Everything I Know I Learned From Musicals

Second Opinion - Silence! The Musical at Theatre 80 Off Broadway

Dear Reader: Here is the first in what I hope will be a series of Second Opinion reviews here on EIKILFM. The authors will be coming from my growing population of theater and criticism students at the Boston Conservatory. First up: One of the best students I've had in the 8 years I've been teaching at the BoCo. Because this former student is now a working actor, he will be going by a pseudonym, in the interest of protecting his chances for future employment. But I think you'll find that he adds a welcome and valuable voice to the EIKILFM conversation. --C.C.

What's that, discerning theatergoer? Current crop of New York musicals leaving you feeling a little unsatisfied? Wicked suffered from an absence of cannibalism? You felt Chicago could have benefited from a "CSI" subplot? Lots of glitzy frocks in La Cage, but none of them made from human skin? Well, my friends, have I got the musical for you!

Silence! The Musical, based upon the Oscar-winning film "The Silence of the Lambs," is currently in the midst of a newly-extended run at the divey but historic Theater 80, and the show amounts to a diverting, oft-hilarious evening of musical silliness, thanks to smart direction, consistently clever staging, Hunter Bell's superlative book, and a uniformly loopy cast. 

I was tickled from the moment I set foot into the space, its dingy black brick walls enhanced by Carl Casella's smart sound design, dropping the audience right into the bowels of Buffalo's Bill's basement. My anticipation was high as the curtain rose, only to be brought back to earth two minutes later. The titular opening number belies the riotousness that permeates most of Silence!, but immediately illuminates the show's greatest liability, Jon and Al Kaplan's score (more on that later).

Thankfully, the show retained its two greatest assets from its hit 2005 incarnation at the New York International Fringe Festival: librettist Hunter Bell and director/choreographer Christopher Gattelli. Bell's gleefully self-aware book is, as was his deservedly Tony-nominated script for [title of show], top-notch, revealing a gloriously off-kilter wit. And Gattelli provides solid, often inspired staging, including a lot of clever stage business for the show's Greek chorus of lambs, which appears at intervals throughout the show, as well as a monumentally silly Agnes DeMille-inspired dream ballet. 

The cast of New York veterans, many of whom are returning from the Fringe production, includes a howlingly funny, lisping Jenn Harris as FBI trainee Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster in the film). The show also features terrific turns from Stephen Bienskie as "Buffalo Bill" (Oh, dear God, the tuck...the tuck...you knew it was coming.); Harry Bouvy as an appropriately-grating Dr. Chilton, asylum psychiatrist, nemesis, and future lunch of  Lecter; and, in a plethora of roles, Jeff Hiller, of the undeservedly short-lived, Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson, who may just be one of the weirdest, funniest actors currently working in the New York theater.

Broadway regular Brent Barrett, in a bit of a departure, is inspired casting as the cannibalistic antihero, smartly departing just enough from Anthony Hopkins' now-legendary performance. His cool, mannered intelligence and just the right amount of smarm provides a perfect foil to Harris' exaggerated naivety, and the production comes to life the most during their scenes together.

However, neither Bell nor Gattelli nor the actors can fully overcome what is ultimately the production's downfall, which, oddly enough, existed before any of the above came on board: the dreadful, amateurish score. The songs are structurally and musically elementary, and the lyrics are some of the laziest that I've ever encountered on a professional stage. In the opening number alone, I noted "you" rhymed with "suit" and "FBI" with "nine." When lyricists such as Cole Porter used near rhymes or invented nonsensical words to complete a rhyme, it was a conscious decision to break the defined form for comic emphasis. The score for Silence! is so laden with such careless wordplay that it is clearly unintentional. As Stephen Sondheim once said, "Without form, the idea, no matter how small in ambition, becomes flaccid...Like a note that's a bit off pitch, a false rhyme doesn't destroy the meaning, but it weakens it."

This is not to say that there are not glimmers of winking cleverness here. Lecter belts out a hysterical ballad in which his unfulfilled longing for true connection is expressed through a jealous desire to be able to smell the...er..."see you next Tuesday" of this lovely, young FBI agent, as the nutjob in the next cell claims he can. Perhaps, if Lecter could, then maybe he, "could taste humanity again." And kudos for actually completing a true rhyme with "bearded clam." Now that is a rhyme of which Sondheim and Porter might be proud.

Also perplexing about the lyrics is that Hannibal Lecter speaks with the same voice and vocabulary as every other character. This rings rather false, since Lecter's brilliance almost defies words and he is endlessly cultured. His rhymes in the Kaplans' score sound as if they came, not from a lifetime's worth of immersion in academia and classicism, but rather straight from a B-grade children's book. The crux of the problem is that, without form, the clever ideas do not coalesce into a clever whole, and set to a monotonous score (their homage to Howard Shore's score is useless without Shore's orchestrations), the songs become a tedious interruption from Bell's screamingly funny book.

It's not difficult for me to recommend Silence!, for the sum of its parts is worth the two hours I spent in this East Village hole in the wall. But, ironically, since the score begat everything else, it holds the piece back from true comic genius and camp-classic status. -- Randall Marsh

Randall Marsh is the pen name for a recent graduate of the Boston Conservatory. Randall lives and works as an actor in New York City.

Review - Silence! The Musical at Theatre 80 Off Broadway

One of the most overused punchlines of recent times has been "[Fill in the Blank] -- The Musical." You take the most unlikely property and speculate about making it into a Broadway tuner, and - pow - instant comedy. For example:

Schindler's List -- The Musical
The Warren Report -- The Musical
'Night, Mother -- The Musical
Armageddon - The Musical
Webster's Ninth Collegiate Dictionary -- The Musical
The Green Mile -- The Musical
Million Dollar Baby -- The Musical
Hotel Rwanda -- The Musical
The Book of Mormon -- The Musical (Oh, wait...) 

(See my previous post on the topic for more side-splitting examples. Or, better yet, submit your own examples. Start a Twitter thread. Use it as a party game! It makes its own gravy!)

Of course, the very premise of this sort of jocularity violates one of the major tenets of my musical-theater history course: there is no such this as a bad idea for a musical, only poor execution. Nevertheless, jarringly ironic possibilities are the basis for much of the humor of a number of musical parodies over the years, including Star Wars - The Musical, A Very Potter Musical, and the subject of today's symposium, Silence! The Musical, now playing an extended run at Theater 80 on St. Mark's Place in the East Village.

Silence! The Musical is a loving(?) spoof of "The Silence of the Lambs," and the very idea of making a musical out of such a property admittedly flies in the face of my above-stated dictum about there being no such thing as a bad idea. And that's part of the fun. But, as with most parodies, the joke gets old really quickly, and even the most talented of parodists will usually have trouble sustaining the humor for more than, say, 90 minutes. Silence! clocked in at about two hours the night I saw it, with a ten-minute intermission. (Why have an intermission at all? Well, the folks at Theater 80 clearly want to make money selling drinks at intermission. They even take your drink order before the show. In today's economy, you can hardly blame them, but it does make the evening drag on longer than is probably wise.)

Even so, there are laughs aplenty to be had, albeit sophomoric ones, in Silence!, most of them from the self-consciously arch book by Hunter Bell and the sharp direction and choreography by Christopher Gattelli. As for the score, well, the idea for the show apparently originated with a series of songs by Jon and Al Kaplan, with Bell and Gattelli stepping in later when the show was staged for the New York International Fringe Festival. Well, all I can say is the Kaplans are pretty fortunate that the pros came on board, because their score is bland and monotonous, and the lyrics are puerile and forced. The Kaplans' idea of witty wordplay seems to consist of repeating the word "cunt" a dozen times or so throughout a song. And their egregious use of slant rhyme (pairing "predator" with "senator") is distracting and lazy.

Another major asset of the production, adding immeasurably to the show's overall comedic impact, is a marvelously protean cast of old faces and new, at least to this reviewer. Chief among these is Jenn Harris as Clarice Starling, whose deadpan Jodie Foster with a speech impediment never seems to get old. Standouts among the supporting cast are Harry Bouvy as Dr. Chilton (the one who meets a culinary end) and Stephen Bienskie as Jamie "Buffalo Bill" Gumb. Both performers had the kind of complete and warped characterizations that helped to make the often repetitive material come to comedic life on the stage. Brent Barrett seemed miscast to me as Hannibal Lecter, or perhaps I'm just too used to him performing material more commensurate with his talent. He really seemed to be slumming it here.

