unfortunately, it’s only referred to in passing in the show.  Why they didn’t utilize some film projections so as to incorporate them is beyond me.  It may have added some much needed production quality – and genuine humor – to the show. 

Now don’t get me wrong:  Bowen and Bell are endlessly endearing in their love for all things musical theatre, and their earnestness to create a successful show with artistic merit is awfully admirable.  But when they sing of their plight to create “An Original Musical” and later compare their own “risk-taking” to that of such renowned and innovative creative teams as Kander and Ebb (The Rink), Comden and Green (On the Town), they simply point towards their own creative inadequacies.  Bowen’s tunes, while catchy for the most part, are not really theatrical, and Bell’s book is simply uninspired and not as funny as he wants – and needs – it to be.  There are constant jokes that center on obscure musical references that you’ll only get if you’re “in the know” (Bowen sings lyrics from the notorious flop, Henry, Sweet Henry, for example) or if you’ve just starred in a community theatre production of Into the Woods (there are at least three lyrical references to that Sondheim fairy tale favorite).  The guys are charming and full of energy, though, and equally so are their two friends who eagerly round out the cast:  Heidi Blickenstaff, the powerhouse voice, and Susan Blackwell, the quirky character actress.  I’d like to say that the cast is so much better than the material they are performing, but that would only do them a disservice.

What it really comes down to is this:  [tos] has no business being on Broadway.  Bowen and Bell’s amazing persistence and determination defied all odds, but my guess is this 4-man-4-chairs-1-keyboard show won’t be there for long.  What is essentially a tiresome variant on the Forbidden Broadway-style that would (and did) happily succeed ensconced in a cozy off-Broadway theatre, maintains only a niche following here; the majority of the tourist-spectators (which only filled half the auditorium when I was there on a Monday – a night which doesn’t afford much competition as the majority of Broadway theatres are dark) frequently turn to their just-as-bewildered companions with a mystified look as if to say, “We’re paying $100 for this?  Monkeys and Vampires?  I don’t get it.”  Broadway productions come with expectations – fair or not – and if a work isn’t musically inventive, it should at the very least have some wonderfully unnecessary pyro (a la Carrie’s hands aflame), Drew Lachey, or a roller skating mermaid or two.  The thing is, I’m a self-proclaimed musical theatre whore and I don’t get [tos]’s draw either.  [title of show], far from being my favorite thing, is not even my ninth favorite thing.  [tos] that.

Yankees Has a Lotta “Heart”

 

Jackson and Krakowski are "Two Lost Souls" in New York City Center's limited engagement of Damn Yankees (photo credit Newsday/Ari Mintz)

Having heard mixed reviews, I walked into the City Center not sure what to expect.  While I’ve always had a soft spot for The Pajama Game (due mostly to its clever and tuneful score/lyrics), I knew that the musical-making team of Richard Adler and Jerry Ross, while promising, was short-lived due to Ross’s untimely death at age 29 only months after the Broadway premiere of Yankees. One can only imagine the varied and talented work he and Adler would have accomplished together had they only had the time.

As the second and, sadly, final of their two shows together, Damn Yankees charmingly capitalizes on America’s favorite pastime during the height of baseball’s popularity in the 50s.  Meg is frustrated with her husband Joe, a loyal and exasperated fan of the rather lackluster Washington Senators, who spends more time yelling at the bungling ballplayers on television than he does affectionately conversing with her.  When Joe encounters the commanding and delectably devilish Mr. Applegate, he rashly sells his soul – with added escape clause, of course, him being a real estate man and all  - for a shot to become the brilliant ballplayer who can take his cherished Senators all the way.  

While George Abbott and Douglass Wallop’s Faustian book is quaint and rather simplistic, the actors make the most of it, and there are some very fine performances.  Will and Grace star, Sean Hayes, was clearly the audience favorite, as he evoked an off-handedly facetious and smooth Satan who gamely attempts to corrupt the upright – and verging on dull – “Shoeless” Joe Hardy (the charming and beautifully voiced Cheyenne Jackson) to enter into an affair with his sexy protege, Lola (the flexible and engaging Jane Krakowski).  Hayes may not be the strongest singer, but with only one musical number – the sardonic and show-stopping “Those Were the Good Old Days” – he brings the house down, accompanying himself on the piano (“Yes, I’m really playing”) and delightfully playing directly the to the audience.

