2012 Tony Awards: Best Lighting Design for a Musical

Note: My personal rankings are listed in order from best to worst, with #1 being my favorite, while predictions for the actual winner will be in orange.

BEST LIGHTING DESIGN FOR A MUSICAL

1. GHOST THE MUSICAL
Hugh Vanstone

2. ONCE
Natasha Katz

3.  FOLLIES
Natasha Katz

4. THE GERSHWINS’ PORGY AND BESS
Christopher Akerlind 

Despite all the initial brouhaha about Ms. Parks’s Porgy and Bess, little of the this revival is actually memorable, the least of which being Christopher Akerlind’s one-toned lighting design (he also lit the equally forgettable End of the Rainbow). But hey, I guess as long as the actors can be seen, a design is award-worthy, eh?

Then again, sometimes drowning the performers in darkness can get you nominated too. Natasha Katz’s lighting for the appallingly messy revival of Follies was three-toned — dark, darker, and darkest — all but hiding the actors and Gregg Barnes’s gloriously bejeweled  (Tony-nominated) costumes. Believe it or not, there is a way to light those peskily translucent spirits without losing them in the shadows…

And once again, the British megamusical comes in for the win. One of the busiest production designs of the season, the sheer number of effects that Ghost the Musical packs into one show is a marvel. While clearly aided by all the fog and LED screens and illusions, Hugh Vanstone’s lighting complements his co-designer’s well, in a mutually beneficial relationship that cleverly pulls attention away when necessary (i.e. Hey! Where’d that body come from?!), and that grounds the living in solid tones and etherealizes the dearly departed in wispy shades and shadows.

But no one likes Ghost, so the Tony will likely go to Once for Natasha Katz’s much more subtle and evocative work that creates a an authentic and earthy atmosphere for the meet-cute.

2012 Tony Awards: Best Score

Note: My personal rankings are listed in order from best to worst, with #1 being my favorite, while predictions for the actual winner will be in orange.

BEST SCORE

Photo by: Joan Marcus

1. ONE MAN, TWO GUVNORS
Grant Olding 

2. PETER AND THE STARCATCHER
Wayne Barker

3.  NEWSIES
Alan Menken

BONNIE & CLYDE
Frank Wildhorn 

Much like the Oscars rules for Best Original Score, I do not understand the arbitrary rules of eligibility for a Tony Award nomination in this category.  When I complained back in 2007 that Mary Poppins‘s score was snubbed, I was informed by a multitude of folks that it was because the percentage of original music was not high enough. But the Tonys state no rules for this specific category — you can find the fairly vague set nomination laws here – and so it seems to me that the no-brainer standard should be that the score be an original written for the stage.

So what is Newsies doing here?

Obviously, Alan Menken’s  jubilant, toe-tapping, anthem-heavy score performs the highest level of storytelling of all the nominees, but it only includes a couple numbers that didn’t originate with the 1992 film, so what gives? (No, seriously: if anyone out there has Tony nomination eligibility insight, I really do want to know how this works.)

It doesn’t really matter since Menken’s going to win, regardless of whether or not I understand/approve the rules. The man is ubiquitous these days, and voters will want to reward him (despite his misstep with Leap of Faith), especially in a category that consists of only one other musical — and a Wildhorn musical at that. Sorry, Frank, I know I shouldn’t heckle; I (sadly) missed seeing Bonnie & Clyde, after all, and this actually sounds kind of fun (color me surprised).

Which leaves two “plays with music” as the category’s potential spoilers. Peter and the Starcatcher‘s score, chockfull of mer-diddies and pirate shanties, is delightfully charming and entirely befitting its youthful, daydreaming cast of characters, but I’m still a bit bigh off the hilarity of seeing One Man, Two Guvnors the other day, and so kudos must be given to composer Grant Olding, whose skiffle — a popular form of music in 1950s UK — is infused throughout the show, making the play a charmingly-true music hall piece. A quartet called The Crave — alternately boasting bass, guitar, washboard, drums, etc. — entertains pre- and post-show and covers scene changes with their fetching amalgamation of bluegrass, rock and folk that keeps the comic hijinks moving at a catchy clip and allows the cooky cast to show off a musical talent or two in variety-show fashion. If Newsies isn’t to be rewarded here, let’s show the Brit import some love, shall we? (But voters won’t. If Newsies doesn’t take it — that’s a HUGE if — it’ll go to Peter.)

Theatre Review: Leap of Faith

Menken Takes Over Broadway with 1992 Nostalgia,
And: Raúl Misses the Mark

Raúl Esparza is a "Fox in the Henhouse."

That 1992… What a year! So many cinematic treasures! So many musical moments! So much Menken!

Disney super-star composer Alan Menken offered us both an über-flop and cult favorite in Newsies and a prince of a blockbuster ‘toon with Aladdin in 1992. But gosh darn it, that just wasn’t enough for one year. Menken decided 1992 was too good to stop there with the musical-movie/movie-musical madness. And so, last year, he brought everyone’s favorite singing nuns to The Broadway with his Tony Award-nominated musical adaptation of Sister Act (that oddly incorporated none of the 1992 film’s memorable musical moments). But he didn’t stop there either: This season, after transferring his beloved dancin’ newsboys to the big stage just one month ago, he  not-so-tunefully tackled the 1992 Steve Martin vehicle, Leap of Faith. 

It’s a random movie-to-musical selection, but it’s from the magial year of 1992, so we’ll just have to go with it. Leap of Faith, the film, was also a slightly odd choice for comedian-goofball Steve Martin who, playing a preacher-man fraudulently “healing” the vulnerable masses, displayed a surprising restraint despite the inherent ostentatiousness of the role. What started off as a semi-dark satire about a traveling ministry’s con-methods quickly devolved into earnest uplift, to the mixed response of critics. The musical, turning up the feel-good antics a notch (or ten) probably won’t be received any better.