But, again, the humor fails to sustain itself throughout the show, and some of the jokes weren't coming off at all. Although I saw the show on what was supposed to be opening night, there were quite a few staging glitches and prop mishaps on display. Also, this was one of the only times I've ever seen a cast member corpsing on a professional stage. (That's a British term for breaking character and laughing during a performance.) I'm sorry, but that's simply inexcusable. Apparently Jenn Harris was extemporizing during the morgue scene, but please, people, this isn't "The Carol Burnett Show."

In truth, most of the critics were pretty ecstatic about Silence!, or at least a lot more positive about the show than I was. In fact, the run has been extended through August 27, and the show has added Thursday performances. It's worth a trip to the Village if you're looking for a hearty guffaw or two. I just think if you order one of those intermission drinks you might enjoy the second act a bit more than I did.

But, hey, don't just go by me. Coming soon, we have a first for EIKILFM: a second opinion. Watch for another review of Silence! The Musical, this one by one of my best Conservatory students, who has since graduated and moved to New York to make a name for himself. He's a strong writer, and has equally strong opinions, and I'm hoping this is the start of bringing more voices into the EIKILFM fold.

Review - Sister Act on Broadway

Readers who only recently entered the EIKILFM fold could be forgiven for thinking that I hate everything. True, many of my recent reviews have been negative, to say the least: The People in the Picture, Baby It's You, Wonderland, Catch Me If You Can. And now with Sister Act, which opened two weeks back at the Broadway Theatre, I find that the season has put me in an awkward position: I'm running out of ways to say "this musical was bad."

In my defense, there were actually quite a few musical productions this season that I genuinely liked or even loved: The Scottsboro Boys, Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson, The Book of Mormon, How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, and Anything Goes.

I'm a victim of circumstance, dear reader. Can I help it if starry-eyed producers insist on dragging mediocre (or worse) shows to Broadway? True, the lead producer in this case is more starry than starry-eyed: Whoopi Goldberg. And, in truth, Sister Act isn't bad, but it is definitely mediocre.

Word from the London production of Sister Act was that the show was a crowd-pleaser, but that the book, from television veterans but Broadway neophytes Cheri Steinkellner and Bill Steinkellner, was bland and jokey. So the producers brought in Douglas Carter Beane (Xanadu, The Little Dog Laughed) to punch up the script, and the result is bland and jokey. There were only a few times when I felt the DCB influence, including a few references to bachelor antique dealers, but they tended to stand out rather than blend with the rest of the book.

But if the jokes don't work, the story actually does, as anyone who's seen the 1992 film can attest. The songs are another story entirely. Composer Alan Menken and lyricist Glenn Slater have done a terrific job of recreating the feel of bland 1970s disco, and therein lies the trouble. The score is almost entirely unmemorable, except for "Take Me to Heaven," but only because we hear that song repeatedly throughout the show. Slater's lyrics here run toward the "nothing matters more than love/gift from up above" school of predictable rhyme schemes. 

A number of the songs reflect some genuinely questionable choices on the part of the creators, but it's not entirely clear who's to blame. I guess it ultimately falls on the lap of director Jerry Zaks, but someone with a voice of authority should have stepped in at some point and questioned the chorus of dancing homeless people backing up poor Chester Gregory during "I Could Be That Guy." (Also, the song was placed far too low in Gregory's range for him to sing it effectively. Was there no one available to transpose?) Another jaw-dropper was "Lady in the Long Black Dress," in which a trio of mob henchmen unctuously evoke Barry White as they sing of their plans to romance the nuns into doing their bidding. Um...ew.

As I sat watching the show, I made note of how awkward and amateurish the musical staging was, but I couldn't recall who the choreographer was. At intermission, I checked the Playbill: it was my old friend Anthony Van Laast, who perpetrated what can only charitably be called choreography for Mamma Mia, both the stage and movie versions. Why is this man still getting work on the professional stage? His motto seems to be, "when in doubt, indicate." Every line of every song, it seems, needs a pointlessly intricate foot placement or a painfully obvious gesture. The lyric talks about driving? Why, use your hands to mime a steering wheel, of course.

There's been a lot of talk about the "star-making" lead performance by Patina Miller in the Whoopi Goldberg role, and I found her professional, to be sure, but otherwise unremarkable. I was thankful for the presence of a pair of old pros to lend the proceedings a shred of dignity: Victoria Clark as Mother Superior and Fred Applegate as Monsignor O'Hara, both of whom shine out in whatever they do, regardless of the material.

On the positive side, after 16 years of Catholic education, I can't help smiling at the sight of nuns grooving to the beat. And the show is certainly visually impressive, with its glitzy scenic design by Klara Zieglerova, and subtle-as-a-sledge-hammer costumes by Lez Brotherston. Sister Act is likely to replicate its crowd-pleasing feat on this side of the Atlantic. I'm confident that the show will find an enthusiastic and appreciative audience. Just don't expect to find me among the faithful.

Review - Catch Me If You Can on Broadway

At various points throughout the new musical Catch Me If You Can, leading man Aaron Tveit turns to the audience to flash a toothy grin amid the glow of a pin spot to indicate that his character is getting away with yet another con job. Fans of the musical How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying will no doubt recognize this iconic moment as having been shamelessly stolen from that vastly superior musical, currently enjoying a smashing revival just a few blocks down from Catch Me If You Can.

This purloined stage ploy is sadly indicative of the overall lack of inventiveness on stage at the Neil Simon Theatre, which is ironic, given the ingenuity of the show's central character, Frank Abagnale, Jr., immortalized in the eponymous 2002 Stephen Spielberg movie.

Catch Me If You Can essentially amounts to a re-teaming of the creative crew from Hairspray: composer Marc Shaiman, lyricists Shaiman and Scott Wittman, director Jack O'Brien, and choreographer Jerry Mitchell (with Terrence McNally subbing here for Hairspray librettists Mark O'Donnell and Thomas Meehan). It's rather sad to contemplate that, after years of developing Catch Me If You Can, these otherwise formidable gentlemen couldn't devise anything better than this irritating mishmash of unclear intentions and enervating execution.

Despite the old adage, lightning can indeed strike twice in the same place, both meteorologically and metaphorically. Rodgers and Hammerstein followed Oklahoma! with the even more artistically ambitious Carousel. And most of the creators from West Side Story (with the notable exception of Leonard Bernstein) came together again to produce what may be an even better show, Gypsy. Granted, there are even more examples along the annals of musical-theater history when success did not beget success, but I just wanted to launch a preemptive strike against any simplistic "sophomore slump" analyses.

The problems with Catch Me If You Can are legion, starting with the very conception of the show. I've not seen the Spielberg movie, but from what I hear it does a much better job of making Abagnale's life interesting and making the man himself rather charming. Creating a musical around an antihero, or a person of questionable morals and motivation, is always a tricky business, but it's certainly been done effectively, and many times before. (See Gypsy, The Music Man, Pal Joey, My Fair Lady, How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, Sweeney Todd, Chicago, Show Boat, Nine, Falsettos, Evita, Jelly's Last Jam, The Producers, 110 in the Shade, Carousel, etc.)

But Terrence McNally and crew haven't succeeded in demonstrating what makes Abagnale appealing, nor in clarifying exactly what we're supposed to take away from his story. Are we to admire Abagnale? Pity him? Is this a cautionary tale? If so, what's the lesson? I'm sure someone could have made this musical compelling, but you'd think Terrence McNally, one of our most esteemed playwrights (Love! Valour! Compassion!, Master Class) and most experienced librettists (Ragtime, Kiss of the Spider Woman, The Full Monty) could have worked it out. But if McNally couldn't find the humor and the pathos in this story, what chance would mere mortals have?

O'Brien and Mitchell seem to have understood that the show they had wasn't really going to work, so they devised a framing device for the show, but I'll be damned if I can figure out exactly what it is. We appear to be plunked in the midst of a Vegas lounge act, or a bad TV variety show, with characters breaking the fourth wall and engaging in meta-discussions about putting on a performance. But not only is the exact nature of the framing device itself a bit of a mystery, it's also not clear exactly what it's supposed to mean. That Abagnale's life was all just one big show? I sincerely hope the creators were going for something just a bit more inspired than that.

