Bubbly and sparkling and effervescent, this is sort of upbeat 60’s inspired music that harkens to a simpler time, when escape could be found in a weekend at the Plaza, or a classic stinger cocktail, or the racing strings of a song. When such strings could be tied up and resolved in the third act, no matter what went down in the first and second. There’s hope in that – giddy, refreshing, lilting hope.
The reports from friends who have seen the pre-Broadway Boston tryout of ‘Plaza Suite’ at the Emerson Theatre have been rapturous, which bodes well for our attendance at the first New York preview this Friday. When it was announced that John Benjamin Hickey was directing Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew Broderick in a Neil Simon play, my friend Sherri and I debated which to attend – the Boston tryout or the New York premiere. We ultimately decided on New York’s first preview, since it fell on the same day as Skip’s birthday, and would put us right in the proximity of the play’s namesake. (I splurged and reserved a room at the Plaza for the weekend, because if ever there was a time to stay there, this would be it.)
A trip-tych of stories told from the same suite of the Plaza Hotel (Suite 719, I believe), ‘Plaza Suite’ was first performed in the late 1960’s, and this production will inject new life into the work thanks to the trio of creative stars who are bringing this into a very different world. From all indications, they are succeeding, and I haven’t been this excited about a play in a very long time. While Ms. Parker and Mr. Broderick are undoubtedly the big-name draws, the lynchpin may be Mr. Hickey’s directorial prowess. I remember Mr. Hickey from his riveting performance in 1995’s ‘Love! Valour! Compassion!‘ which completely changed my life, and if history is any indication, amazing things can happen when an actor shifts into directing mode.
The source material is intriguing too and anything that Neil Simon has written intrinsically contains both brilliance and humor and a crackling examination of how humans interact. One of the very first shows I’d ever seen on Broadway was his play ‘Lost in Yonkers’, which featured the then relatively-unknown incandescence of Mercedes Ruehl and (eek!) Kevin Spacey. An ensemble piece, the play was as touching as it was hilarious, and it drew me in even as an almost-teenager. More than that, it instilled an early love of theater, even if we didn’t make to Broadway very often to see new shows, and attending it with Suzie and our Moms made going to a show with loved ones a most favorite event. This time I get to do it with Sherri, Skip, and Chris (with whom I’ll be celebrating 25 years of friendship). A theatrical love-fest is surely in the works.
Following her fantastically-life-affirming turn as Dolly Levi in ‘Hello, Dolly!’, Betty Buckley took only the briefest of breaks at her beloved Texas ranch, where horses and sunsets and family offered a much-needed balm for restoration and rebuilding. Not that Ms. Buckley was ever idle. She hatched her plans for concerts and teaching dates almost as soon as she said goodbye to Dolly, and her upcoming stint at Cafe Carlysle (March 10-21) looks to be another jewel in her performing crown. Ever since being bowled over by her portrayal of Norma Desmond in ‘Sunset Boulevard’ I’ve been a fan of Ms. Buckley’s. Her stage work is the stuff of studied genius, and her gloriously extensive catalog of recordings is a road-map of a singer’s journey. Not content to express herself solely through music, her acting prowess (a stunning turn in ‘Split’ recently) was honed by her stage work, as well as numerous appearances on television and film. Taken together, all those talents and skills are put to exquisite use in her live performances.
I had the privilege of attending one of her shows during the release of the ‘Hope’ album and it was just as wondrous as expected. In between some of her upcoming shows, Ms. Buckley will be offering several classes, and it struck me that the mark of a great artist is whether or not they share their knowledge and giftswith the world, allowing others to learn and grow from the choices and paths they have taken. Buckley has been roundly praised for the way she instructs – honoring and challenging her students while respecting the task at hand. In addition to respecting her students, she has always honored her audience. She once explained that instead of putting either artist or audience on a pedestal, she prefers to see them as equals, which opens up an entirely new dialogue. So much of a powerful performance depends on the investment of the viewer, and Buckley has been one of the artists who manages to completely engage the audience, whether it’s by transforming so magnificently into an indelible character like Dolly Levi or Norma Desmond, or by so personally attending to every nuance of a story song in her concert work.
There is an element of respect to Ms. Buckley that has always fascinated me. In a business where so much is based on egomania and self-promotion and relentless ambition, she’s made a career – a wildly-varied and successful career – without falling prey to such vainglory, bringing a timeless beauty that resonates within and without. That’s not easy to do in our culture of instant and unforgiving cancellation, or in an environment where youth is valued over all else. Ms. Buckley continues to defy is the world’s ageist notion that relevance and success is a thing of youth – simply by doing what she does, over and over again, and reinventing the ways in which an artist expresses themselves. It is a feat of majestic strength and power. She’s been doing that for her entire career, touching upon Broadway, television, singing, film and teaching. Her concert work may be seen as the most personal form of artistic expression, as the entire show is a journey of her own making. I’m looking forward to taking that journey with her once again.
This evening I’m surprising Suzie with a belated gift of Matthew Bourne’s ‘Swan Lake’ at the New City Center. With its gender-swapping gay-love storyline, this has been my favorite version of the Tchaikovsky ballet, though purists may continue to cry fowl about it. Andy and I saw it a number of years ago, on a chilly night in November. We dined at the Russian Tea Room because it felt like the thematic thing to do, and I’m pretty sure I ordered their decadent classic chicken kiev, with the exploding melted butter. Tonight Suzie and I are returning to the scene of that beautiful dinner before we take in the ballet.
This version of ‘Swan Lake’ is rife with iconic imagery and psychological undertones, so who knows how we’ll both take it at this point. We both seem prone to crying these days. I’m looking forward to a little emotional exorcism if it can be done through a work of art.
