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Follies – Review

 
I knew upon entering the utilitarian Marquis Theatre that my instincts were right about seeing FolliesThe theatre, located in a Las Vegas styled Marriott, is hardly known for its charm.  But there it was, draped in dingy, droopy, graying muslin.  The draping was so authentic, most did not know it was not part of the theatre.  The set, (Derek Mclane) so realistically evoked a decaying vaudeville theatre, that I knew attention had been paid.Now I must interject that the only Follies I have seen was an Encores! (staged concert) version.  I may not be the most reliable reporter of the event.  Follies, while not a hit when it opened in 1971, is a wonderful mix of poignancy, period styling, and Zigfield Follies/Busby Burkeley pageantry.  The songs (Stephen Sondheim,) you would recognize many, are gorgeous, and there is more than one show stopper.  Follies holds an additional, while rare, distinction; it is an incredible showcase for women of a certain age.The premise is a reunion of the Weissman Girls before the closing of a theatre.  The Weissman Follies spanned “the years between the world wars” and the reunion is set in 1971.  A younger cast is employed to evoke the performers past selves.  This would be when I start gushing about the costumes (Gregg Barnes.)  I was reminded of those scenes in The Women and That Touch of Mink.  You know, when the ladies sit in a comfortable seat and watch the fashion show while mentally choosing what they’ll buy?  The 1920s and 1930s costumes were dreamy, as were the 1971 gowns.  Mary Beth Peil (Women on the Verge, The Good Wife) was ravishing in a form fitting black stretch gown and cascading gray hair.   Elaine Paige was equally gorgeous on the other side of glamor in an electric blue satin gown trimmed in mink.  But enough about the clothes.  For now.What a cast!  The two couples at the center of the storyline; Buddy and Sally and Ben and Phyllis, are played respectively by; Danny Burstein, Bernadette Peters, Ron Raines and Jan Maxwell.  Danny Burstein is always fun to watch (if Bert Lahr and Wallace Shawn had a singing and dancing son it would be Danny Burstein) but he is far too young for this role.  The problem with a show about aging, and one that announces the characters age from time to time, is there is not a whole lot of wiggle room in chronologically blind casting.  Bernadette Peters suffers from this fallout as well.  At one point she declares herself “49” and there is sputtering in the audience.  I feel certain they meant no harm, it was just so outrageous.  Ron Raines is not served well by a declaration of his being “53” either.  Both Mr. Raines and Ms. Peters are in their 60s, a fact that is only highlighted by pairing them with Mr. Burstein, who is in his 40s.  Ms. Maxwell is probably the only principal who is the right age.  If one can suspend reality (which needs to include the premise that a 5’2” Ms Peters could ever be a show girl,) this whole thing should not be such a problem.  Although I find it interesting that during a time of such enormous weight given to appearances, that we choose to overlook the obvious for the slightly more subtle which is fame.This would be the time to shout a big hurrah, that Mr. Raines is on the Broadway stage.  He is a veteran concert and regional performer, and known to some for his daytime television work (Guiding Light.)  His voice is so old school rich and reverberating, it took my breath away.  He’s a bit easy on the eyes as well.  He was a delightful match for Ms. Maxwell, who tore the place up with her “Could I Leave You.”  The lack of chemistry between Mr. Raines and Ms. Peters was perfect for the story.  I know I am in a very small minority in never seeing Ms. Peters’ stage appeal.  I adored her in the Steve Martin films, but find her voice to be thin and nasally.  Her role is not huge, but I was left wondering how incredible it would have been to hear “Losing My Mind” sung by Tyne Daly.  I had little time to sulk, as I had the transcendental experience of hearing Miss Elaine Paige sing “I’m Still Here.”  I still have chills and a lump in my throat.  Now in between all these rich, gorgeous songs brimming with pathos, are some of the best performances you will see on stage.  “Who’s That Woman?” is a tap, chorus line, number performed by most of the women.  While most of the principal cast are not dancers, Terri White is.  She plays Stella Deems and tears up the stage in this number.  Holy moly!  (Ms. White may be familiar to readers of the New York Times.  She was profiled a couple of years ago while performing in Finian’s Rainbow.  At 60 years old she found herself homeless.)   Her performance needed an Encore desperately.  I would not be surprised if one is added (the show is currently in previews.)I suspect that this might not be the quintessential Follies.  My guess is that a more appropriate casting of Sally and Buddy would launch this production into the history books.  That said, it is without a doubt a must-see!