But back to Maestro Menken for a moment. With his Sister Act, though Menken didn’t create the most memorable of scores, there were a couple of standouts, which one cannot say of his latest effort. Leap of Faith mixes derivative pop-gospel with edgeless musical theatre rock and is paired with banal lyrics by Glenn Slater (who wrote those for Sister Act the musical as well and — get this — Love Never Dies, the Phantom sequel so sinfully bad its Broadway transfer was officially cancelled after being announced twice). Sadly, neither writer seems to be aiming for anything above musical theatre mediocrity with this one.

And as with Menken’s Newsies, not a whole lot of note has changed during the screen-to-stage adaptation. A few of the characters and  relationships are tweaked — the sheriff, for example, played in the film by Liam Neeson, now pulls double duty as a love interest (Jessica Phillips) for the charming conman — but Warren Leight faithfully (heh) maintains Janus Cercone’s original story of redemption and personal healing.

Christopher Ashely, who directed the delightfully vapid Xanadu and the tightly formulaic crowd-pleaser Memphis, sufficiently moves through the songs with the help of the gospel-gesturing movements by Sergio Trujillo (also of Memphis). And there’s a nice little attempt to bust down that pesky fourth wall by making the theatre audience and the revival audience one in the same: a few TVs are mounted in the theatre, whilst a “cameraman” films it all — Jonas’s tricks and inevitable exposure as a fraud, audience (real and actors) reactions — in real time. But it all feels so ho-hum, especially when imagining what the show could have looked like in its Los Angeles tryout well over a year ago as directed-choreographed by current Evita choreographer and How to Succeed helmer, Rob Ashford (for one, the movement would have been more fluid, smoothly infiltrating the entire show, rather than popping in abruptly whenever a choral number sounds).

But even Ashford couldn’t have made musical theatre magic out of this uninspired adaptation. What’s more, perhaps the biggest misstep here is one of casting — and a surprising misstep at that. A tremendous talent, Raúl Esparza should be perfect as the beguiling con artist in a super-shiny suit (hats off to costumer designer William Ivey Long’s delightfully tacky togs), but he never quite nails the mesmerizing outlandishness of Nightingale’s over-the-top preacher-performances. When we should be dazzled, we’re simply entertained, because Esparaza’s modus operandi is more subtle allure and low-key humor (see his performance in Company) and darker shades (Homecoming). He’s been with the show since the out-of-town tryout, so it’s not a matter of growing into the role; it’s a matter of not fitting into the role in the first place, because it’s clear that Esparza is working hard up there to win us over.

But no, Jonas Nightingale calls for a performer who devours the stage with his preaching prowess and captivates with outsized charisma. One hoped Esparza could pull it off, but from entrance one, it’s impossible not to wonder why Norbert Leo Butz hadn’t been cast instead. Even looking within the cast, one finds a stronger example of the hypnotizing magnetism that Nightingale needs: Leslie Odom, Jr. (of Smash fame) as pastor-in-the-making Isaiah utterly transfixes with his silky-smooth voice and even smoother dance moves. Whenever he’s center stage, he owns it, making one understand how revivalists could convince their vulnerable, desperate flock to give what little they have.

But enough about Leap of Faith. After all, it’s only a matter of months before Menken selects his next 1992 cinematic inspiration for the stage. Might I suggest The Crying Game?

Theatre Review: Newsies

Jeremy Jordan and the cast of Newsies. Photo by Deen van Meer.

The Disney musical strikes a winning chord

If you possess a soft spot for a pre-Method, pre-crazypants Christian Bale with precarious vocals and an even shakier New York accent… If you vividly recollect experiencing the Mouse House musical in a theatre full of enthusiastic kids during Disney’s Mickey Mouse Club-lovin’ heyday… If your brother sang “Santa Fe” ad nauseam for ten years following said viewing… If in high school you performed “Seize the Day,” Glee-style, in front of Cinderella’s Castle at Disney World… (ok, maybe those last two are just me)… well, this is for you.

While the majority of critics enjoyed Newsies, there’s a definite sense that most of them have never seen the 1992 film, and if they have, they certainly don’t get its cult appeal. Sure, Newsies was a total box office flop, but it’s beloved by a generation, and so, as a hardcore Newsies fan, I offer you a breakdown of the much-anticipated Broadway adaptation.

Reasons to see Newsies the Musical:

1. The sing-a-long score is still intact. Super-composer Alan Menken, fresh off of Oscar wins for Beauty and the Beast and The Little Mermaid, gave us Newsies the same year his Aladdin was released. In other words, this is one catchy, well-crafted (in the Disney-Golden-Age-vein) score, and Menken didn’t mess with it much for its Broadway transfer. None of your favorites — “Seize the Day,” “Carrying the Banner,” “King of New York — made the cutting room floor, though both of Medda’s did. Downsizing Medda’s role was smart (no offense, Ann-Margret, but no one needed to hear that much from you), but the forgettable “That’s Rich” isn’t as good as either the songs it replaced.
2. It’s officially Jack Kelly’s story. Disney mainstays, writers Bob Tzudiker and Noni White (The Lion King, Hunchback, Tarzan) were under the impression that we cared more about working class Davey and li’l cutie Les than we did about hardened, dreamy newsboy, Jack Kelly. We all love us some David Moscow (don’t we?), but they were obviously mistaken. Bookwriter Harvey Fierstein fixes this misstep for the stage by minimizing the family boys’ roles and making it orphan Jack’s story from moment one — even if the “Santa Fe” prologue is a little misguided (for such a peppy show, it’s a snoozer of a start).
3. The ensemble is stellar. This ragtag bunch of twentysomethings have energy to spare, as they belt, jump, leap and tap their way on and around Tobin Ost’s massive, rolling steel jigsaw of a set. These boys love what they’re doing, and that unfiltered joy bursts through in every high-energy musical number. They’re an utter delight to watch.
4. Christian who? If you thought you’d miss Christian Bale pre-movie stardom, you’re mistaken. Jeremy Jordan (Bonnie and Clyde) makes bad (news)boy Jack Kelly his own with a rough bravado that carefully hides a sensitive artist (Oh yes, Fierstein has given Kelly some (unnecessary) painterly ambitions). Ridiculously charismatic and exuding a kind of magnetic masculinity that is so rarely seen in a musical, you can’t tear your eyes off of him whenever he’s on stage. You might even leave the theatre with a little bit of a crush… ahem.
5. Disney supports OWS. I don’t think I need point out the parallels between the 1899 newsboy strike against corporate mammoths Pulitzer and Hearst and the current OWS movement. But the irony of a super-shiny (are those boys really orphans? Those trousers look awfully crisp and clean) Disney musical making those timely comparisons sure is giggle-inducing.