Dear Betty Lynn ~ Having just witnessed your next to last night as Dolly Levi in ‘Hello, Dolly!’ I immediately went back into your songbook and am listening to your rendition of ‘Come On, Come On’ as I write this. After such a wonderfully affirming celebration of musical theater, I had to hear further ruminations on life through the story only a song can tell. I started out with your ‘Hope’ album, and that gorgeous almost-liturgical title track by Jason Robert Brown, where our hope is our only religion. I seek out a way of understanding our present condition, a way to make sense of the madness that is the world around us. Whether or not the answer is to be found in a song, a work of art, or the voice of one of our generation’s great vocal talents, I do not know. You remain, however, a vessel who has always illuminated deeper truths. Maybe that’s why your recent performance in ‘Hello, Dolly!’ became so much more than a theatrical legend taking on a legendary role.
I still have fond memories of how you stepped into the role of Norma Desmond, and with laser-like precision and practiced artistry, made the role into your own. Following in such famed turbans as Gloria Swanson and Glenn Close, you rose above the fray the world wanted so badly to see battered and scarred, and you gave Norma not only the heart that was so brittle and broken, but the voice that she, and the show, so badly needed. Ever since then, your voice has supplied a way for me to connect to the human condition. From the song collections of that time – ‘With One Look’, ‘Much More’ and ‘Heart to Heart’ – and the live performances at London and Carnegie Hall – your voice has mapped out a way to unlock a few secrets of love and loss and simple longing. I didn’t always want to know, and I didn’t always learn them well, but I could count on you to make it feel a little more bearable, and breathtakingly more beautiful.
I wonder if you were haunted or comforted by the ghostlights that formed the namesake of your 2014 collection. The gentle ‘Come to Me, Bend to Me’ and the gorgeously portentous ‘If You Go Away’ nestled alongside a melancholy ‘Bewitched’ and ‘Lazy Afternoon’ gave ‘Ghostlight’ its dream-like atmosphere, wherein you were able to craft a cinematic soundscape, painted solely by your guiding voice. The ‘Story Songs’ that formed your epic double album of the same name were just further proof that nobody could tell a tale through melody and music better than you. The way that you occupied different characters in miraculous fashion, inhabiting and then becoming them through studied nuances and microscopic adjustments, apparent to the fascinated rapture of the listener, was a sight and sound to behold. While it’s one thing to take on a single song, it’s quite another matter to hold an entire show on your shoulders, but we already knew you could do it.
It takes more than a skilled singer to transmit so many layers of meaning – it takes a cunning actor too, and even though you expressed some surprise at being asked to step into the indefatigable boots of Dolly Levi, I always knew you would be superb. Who better to pilot this train of beloved Americana through the country, dispersing wisdom and warmth and happiness to cities near and far, than Broadway’s own Texas cowgirl? It wouldn’t have worked if you were merely game for the challenge – it required a full investment, a commitment, a generosity of spirit that only a consummate professional could conjure.
Throughout it all, there was a slight but absolutely necessary sliver of darkness that lurked beneath the most upbeat moments, a darkness that you have often thrillingly channeled, from your demonic Southern sorceress in ‘Preacher’ to the imperious (and let’s not forget murderous) Norma Desmond to the dominating mother in ‘Carrie’ and the ferociously-wounded feline Grizabella in ‘Cats’. There are some murky undercurrents even in the confection-like world of Dolly Levi. You manage to find the lonely, desperate pathos that belies all the pastel splendor around you, plumbing the riches of that reservoir to garner the emotional heft that raises the show into something grand and expansive.
As ‘Before the Parade Passes Us By’ began, you wiped your tears away, and you might as well have wiped all our tears away – so enraptured were we at the way life could be so bursting with joy and yet sadness at the same time. Somehow you showed us the strength and conviction to still be part of it, to dive back into the tumult no matter how much it may have hurt us in the past. The memories of lost ones are ever on the edge of when we think things might be ok, and you as Dolly, sadly freed from the binds of a beloved lost husband and trying valiantly to move forward, led the way. How to bring the rest of us so much gladness when your own heart is broken? I don’t know, but you did it, and you’ve been bringing us such happiness for a year.
The harmonious way you worked with the rest of the ‘Hello, Dolly!’ is a lesson in itself, and what a glorious ensemble it was. Lewis J. Stadlen matched your optimism with entertaining pessimism until you met happily in the middle. Nic Rouleau and Sean Burns won hearts and burned the boards with their electrifying singing and dancing, while Analisa Leaming and Kristen Hahn brought enough wit and comedic elegance to stand out in a troop of outstanding performers. Throughout it all, you wove a fascinating arc and managed to match the very spirit and essence of Dolly’s outlook on life.
How wonderful to see an actor being so generous – the genuine joy you conveyed while watching the company whirl around you elicited its own triumphant joy – happiness feasting on happiness when we were all so starved for it. We needed to smile. We needed to laugh. We needed to believe in a simpler, sweeter world, when people might actually be kind and decent to one another, a forgotten moment when we got through the darker times together.
After performing this demanding show for such a stretch, you more than deserve a break. Maybe you will return to your beloved ranch, to the horses that must have missed you so, to your faithful companion Lucas who just may need you more than we do, to recharge your creative batteries and simply be – and I wish you all the best. Selfishly I hope that you will come back to entertain and enlighten us sooner rather than later, to enrich our lives with the wonder of your voice and your talent, and to engage in whatever strikes your passion and fancy, the way Dolly returned to triumphantly descend that grand staircase before the parade passed by. In the same munificent manner that she viewed sharing her wealth, so too have you given to all of us over the years.