Lost amid the clutter and confusion are some of Broadway's most talented and reliable performers, including Norbert Leo Butz as FBI agent Carl Hanratty (Tom Hanks in the Spielberg movie), Tom Wopat as Abagnale, Sr. (Christopher Walken), and Kerry Butler as Brenda Strong (Amy Adams). Each performer gets his or her moment to shine, and some of the bits come close to making the show at least marginally entertaining. Butz has the big showstopper in the first act, and he's terrific as always. And Butler gets a killer 11 o'clock number, and sings the living hell out of it too, but the song comes along just as the chase is wrapping up and it robs the second act of momentum. (Can you say, "The Miller's Son"?)

I think Catch Me If You Can will last until the Tony Awards, but I can't imagine it winning anything, except maybe for one of the performers. Then I see the show closing sometime between June and September. The season already has its share of smash hits (The Book of Mormon, Anything Goes, War Horse) and solid successes (How to Succeed, Priscilla Queen of the Desert). Even in the best of times, that's more than any one season can really support. And Catch Me If You Can isn't worth supporting.

Review - Priscilla, Queen of the Desert on Broadway

Yet another entry in the movies-into-musicals genre opens tonight on Broadway, and this one actually makes sense, at least on paper. The 1994 breakout Australian hit "The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert" would seem a natural choice for a stage show: larger-than-life characters, über-dramatic goings on, and the chance for a costume designer to bust out more bugle-beads and ostrich-plumes this side of La Cage aux Folles.

Alas, in the transition to Broadway's storied Palace Theatre, Priscilla, Queen of the Desert seems to have been diminished by a lot more than just a few words from the title. The show has been a hit in its home country, as well as London and Toronto, and it's certainly a feast for the eyes, but it's a repast that ultimately amounts to nothing more than a nutrition-deprived heap of empty calories. 

The book to Priscilla, by original screenwriter Stephan Elliot and producer Allan Scott, seems blissfully unconstrained by such limiting factors as reality and taste. They've essentially taken the skeleton story from the original screenplay and shoehorned in a bunch of hoary jokes, groan-worthy sight gags, and a relentless barrage of glitzy production numbers, while leaving anything remotely approximating human drama on the cutting-room floor.

I was a bit disappointed to hear that Priscilla would not have an original score, relying instead on such "period" songs as "Shake Your Groove Thing," "I Will Survive," and "It's Raining Men." But that turned out to be the least of the show's troubles. The real problem here is that the creators, including director Simon Phillips, choreographer Ross Coleman, and "production supervisor" Jerry Mitchell, have misjudged what made the film appealing in the first place. Sure, the costumes and the camp were fun. But what really made the movie a charmer were the three sympathetic characters at the core of the story. The creators seem to have been so hell-bent on cramming the show with glitter and shtick that they've forgotten the people underneath. There are 28 separate numbers listed in the program; after a while, the songs start to blend together into an undifferentiated morass.

The show also falls victim to a failing all too common in the movies-to-musicals genre: relying too heavily on audience members having seen the original film. Lazy creators too often seem to fall back on the "everyone's seen the movie" element, and in the process of making room for the musical numbers cut out too much of the character development and plot exposition. For instance, in Priscilla, the iconic moment from the film when Felicia rides in the giant shoe on top of the bus (see the logo above) has no real setup here. We just go from one scene to the shoe scene to another without benefit of context or explanation. A number of my Boston Conservatory students were in the audience the night that I saw Priscilla, none of whom had seen the movie, and when I talked to them at intermission, this was one of the scenes that had them scratching their heads.

Priscilla's second act has a few moments that almost redeem the show, particularly when it starts to find some heart. The central drag queen Tick/Mitzi is played here rather uncovincingly by the normally reliable Will Swenson. I suppose part of the problem was that I never, for a second, bought Swenson as a gay man or a drag queen, despite his clearly studied fey mannerisms. (Will, would it kill you to bevel?) When Tick finally has some quality time with his son (yeah, he has a son, which the show never fully explains), the two share an all-too-rare moment of human connection, but it's over almost as soon as it's begun, and the show then returns to its high-octane camp and superficial emoting.

The Broadway Priscilla also features Tony Sheldon, who originated the stage role of Bernadette in the Australian production, and has since played the part in London and Toronto. Sheldon was professional, but had the slick, superficial polish of someone who's been performing the role for years already. He did have some wonderful comedic and emotional moments in the show, particularly during the flashback to his triumphant years as a headliner with a drag revue called "Les Girls." But the construct of having a present-day character shadowed by a ghost from the past has been done before and better in Stephen Sondheim's Follies. Yes, everything's been done before, and there are no original ideas, and it all depends on execution, but this borrowed moment was all too indicative of the derivative, uninspired nature of the production as a whole.

The keenest spark in the cast was undoubtedly Nick Adams as Adam/Felicia. (Full disclosure: Nick is a Boston Conservatory grad, although I did not have him as a student.) But even Adams seems forced and unrestrained here, a morass of over-the-top energy, and a clear indication that nobody in charge really had a handle on any particular tone for the show, or that everyone was too focused on the visuals, the flying divas, and the spectacular set to notice that certain elements were getting a tad out of hand. [Insert obligatory Spider-Man reference here.]

Review - Elf the Musical on Broadway

I'm not one of these people who automatically dismisses something just because it's part of a trend. Like, for instance, movie-to-musical adaptations. I like to think that I approach each new show with an open mind, regardless of how seemingly cynical or commercial the impetus behind the show might be.

Plus, when I heard that Elf - The Musical was in the works, it seemed like a pretty good idea to me. I genuinely enjoyed the 2003 Will Ferrell film "Elf," although it did get a bit too special-effects-dependent toward the denouement. So I was a bit crestfallen last week when the show opened to such divided reviews, especially since I wasn't scheduled to see the show until three days after it opened.

As so often happens when a show gets mixed reviews, I entered the show with a vague sense of apprehension, but was quite pleasantly surprised to find myself genuinely enjoying the show. Yes, it seemed like a bit of a rush job, and no, it's not exactly one for the ages. But Elf is a sweet and diverting show with a strong cast and a tuneful score, with plenty of fun holiday adventures along the way.

The score to Elf has music by Matthew Sklar and lyrics by Chad Beguelin, the writing pair responsible for the score to the underrated show The Wedding Singer. It's funny, but it wasn't until the second act of Elf that I realized how tuneful and effective the score for the show really is. Ironically, this came during "Nobody Cares About Santa," which actually doesn't really work as a song all that well. But it did serve to emphasize how pleasant and serviceable the rest of the score is. Even the lamest of numbers in The Wedding Singer is at least tuneful, and the same can be said for the songs for Elf. Perhaps the best of the lot is "The Story of Buddy the Elf," a terrific sequence in which the characters pitch Buddy's unlikely story as a children's book. It's a fun number, and more than adequately serves its purpose in its "11'o clock" position.

Director/choreographer Casey Nicholaw has emerged in recent seasons as someone to watch, with his terrific sense for dressing a stage, and appealing but not showy dance steps. But I get the feeling that Nicholaw didn't really have enough time for his particular brand of stage magic to reach full potency on Elf. His stage business for the annoyingly titled "Sparklejollytwinklejingly" was busy and uninspired. In this number, Buddy the elf (Sebastian Arcelus) leads a bunch of Macy's employees (product-placement alert!) in decorating the store for the holiday season. In another sequence, Buddy takes Jovie (Amy Spanger), his incipient girlfriend, skating at Rockefeller Center. Cue: ice rink! Great idea, but the rink itself is too small for the many people meant to occupy it, and the effect is more awkward than charming.

I get the sense that these things could have been worked out if the production timeline had been more accommodating. Again, the show feels like something that they rushed to finish for the holidays, particularly the amusing but spotty book by Bob Martin and Thomas Meehan. Having seen the movie, I could tell which parts of the show had been compressed significantly to accommodate the musical numbers, and the effect is often rushed and diluted.

Thankfully, there's a cast-full of Broadway pros in residence to fill in the storytelling potholes, particularly the disarming Sebastian Arcelus in the central role of Buddy. Also on-hand are stalwarts Beth Leavel and Mark Jacoby as Buddy's "human" parents, who imbue their somewhat two-dimensional roles with a great deal of humor and heart.