 Reasons to re-watch Newsies the film:

1. Christopher Gattelli is no Kenny Ortega (who is no Michael Kidd). Unfortunately, when the critics are right, they’re right: Gattelli’s choreography is super-acrobatic and high-energy, but it largely consists of the same few movements — leap, jump, pirouette, repeat!  There is a fun number in which the boys slide and spin around on sheets of papes, and “King of New York” is a  taptastic second-act opener, but originality is clearly wanting. Sure, Ortega took inspiration from the balletic athleticism of Michael Kidd, but his numbers were more cleverly thought-out, while Gatelli’s become a bit tiresome by show’s end.
2. Harvey Fierstein could use a dramaturg. ”It had energetic music, but it’s a pretty awful movie,” Fierstein has commented. His statement is hilarious for a number of reasons — least of which is  that the stage adaptation is not much different from the cinematic version — but mostly because he doesn’t know (or care about?) history. Newsies now showcases a more fully-realized love interest for Jack in the form of plucky go-getter Katherine Plumber, and vaudeville-owner Medda, as portrayed by Capathia Jenkins, is now African American. Never mind the near impossibilities of a female reporter and an African-American owning an establishment of that capacity, eh, Harvey? And on a side note: the book is now peppered with Fierestein signature cheesy humor (oy).
3. Pulitzer sings! Twice! It sure cuts down Pulitzer’s (John Dossett) villainy when he’s belting bouncy little ditties about “The Bottom Line.” While Menken’s original tuners are blissfully present (though why the lyrics to “Seize the Day” needed changing, one will never know), the composer got a little over-ambitious, adding a handful of rather bland numbers including a duet of the “soaring” variety between lovers Jack and Katherine (“Something to Believe In”). Then again, he also proffered a smart little gem of a tune for Katherine about writer’s block (“Watch What Happens”) with some tongue-twisting syncopations courtesy of lyricist Jack Feldman.
4. David Moscow! Bill Pullman! (An unrecognizable) Robert Duvall! That kid from Doogie Howser! Ok, so I missed them a little bit. And that rebel Brooklynite Spot Conlon — so much cooler (and more present) in the film.

When you get right down to it, there’s nothing really wrong with this loving and largely faithful stage adaptation. You either like a good ol’ fashioned Disney stage musical or you don’t, and this is the Mouse House’s glorious return to its play-by-the-numbers family-friendly form. If you’ve a soft spot in your heart for the less-than-perfect musical movie that charmed a generation, all the better. Get ready to fall in love all over again with those dancin’ newsboys — especially that Jeremy Jordan (can we say Tony?).

Newsies
Nederlander Theatre
208 West 41st Street
New York, NY 10036
Performances from March 19 – August 19, 2012
Opened  March 29, 2012

Theatre Review: Carrie

Carrie’s Curse: To Camp or Not to Camp

Marin Mazzie and Molly Ranson. Photo by Joan Marcus.

Before a singing, web-slinging Spidey fell from the sky, “Scary” White was doused in pig’s blood gathered by leather pants-clad teens writhing and gyrating over pyrotechnic pig troughs under the glow of red disco-lights. With what Frank Rich could only describe as “uninhibited tastelessness” in 1988, Carrie left a bloody trail all over Broadway, ditching the prom after a brief appearance of only 21 performances (after doing much the same in London, where Barbara Cook, as the mad matriarch Margaret White, was nearly  decapitated by a set piece). Audiences were so appalled/amazed by what they saw that, night after night, half stood booing, while the other half cheered. Many returned again and again throughout the three-week run to delight in the absurd train-wreck of a spectacle, somehow knowing that Carrie, that telekinetic outcast, wouldn’t be able to take much more of the jeers. And they were right: the wealthiest producer jumped ship, shutting down the prom for good. And without so much as a cast recording to endear her to us forever, Carrie officially, and voraciously, become a musical theatre aficionado’s white whale.

I’ve not read Stephen King’s 1974 gothic tale, and my memory of the 1976 film is a wee-bit fuzzy, but what is forever etched in vivid, glorious detail in my musical theatre-lovin’ mind is this show I have never even seen. Thanks to the wonders of You Tube, a musical bootleg or two and Ken Mandelbaum’s too-amazing-to-be-true scene-by-scene chronicle of the first preview (Not Since Carrie: 40 Years of Broadway Musical Flops), you, too, can feel like you were there. And if you see MCC Theater’s current Off-Broadway production, you’ll be relieved and adrenalized to finally be able to say with triumphant veracity that yes, you did it! You finally saw Carrie!

An unhappy prom queen. Photo by Joan Marcus.