That communal exchange between performer and audience, and the way that this role fits so perfectly into spreading that love around is a once-in-a-lifetime collision of kismet, destiny and happy circumstance. You’ve been giving us such gifts throughout your entire career, and such generosity is rare. In the last year you’ve dedicated yourself to Dolly Levi, sharing a love and unbridled hope for the world throughout our country – and in a country that’s not always what it should be, we needed it more than ever. Thank you, Ms. Buckley, for sharing such excellence in your craft. Thank you for being such an advocate for people less fortunate and strong than you. Thank you, above all else, for showing us what loveliness is still to be found in this world.
COME ON COME ON, IT’S GETTING LATE NOW
COME ON COME ON, TAKE MY HAND
COME ON COME ON, YOU JUST HAVE TO WHISPER
COME ON COME ON, I WILL UNDERSTAND
Breathing new life into a theatrical bastion is no easy feat, but all reports and reviews have Betty Buckley’s performance in ‘Hello, Dolly!’ further solidifying the legend that this Broadway icon has already etched in stone. Currently at the Boston Opera House (where we’ll be seeing her on my birthday) this is the production that Bette Midler revived, in all its gloriously sumptuous form. The world needs this more than ever right now, and I intend to sit back and let the love and the light wash over us.
It was only with the slightest bit of trepidation that I ordered second row tickets for Faye Dunaway’s performance as Katherine Hepburn in ‘Tea At Five’ currently playing in Boston. It’s not like she’s going to break the fourth wall, make it to the second row and choke me out or beat with a wire hanger, right?
RIGHT??
Or is that too much to hope for? As a fan of Ms. Dunaway’s stage and screen work – I saw her a number of years ago as Maria Callas in ‘Master Class’ – and any graduate of Gay 101 has seen and memorized most of ‘Mommie Dearest‘ – I’m looking forward to her take on Katherine Hepburn. When one icon portrays another icon, it’s always worth a look. The mirrors and reflections involved, and the multi-level density and complexity of such a theatrical feat have proven rich and fertile grounds for wonderful things in the past (see all the times Helen Mirren portrayed a queen).
There are plans for this show to hit Broadway in the next few months, so something special certainly seems to be in the offing. We shall see what we shall see… I had high hopes for last summer’s ‘Moulin Rouge‘ preview in Boston, and that was one big hot spectacular mess. Here’s hoping Ms. Dunaway’s star vehicle doesn’t fly off the rails or the handle. Well, maybe a little off the handle. If you can’t be slightly shook by Faye Dunaway as Katherine Hepburn, you’re not really alive.
‘Sunset Boulevard’ was one of the last of the big-budget Andrew Lloyd Webber ‘event’ musicals that came from Britain in the 1990’s, and as such its initial staging was overwhelmed by an incredible floating mansion set, as well as the behind-the-scenes fireworks of its casting. The latter is what any proper production of ‘Sunset’ depends upon, and having seen productions of this musical falter and fall completely apart when Norma Desmond is even the slightest bit mis-cast, it’s always a risky endeavor staging this show. After having the great fortune of seeing Glenn Close perform the show in both its original Broadway version and subsequent revival, as well as Betty Buckley during the original run, I’m admittedly spoiled when it comes to who dons Norma’s legendary turban.
While Ms. Desmond is indeed a showy part, it’s easily overdone, and demands more nuance and care than one might assume. It also requires some steely vocal chops, or the gift to act one’s way around them. Elizabeth Ward Land takes on the coveted role and she is gloriously up to the difficult task on all fronts. Her Norma is vixenish, vulnerable and vivaciously volatile. Even better, she has the vocal prowess to land the big arias without losing any complexity of character. After her entrance and the first act showstopper ‘With One Look’, fans of the musical can breathe a sigh of relief knowing that this production is in beautiful voice and gorgeously-bejeweled hands.
The musical itself remains one of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s darker and more challenging works – its cynically-dour use-or-be-used aspects offering little hope in the brutal wake of Hollywood’s movie-making ferocity. Its two leads leave little to be loved, and the success of any production relies upon both Norma and Joe finding some bit of heart and heat to brighten the dim corridors of such craven survival. (It’s also one of the more problematic musical works: the basic premise of the original movie was that this silent-screen star failed as soon as the ‘talkies’ arrived – it defeats itself when you turn something that basically decries the voice into a musical that extols it.)
What carried the original show was star power and a few of those famous arias – witness the grandiosity of Buckley’s’As If We Never Said Goodbye’ or the wounded viciousness of Close’s final mad scene. When lesser actors took on the role of Norma, the high-points of the show were muted, yet it often worked to the production’s advantage because it became more even. The Mac-Haydn version finds a happy middle-ground, managing to both raise the company as a whole while shining a well-deserved spotlight on Ms. Land’s impressive performance. Without the gimmick of a floating mansion or the might of a 40-piece orchestra, this production relies on the talents of each troupe member and musician.
The quartet of lead characters work almost flawlessly to deliver a powerful telling of the story, with the notable highlight of James Zannelli as Max Von Mayerling, who ends up revealing himself as the emotional, if warped, heart of the story. As Joe Gillis, Pat Moran veers a little too close to snarky territory, slightly missing the mark of the more moving aspects of the character, but his voice is a potent force, and he had no trouble navigating the tricky time signature of the title tune. Rachel Pantazis adds a few new layers to the ingenue role she so winningly portrayed in the Mac-Hadyn’s recent production of ‘Curtains’ and as Betty Schaefer she luminously glows in one of the few hopeful moments of the show.
With musical direction by David Marline, this production wisely focuses on the melodies at hand – the winsome ‘Perfect Year’ and catchy ‘The Lady’s Paying’ (along with its second act reprise ‘Eternal Youth is Worth a Little Suffering’). Mr. Moran and Ms. Pantazis even manage to turn the weakest song in the show (‘Too Much in Love To Care’) into a palatable showstopper. In the end, though, this story belongs to Norma Desmond, which is entirely as it should be, and Ms. Land delivers a performance worthy of the legendary lady herself ~ diva-like, endearing, and deliciously diabolical.