 
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Posted by on August 20, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Death Takes a Holiday – Review

In the hands of a deft director (Doug Hughes) skillful musicians and excellently cast actors, Death Takes a Holiday is a simply wonderful experience.  The new (Rondabout Theatre) musical is staged at the very compatible (425 seat) Laura Pels Theatre.  The intimacy of the theatre is perfectly suited to this delicate production.  The set (Derek McLane) is rather reminiscent of the recent revival of Ragtime, which ostensibly was a concert version of the musical.  (I was not surprised to learn that Mr. McLane did in fact design Ragtime.)  I am left with a bit of a chicken and egg question in wondering if Mr. McLane was hired to lend an air of a staged concert to this production, or if this production feels like a staged concert due to the set.  Regardless, the device works.  The orchestra(-lette) is set behind a scrim in the fly.  While it is always nice to see the musicians (no matter how few there are) the upstage fly is the perfect placement in this theatre.  With the (diminutive) orchestra upstage, the actors should be perfectly comfortable without microphones in a theatre this size.  But alas, no.  More than once I was reminded of the Lena Lamont mishaps in Singin’ in the RainPerhaps taping the body mic to the forehead rather than the side of the face, would help?  Perhaps it is time I simply gave up this cause?

Even with the excessive amplification, there is a lovely old fashioned quality to this musical.  I am a huge fan of simplicity and a City Center Encores devotee.  I am not bothered in the least by the lack of dance in this musical.  I suspect some ticket holders might be disappointed, but I am of the “less is more” and “if you can’t do it well, don’t bother” school.  I’d much rather see a lovely performance of honest portrayal than a casserole of all things to all people. 

The book, by Peter Stone (1776, Titanic) does not alter the original storyline or add superfluous sidelines.  (There were two incongruent attempts at lewdness with which Mr. Stone should not have sullied himself.)  In the film to musical genre, it is as straightforward (in the very best sense) as The Light in the Piazza was/is.  Maury Yeston (Titanic, Nine, Grand Hotel) wrote the lyrics and music, and clearly is also no stranger to the movie – musical genre.   There are a few absolutely delicately pretty songs in the show.  Nothing one would necessarily hum, but quite nice.  I did have an issue with the scoring of the music.  Many of the numbers are written in a far too expansive range.  Nothing would have been lost by bringing down the excessive high notes.  The actors, rarely hit them, and when they did it was with effort and flop sweat.  It was distracting to the audience and made me wonder what was motivating Mr. Yeston.  The best musical numbers are those with the household staff.  Their humor and vocal prowess were an absolute delight.  There is also a number, performed sitting on the apron, by the three youngest female characters, that is very memorable.  The three part harmony is splendid.

The casting of this production seems to be a nod to the past as well.  There are boldfaced theatre names (Matt Cavenaugh and Rebecca Luker) but no US magazine veterans.  Mr. Cavenaugh’s role is tiny, which I found surprising, considering his recent lead roles (West Side Story, A Catered Affair.)  Ms. Luker’s role was much more significant.  Oh, to hear her sing!  Even in a mostly forgettable song.  Had it not been for her solo, I would have considered the entire cast all quite very good singers.  She transcended them all.

The performance I saw was the first in which the lead had dropped out.  He was the same actor who was a recent no-show for opening night.  The cause stated is laryngitis.  One has to wonder about the preparation younger actors are receiving.  More often than not, I have witnessed no-shows at matinees (and they are always the under 35 set,) leading me to wonder about their physical preparation for 8 shows a week.  I am also at a loss as to how an amplified, rather subdued score (it’s no Phantom!) can be so straining.  I do not wish to sound unsympathetic.  Truly.  I simply wonder if more is owed this generation of performers.