Except that you didn’t really see her – not Carrie as you think of her anyway. When I spoke with Canadian-born director Stafford Arima, he, like every other devoted Carrie-cultist, could trace the exact start of his fascination with the much buzzed-about and bloody musical to age 19 when he saw one of the notorious preview performances. But it wasn’t until 20 years later, after he’d staged the Off-Broadway hit Alter Boyz and Ragtime on London’s West End, that he revisited Carrie, and discovered what he says was a universal story: “We’re all Carrie. We all know what it’s felt like to be an outsider.”

And it’s true: Carrie is the extreme of the prototypical outcast. Raised by her religious-fanatic, man-hating momma, she doesn’t know that the blood running down her leg is a natural occurrence — “And Eve Was Weak,” mother explains in the show’s most extraordinary and memorable song — and the girls in her gym class mercilessly taunt her for her unbelievable ignorance, screaming and chucking tampons at her head. And when Carrie gets angry — and boy, can she get angry — her hotheaded emotions materialize in the most violent and physical extremes.

While it’s not fair to compare the two productions, it’s impossible not to. It’s no secret that the show’s creators were exceedingly unhappy with director Terry Hands’s original over-the-top vision (they did not allow the show to be produced anywhere, again, until now), and so Stafford’s seriously straight “reimagining” — he doesn’t consider it a revival, though most of the book and score remain intact — minimalizes everything that was beloved/abhorred about the Broadway incarnation to better suit it for the 299-seat Lucille Lortel Theatre. The small and nearly uniformly excellent cast of 14 includes 11 teenagers — or actors who at least look like they could be in high school — who energetically bounce around David Zinn’s (Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo, Xanadu) spare set (essentially chairs and a dressing table) and occasionally rock out Matt Williams’s choreography, which is like a lesser hybrid of Bill T. Jones (Spring Awakening) and Steven Hoggett’s (American Idiot) isolated stomping and arm-pumping.

Needless to say, these aren’t nearly the thirty-year-old toga-clad, breathlessly aerobicizing gym students of the Broadway production (which is good/bad depending on your taste). And while thanks to “magician and special effects consultant” Matthew Holtzclaw, there are some fun visual tricks with levitating objects and mysteriously moving chairs, Kevin Adams’s red-washed lighting and Sven Ortel’s projections — as conveniently unmessy as they are — simply aren’t a substitute for seeing that vat of porcine blood pour down Carrie’s stricken face.

What it comes down to is that Arima’s minimalized modernization — Carrie now lives in the age of sexting, natch — doesn’t fix the original problem with the show, which appears to stem from the source material itself, or at the very least the film: Just like the awkwardly sweet and dangerously naive titular character, this Carrie doesn’t know who or what she is. With the exception of the already mentioned “And Eve Was Weak,” Michael Gore’s (Fame) score does not evoke the dark, unsettling tones of what is oft the horrifying experience of being a teenager. Instead, it revels in a sappy-sweet nostalgia of that period of life (how soon adults forget the depths and despair of teenage trauma!) with poppy duets that earnestly declare, with the help of Dean Pitchford’s generic lyrics, “You Shine” and “Open Your Heart.”

Photo by Joan Marcus.

Lawrence D. Cohen’s book (he also scripted the film) is just as uneven, veering from the operatic misogyny of Carrie’s one-dimensional crazy-pants mom to unfathomable cruel high school bitchery to exaggerated selflessness (no girl would beg her guy to take another girl to the big dance, I don’t care how nice/sorry she is) and even — Yes!! — a bit of deliriously golden camp (bad girl Chris and her bad-boy boyfriend whip themselves into an orgasmic oinking frenzy whilst singing “Old MacDonald Had a Farm.” No joke.) The tone is so inconsistent — one minute ardently sweet, and the next scarily fantastic — it’s doubtful anyone could make this Carrie “work” without going the way of extreme, full-tilt camp, which is what the Broadway version was striving for, even if it didn’t entirely accomplish (or intend) it. The other option, of course, is to start from scratch with new writers (Michael John LaChiusa, perhaps?) who aren’t afraid of going all Black Swan on Carrie: lurid and tense and chilling — with a little bit of campy good fun thrown in for good measure.

None of this is to say Carrie isn’t worth seeing, because she certainly is — some sequences and scenes are highly compelling, especially those that focus on the central, fascinating mother-daughter relationship as played by Marin Mazzie and Molly Ranson. As Carrie, Ranson (Jerusalem, Burnt Part Boys) shuffles across the stage in her matronly skirt and bulky cardigan, at once desperately afraid and strongly desiring of interaction with her clique-ish peers. Ranson’s at her best when she’s that hopeful Carrie of the prom, her bright eyes gazing about her in genuine wonder and delight; it hurts to know what’s to befall her, but her transformation to blood-soaked vocal rage is intensely terrific.

But Carrie’s best moments will always belong to Margaret White, and as the hyper-evangelical, misogynistic matriarch, a haggard-looking Marin Mazzie, with limp, straw-like hair and a makeup-free face, is ridiculously, insanely good. This woman finds depths of crazy — and even empathy — that I didn’t know could exist in such a slight form: her mental balance teeters violently throughout, her inexplicable rage towards her own daughter building and ferociously erupting in “And Eve Was Weak” before petering out in quiet, sad-beautiful acceptance of “When There’s No One.” Sure, she’s played the crazy before (Next to Normal), but not anywhere near like this. And it’s in those few moments of  juxtaposition — her terrifying fanaticism alongside Ranson’s childlike innocence  (the two even look like mother and daughter) — when both women are finally, always, clinging to each other to stave off loneliness and fear – that’s when you catch a glimpse of her.

That’s Carrie.