After attending back-to-back performances of ‘Hamilton‘ and ‘To Kill A Mockingbird‘ I wasn’t expecting to be especially moved or impressed by ‘The Cher Show’ but like the titular character herself, it proved to be surprisingly powerful, as well as glitzy, ridiculous, glorious and sublime. Calling it a juke-box musical may be a disservice, as that misses the important arcs that find their way into the piece, as well as discounting the nifty way the songs and re-purposed to tell the roller-coaster story of Cher’s life (thus far).
Attending the show with my Mom made for an interesting comparison: she recognized all the older songs, while I (being a latter-day Cher fan late to the party) knew more of the stuff from recent years. The show is the perfect bridge between generations, blatantly evoked by the three versions of Cher that inhabit the stage at various moments.
Musically, it’s not a chronological telling of her story through her songs, and that may be key to its success. By positing the thematic essence of her musical selections at key points, it allows for a more varied, though ultimately unifying, exploration of her extensive songbook, while injecting all the life it can into the narrative. Case in point is the exhilarating mash-up of ‘When the Money’s Gone’ and ‘All Or Nothing’~ two relatively recent cuts that perfectly set up Cher and Sonny’s journey to success. While their relationship is core and integral to the story (some might argue it’s the heart of the show), it is ultimately a tale of empowerment, survival, and inspiration. And that can only be accomplished by one.
Holding center-stage in a stand-out performance is Stephanie J. Block as Star ~ already nominated for a Tony Award. She is the archetype Cher, the overriding embodiment of wisdom and grace that this powerhouse of stardom has become. At once world-weary, jubilant, defiant, and sage, she commands the proceedings while knowing the exact moments of when to let her counterparts shine. As Babe, Micaela Diamond channels the younger, unjaded Cher as she grows up with an uncannily-wise mother (Emily Skinner) and meets the most interesting person she’ll ever meet in her life, Sonny Bono (Jarrod Specter).
Mr. Specter makes for a charming Mr. Bono, whose appeal was based both on comedic knacks and an unconventional charisma. While he was clearly blessed with the vocal prowess Sonny could only dream of achieving, Specter wisely and convincingly gets into Bono’s voice, and his charm, making his romance with Cher believable and endearing. After Sonny, Lady Cher comes into her own, as Teal Wicks bridges the emotional wreckage between young love and more seasoned romantic experiences.
When the three Cher characters strut the boards together, it is a Cher fan’s ultimate fantasy, and a self-aware nod to vanity and ego, because without them she never would have gotten to where she is. Countering the simple fact of that is the winning and winsome ways Cher’s own insecurities and disbelief in herself contributed to her widespread appeal. Even as she was blamed for breaking up Sonny and Cher, even as she stumbled into infomercial damnation, and even as she struggled to find her next big success (hello vocoder!) her perceived failures ended up being as inspiring as her improbable run of triumphs.
Is this a perfect musical? Not by any stretch, and it doesn’t pretend to be. Lacking a strong narrative, it’s more of a series of vignettes, some disjointed at best, but it never detracts from the emotional heft of the show. Is it a damn good time? Most definitely. Add to that the incredible talent on stage at all times (there really isn’t a weak link among them) and the cumulative effect is an enjoyable theatrical experience that prides itself on sparkle and spectacle over high-brow serious intent.
Befitting that, the costumes are delightfully scene-stealing characters in and of themselves. Nods to Bob Mackie’s brilliant alchemy with Cher as his muse infuse the entire evening, and the show must have single-handedly kept the bugle bead industry humming nicely for a few months. (There is a jaw-dropping fashion sequence that must be seen to be believed.) Someone once referred to those costumes as feats of engineering, and they truly are. Defying expectations and sartorial mores, they manage to elicit the notion that less is more at the same time that more is more, and when garish meets glitter, the resulting grandiosity is an amalgamation of sass, beauty, decadence and divinity. Cher pioneered the splashy awards show appearance, establishing the red carpet as a moment and event of much more than a means to a promotional end. Those outfits are as much a part of her enduring legacy as ‘Moonstruck’ or ‘If I Could Turn Back Time’.™ Never let anyone try to fool you into thinking that fashion is frivolous, and ‘The Cher Show’ honors that sentiment on a broader scale.
It never gets mean or bogged down by pesky technicalities, and while nothing is too deep or complex, this is more than just a celebration of Cher ~ it’s a celebration of life, of music, of some of the most memorable songs of this last half-century. Of course, for any Cher fan, even a casual one, this is a must-see. My Mom and I left feeling utterly enchanted, entertained, and more than a little empowered. That’s the mark of a good musical ~ it lifts you up, it raises your spirits, and it leaves you feeling a little bit better about being in the world. If we allow it to be, sometimes that’s enough.
How do you faithfully transfer a classic and much-beloved novel to the stage and convey the precise charm and power of the original? You don’t. It simply isn’t possible, especially with the writing and weighty school-taught history of Harper Lee’s practically-perfect work. Rather than attempt a straight-forward translation, Aaron Sorkin wisely reinterprets, to a minor extent, the story of ‘To Kill A Mockingbird,’ bringing it into the modern-day lexicon and leaning on the powerful parallels with today’s volatile social climate. Yet far from removing the grace and tenderness of the original, it translates its overriding themes into our cynical and, some might rightly say, evil times while keeping the story very much of its own era. It’s both telling and tragic to see how some things haven’t changed very much.
A noble yet deceptively-subtle star-turn by Jeff Daniels as Atticus Finch provides the bedrock foundation around which his children and the story at hand tread delicate, damning steps. When that foundation reveals cracks and fissures, and the steadfast archetype of Atticus gets shaken more than he did in the original book, it reveals the shifting tectonics of all the time that has gone by since its first publication, as well as a more complex reading of a character we all thought we knew so well. The doubly-nuanced layers of this lend the production its pristine sparkle and compelling relevance.