So, no, Elf isn't going to win any prizes, or change the direction of musical theater. But it's engaging and sweet, and certainly an appealing option for parents looking for something to entertain their vacationing brood over the holidays. It certainly had me grinning, particularly during the curtain call, during which the entire cast dons elf suits and tap shoes for a rousing finale. Cheesy? Perhaps. But I'm not ashamed to admit that the cast had me tapping right along with them.

NOTE: New Federal Trade Commission (FTC) regulations require bloggers to disclose when they accept anything of material value related to their blog posts. I received complimentary press tickets to this performance of Elf.

Review - Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown on Broadway

It sounded like a great idea. Take a beloved film, add some hotshot creatives, and throw in one of the most stellar casts to hit Broadway in years. But what could have been a scintillating delight of a musical is instead an abysmal mess, every bit as soporific as the famed Valium-laced gazpacho at the center of its frenzied plot. 

I refer, of course, to Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, the unpardonable, untenable disaster of a musical that opened last night at New York's lavishly refurbished Belasco Theatre.

Again, it really should have worked. Pedro Almodóvar's 1988 film has become a cult classic. David Yazbek supplied the wonderfully tuneful and witty scores to both The Full Monty and Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. Jeffrey Lane's book for the latter show is funny and fresh. And Tony-winner Bartlett Sher could seemingly do no wrong after his twin triumphs directing The Light in the Piazza and South Pacific.

And then there's that cast: triple divas Sherie Rene Scott, Patti LuPone, and Laura Benanti, matched with the vocal and comedic prowess of Brian Stokes Mitchell and Danny Burstein. On paper, this show was a blockbuster in the making. 

So, what happened? I blame Bart Sher. I personally felt that his award-winning work on South Pacific was overrated, but at least that production had some sense of cohesion and focus. Not Women on the Verge, at least not when I saw the show a few weeks back. Sher seemed to be at a total loss with this material, demonstrating no flare for comedy whatsoever, not that the lame, lifeless material was doing him any favors. It really makes me wonder: Who green-lighted this mess? The show had numerous high-profile industry-only workshops under the auspices of the august Lincoln Center Theater. How was it that someone saw this show in raw form and thought it looked produceable?

As I tracked the show through its preview period, it seemed clear the members of the creative team were at a total loss. All we kept hearing about, at least at first, were the technical difficulties they were having with the set. Well, the set (designed by Michael Yeargan) is one of the most pointlessly complicated atrocities I've ever encountered, an eye-numbing barrage of moving panels, digital projections (by Sven Ortel), and a dangerous-looking glass monolith of a skylight that stagehands had to come onstage to nudge into place at the performance I saw.

To cover the Rube Goldberg-ian set changes, the show features an off-putting number of complicated crossovers between scenes, with supposedly comic business that never received a single laugh, at least not from me. So, it appears that the production staff were so concerned about working out the mechanics that they seemed to lose track of the fact that the show itself wasn't working. (Hear that, Julie Taymor?)

Later in previews, the staff seemed to realize that the show needed more help than the set, but at that point it was probably too late. The show I saw was, in my estimation, unfixable, with no redeeming qualities except for the game and professional cast. The changes that did occur have apparently amounted to rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. For example, when I saw the show, the number "Madrid" opened the second act, but now it's become the opening number. Well, "Madrid" is a dull, generic song that's meant to establish time and place, but bears little specific relation to the rest of the show. When I heard they were making this the opening number, I knew they really didn't have a clue as to how to fix the show.

So, what could have been the musical event of the season has instead revealed itself as an awkward lumbering bore.

Reviews - La Bete and Brief Encounter on Broadway

There's really no getting around it: I'm all about the musicals. I'm sure that doesn't come as a surprise to my regular readers. But that doesn't mean I don't make occasional forays into so-called "straight" plays.

Such forays are especially rewarding when the plays in question are well nigh on musicals themselves (e.g Amadeus, Master Class). Or when the shows feature such a heightened reality and/or a slick presentation that they feel as though they could be musicals (e.g. M. Butterfly, The Lion in Winter). Which is why, although there are certainly quite a few intriguing new musicals coming to New York this season, I have sacrificed a few of my precious show slots to a few non-tuners during my recent trips to New York.

Cases in point: La Bête and Brief Encounter. I saw the former a few weeks back, and the latter this past Wednesday. And both shows represented that larger-than-life theatricality that musicals supply. As we'll see, though, only one of these productions genuinely works, at least in terms of providing an overall satisfying theatrical experience.

Some background: I first saw La Bête in Boston in 1991, during its out-of-town tryout at the Wilbur Theater. The show wasn't selling very well, so the producers were papering the house, and a friend had scored a couple of seats. The play was originally supposed to feature the late Ron Silver in the central part of Valere, but those mythic "creative differences" came a cropper, and understudy Tom McGowan took over the part.

Even then, at (ahem) a rather tender age, I knew that there was something missing from the play. As you may know, playwright David Hirson intended La Bête to be an homage to Molière. (The name of the other major male character, Elomire, is even an anagram of Molière's name.) As such, the play is written entirely in heroic couplets: that is, continuous sets of two rhymed lines in iambic pentameter. The problem is, once you get beyond the novelty of the rhymed couplets, the play doesn't really have much to say. Oh, sure, there's the whole theme of popular entertainment versus artistic ambition. But other that "low art bad, high art good," there really doesn't appear to much else on Hirson's mind here.

In fact, the show ironically falls victim to what it purports to decry. The famous opening monologue by the Valere character (here played by the phenomenally talented Mark Rylance), in which the boorish lout Valere expatiates for some 20 full pages in the script, amounts to a shameless appeal to the peculiar modern mania for that which is bigger, longer, higher, lower, larger, louder, etc. The feat is impressive, but is it really any different from your typical "American Idol" showboating? Our the thankfully fading preoccupation with enormous, characterless surburban homes (AKA "starter castles")?

That's not to say that this production of La Bête is lacking in charms. Far from it. Rylance alone is well worth the ticket price. Rylance deservedly won the Best Actor Tony a few years back for his masterful performance in Boeing-Boeing, directed there as he is here by wunderkind Matthew Warchus. As an inveterate fan of "Absolutely Fabulous", I was of course thrilled to see Joanna Lumley live on stage again. (I saw her in London in an otherwise forgettable revival of The Letter.) And David Hyde Pierce does his best as Elomire, in an admittedly lackluster role. But the few delights La Bête has to offer come primarily in the person of Mr. Rylance.

Far more successful as an overall theatrical experience is the Roundabout Theatre production of Brief Encounter, now playing at Studio 54. Director Emma Rice has adapted Noël Coward's screenplay with an eye toward the whimsical, but without ever losing track of the inherent beauty and heartache of Coward's simple but compelling story. The plot features a fleeting love affair between a married woman and a married man. The story also features two romantic subplots that provide alternately flirtatious and lusty counterpoints to the doomed central affair.

The show features that self-same heightened reality that I mentioned above, including song, dance, video projections, environmental staging, and even the occasional semi-acrobatic interlude. Particularly enjoyable for me were the interpolations of little- and well-known Noël Coward songs, such as "Mad About the Boy" and "A Room With a View." The result is a thoroughly theatrical experience in a similar vein to The 39 Steps, but with a far more serious and heartfelt tone.

One of the primary joys of Brief Encounter lies in its charming and sprightly cast, particularly Hannah Yelland, who is just sensational as the central female lover, Laura. Yelland makes every line both intense and credible, with a presence that more than fills the cavernous Studio 54. Also excellent was Tristan Sturrock as her extramarital paramour. Of the strong supporting cast, the most notable were Annette McLaughlin as Myrtle, the local restaurant proprietor, and the wonderfully versatile Joseph Alessi in the dual roles of Laura's husband and Myrtle's boy toy. 

I must admit that I sometimes found my attention wandering during Brief Encounter, but eventually I chalked this up to a deliberate choice on Emma Rice's part to give the show a languorous pace. Rice isn't in any particular hurry, and is often content to linger over such revealing detail as watching the central couple slowly dress after they have dried their clothes subsequent to a minor boating incident. For me, Brief Encounter reveals much of what is missing from La Bête: mostly heart, and a depth of human feeling. La Bête is ultimately about facile ideas and low comedy. Brief Encounter is about nothing less than finding whatever happiness you can.