While the stars shine, giving sparkle to the many memorable songs, the production goes a bit awry whenever it attempts to showcase the signature Fosse choreography. Choreographer Mary MacLeod attempts to faithfully recreate the dancing man’s famously strict movements – snapping fingers, tilted bowler hats, isolated hips and shoulders – but the ensemble never quite masters the master.  A bit sloppy, the dances are never as sharp and contained as they should be.  What’s more, the Fosse style appears oddly anachronistic in a baseball musical that takes place in the conservative 50s, and its presence in this production only serves to highlight those superfluous numbers that were added for Yankees’s original star (Gwen Verdon) and/or to showcase Fosse’s talent.  To this point, the mambo number (“Who’s Got the Pain?”) performed by Joe’s fan club as the act one closer is baffling and frustratingly unintegrated.  While Fosse’s sharp and isolated style adds to and develops a show like Sweet Charity which takes place in a 60s dance hall, it fails to characterize Yankees, and unfortunately, director John Rando’s staging doesn’t help: transitions between dance numbers and dialogue are awkward and stilted. 

Despite its choreographic flaws and the somewhat dated book, City Center’s Damn Yankees offers an overall charming evening at the theatre, and the two individuals largely to be accredited for such success are the musical makers themselves, Adler and Ross.  With the wistful ballad “A Man Doesn’t Know,” the bouncy and infectious “Shoeless Joe from Hannibal, MO,” and the seductive “Whatever Lola Wants,” Yankees can’t help but steal your “Heart.”

Jeff Daniels’s Singing Cowboy Never Quite Hits that High Note

When I heard that Jeff Daniels’s new play was a musical comedy about a singing cowboy, there was no way I was going to pass that up.  While Daniels has maintained a vast and varied film career, acting in everything from family fare (101 Dalmations) to indie gems (The Squid and the Whale) to politically-charged Oscar winners (Good Night, and Good Luck), he’s also a playwright and founder of The Purple Rose Theatre Company in his hometown of Chelsea, Michigan, a small town just west of Ann Arbor.  Though he’s certainly pulled off some serious – and seriously good – fare in the past (his The Guest Artist, about the meeting at a bus station of a young playwright and his not-so-green mentor, covers art and politics and everything in between and is both moving and philosophically engaging), he’s probably best-known in theatre circles for Escanaba in da Moonlight, his Dumb and Dumber-esque comedy about life in Northern Michigan that essentially revolves around much hunting shtick and many, many flatulence jokes.  So, knowing Daniels’s previous work, I assumed that Panhandle Slim and the Oklahoma Kid would be something akin to an utterly ridiculous musical comedy adaptation of Brokeback Mountain.  But you know what they say about assuming things…

Panhandle, though a musical comedy of sorts (it’s more of a “play with songs”), is more about showcasing Daniels’s original music (which is tuneful, but not exactly essential to developing plot or character) than it is about making anyone laugh.  It tells the simple story of a wayward outlaw who provokes the wrong cowpoke, thus getting himself shot, tied up, and left to die an amazingly slow death under the sweltering prairie sun (a sun which the audience can practically feel thanks to lighting designer Reid Johnson’s warm, glowing tones).  Luckily for Slim (and for us), a singing cowboy saunters onto the scene, wielding a guitar instead of a gun, and proceeds to sporadically humor us for the seemingly long remainder of the ninety minute show.  Thanks to his Monty Python-styled giddy-up and his impeccable comic timing, John Seibert’s Oklahoma Kid is a shining advert for living unconcernedly and reveling in a happy-go-lucky attitude. Unfortunately, Daniels’s play and Guy Sanville’s direction allow too few opportunities for Seibert to really shine, and instead waste too much time on strange flashback sequences in which we are introduced to Slim’s would-be love (if only he would learn to be good!), played by Jessica Garrett with a lovely lilt to her vocal lines, and the man he wronged (Phil Powers).

Panhandle Slim perpetually repeats jokes that aren’t all that funny in the first place and does so in between not-exactly-profound discussions of the meaning of life.  It’s an odd mix that doesn’t work effectively because the play only touches on those deeper themes, never delving into them, and the comedic portions aren’t nearly light and charming enough to seamlessly transition between and infiltrate the philosophical discussions.  While Daniels’s past efforts with comedy and not-so-usual settings (I can’t imagine there exists many plays set in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula) and styles worked in his favor, it’s no wonder that this production represents the sixth draft of a play for which he claims “th characters led the way.”  Could anyone expect more than a few stale jokes and halfhearted attempts at serious discussion from a balladeering broncobuster and a feckless fugitive?  Maybe not, but based on the many unamused faces I observed during the show, I don’t think I was the only one assuming things.