Daniels gets the star status here, but rather than going the easy route with showy theatrics or affably robust stalwartness, he underplays with almost infuriatingly-restrained nuances, occasionally mumbling what I’m hoping were throwaway lines (since I missed a few of them). It’s a genius move on his part, turning much of the audience into the children he so easily vexes with his unflappable and imperturbable conscience ~ like his daughter Scout.
Inhabiting a child’s body that manages to exhibit energy, awkwardness, and grace all at once, Celia Keenan-Bolger is the earnest heart of the piece, one that has to break a little to grow. As she comes of age during the summer at hand, she loses a bit of her innocence, not unlike the country depicted at the time. We all lose a little bit of innocence when faced with ugly realities.
In the world then, as in the world now, violence is ever-ready to descend, even in the unlikeliest of places. The heaviness of it all is not always blatant, but it’s somehow more vicious because of its hidden nature. Seen and sensed in a demolished camellia, a rumpled ham costume, and a broken arm, it seeps into everything, and when it finally explodes with visceral ferocity (as in the moment when Atticus spars with Bob Ewell) the audience finds itself in conflicted, exultant relief. Yet even in the most chilling and tense portion of both the play and the book, as a gang of hooded townsfolk come to deliver their own violent justice to the accused, the idea of violence ~ and the possibility of its eruption ~ is more menacing than any actual act itself. Like the book, this Mockingbird sings of tension and strife that thrives just beneath the surface, constantly threatening to bubble up at any moment. Atticus seems built to steer clear of such churnings, but when it finally reaches his own children, he has his own quiet reckoning.
As Scout, Keenan-Bolger is an admirable foil for Daniels ~ all exuberance and hope and reverence for her father. In his portrayal of Scout’s brother Jem ~ Will Pullen channels fervent, righteous impatience that sometimes boils over into anger. He wants to please his father as much as he questions his steadfast beliefs and methods of doling out justice. Rounding out the kids is a visiting quirky neighbor, Dil, who is impressively fleshed out by Gideon Glick, even given the character’s backseat status.
Much has been made of Calpurnia’s more pointed deviation from her role in the book, and though LaTanya Richardson Jackson ends up heavy-handed in some spots, overall she is the update that this ‘Mockingbird’ needs to make it soar, and such tweaking doesn’t spoil or destroy the intent. Who knows, maybe a privileged audience in today’s world needs such a reckoning?
The play begs for modern-day comparisons, a tribute both to its source material and Sorkin’s masterful update. Is Atticus the precursor or prototype of someone like Robert Mueller? Steadfastly holding true to the methods and laws and beliefs of a system that proves broken in the face of moral complexities and less-than-moral personalities? I’ll leave that for you to decide. This version of Mockingbird is ripe for many readings, and based on ticket sales and audience response (a rabid round of applause was heard whenever someone pushed against prejudice or patriarchy) this version may be the antidote to our troubled times.
The spell of the stage adaptation lies in large part to a stellar cast. It lures you in with its seductive southern drawl, it unarms with a little wit and laughter, and then it pounces with deadly accuracy, aiming right for the heart. It tears down what small bit of hope we might still have in humanity, while building it back up with the smallest of gestures. It’s there in the unsaid and unspeakable support Atticus delivers with a kiss to Dil’s head. The supposed innocence of a child recognizing the voice of a classmate’s father behind a hood of hate. The conflicted and ultimately resigned acceptance of what we can’t change, and the indefatigable audacity of what we might change simply by trying.
In the end, when Atticus is forced to bend his rigid by-the-book beliefs, it is heartbreaking yet affirming. We have to sit with our decisions for the rest of our lives. In the same way we sit beside our past, and sometimes it’s uncomfortable, and sometimes it’s wrong, and when there are no right answers, you do the best with the lessons you’ve been given, the life only you have known, and once in a while you can move your own moral compass, shifting it just the slightest bit, and that has to be enough.
Even if you are not a fan of Monty Python (and I am decidedly not), there is joy to be found in abundance at ‘Spamlot’ which is currently traversing the country on another National Tour. It’s been several years since the original production stormed the boards on Broadway, but the time is clearly right for a King Arthur renaissance, particularly when a comical and hapless leader can also prove to be rather benevolent, and not wholly lacking in decency and civility. Judging from the audience’s eager embrace, ‘Spamalot’ may be the laughter-induced antidote to these absurd times. (An updated ad-lib on the government shutdown got the night’s biggest reaction – thunderous laughter and applause – but it was clear that most people in the packed crowd were having fun the entire time.)
While it certainly helps if you know and love the antics of Monty Python, as a Python virgin I quickly acclimated to the humor at hand, thanks in no small part to a whimsically-imagined Broadway subplot and the stellar talents of the current company. It is as much a tribute to its Holy Grail source material (in substance and in style) as it is to the traditional Broadway musical, lovingly lampooning the latter in ‘The Song That Goes Like This’ while gleefully skewering those twin pillars of musical theater – the gays and Jews – in ‘You Won’t Succeed on Broadway’ and ‘His Name is Lancelot’.
The original Broadway cast included some legendary luminaries like Tim Curry and David Hyde Pierce, but any notion that they were the sole owners of their roles was challenged by the rollicking band of triple-talents who populated this production and brought it to thrilling life. Leading that charge is Steve McCoy as King Arthur, who must simultaneously command the stage, and his knights of the round table, while bumbling around as the butt of many jokes. McCoy is gamely up for the antics, and his charismatic performance offers equal parts pining poignance and hilarious hubris. As his coconut-conjured horse and faithful companion, Jason Elliott Brown spends much of the evening setting up the laughs for the late-hour ‘I’m All Alone’ and it pays off splendidly. Displaying a range that made him almost-unrecognizable in some of his characters, Adam Grabau chomps down on the scenery in all of his appearances, most effectively in his antics as the French Taunter. He wins the most laughs in that turn, but as Lancelot he ends up winning some hearts as well.