Digression aside, I thoroughly enjoyed this show.  Even without an overture, I knew in the first 5 minutes that it was going to be a good time.  I love seeing new things, and what a joy to see something lovely and devoid of gimmick.  There were no mindless repetitive thumping bass lines, no screaming lyrics and no sound effects.  There were instead; honest portrayals of human beings, with a score that continually worked to move the story along.  Much is made of bright and shiny these days.  Even more is made of everyone’s 15 minutes and spotlights.  We are often in pursuit of perfection, in material objects, in others, etc.  In musical theatre there is an embarrassment of perfectionBut for every Gypsy or Showboat, there is a Starlight Express, and in between, there is a whole lot of real estate.  I am very happy to live in the neighborhood of Death Takes a Holiday.

 
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Posted by on August 20, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Race – Review

I (finally) saw David Mamet’s Race this weekend at the fabulous Ethel Barrymore Theatre.  Much has been written about Mamet’s latest plays being “less than Mamet.”  I am not a huge proponent of holding artists to a rigid historical framework, yet went to this production with just a bit of apprehension.  If the critics (professional and water cooler alike) find Mamet’s more recent works to be less explosive and edgy, I would agree.  If they are equating the fading of sizzle and the increase of substance to be an indication of talent slippage, I would disagree.  Race is powerful in the way that Mamet is always powerful.  The use of language is intoxicating, the rhythms hypnotic, and the respect for the audience palpable.  We are made to question the questions posed.  There is subtext that is presented, not pretentiously, but dramatically.  There are elements in the storyline similar to Doubt, and clearly the audience left the theatre in a similar; “did he, didn’t he?” manner.  The cast (in classic Mamet style) is comprised of four characters.  Also, classically Mamet, is the poor female character.  Whether the cartoonishly drawn female has become his intentional hallmark or not, it is there, as predictable as a Hirschfeld “Nina.”

The plot centers around a wealthy white man (Richard Thomas) accused of raping a black woman.  The attorneys considering representing Mr. Thomas are played exquisitely by James Spader and David Alan Grier.  Their assistant is a young woman of color (Kerry Washington.)  Directed by Mr. Mamet, on an old fashioned slanted stage, creating great sight lines and interesting subtext.  Mr. Thomas displays utterly convincing mannerism of the manor born.  There was a moment, when Spader, Grier, and Thomas were on stage together, that I briefly thought of the different decades of pop-culture they represented (In Living Color, Brat Pack, Waltons) but that is entirely my own issue, and not that of the actors or the production!

Ms. Washington is not served by her part or direction.  She is stilted and not believable as a person, let alone a neophyte or con-artist (we’re never sure which.)  Elizabeth Moss was recently able to break out of the Mamet female stranglehold in Speed the Plow.  I would suggest, that Ms Moss is the exception.  The only other distraction in the production is a strange pause between scenes in the second act.  It is not needed dramatically or technically and is just kind of bizarre.

If you love language, if you have any interest in race, politics or sociology, or if you simply love seeing brilliant performances, this is the play for you.  It was entirely refreshing to leave a play feeling intellectually challenged and respected.  The cast could be perceived as interlopers (although all are stage actors) and this could be seen by some as a ‘bold face’ name production.  It did not feel star studded in the least (even William H Macy and his wife, seated in front of me did not disturb the lack of glamorousness of the production.)  Perhaps when all is said and done, I’ll take multi-layered substance over sizzle any day.

 
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Posted by on August 20, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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A View from the Bridge – Review