Upcoming Musicals - The 2010-2011 Broadway Season

In examining the past Broadway season, at least with regard to the new musicals, there's really only one word that sums up the general impact and quality of the offerings: meh.

But as Clarice once sang to Rudolph, there's always tomorrow.

Or rather, next season. Quite a few interesting shows are on the horizon, so as a service to my readers, I figured I'd provide a little preview, based on some of the new musicals that have been officially, and not-so-officially, announced for the upcoming Broadway season.

The Book of Mormon
Source: Well, in theory, it's based on the actual Book of Mormon. In reality, it comes from the warped and offensive minds of Matt Stone and Trey Parker, the guys behind "South Park."
Staff: The aforementioned "South Park" guys, as well as Jason Moore and Robert Lopez, the director and co-lyricist/co-composer, respectively of Avenue Q.
Cast: None yet announced.
Status: Slated to start performances in March 2011, at a theater TBD.
My take: Some people are offended by the very nature of the project. I say, go for it. In my opinion, nothing is above ridicule. My one hesitation is the fact that the musical offerings on the "South Park" show, as well as the terrific movie "South Park: Bigger, Longer and Uncut," tend to be rather pedestrian efforts, with bad prosody and forced rhyme. But the South Park/Avenue Q combination alone makes this one of the most intriguing possibilities for the new season.

Catch Me If You Can
Source: The 2002 Stephen Spielberg movie of the same name, based on the early life of con artist Frank Abagnale Jr.
Staff: Book by Terrence McNally, music and lyrics by Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman, direction by Jack O'Brien, choreography by Jerry Mitchell.
Cast: The show had a tryout run at Seattle's 5th Avenue Theater last August, and the cast featured Aaron Tveit, Norbert Leo Butz, Kerry Butler, Linda Hart, and Tom Wopat. No word yet on whether any or all will return.
Status: The Seattle tryout got middling reviews, and the show is apparently under revision. But CMIYC is reportedly on track for Broadway in the spring of 2011. Mitigating factor: O'Brien and Mitchell are also involved in Love Never Dies (see below), which is also coming in the spring of 2011, and which appears to be in need of some major changes. (To say the very least.) Can both men do both shows?
My take: I haven't been blown away by what I've seen of the show. (Check out this video of the number "Live in Living Color," featuring Aaron Tveit.) But count this creative team out at your peril.  

Love Never Dies
Source: Well, technically, the show derives from Gaston Leroux's original book, Phantom of the Opera. But Love Never Dies features what appears to be an "original" story. 
Staff: The book and lyrics are by Glenn Slater and Ben Elton, music by Andrew Lloyd Webber. The London production was directed by Jack O'Brien and choreographed by Jerry Mitchell, and they are slated to repeat this roles on Broadway.
Cast: London cast members Ramin Karimloo and Sierra Boggess will reportedly recreate their roles in New York, playing the "The Guy With the Funny Mask" and "The Girl With the Funny Voice," respectively.
Status: The Broadway bow for Love Never Dies was reportedly pushed back from this coming fall due to an illness/injury that ALW is recovering from. Uh-huh. More likely, the delay is meant to accommodate a significant overhaul to the show. The London bow received decidedly mixed reviews, and Sir Lloyd Webber, who hasn't had a hit since...well, since The Phantom of the Opera (1988), has a lot riding on making sure the show works. 
My take: Oy. The show has been rather infamously dubbed Paint Never Dries by the fabulous West End Whingers. Other bloggers, including my friend Steve on Broadway, have panned the show as well. Hey, anything could happen, but things ain't looking good. 

Priscilla: Queen of the Desert
Source: The fabulous 1994 movie "The Adventures of Priscilla: Queen of the Desert."  
Staff: The book is by Broadway newcomers Stephan Elliot and Allan Scott. Direction by Simon Phillips. The score comprises such pop interpolations as "Go West," "I Love the Nightlife," and "I Will Survive."
Cast: Recent announcements indicate the cast will include major hottie Will Swenson and BoCo grad Nick Adams. Tony Sheldon will repeat his acclaimed London performance as Bernadette, the Terence Stamp role in the movie.
Status: The show will have a tryout run in Toronto in October before a Broadway bow at a theater TBD. (Vance, poodle, we expect a full report.)
My take: As always, I prefer an original score with my musicals. But I hear great things about the physical production, and I'm a big fan of the film. 

The Scottsboro Boys
Source: Based on the real-life case of the Scottsboro Boys, an infamous 1930s miscarriage of justice in the American south.
Staff: Direction and choreography by Susan Stroman, music by John Kander, lyrics by Fred Ebb, book by David Thompson.
Cast: TBD. But Brandon Victor Dixon, a standout among the Off-Broadway cast, will be appearing as Ray Charles in Unchain My Heart (see below) on Broadway this coming season, so he probably won't repeat his Scottsboro role on Broadway.
Status: The show premiered Off Broadway at the the Vineyard Theatre in February 2010 to very strong reviews. There was talk of bringing the show to Broadway this past season, but nothing came of it. Instead, the producers held off for the 2010-2011 season, and recently announced that the show will play the gorgeous and historic Lyceum Theatre. Prior to that, the show will play an eight-week run at the Guthrie Theater this summer. (Steve on Broadway, darling, we expect a full report)
My take: This was probably the best musical I saw all this past season. (Read my review of the Off-Broadway production.) I'm thrilled that the show will have a chance to reach a wider audience. And I can't wait to see it again.  

Spider-Man
Source: The Marvel comic Spider-Man.
Staff: Direction and design by Julie Taymor, score by Bono and The Edge. Book by Taymor and Glen Berger. (Um...who?)
Cast: Who knows? They've already lost Alan Cumming and Evan Rachel Wood due to the ridiculous production delays. Word has it Patrick Page may take Cumming's place as the Green Lantern, or Hornet, or Goblin, or whatever. And someone named Reeve Carney is supposed to be playing Spider-Man.
Status: Oy and double oy. Spider-Man is easily the biggest current joke on Broadway. Word on the street puts the budget at a laughable $50 million, which could eventually creep up to $60 million. ( Who are these producers? "A fool and his money...") That's more than twice the estimated budgets for such bloated would-be hits as Young Frankenstein, The Little Mermaid, and Shrek.
My take: Well, I can't say I'm looking forward to it. But whether it's a hit or a bust, it's a must-see. 

Unchain My Heart
Source: Based on the life of Ray Charles.
Staff: Libretto by Suzan-Lori Parks, winner of the 2002 Pulitzer Prize for Drama for her play, Topdog/Underdog. Music from the Ray Charles songbook. Directed by Sheldon Epps. Choreographed by Kenneth L. Roberson.
Cast: Brandon Victor Dixon will play Ray. Nikki Renee Daniels will play his wife Della.
Status: The show has booked the Barrymore Theatre. Performances begin in October.
My take: This show kinda came out of nowhere for me. I haven't heard anything about any workshops or regional productions, although I'm sure they've taken place. But the only things that interest me here are Suzan-Lori Parks and Brandon Victor Dixon. Otherwise, it looks like a mash-up of the jukebox/bio musical genres, and I'm a fan of neither. 

Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown
Source: The 1988 film "Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown" by Pedro Almodovar.
Staff: Direction by Bartlett Sher. Music and lyrics by David Yazbek. Book by Jeffrey Lane.
Cast: Possibly Jessica Biel, who took part in a recent reading under the auspices of the Lincoln Center Theatre. The reading also featured Paulo Szot, Tom Hewitt, and Patti LuPone. Also likely to appear in the show is Oscar Isaac, who is currently appearing as Prince John in the film "Robin Hood."
Status: The show is booked into the Belasco Theater, and is scheduled to start performances in October.
My take: I'm loving the creative staff. Sher is a pretty hot property right now, although I wasn't -- and still am not -- a fan of South Pacific. I am, however, a major proponent of Yazbek's previous Broadway shows, The Full Monty and Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. So color me very intrigued, indeed. 