While women largely take a back seat to the roaming boys club here, Leslie Jackson refuses to stay off stage for too long, calling out the whole show in ‘Diva’s Lament’ and giving the proceedings their musical backbone with ‘Find Your Grail’ – her Lady of the Lake lifts the show with an impressive luminosity, all with tongue firmly in cheek. Rounding out the main players are Kasidy Devlin as Sir Robin (and a couple more) and Philip Huffman as Sir Galahad, the Black Knight, and Prince Herbert’s Father. Devlin develops from a literally crappy fellow into a Broadway-belting hero, while Huffman transforms from a very literal peasant into a luxuriously-locked but still very literal knight. Not that any additional comic relief is needed (how relieved can one show be?), but more laughs are provided by Richard LaFleur and Blake Burgess, who make the most of the nine (!) roles between them.
For fans of Monty Python, or musical theater in general, this production deftly navigates the best of all possible worlds, while gently pushing the envelope with a tempered yet gleeful irreverence and, like the artform itself, it’s a joyous romp for a world that far too often takes itself far too seriously.
It struck me halfway through this moving musical that all of my friend’s children have no memory of what happened on 9/11, and therefore the next generation will grow up in a state of innocence at least somewhat similar to how me and my friends grew up. There’s something very sorrowful in that, and something rather lucky too. Both sides of the story are in effect as ‘Come From Away’ weaves its tale of the aftermath of that dark day, when planes were re-routed out of American air space and onto Canadian soil, in a tiny town in Newfoundland. Overwhelmed by the 39 planes that arrived (the airport had only ever seen five or six a day at the most), the town came together to welcome and care for the thousands of scared, confused and shell-shocked new additions who had “come from away†to a land in the middle of nowhere.
While the specter of 9/11 hangs somberly over the proceedings, and there are moments of elegiac reverence that will bring you back to that haunted day, it is the resilience and generosity of the human spirit that ultimately wins out in the end, creating a memorable distillation of a world gone mad and trying to rescue and heal itself in the face of unimaginable horror. I didn’t think a musical could do it such honor, but ‘Come Away Away’ achieves that and more, giving us a voice of optimism in some very dim days.
Brought to glorious life by a cast that sees each member playing multiple roles, this is very much an ensemble piece (nine of the fifteen listed numbers are attributed only to ‘Company’) – and though each performer gets a few stand-out moments, the overall effect is a group working together to make things better – the very personification of the story at hand. Whether strapped convincingly in their airplane seats or rollicking wildly in the local pub, they manage to make a group of disparate chairs (the main set-pieces of a sparse, tree-framed stage) come alive, transforming seamlessly in and out of character from local to visitor, and somehow it never gets confusing.
Backed by an onstage band that stays largely hidden in the shadows of the trees (until the post-finale release), the music on hand is the driving force that buoys the production, providing a compelling foil for all the spoken exposition. It also drives the more rousing numbers, setting things into motion with ‘Welcome to the Rock’ and giving soaring anthemic propulsion to ‘Somewhere in the Middle of Nowhere.’ Comedic moments like ‘Screech In’ get ear-worm melodies while the aptly titled ‘Prayer’ incorporates a classic hymn while winding in a world of spiritual sounds.
The pendulum from profound joy to heartrending grief swings back and forth several times during the course of the evening, giving due gravitas to the proceedings, yet the show never stops being engaging and entertaining. As the days slowly unfurl, life finds a way to adapt to everything that came after. One couple comes together while another breaks apart, friendships are made and instantly galvanized under the weight of what the world was going through, and by the end of the show this human experience, which should have by all rights been nothing more than an unbearable exercise in sadness has become an uplifting example of how good we can sometimes be.
Several weeks ago I saw a local production of ‘The Boys in the Band’ and left sorely unimpressed with it. I’d managed to avoid the movie version all my life based on the roundly negative perception that had been gleaned in the ensuing years of gay evolution, but I didn’t want to go in to the current revival wholly unprepared, so I watched a local troupe do the best that they could.
It felt so dated, so acerbic, so harsh – I didn’t recognize the joy I’ve mostly felt when surrounded by my gay friends. Yet was it the play that was problematic? Or was it my anger and issue with the fact that it was, at its time, an accurate reflection of how gay men lived and were perceived? Or was it my discomfort that some of those very same themes and issues still held true to this day? Whatever the reasons, I went into the current revival – staged fifty years after its landmark premiere – with these doubts hovering in my mind.
Back on Broadway with a thousand-watt cast and pedigreed director, ‘The Boys in the Band’ is one of the hottest tickets in town. The questions that bothered me on first viewing were still in effect, but director Joe Mantello (who lately has been averaging about two directorial pieces per season, and whose previous work includes ‘Love! Valour! Compassion!‘ and ‘Wicked‘) and that perfectly-assembled stellar cast managed to pull off a brilliant feat: bringing back a piece of the past, keeping it faithful to the original material and era, yet somehow making it completely of-the-moment and eerily relevant. (If anyone thinks that our fight was over when marriage equality became the law of the land, check out the vitriol on any number of social media sites. Hatred comes as much from the outside as it does from within.)
Brilliantly-lit and designed, the set is all about surface and reflection – mirrors and glass work to obscure and reveal. As the evening progresses, it gradually gets ravaged, and by the end it’s as messy as all the emotions that have been spilled. The main draw of this production is the cast, and at first I wondered whose star might shine brightest; the good news, and what makes this show work so well, is that they all do. Mantello has insured that each gets a little star turn, but it’s the ensemble work that propels these boys to a greater glory. Working together in finely-tuned nuance and dexterity, they seamlessly weave their own individual tales among the birthday proceedings at hand, flawlessly executing the cadence of the gay world as it exited the 60’s and charged into the 70’s. The sexual freedom on hand portends the arrival of AIDS in the 80’s, which makes this time capsule of gay history especially poignant in a way the original production could not have achieved.