Carrie
Presented by MCC Theater at the Lucille Lortel Theatre
121 Christopher Street
New York, NY 10036
Opens March 1 – April 22, 2012

Best of 2011: New York Theatre

It’s that time of year. Everyone — Ben Brantley, Charles Isherwood, David Cote & Adam Feldman — has posted their Top Ten of 2011 lists, and so while I’m a little late in the game for this, it’s time to give my own a go, along with a few special awards to select productions…

Top Ten Best Shows of 2011
(in no particular order)

Hello, Again at 52 Mercer Street.

Hello, Again

The Transport Group’s sexy revival of Michael John LaChiusa’s 1994 chamber musical inspired by Arthur Schnitzler’s 1900 play La Ronde, didn’t wink-wink, nudge-nudge its way through the carnalities of couplings. About sex at its seediest level, this was a brazen production of one of musical theatre’s most under-appreciated and complex composers.

The Hallway Trilogy and HotelMotel

Ever a fan of the hyper-prolific Adam Rapp, two of his many productions share a spot on my list: One a hyper-ambitious triptych spanning a century in a single decrepit hallway and the other a reboot of the meandering and magically real Animals and Plants (in a doubleheader with Derek Ahonen’s Pink Knees on Pale Skin), these two works were chockfull of signature in-your-face Rapp: daring nudity, jolting language, shocking actions and of course, difficult and damaged, strangely compelling characters.

The Normal Heart on Broadway. Photo: Joan Marcus.

The Normal Heart

Equal parts hostility and heart, George C. Wolfe and Joel Grey‘s searing, minimalist production did exactly right by playwright-activist Larry Kramer by focusing on content over context with a spare, direct design that drew out the most staggering ensemble work on Broadway of the season. It marked an astonishing example of how truly worthy plays — even less than perfect ones like the preachy-passionate Heart — can endure over time.

How to Succeed in Business without Really Trying

A dancer’s director, Rob Ashford slickly staged a blissfully bright Broadway musical with a full, fantastic orchestra; clever, beautifully executed choreography and a dynamic, dedicated cast. No wizardry there: just some luck, a lot of pluck and quite possibly the Happiest Boy on Broadway this year, Daniel Radcliffe (who, just this week, was replaced with — sigh — Glee star Darren Criss).

War Horse at Lincoln Center. Photo: Paul Kolnik.

War Horse

A boy and his horse and some awe-inspiring puppets combine to create the most imaginative, visionary and theatrically moving work of the season, garnering the Tony Award for Best Play. Quite naturally, it’s also become a Steven Spielberg film (and an inevitable Oscar nominee).

Good People

Even hardened anti-realism folks such as myself must acknowledge when the form is done well — and few contemporary writers do it better than David Lindsay-Abaire. The female-friendly playwright — his protagonists are almost always women — explored the hot-button American issue of class through intricate relationships and richly complex characters, without ever grasping for topicality.

The Book of Mormon

Praise be for Trey Parker, Robert Lopez and Matt Stone who offered up a well-made, very funny, minimally offensive, brilliantly performed, completely original Tony Award-winning Broadway musical about a pair of mismatched, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Mormons sent on a mission to squalid and violent Uganda. A bit of a musical miracle, indeed.

The cast of epbb's These Seven Sicknesses.

These Seven Sicknesses

Take 23 actors and a bevy of technicians and crew members; throw them in a super-secret Hell’s Kitchen loft; add a select audience, communal dinner and an endless supply of alcohol; mix in a 5-hour play cycle of Sophocles’s works and what you’d come up with is the most intimate, inclusive and enjoyable night at the theatre this year. If you aren’t yet familiar with Ed Iskander’s “theatre collective,” Exit, Pursued by a Bear, you should be. But if you haven’t yet experienced Sean Graney’s epic, clever and affecting take on Sophocles’s work, you still have a chance: The Flea Theater’s production of These Seven Sicknesses, also helmed by Iskander, premieres later this month.

Milk Like Sugar

The pregnancy pact plot is a tad bit Lifetime-y, but Greenidge’s punchy drama has power, and the playwright possesses a knack for language, effortlessly and hilariously fusing urban colloquy with lyricism. With such smart, hip and ambitious work, this talented playwright won’t be “emerging” for long.

Urge for Going at The Public Theater. Photo: Carol Rosegg.

Urge for Going

The deceptively simple play follows Jamila, a 17-year-old Palestinian girl growing up in a Lebanese refugee camp, as she desperately attempts to escape the restriction of her desolate home. Beautifully complex and rich in both character and story, this production was a surprise from start to finish, and playwright Mona Mansour’s talent was the most wonderful surprise of all.

The Worst

Baby, It’s You!

This jukebox musical represented the most inept musical offering of the season. Baby, it’s decidedly not you.

Catch Me If You Can

As shallow and soulless as they come, the only person involved who emerged from this Pepto-Bismol-palletted aural attack with full dignity intact was the always stellar Norbert Leo Butz.

The Most Overrated

Punchdrunk's Sleep No More on West 27th Street.

Jerusalem

The success of Jez Butterworth’s hyperbolically praised “state-of-the-nation” play was, in actuality, due solely to the dazzling performance of one Mark Rylance.

Sleep No More

Wandering through the impeccably decorated five-story McKittrick Hotel with actors silently performing “scenes” from Macbeth was mildly entertaining for about an hour. As for the next three, well, I wouldn’t know: I preferred sleep, more.

The Best Drama Off-Stage

Spider-Man: Turn off the Dark

Lord knows the drama onstage was dismal — except when actors were falling from the sky, of course — but who didn’t love gossiping about this train wreck? C’mon, admit it: we all kinda miss Spidey, The Hottest Mess on Broadway.