Yank
Source: To my knowledge, an original story: a fictitious love affair taking place between two soldiers during World War II. According to the show's Web site, all the characters are fictional. However, "all of the situations and viewpoints come directly from memoirs and oral histories of gay (and straight) service members who took part in WWII."
Staff: Book and lyrics by David Zellnik. Music by Joseph Zellnik. Director David Cromer will replace Igor Goldin, who has directed the show since its inception.
Cast: Bobby Steggert says that he is very likely to recreate his wonderful turn as the lead soldier, but that has not been confirmed.
Status: After a very successful run at the York Theatre, the show was announced for Broadway next season, but the theater and starting dates are TBD.
My take: In short, I'm thrilled. I was quite enamored of the show when I saw it at the York. (Read my review.) I'm not sure how long it will last on Broadway, but I greatly look forward to seeing it again. It's a gem.

Review - Promises, Promises at the Broadway Theatre

I've never been much of a fan of Promises, Promises, a revival of which opened last night at the Broadway Theatre. But I have to say I was intrigued and enticed by what at first seemed like shrewd semi-star casting: Kristin Chenoweth and Sean Hayes in the starring roles. Add in B-list hottie Tony Goldwyn in a significant supporting part, and I was one intrigued little theater blogger, let me tell you. Unfortunately, the Broadway production that I was most eagerly anticipating this spring has become the one I'm mostly likely to forget.

Except, that is, for the marvelous Katie Finneran, a Tony Award winner for Noises Off, and hopefully a repeat winner this year for her hysterical work here as the minor character Marge MacDougall. When Fineran comes on stage at the top of Act 2, suddenly this otherwise earthbound show takes momentary wing. When Finneran disappears shortly thereafter, the show returns to its desultory self.

The frequently marvelous Ms. Chenoweth is here sorely miscast. It really makes you wonder: Did she, or any of her people, actually read the script before they signed her on? Because Fran Kubelik, at least on paper, doesn't really seem to mesh well with Chenoweth's persona. Let's see, an introspective, easily dominated, suicidal schlub? Yeah, that's Kristen, all right.

Hayes comes off somewhat better than Chenoweth, far more natural here than he was as Mr. Applegate in the recent Encores production of Damn Yankees. At the top of the show, Hayes was charming and strong-voiced, but once the plot kicked in he had a tendency to overdo the comedy, pushing harder for laughs, milking the ones that actually came. It was as though he got the (accurate) sense that the show wasn't quite working and felt the need to overcompensate for the lackluster production surrounding him. And in act 2, both Hayes and Chenoweth showed signs of vocal strain.

But it's really not fair to let the stars shoulder the blame here. And it's not that the story isn't strong, based as it is on Billy Wilder's masterful movie, "The Apartment." The characters are sweet and likable, and the libretto features Neil Simon at his jokemaster best. No, the main culprits are the lousy score and flat direction. I've always been a fan of Rob Ashford, mostly for his energetic and frequently humorous choreography. I had heard decent things about his directorial skills, based mostly on his well-received London and Los Angeles productions of Jason Robert Brown's Parade. But I have to say his directorial work here on Promises, Promises is less than impressive. As Terry Johnson so vividly demonstrates with La Cage aux Folles, insightful direction can make even mediocre material come alive. Ashford may indeed have a promising future as a Broadway director, but you'd never know it from watching Promises, Promises.

And then there's the score. Burt Bacharach's music features pretentious, self-conscious, pointlessly complicated changes in time signatures. And Hal David's lyrics are thoroughly unmemorable. After hearing the songs in context here, it's really no wonder to me that the pair haven't worked on Broadway again. Sure, there are a few moderately passable numbers, including "She Likes Basketball," and "I'll Never Fall in Love Again." (Although, on the latter, Ms. Chenoweth performs what is easily the least convincing fake guitar playing I've ever witnessed.)

But the rest of the score falls into three categories: dull, painful, and ridiculous. In the dull category we have the bland and pointless "Wanting Things." In the painful column, there's "Our Little Secret," "Where Can You Take a Girl?," and "You'll Think of Someone," all of them awkward, tuneless, and egregious in their rhythmic eccentricity. As for ridiculous...well, hello..."Turkey Lurkey Time"? Sure, the number was fun when Michael Bennett staged it in the '60s. (See it here on YouTube.) But Ashford's staging can't hold a candle to that of Bennett, and the song itself is a pointless trifle, both in and out of context.

As if the creative staff knew the score couldn't stand on its own, they've interpolated two Bacharach/David hits into the production: "I Say a Little Prayer" and "A House Is Not a Home." In terms of fitting the context of the show, the songs work just fine. But "Prayer" seems like a throwaway number here, and is lifelessly staged. And "House" serves a strong dramatic purpose in its current context, but is, to my ears, rather dull.

Theatergoers in search of an enjoyable, humorous, heartwarming recreation of an admittedly creaky show should definitely check out La Cage aux Folles. As for Promises, Promises? Meh, Meh.

Grade: C+ (Worth seeing for the delightful Katie Finneran. Otherwise, a somewhat joyless and obligatory affair.)

Oh, Yeah. Shrek Is Closing, Too

It suddenly occurred to me that Shrek is closing today and that I hadn't really made much mention of it, other than a Twitter post when the closure announcement first came. Kinda tells you something about the lasting impression that the show has made on my consciousness.

As I said I my review, I actually sort of enjoyed Shrek, particularly the talented cast of Broadway stalwarts, including Brian d'Arcy James, Christopher Sieber, Sutton Foster, and relative newcomer Daniel Breaker. The show was reasonably entertaining, although there were some rather poorly staged sequences when I saw the show early in previews.

The main problem for me was, and remains, the lackluster songs by Jeanine Tesori and David Lindsay-Abaire. Other than "I Know It's Today," there really isn't any song in the show that has stuck, for me at least. I think if the score had been more overtly tuneful and memorable, Shrek might have been a winner. The story is certainly very strong, the cast was exemplary, and most of the production elements were solidly in place. "Family" shows really live or die based on the appeal of the actual songs in the show, and Shrek just didn't have the "wow" factor in the score department. 

I'll be very interested to see if David Lindsay-Abaire continues to get offers to write musicals. Both Dreamworks and Disney have had mixed results in bringing on the pedigree playwrights to work on their would-be blockbusters. Experience seems to have shown that writing a mass-appeal musical (Shrek) is quite different from crafting a Pulitzer-Prize-winning drama (Rabbit Hole). Doug Wright (I Am My Own Wife) had similar challenges with The Little Mermaid, although he did fare much better with Grey Gardens. And David Henry Hwang (M. Butterfly) has likewise met with both relative success (Aida) and a decided lack thereof (Tarzan). So, I don't think we're going to see these guys disappear entirely from musical creative rosters, but producers will likely think more carefully before they blithely assume that the skill sets for crafting effective plays and winning librettos are necessarily transferable.

Next up at the Broadway Theater was supposed to be the upcoming revival of Promise, Promises, directed and choreographed by Rob Ashford, with Sean Hayes as Chuck, Kristin Chenoweth as Fran, Brooks Ashmanskas as Dobitch, Katie Finneran as Marge MacDougall, and Tony Goldwyn as Sheldrake. But I've heard (totally unsubstantiated) rumors that the producers are looking for a different venue. Perhaps, now that more theaters are starting to open up -- including the Neil Simon, the St. James, the Marquis, and the Golden -- the producers are looking for something a bit more intimate than the barn that is the Broadway. Andrew Lloyd Webber is said to have his eye on the Neil Simon for Love Never Dies, and the Golden is probably way too small. But the St. James and the Marquis are certainly possibilities.

As for Shrek, Dreamworks has been very tight-lipped about the total cost for the production, but it's very likely to be well north of $20 million, perhaps even $25 million, given the weekly operating losses the show has reportedly been incurring. There's no way the show recouped on Broadway, but a national tour will embark this summer. Might Shrek eke out a profit in the provinces, much as Disney is (realistically?) hoping to do with The Little Mermaid and Mel Brooks is (laughably?) hoping to do with Young Frankenstein? If I find out, you, dear reader, will be the first to know.

Review: The Film Version of Nine

Che delusione. Come molto deprimente. Che disastro.

I saw the movie "Nine" on Monday, and all this week I've had the hardest time bringing myself to write up this review. It was just such a depressing experience.