Last night I attended a preview of A View from the Bridge at the Court Theatre. This is a limited run (14 week) production directed by Gregory Mosher (Glengarry Glen Ross, Speed the Plow.)  This was my first time with this particular Arthur Miller play.  There is as much back story as there is theatrical story, and I found it all almost too much to absorb.  “Bridge” is often seen as the final “take that” in the demise of the friendship between Elia Kazan and Mr. Miller.  For years after the McCarthy trials, the two spoke only through their art forms.  It is said that Miller expressed his sorrow and rage at Kazan with The Crucible, and Kazan replied with On the Waterfront, that then followed by “Bridge.”  It is very hard to ignore all that when watching this play that centers around codes of honor, betrayal and human frailty.
The play is crafted beautifully and narrated by the attorney, Alfieri (Michael Cristofer.)  Mr. Mosher has directed Cristofer beautifully.  It is no small feat to narrate a drama while playing a character within the play.  His transitions are fluid and his stage presence pulses with an understated power.  The story, as told by Alfieri, is that of a family of first generation Italian-Americans in Red Hook, Brooklyn.  Eddie (Liev Schreiber) and his wife Beatrice (Jessica Hecht) have raised their niece Catherine (Scarlett Johansson.)  Catherine is supposed to be a sheltered seventeen year old with her first exposure to men her own age (illegally) arriving in the form of Beatrice’s cousins (wouldn’t that make them Catherine’s cousins too?) Rodolpho and Marco.  Tragedy unfolds as Eddie finds the budding romantic relationship between Catherine and Rodolpho intolerable.  There is an unwholesomeness to Eddie’s interest in Catherine that colors his entire perspective.  The tragedy that results from a man who loses his conscience while caught up in his misdirected impulses is life altering.
On paper, this is a powerful drama, and I have no doubt that the critics and audiences will find much to wax poetic.  I would tend to agree, with some minor cast changes.  By now you have probably heard of the hasty departure of the original Rodolpho.  Apparently the head injury he received from Liev Schreiber in a fight scene prevents him from returning to work.  This is a shame, as the role is pivotal and the understudy (Morgan Spector) lacks the necessary charisma.  He is physically uncomfortable on the stage and in this role, and he (forgive me) lacks the pretty face that is necessary for this part.  Another little bit of unsurprising miscasting is that of Miss Johansson.  She manages to navigate the stage in a convincing manner, but her age is much too distracting.  It is impossible to believe that a 26 year old is a sheltered 17 year old.  She is not assisted in the least by the costuming (Jane Greenwood) that makes her look even older.  This working class girl of very meager means is put in form fitting color coordinated outfits and bright red lipstick.  She is made to look like a 1950s pin-up, and the result is that she and Liev look perfectly natural together as a couple.  Had Miss Johansson been 10 years younger, and perhaps not spent as much time with a dialogue coach (her attempt at a Brooklyn accent is distracting and inaccurate) I think she could have pulled off the part quite well.  Jessica Hecht is brilliant and luminescent and I want to see her in every American classic play.  She becomes the character Beatrice so completely that even her trademark screen mannerisms disappear. My heart broke for her.  Liev Schreiber is a fine actor, there is no doubt.  I predict that Ben Brantley (sitting the row behind me) will adore the performance, as will The New Yorker.  Me?  I found it overwrought and distracting.  I felt as if I was watching him act for two hours.  I never “felt” anything, and that is a shame.  I wanted to be pulled into his story and empathize with his conflict, for I believe that is what Mr. Miller intended.  However, all I really felt was that Mr. Schreiber was performing a one man show and that the emotional calisthenics he demonstrated did not hint at a fun dinner companion off the stage.
The bones of a lovely production are in place however.  The staging was wonderful, with self contained, restrained moving sets and brilliant fight scenes.  Fight scenes, as we all can attest to, are a horror.  They are not easy to choreograph (Thomas Schall) and certainly not always easy to watch.  These were pitch perfect and utterly convincing (except for one small moment when Mr. Schreiber is careful not to bang Mr. Spector’s head on the table.)  The costume design (save Mr. Schrieber’s “dockwocker dressed by Armani” look, and Ms. Johansson’s pin-up look) are brilliantly on point.  There is one off kilter set construct in the venetian blinds in the Red Hook tenement apartment.  I did very much appreciate the absence of microphones and the smallness of the production, both designed to pull me in.
The audience make-up was interesting enough to warrant mention.  This being previews, there were rows of critics in my section, as well as actors and other such insiders.  What was perhaps more unique, was the large subset of audience members who had seen the original production (1956.)  This made for a very savvy audience (I’d be savvy too, if I’d been going to the theatre for over fifty years!)  The subtlety of the ovation will not be heard again once the show opens.  These insiders gave very enthusiastic applause to the excellent Marco (Matthew Montelongo,)  Ms.Hecht, Mr. Cristofer and Mr. Schreiber, and gave what is known as “polite applause” to Ms. Johansson. 