The Best Marketing Gimmick

The Importance of Being Earnest

I still can’t stop laughing, and you know Wilde would approve.

Theatre Review: Lysistrata Jones

Ancient Greek comedy collides with High School Musical in Douglas Carter Beane’s new Broadway musical

The concept has serious comedic potential: Take Aristophanes’ bawdy political 411 BC comedy and transfer it to a contemporary college campus where the cheerleaders refuse to “give it up” until their b-ball guys stop giving up on the court. Unfortunately, Lysistrata Jones is just that: a funny concept that, as executed by Douglas Carter Beane (book), Lewis Flinn (music/lyrics) and Dan Knechtges (director/choreographer), does not a funny new musical comedy make.

Lysistrata Jones, a bubbly blonde transfer student (played with Elle Woods-like enthusiasm by Patti Murin), is tired of the lack of drive and overall commitment of her boneheaded boyfriend Mick (a humorously vapid Josh Segarra) and his teammates, so she puts together a cheering team to offer some motivation. When that doesn’t work, she convinces her fellow gal pals to take inspiration from her namesake and deny the boys sex until they shape up. But what is Lyssie really gaining from this self-inflicted abstinence? Aristophanes’ women denied themselves to promote peace and save lives by motivating their men to end the war, but Lysistrata has no real reason to care that the Spartans have been shamelessly rocking a 30-some-odd-year-long losing streak. What the heck is the point?

The stakes are low to non-existent, and Douglas Carter Beane’s characters revel in racial stereotypes (Jewish, African American, Latino — you name it, he’s written a two-dimensional character to exemplify it). The super-shiny set (Allen Moyer), color-splashed, semi-slutty costumes (David C. Woolard and Thomas Charles LeGalley) and endearingly enthusiastic cast work hard for laughs (most successful is Lindsay Nicole Chambers with her exuberant curls and priceless poetry slams), but the material simply doesn’t boast enough zippy one-liners amidst all its predictable pop culture references. My (least) favorite was the sigh-inducing slam bemoaning the overabundance of stage musicals based on films — a joke that is particularly unfunny considering the man who wrote it sole other musical experience comes from two such musicals (Sister Actand Xanadu, the latter of which is one of the most shallow, ridiculous, delightful and hilarious musical experiences on Broadway in the past 5 years). Be careful lest you bite the hand that feeds you, Mr. Beane.

And why, oh why, in a musical comedy about sex is the word sex utilized but once (brava for the “sex jihad” joke, by the way)? Aristophanes would’ve been as appalled as I was by the almost complete lack of raunchiness. There is, in fact, an entire song that avoids any kind of sexy directness — “No More Giving It Up!” is cringe-inducing in its G-rated lyrical awkwardness and bland pop stylings. Knechtges’ cheertastic choreography doesn’t help bring the sexy back either — for the record, Kenny Ortega did the baller number better.

For whatever reason, Lysistrata Jones was a hit when first staged at the Dallas Theater Center and then again when it was presented off-Broadway this past summer by the usually spot-on Transport Group (Was Ben Brantley drinking the Kool-Aid?). While everyone from the cast to the designers to the creators of LJ are working really, really hard to be super-fun and super-funny, they don’t come anywhere near the deliciously guilty pleasures of the Legally Blondes and Alter Boyzs of the musical theatre world. The joy of musical fluff comes from its clever, streamlined effortlessness — not from awkward, unsexy earnestness.

Lysistrata Jones
Walter Kerr Theatre
219 West 48th Street
New York, NY 10036
Opens December 14, 2011 – Open Ended 

Theatre Review: An Evening with Patti LuPone and Mandy Patinkin

32 years later, Che and Eva are reunited… and it feels so good.

Mandy and Patti are together again, and the result is every musical theatre geek’s wet dream. With her big, brassy belt and his otherworldly, crazy-town falsetto — not to mention their incredibly over-the-top personalities — An Evening with Patti LuPone and Mandy Patinkin guarantees a good time. Whether you’re a Sondheim snob, Great American Songbook aficionado or a Gleek, this is the show for you.

It’s hard to believe this is only the second time the Broadway divas have shared a stage on the Great White Way. Aged three years apart, they attended Juilliard at the same time, in the infancy stage of the school’s drama program, but they didn’t officially meet until the summer of 1979 in Los Angeles for the tryout of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s second Broadway-bound musical. It seems fitting, then, that as they reunite and once again perform some of the songs that solidified their statuses as musical theatre legends, Evita is also prepping for its first Broadway revival (starring Ricky Martin (!), Elena Roger and Michael Cerveris).

Fitting, but also just a tad bit sad. That 30 years have passed between these incarnations serves as a reminder that LuPone and Patinkin are no longer on the upswing of their careers. True, she’s been keeping busy with award-winning revivals (Gypsy, John Doyle’s Sweeney Todd) and some, well, less than stellar premieres (Women on the Verge). And though Patinkin has been largely absent from Broadway — excluding special concerts, his last appearance was back in 2000 in Michael John LaChiusa’s The Wild Party – he’s been dabbling in Shakespeare and puppets off-Broadway and consistently working in television (currently co-starring with Claire Danes in USA’s well-reviewed Homeland).

This is all to say that it’s a delight to have them back together again, doing what they do best. Though it’s certainly not the first time they’ve come together for an Evening. A theatre in Richardson, Texas cleverly tricked them into performing together back in 2002, and it was then that Patinkin (who also directs) and his longtime pianist Paul Ford conceived of Evening as it is now: a song cycle of the ups and downs of love, the two work their way through the cockeyed optimism of South Pacific through the hyper neuroses of Sondheim and back again to the heartbreaking reality of Carousel. The first act is heavy on the former musical and the second act, the latter, to the point where musical sequences from those shows are done in their entirety, dialogue and all. Never minding that it’s a stretch to imagine LuPone as a teenaged wallflower– that silly pony tail isn’t fooling anyone, Patti — with a legit voice, but it’s also takes such a commitment, from both the performers and the audience, to delve so deeply, so briefly. LuPone and Patinkin are decidedly at their best when they’re switching deftly from song to song and show to show: The magic of the evening results from marveling at their transformative abilities, both in voice and character.