Jim Parsons elicits the complexity and tightly-coiled danger of the evening’s host Michael, gradually coming undone as the night wears on, ending a brief bout of sobriety and giving in to his own demons. His is the rough, wounded heart around which the show delicately revolves. A former one-time paramour, Donald, endearingly played by Matt Bomer, is the first to arrive and set his mind at relative ease. Providing a sweeter foil to the perfectly prickly Parsons, Bomer provides both a calmer presence and some swoon-worthy eye candy (if you want to see him in briefs and briefly naked, it’s worth the price of admission).
Robin de Jesus sparkles and almost steals the show as Emory, deftly devouring the scenery in moments that run from the highest camp to the most lowly pathos, while somehow managing to steer clear of a grating stereotype. Michael Benjamin Washington brings a subdued elegance to his role as Bernard, even as he leaves in tears and regret. The catalyst that provides all the immediate drama is the arrival of Michael’s college friend Alan, the sole straight person in the story, whose overt posturing and derogatory comments belie past secrets operating on multiple levels. Brought to anguished life by Brian Hutchison, Alan may be the most conflicted of them all, a rather stunning reversal of the expected standard order. Birthday boy Harold appears half-way into the evening, but makes perhaps the biggest impression. Masterfully brought to life by a wickedly unrecognizable Zachary Quinto, his feathery, deliberately-cadenced delivery is as delicious as it is diabolical. Wit and sharpness have helped him survive, and all the vitriol that Michael throws at him falls away like so many broken arrows.
As mentioned, each character gets an indelible moment to show-off, and no one is one-note accent, which is quite an achievement. Even the Cowboy (Charlie Carver, in an almost-silent role) makes the most of his few words; his emoting, with the slightest switch in expression in a room of sharper wits, manages to convey innocence, exuberance and earnestness in a performance that is sweeter than it deserves to be.
Portraying a couple perpetually on the verge of a break-up or break-down, Andrew Rannells and Tuc Watkins inhabit Larry and Hank in realistically antagonistic fashion, yet despite the seeming precariousness of their relationship, they ultimately provide the evening’s singular moment of hope and sentiment. In a world that once openly hated us, and in some circumstances still does, the tortured yet honest way they navigate their lives is, in a warped way, one example of how gay people worked to forge their romantic relationships. That’s indicative of this play on a broader scale, and if we don’t see ourselves as readily in these characters, perhaps that’s the best sign of how far we’ve come. Taken as such, the work becomes a celebration. What might outwardly be seen as a sad little birthday party becomes a glorious revelry, thanks largely to the compelling performers who breathe life into a world that has, for better or worse, faded away.
Contorted in anguish, his body writhes precariously before an audience, both in the story and on the stage of the Music Box Theatre. His face streams with sweat and tears, his face quivers, and his hands tremble with the weight upon his shoulders. It is the weight of the world – the weight of being a teenager, which, even in the best of possible worlds, is the worst weight of them all. He stumbles to the ground, melting into a pool of angst and despondency, and just when you think you can’t bear the awkward silence and the agonizing quiet, he launches into ‘You Will Be Found’ – the Act One closer that is a high point of ‘Dear Evan Hansen’, last year’s Tony Award winner for Best Musical. And that’s just the emotional roller-coaster of the last ten minutes of the first act.
With its weighty subject matter and grim modern-day depiction of the desolation of an ever-encroaching online world, ‘Dear Evan Hansen’ seems an unlikely choice for Best Musical material, yet somehow the overriding emotional catharsis of the show, along with a powerful set of songs courtesy of Benj Pasek and Justin Paul, makes this a ride worth taking.
It begins in familiar territory for most of us: parent and child growing pains. We’ve all been on one or both ends of that formula, and as the mothers in ‘Anybody Have a Map?’ lament, there is no easy answer. From there, the musical takes off as title character Evan Hansen seeks to conquer his doubts and heal his mysteriously-broken arm, wondering at his inability to connect with others in ‘Waving Through a Window’. After a misguided letter and sudden tragedy lead Evan on a quest requiring deception to ease another family’s pain, the main catalyst sets the musical in motion. Rather than face the truth, Evan crafts a happier version of events that never really happened, but the beauty of ‘For Forever’ is that there is a kernel of truth in the wanting for such a perfect day to be real. That wanting is authentic. If he believes in it enough, if he makes it sound so good that everyone will want to believe in it too, then the lie might be forgiven. It might be given another life as something else, something that soothes and corrects a past that might not be as perfect.
Before things get bogged down in that philosophic contemplation, there is the hilarious trio of ‘Sincerely, Me’ and the comedic relief of Evan’s “family friend†Jared. Such transitions are absolutely vital in such a heavy show, but would be bright spots in any musical treading the boards right now.
As the title character for Wednesday and Saturday matinees, Michael Lee Brown gets the brunt of the emotional walloping, but his physical embodiment and vocal athletics are more than mettle for the task at hand. His Evan Hansen is all frail and flailing delicacy masked by self-deprecating humor, mirroring his mother’s initially over-the-top can-do attitude. When that mask is ripped off, it’s a remarkable thing to watch whether he will replace it with another.
Evan’s two would-be compatriots, Conor Murphy and Jared Kleinman, guide him in ways both hilarious and poignant. As the latter, Will Roland gets the majority of laughs, with impeccable comedic timing and sly delivery. Mike Faist brings typical teen angst and surprising tenderness to the troubled Conor.