I've always been an ardent admirer of the musical Nine, with its wise and witty book by Arthur Kopit and sensational score by Maury Yeston. Nine was one of the first shows I ever saw on Broadway, and I was captivated by Tommy Tune's simple yet effective staging. But I also enjoyed the show in revival form, particularly director David Leveaux's fresh visual take and Antonio Banderas's dynamic turn as Guido. And the movie version seemed to have so much going for it, particularly the stellar female cast: Marion Cotillard, Nicole Kidman, Judi Dench, Kate Hudson, Sophia Loren, Penélope Cruz, oh, and somebody named "Fergie."

So what went wrong? Two things: the script and Rob Marshall.

I'm no purist when it comes to movie musicals. Two of the best films of Broadway shows are "Cabaret" and "Sweeney Todd," and neither of those movies is particularly faithful to its source. The "Cabaret" movie is almost completely rewritten. But it works. And "Sweeney Todd" removed a large portion of Stephen Sondheim's score, albeit with his blessing. But the cuts, for the most part, were effective.

So, I'm not dumping on "Nine" for all the rewrites or the excised numbers. The problem is that the screenplay, by Michael Tolkin and Anthony Minghella, is just plain awful, filled with dialog that is at best banal, at worst laughable. Minghella passed away in 2008, so I'm going to have to assume that Tolkin is to blame for the trite phrasing and mindless bromides. After all, Minghella had a far more august resume ("The English Patient," "The Talented Mr. Ripley") than Tolkin does ("Deep Impact," "The Rapture"). But who knows, right? All I know is that virtually nothing remains of Arthur Kopit's original libretto, and what has taken its place is often ridiculous. At one point, poor Penélope Cruz is actually forced to say to Guido, "I'll be waiting for you, with my legs open." Ugh.

But I could have withstood the indignities of the screenplay if the musical numbers weren't so poorly integrated into the film. The songs all take place in some conceptual nowhere land, sometimes interspersed with the scenes at hand, sometimes not. So the music doesn't emerge from the mouths of the characters themselves, but rather from some imaginary versions of same. That's not in itself a problem, but director Rob Marshall hasn't given us a clear idea as to why he's made this choice.

By comparison, in the "Cabaret" movie, the songs take place in a Berlin nightclub. In the "Chicago" movie, the songs for the most part are meant to be Vaudeville numbers. Those conceits create a connection between the songs and the action. But how and where are they taking place in "Nine"? As individual internal monologues? In Guido's head? That doesn't really make dramatic sense: Guido isn't a musical-theater aficionado, he's a film director. He wouldn't think in terms of musical numbers, but rather cinematic sequences. As a result, the songs don't add to the movie, they stop it dead.

For me, "Chicago" didn't really work as a movie, but it did leave open the possibility that Marshall might develop an independent voice. "Nine" calls that possibility into serious question. So far, Marshall appears to be little more than a poor man's Bob Fosse, without the vision or the bite. As I watched "Nine," I kept thinking about the stylistic debt that the movie owed to "All That Jazz," an infinitely superior film, and it made me wonder what Fosse could have done with "Nine." Perhaps all the people who knew how to create effective movie musicals are dead, but is Rob Marshall really the best we can do?

I had thought that I would have a problem with Daniel Day-Lewis as Guido, but, although I would have preferred Javier Bardem, I didn't mind Day-Lewis, not even his thin singing voice. Had the script and direction been better, DDL might have had a chance to be terrific, but as it stands he's merely serviceable. And there are a few individual performances here to savor, particularly Kate Hudson as the American journalist, who gets the best of the the three new songs, "Cinema Italiano." And Fergie really hits it out of the park vocally with "Be Italian," although the staging for the number itself is rather flat.

"Nine" opened to disappointing reviews and meager box office. The movie went into wide release on Christmas Day, hitting 1,400 screens nationally over the holiday weekend, but this week the distributor is cutting the number of screens by about 36%. They're trying to put a positive spin on it, saying, "The movie is performing well on about 890 key screens." Hmm, well how about those other 510 screens, guys? I don't think the movie-musical genre is in any immediate danger: "Mamma Mia," artistic abomination though it might be, did a very respectable $144 million domestic gross.

But is it really to much to ask, or hope, that we finally find someone who can put a decent movie musical together?

Review: 101 Dalmatians at Boston's Wang Theater

It appears that I may have been a tad premature in creating my list of The Worst Musicals of the 2000s. Another worthy addition rolled into town last night for a seven-performance run at Boston's Wang Theater at the Citi Center for the Performing Arts. Upon reflection, I would probably place The 101 Dalmatians Musical at #10, right between Saved and 9 to 5.

Not to be confused with the 1961 animated feature "101 Dalmatians," nor the 1996 film with Glenn Close, this 101 Dalmatians is based on the 1956 novel by Dodie Smith, and has nothing to do with Disney. Which is too bad, because even Disney stage shows at their worst have more dramatic cohesiveness, more interesting songs, and more genuine artistry than the bland, unmemorable musical that BT McNicholl and Dennis DeYoung have slapped together.

If the name Dennis DeYoung sounds familiar, it's probably he was a founding member and songwriter for the band Styx, and was responsible for such bland ballads as "Babe" and "Come Sail Away" as well as the jaw-droppingly awful "Mr. Roboto." The songs in 101 Dalmatians aren't exactly awful, but they're not very memorable either, but rather generic and removable. What's worse, McNicholl doesn't seem to know how to properly set the songs up: the purpose of the numbers is often unclear, and the scenes leading into them are poorly developed.

How did this first draft of a show ever get a full production? The idea for the show is fine, but the book is clumsy and there's not one song that should have made it past a backers' audition. The first act is pedestrian but never dull, getting through the well-worn story in an efficient if uninspired fashion. But act 2 is just plain tedious. The central two dogs, Mr. and Mrs. Pongo, find and rescue their stolen puppies very early in the act, and spend the rest of the show trying to get home. In the meantime, we're subjected to a succession of would-be showstoppers, including "Crime of Our Lives" for the henchmen, a mediocre song with horrid staging. Then, for some reason, in the middle of act 2 the dogs meet up with a band of gypsies who put them into their traveling show. The resulting number, "Spot On," is full of labored dalmatian puns and lots of energetic business, but fails to achieve its desired 11 o'clock-number status.

It's really hard to believe that this show had Tony Award-winning director Jerry Zaks at the helm, mostly because it's replete with blindingly obvious directorial missteps. For instance, when Pongo and the Mrs. find their pups, they wait patiently upstage until their kids finish the song that they're in the middle of. These are two parents who've just found their kidnapped children, not two yuppies picking their kids up after a play date. In another scene, Cruella DeVille (played with relish by the always delightful Rachel York) busts in through a barn door, then leaves it open behind her. One of the dogs, who's standing right in front of the open door, waits until Cruella is finished singing before bolting. I'm sorry, but that's like Directing 101, folks. The production is also full of lazy dramatic devices, such as a narrator to fill in plot holes, miniature puppets to condense action sequences, and a large illuminated map to show the pilgrim's progress up and down the English countryside.

Still, the production isn't a complete disaster. It's actually pretty neat how they incorporate the real dogs into the show, having them run across the stage before the actors to create a sense of canine continuity. And the production concept of having the humans on stilts and skewing the set from the dogs' perspective was clever and effective. But the show as a whole was pretty darned feeble. Someone might say, "Well, it's just a kids' show." So, does that mean we should suspend critical judgment? I think we should hold children's entertainment to an even higher standard. Anything less would be patronizing and insulting to their intelligence.

The most offensive aspect of the show came at the top of Act 2, when the doggie narrator came out in front of the curtain eating out of a bag of the sponsor's dog food. (I won't even mention the name of the company. They ain't getting any plug from this blogger.) As he munched, he was talking about how it's high in protein, and gives you a shiny coat, or some such blather. Oh, I can just see that marketing meeting:

"OK, folks, let's do some brainstorming. How can we create greater brand synergy here?"
"Could we maybe put our logo on the costumes?"
"No, I think that might just cross the line. We're not a sports team, you know."
"How about a song about the nutritional benefits of our product?"
"I'll have to talk to Dennis and BT about that, but these genuine artistes we're talking about here."
"Well, what if the narrator came out eating kibble at the top of act 2?"
"I love it! Simple, tasteful. Jones, you may just get a promotion for this..."