Photo: Joan Marcus

LuPone’s belt appeared to be on holiday — or she was simply saving herself for the evening’s big moment, and certainly “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” was her strongest, most poignant performance. Only a couple of shows into the run (that will transfer into a touring production come mid-January), though, LuPone is already in weak voice, and even her Mama Rose couldn’t quite hack it — I was a bit worried she wouldn’t actually hit the vocal heights of “Everything’s Coming Up Roses.” But the performance was feisty, and her fantastic facial expressions and spot-on comic timing largely make up for her shaky vocals.

But I’ve always preferred Patinkin over Patti, and Mandy had plenty of magical moments. Showcasing his signature hyperbole in a mesmerizingly manic take on “The God-Why-Don’t-You-Love-Me-Blues” (Follies), he pushes comic neuroses to the edge with screwy hand gestures and a sputtering smile. He was equally showy but oh-so-slightly more subtle in “Everybody Says Don’t” (Anyone Can Whistle), demonstrating his vocal agility by switching effortlessly from that soft, almost feminine lilt to a guttural growl. When it’s finally time to revisit his Tony Award-winning performance, he doesn’t disappoint: “Oh What a Circus” makes us wonder how Ricky Martin can ever possibly hold a candle to this master.

I only wish Patinkin’s theatrical concept encompassed his full musical range: where’s the manic minstrelsy of The Wild Party? The faltering falsetto of The Secret Garden‘s crippled shut-in? The obsessive artist of Sunday in the Park with George? Sure, one can’t include everything in a single show, but these feel like missed opportunities when there’s an over-abundance of Rogers and Hammerstein and Kander and Ebb. The evening also lacks one major key: in a concert performance such as this, typically between songs, the performers chat with each other, regaling the audience with gossipy backstage tales and peppering their performances with personal anecdotes. Disappointingly, this only occurs once in the 2 hour show that is all singing and dancing (an enormously funny dance duet in swiveling office chairs — “April in Fairbanks” — can be credited to choreographer Ann Reinking), but the two, who are obviously dear, dear friends, make the most of the time: whispering to each other conspiratorially between songs, LuPone gigglingly boasts that, during one of her numbers, Patinkin openly admires that her “breasts look great.” And throughout the course of the evening, whilst the theatre hilariously encounters one lighting dilemma after another, the two slyly incorporate the malfunctions into lyrics to much humorous effect.

It all comes off as a more than a bit showchoir-y (nostalgia and horror for my similarly styled performances in high school alternately overwhelmed me throughout the night) with the minimal choreography and the cheesy transitions, but if any pair can get away with it — neigh, make it work to their advantage — it’s Patti and Patink. You could hardly do better than to spend an Evening with these Broadway stalwarts.

Theatre Review: Queen of the Mist

Michael John LaChiusa’s latest musical lacks drama

Only Michael John LaChiusa would tackle a musical retelling of the real-life story of daredevil Anna Edson Taylor who, to celebrate her 63rd birthday in 1901, hopped in a barrel and plunged over Niagra Falls — and survived to tell the tale.

LaChiusa’s got a proven track record for offbeat offerings that work: a woman quits smoking and starts swimming to compensate for nicotine in Little Fish; Mamie Eisenhower, Margaret Truman, Eleanor Roosevelt and Jackie Kennedy sing of their singular form of entrapment in the First Lady Suite; See What I Wanna See musically imagines three of Ryūnosuke Akutagawa’s famous short stories (including “In a Grove,” which was the basis for Akira Kurosawa’s Rashōmon).

A criticism sometimes levied against MJL isn’t that his work is too “dark” or “challenging” (though some find that it is)  — but that he’s just too darn prolific. Even though we haven’t heard much from him in New York recently, regionally, he’s all over the place. The guy just keeps churning ‘em out.

Queen of the Mist: Annie Edson Taylor

While this isn’t necessarily a problem (Full disclosure: I’m a huge fan, and think his The Wild Party is one of the most brilliant pieces of theatre I’ve seen. Ever.), it is with Queen of the Mist, which certainly needs more development and tighter editing.  Based on this musical, for which MJL also wrote the book, Taylor was a childless widow and failed dance teacher who moved around a lot in a constant quest for financial security. To prove to herself and her sister (who may or may not be a figment of MJL’s imagination — I could find no evidence that she actually existed)  that she is capable of greatness — and quite possibly out of sincere desperation — she determines to pull off the stunt of the century. Afterwards, she attempts to capitalize on her outrageous act by booking speaking engagements and selling postcards, but no one is interested in hearing her story, and her manager embezzles what little money she did make.

Produced by The Transport Group, which gave us last season’s super-sexy revival of MJL’s Hello, Again,  Jack Cummings III directs his  fine cast with an intimate touch, and the score, while quite lovely on the whole, only hits its stride in the final 30 minutes, when we begin to hear an intriguing discordance during Annie’s trippy journey into the afterlife. MJL attemps to flesh out Annie’s otherwise unremarkable life — injecting the disapproving sister and complicating her relationship with her manager  — but the drama simply isn’t there. Annie — despite the super-solid portrayal by the always brilliant Mary Testa (a frequent collaborator of Michael John’s) — isn’t compelling enough for a full-length musical (certainly not a 2 hours and 40 minutes-long musical), but maybe her story could be if tightened into one act.