The parents here are on equally complex footing. As the mothers, Rachel Bay Jones and Jennifer Laura Thompson are saddled with the weight of their teenage offspring, each dealing with fractured families in their own way. Ms. Jones gets the eleventh-hour tearjerker ‘So Big/So Small’ that finally breaks through to her son. As the lone father in the piece, Michael Park is all stoic, low-growl slumber until he opens up in ‘To Break in a Glove’. By the time Evan’s final salvo comes in ‘Words Fail’, the family that he has created is one to which we all suddenly belong. The need for that is primal and powerful. What happens when it’s taken away is devastating.
‘Dear Evan Hansen’ is about the families we create for ourselves, out of desperation or delusion or the simple need to survive. It’s about the lies we tell ourselves and the lies we tell each other – to be kind, to be consoling, to get through the day – and how draining and debilitating those lies can become. It’s about the existences we conjure and create, the facades of perfection we try so hard to keep flawless at any price. Mostly, though, it’s about the ways in which we matter, how each of us, despite our growing disenchantment and the ever-crushing way the world works, does in fact matter. And we are not alone. This musical reaches out to make a connection in a world where connecting no longer seems to make a difference. It’s a cry as gripping as a son’s desperate hug for his mother, a longing for a solution as insoluble as the longing for a lost father, and a quest for a moment of meaning as harrowing as the last hold on a tree branch before letting go.
Inventive, ingenious and invitingly-entertaining, ‘Once on This Island’ has transformed the Circle in the Square into a piece of theatrical paradise. Set on “an island in the French Antilles, then and now,” the current revival magically places its audience right on the island as well (and front row ticket-holders would do well to dress accordingly, i.e. for sand, which I neglected to mention to my Mom as she carefully strode across the beach in open-toed fancy shoes). It’s a delightful rendering of immersion theater that never feels gimmicky or trite, one that succeeds largely because the music and emotion behind the story are strong enough to merit a revival.
‘Once on This Island’ tells the tale of a little girl who loses her family in a storm but is taken in by a loving set of parents. When she grows up, she falls in love with a man she helped nurse back to health, but is prevented from being with him by their economic and social status. The interplay of nature versus society runs throughout the show, and the gorgeous melodies and songs of Stephen Flaherty and Lynn Ahrens (the team that would later create the equally-beautiful music of ‘Ragtime’) anchor the spectacular visuals.
Enchanting and epic, the breezes that blow off this magnificent musical are based on the most primal emotion of them all: love. It is felt in the details of the piece, from the present moment magic of the maelstrom to the distant evocation of the gods. It’s there in the sand beneath our feet and the water lapping at the edge of the stage. It’s there in the computer cords making up the headdress of one goddess, the plastic bags hanging like a couture necklace around another, and the Coca Cola spines of the deliverer of death. At once immediate and timeless, the musical sings the song of familial loyalty, endless love, sacrifice, loss, and redemption.
Hailey Kilgore is a revelation in her star-making turn as the grown Ti Moune. Her journey from wide-eyed innocent to cast-out lover helps turn this production into a seering work of art; her final scene at the gate is the heartbreaking stuff of theatrical legend. Isaac Powell gives a compelling performance as Daniel, object of and willing participant in Ti Moune’s affection. Daniel makes his own choices, as much as he is allowed, realizing his own trapped fate and powerless (or unwilling) to fight against it. It’s a difficult role, less showy and emotionally brittle as Kilgore’s, and more tricky because of it. That we are just as torn by his fate is testament to Powell’s complex portrayal (and I’m not just saying that because he complimented my shoes before the show began).
As the couple who takes in Ti Moune, Philip Boykin and Kenita R. Miller provide support, ambivalence, warnings and love as they let their little girl go. More than that, Ms. Miller offers a devastating portrayal of a mother-figure faced with the prospect of losing her child, something she shows in tears or the worrying of her hands as she sprinkles sand in superstitious protection. Her more powerful spell comes in the form of love, such as when she joins her daughter in a dance to show the society snobs a moment of unabashed revelry and joy.
The various gods supply both plotline catalysts and a sort of Greek chorus sounding board. Quentin Earl Darrington makes a commanding Agwe, overseeing the sea and the storms with whimsical and sometimes fierce abandon. Broadway veteran Lea Salonga brings her glorious soprano presence to the island as Erzulie, spinning choral gold with words of love. She is but one voice of many that raises this production to the realm of greatness.
The staging is genius, and it’s not just about the beach. I never thought anything more could be done with the sand on stage, but when it dissolves into a glorious carpet, and then into a floor of marble, it’s like a miracle happening right before your eyes. Such stagecraft is stunning, lending more wonder to the enchantment at hand, yet it remains rooted to the reality of the present, as it’s not a special effect but a clever manipulation of materials on hand. A car chase finds abstract assembly of its main vehicle in surprisingly effective form, while the gates of the palace are as formidable as they are fluid. Performers make double and sometimes triple duty use of the wreckage on-set; repeated viewings are probably necessary to fully appreciate all the little details as well as the majestic way they work together to create a perfect panoply.
The music remains the centerpiece here, and though there are some individual songs that stand out, it’s the piece as a whole that wields its true energy and power, even and especially in the aftermath of devastation and loss. The lilting and bittersweet ‘Some Girls’ is as heartrending as ‘We Dance’ is uplifting. Instruments are made from discarded plastic bottles and similar flotsam, resulting in a raw, organic sound – all the better to appreciate the voices.
By the final act of rebirth, storytelling has become a faith and religion unto itself. We pass on traditions, and songs, and tales of our past so that the future generations may learn, live and love better than those of us who came before. The last notes are hopeful reminders that the past, no matter how painful, can be reconstructed and repurposed – much like the throw-away objects that form the costumes and scenery here – and reborn in a new way. Without telling that story, there would be nowhere to go.