 
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Posted by on August 20, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Brokeology – Review

There are two elements that prevent Brokeology (at Lincoln Center) from being great theatre; the direction and the play.  The play, by Nathan Louis Jackson is the story of a small family (African American) in Kansas City.  It is a very straightforward tale of a father (Wendell Pierce) in failing health, and his grown sons (Alano Miller and Francois Battiste) fumbling to plan his long term care.  This probably could be an interesting conceit had the characters been written with more depth and the family dynamics better exposed.  There are very large holes in the story which make it difficult to care for the family and its journey.  Why does the younger son have a Masters Degree from UConn and the older son is a fry cook and unwed father still living in his hometown?  Why is the father whose religion is his marriage to his deceased wife, so blase about his eldest not marrying the mother of his grandchild?
Some of these holes could have been offset with better direction.  Thomas Kail (In The Heights) is probably more suited for a musical stage.  There are no attempts to connect the actors to each other on the stage.  The pacing is so deadened as to weaken any momentum and hence dramatic tension that might be eeked out from the script.  Mr. Pierce (a very enjoyable actor) is not directed in any way that alludes to the progression of his disease.  Were it not for some special effects, we might never be aware of his deterioration.  This is a problem for a plot device that hinges on the sons making a decision about their father by summer’s end.  Mr. Miller is a fine actor with a lovely stage presence, who as the younger high achieving son is given little assistance from the script or director.  He is placid and never conveys any inner conflict about his “should I stay, or should I go” decision.  There is a hint in the script that he is to be the softer more communicative son of the two, but the direction did nothing to illuminate that fact.  Crystal Dickinson is delightful as the often dead mother of the family.  She need only show up from time to time to remind us of the guiding light that she was for this family.  The real stand-out of this ensemble, and the reason to see this play is Francois Battiste.  He is a mutlilayered heartbreaking dynamo, that claws his way out of the stagnation of this production.  It will remain a mystery as to why he, and only he, comes across as a fully formed character.  I know exactly what makes him tick, even with a rather contrived plot line.  There were moments throughout the production that made me wonder if the director really understood the play.  The first Act opens with the (alive) wife surprising her husband with homemade T-shirts.  Even though they were pre-set on the curtainless stage, I had difficulty making out what they were supposed to spell out and what their point was.  It is only later in the script where we learn that the wife had great artistic aspirations and had dropped out of college.  There is nothing in her character that would have us believe that she was delusional about her talents.  Why not have the costumer or set designer make those t-shirts fabulous?  The woman wanted to paint murals rife with political statements, and the shirts were at best monotonous.  Counter to this was the perfect set and lighting of this play.  The working class Kansas City home had its outer edges exposed in the thrust theatre.  Fragments of insulation and patchy lawn were slightly visible.  It was a lovely subtle touch.  The costuming was not as subtle as the elder son was dressed as “gangster lite” and the younger as “prep school holiday.”
This production continues to baffle me in many ways.  I don’t entirely understand how it made it to Lincoln Center nor do I understand the full (but odd) house on Saturday night.  I have never been to a production that had 50% Caucasians over age 75 and 50% African Americans (of various ages) as its audience.  I believe that composite actually explains a great deal about this production’s journey.  This play was clearly marketed to this particular audience.  I don’t know where or how (as I am not a member of either group.)  Clearly the firm mandated with this task should be lauded.  The audience showed (some 20-30 minutes late) and stayed.  They did not respond or seem terribly interested, but of course they gave the performers a standing ovation.  It was during this ovation that the tears flowed down my face.  Wendell Pierce stood on the apron of that stage, free of script and direction, his body and face were never more expressive and he broke my heart.  As the lump rose higher and higher in my throat, I ached for what could have been, with such a talented cast.

 
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Posted by on August 20, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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