Then again, perhaps this “Queen of the Mist” is best left as a fun historical anecdote.

Queen of the Mist
book/lyrics/music by Michael John LaChiusa
playing through November 20, 2011 at the Gym at Judson

Theatre Review: PARADE at Ford’s Theatre

With malice toward none, with charity for all…
- Abraham Lincoln

Euan Morton as Leo Frank

Attending the theatre was one of Abraham Lincoln’s sole respites during a harried and demanding presidency. Though he believed tragedy was better read than performed, I can’t help but think he would approve of Parade, Alfred Uhry and Jason Robert Brown’s 1998 musical of the notorious, true case of Leo Frank – a Jew tragically accused in 1913 of the rape and murder of a young girl in Atlanta, a proud city which had yet to concede its loss in the war which had occurred nearly fifty years prior. Ford Theatre’s production of Parade (co-produced with Theater J), which opened this past weekend in the nation’s capital, launches the theatre’s Lincoln Legacy Project, a five year initiative that includes a mainstage show each season focused on issues of tolerance, understanding and acceptance – all ideals Ford Theatre celebrates as the cornerstones of the 16^th President of the United States’ legacy (which I discuss further in the upcoming October issue of American Theatre).

Parade raises issues of anti-Semitism, yellow journalism and racial injustice, among others, which I’ve already discussed a little bit here and a lot a bit there, so there’s no sense in being redundant. If you’ve never seen the musical, this production, directed by Stephen Rayne, is serviceable, with some glaring errors and a couple happy highlights.

The cast enters the house at the top of the show inexplicably mingling and chatting with the audience before ascending the stage, facing out, and bowing their heads until the drum roll of the “Old Red Hills of Home” sounds. Then, raising their heads to indicate (naturally) that they are now in character and ready to begin, they thus — most thankfully — conclude the showchoir portion of the evening, and begin to sing in full, glorious voice.

In what is then a bit tiring to watch, Rayne proceeds to consciously stage each number in a different space (though strangely excluding the house after that initial cast entrance), exerting effort to utilize the entire expanse of the stage and Tony Ciseck’s simple but effective bi-level set to full effect. And while a few choices were questionable — as in “A Rumblin’ and Rollin’” when Angela and Riley refer to the newspaper for the latest Leo Frank news (despite historical plausibility, this rings dramaturgically false) — and though the pace could be quicker and the musical entrances more solid (these will likely tighten as the run continues), the nuts and bolts of the story — and there are many —  evolve clearly and methodically under Rayne’s direction. Unfortunately, the characters too often teeter towards cartoonish, with Karma Camp’s choreography shouldering a large portion of the blame.

Lucille and Leo Frank at Frank’s trial.

The production’s biggest misfire, Camp’s choreography is amateurish at best and tasteless at worst. On the novice end: “Real Big News” has an unenthusiastic Chris Sizemore as the drunk, loose-cannon reporter Britt Craig (one hopes for the charm and high-energy of Norbert Leo Butz), surrounded by a trench coat-clad cast running around in circles, clasping open newspapers to and from their chests (more showchoir); “Pretty Music,” which should showcase Governor Slaton as charming and light on his feet (Stephen F. Schmidt was neither), instead has him unimpressively spinning various ladies in circles, fumbling through even the most basic steps; and the disturbingly jubilant cakewalk that proceeds Frank’s guilty verdict becomes an awkward, circling mob, lifting chairs overhead and thrusting them shakily at Frank.

On the vulgar side, Euan Morton as Leo Frank and one of the actors playing a factory girl are forced to mime fellatio during Frank’s imagined seduction of the girls in “Come Up to My Office;” and Kevin McCallister as a strangely effeminate, non-threatening Jim Conley  (and a disappointing Uncle-Tom-like Newt Lee) actually humped the floor repeatedly, making obscene gestures with a pickaxe in the sexually-charged, chain-gang-inspired “Feel the Rain Fall.” A less literal-minded, more imaginative choreographer would have elevated this production instead of cheapening it.

Despite its shortcomings, this Parade boasts two standout performances, and quite thankfully, they’re the leads, Euan Morton and Jenny Fellner as Leo and Lucille Frank. Euan’s Leo, the most “Jewish” I’ve seen, begins tense and nervous — all wringing hands and agitated head twitches — but softens rather quickly to become the most demonstrative as well, revealing an almost generous fondness of his wife. Both Morton and Fellner exude uncertainty and confidence in equal measure, a quality that can be attributed to their youthfulness, as well as to an accuracy in portraying the couple (he was 27 at the time of Mary Phagan’s murder; she, 23). Fellner (dressed gorgeously by Wade Laboissonnier, if impractically — the over-sized sideways-sitting hats blocked her face from the audience on a handful of occasions) carefully transitions from the careless Southern belle wife to the unstoppable defender of her husband, and she does it all with a beautiful, powerful voice.

But, really, the reason to see this Parade – if you’ve already attended a strong production of the musical — is the history of Ford’s Theatre, which can’t help but heighten the power of the piece, both emotionally and politically:

Pray on this day as I journey beyond them
These Old Red Hills of Home
Let all the blood of the North spill upon them
‘Till they’ve paid for what they’ve wrought
Taken back the lies they’ve taught
And there’s peace in Marietta
And we’re safe again in Georgia
In the land where Honor lives and breathes
The Old Red Hills of Home

To hear  these lyrics –glimpsing out of the corner of your eye the box covered in bunting, preserved in honor for nearly 150 years — while remembering the words of the man who fought tirelessly for freedom and a unified country:

We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be be enemies. Though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.

With all that powerful history in one room, how could you not be moved? While Parade may not seem the obvious choice for a typical season opener, for Ford’s Theatre, it’s certainly ideal.