Die, marketer, die.

The Worst Musicals of the 2000s

I love bad musicals. Not necessarily when I'm sitting through them, of course, but I cherish having the chance to relate the gory details to my friends, students, and readers. I can't count the number of times that I've dined out on Into the Light, an atrocious show whose creators chose to musicalize the process of scientifically verifying the Shroud of Turin. I always say that there's no such thing as a bad idea for a musical, only poor execution, but without question there are some show creators who are biting off more than they can chew. Into the Light contained the following immortal line: "Science with the data is like Christ without the stigmata." You don't soon forget a lyric that heinous.

Lately, one of my favorite topics for bad-musical discussions has been the song "Lice" from Kristina, in which two characters accuse each other of infesting a boat full of immigrants with the creepy crawlies. Charming. Then, in an attempt to quell the argument, one character intervenes by discussing how you can take the lice and put them between two slices of bread and feed them to your children. "It tastes like toffee," she exclaims.

The following shows were full of such what-were-they-thinking moments. Which is why I've come to almost treasure them, in a perverse sort of way. I tell my students that it's important to see bad shows to fully understand what makes good shows good. If that's true, then the creators of the shows listed here have provided me with quite an education indeed. And for that, I thank them.

The Worst Musicals of the 2000s

15. Ordinary Days: The Roundabout Theater has not exactly had a stellar track record of late. (Bye Bye Birdie? Pal Joey? The Ritz? Oy oy oy.) Lately, it's gotten to the point where I automatically assume that something put forth by the Roundabout Theater will be dreadful until I'm proven otherwise. But I'd like to think that I approached Ordinary Days with a relatively open mind. The show was the first musical presented as part of the Roundabout Underground series, and for the most part it was fairly innocuous. (Read my review.) But for one reason and one reason alone I chose to include the show on this list: because of the cheap, manipulative, and clumsy way that author Adam Gwon used 9/11 for dramatic effect at the end of the show. One of the female characters has trouble committing to a relationship, and in justification she sings about a whirlwind romance she had a few years earlier. Everything was going fine...and then first tower fell. I'm not saying 9/11 is off limits. But it needs to be consistent with the tone of the rest of the show, and in Ordinary Days, a would-be quirky romantic comedy, it decidedly was not.

14. The Boy From Oz: This was the sorriest excuse for a star show since Happy Hunting. Had it not been for the involvement of Hugh Jackman, this lame bio/jukebox musical would never have made it out of Australia. The life and songbook of Peter Allen just weren't enough to hang an entire show on. What's more, the producers knew that, so they crafted the show in such a way that Jackman was rarely off-stage, to the point where he actually changed costumes in full view of the audience. Now, I'll certainly pay good money to see Hugh Jackman with his shirt off, especially if he's kissing Jarrod Emmick as part of the deal. But in terms of compelling and interesting musical theater, The Boy From Oz was mere window dressing and nothing more.

13. The Tin Pan Alley Rag: I have to admit, including The Tin Pan Alley Rag on this list was just a wee bit vindictive. After publishing my negative review of the show, I received an email from the show's librettist, one Mark Saltzman. He said that, after reading my review, he wondered whether he should give back all the money he's made from the show, and return all the awards that he's won. But he ultimately decided not to. I didn't answer him directly, but I did publish an open reply on my blog: Dear Bad Writer: Are you sending hate mail to everyone who panned your show? You must be very busy. Regards, Chris. At the time, I didn't mention Saltzman by name, nor did I specify the show, lest I come off as overly petty. But now his show has closed, and I feel better now about addressing his snark directly. If Tin Pan Alley Rag had been half as entertaining as Saltzman's email, he might have had a winner on his hands. But the show was a turgid history lesson, frequently didactic but rarely entertaining. So hold onto those awards, Mr. Saltzman. They may be the last you'll ever see.

12. Vanities: Another yawnfest. Vanities is the musical version of an amiable and popular Off-Broadway play of the same name by Jack Heifner. Heifner also wrote the libretto for the musical, and the result was rather one-dimensional and dramatically unsatisfying. The characters lost any shred of believability in the transition from play to musical. And the score by David Kirshenbaum was more than merely forgettable. The songs seemed to add nothing to the plot, the characters, or even help establish the time and place. You could remove any or all of them and still be able to follow the story. That's a sign of a poorly integrated musical. Vanities was supposed to have landed on Broadway, but financing fell through in the bad economy. Which is probably a good thing: instead of a high-profile death on the main stem, the show was able to fail quietly in the relative shelter of the non-profit world.

11. Kristina: Ah, Kristina. I couldn't possibly finish up my list of the worst of the 2000s without making mention of Kristina. I received more hate mail in response to my review of the Carnegie Hall concert presentation of Kristina than in my entire three-and-a-half years of writing reviews for this blog combined. The entire nation of Sweden, it seemed, wanted to rip me a new one. I have never before been subjected to such vitriol, such discourtesy, such childish whining than in the comments to my Kristina review. That experience alone might have justified my placing the show at the top of my worst list. But I ranked it relatively low on my list because it's still a show under development. I must repeat, however, that the show I saw at Carnegie Hall didn't show a tremendous amount of promise. The drama was manufactured, the plot was detrimentally episodic, and the lyrics were replete with cliches and banalities. So, even without the ad homenem attack, Kristina would still have made this list. And quite handily so.

10. Saved: Not so much bad as bland, Saved suffered from a complete lack of focus. The creators couldn't seem to decide whether they were making a fluffy musical comedy, a trenchant social satire, or a serious musical about religion. (Read my original review.) The source material was pretty strong: the 2004 movie "Saved" starring Macaulay Culkin. But the show never established a consistent tone, veering from upbeat kitsch to ponderous introspection, all the while wasting a truly sensational cast of Broadway pros, including Aaron Tveit, Celia Keenan-Bolger, Julia Murney, Curtis Holbrook, and John Dossett. The show has since disappeared entirely - no cast recording, no regional productions, no developmental workshops - and I would be very surprised to see it resurface. There just wasn't enough there to make it salvageable. [Must resist urge to include "salvation" pun. Must...resist...]

9. 9 to 5: The movie "Nine to Five" has always been a sentimental favorite for me. I keenly recall sitting in the now-defunct Sack Cheri Theater in Boston watching the movie with my fellow drama nerds from high school, all of us convulsed with laughter, particularly during the fantasy/revenge sequence. I was genuinely rooting for this show to be a well-crafted hit. Alas, the show was neither well-crafted nor a hit. (Read my review.) Director Joe Mantello has officially lost whatever capital he may have accrued for his previous successes. The otherwise talented choreographer Andy Blankenbuehler was easily the worst possible choice for this show. His pop-and-lock style may have worked for In the Heights and The Wiz, but here it was woefully anachronistic. Librettist Patricia Resnick seemed to have no idea how to craft a musical, which forced Mantello and Blankenbeuhler to cover the clumsy transitions with pointless business and dance sequences. And Dolly Parton's score was awkward, tuneless, and unmemorable, save for the insanely catchy title tune from the movie. The only reason to sit through this show was to witness three terrific actresses at their best: Allison Janney, Stephanie J. Block, and Megan Hilty. Otherwise, 9 to 5 was an utter washout.

8. Happy Days: Easily the worst of the nostalgia-motivated musical adaptations, Happy Days was an affront to the eyes and ears. (Read my review.) I don't think it was such a bad idea to make the classic TV show "Happy Days" into a musical. Unfortunately, the show's creator, Garry Marshall, decided that he was the right person to write the libretto. Oh, how wrong he was. And Paul Williams' insipid songs didn't exactly enhance the show's prospects for success. I caught the show at the Goodspeed in Connecticut, where it apparently was very popular. Unfortunately, popularity at the esteemed Goodspeed isn't always an accurate indicator of quality or future success. (cf. The Story of My Life, 13, Little Johnny Jones, Harrigan 'n' Hart, All Shook Up, etc.) But I'd sooner sit through any of those shows again before deigning to revisit [shudder] Happy Days.

7. Evil Dead: Intentional camp is very difficult to pull off. Of course, it helps if you start with a cheesy classic like Sam Raimi's "Evil Dead." Then you need the chops to craft material that's simultaneously true to the source but also genuinely solid in its own right. The creators of Evil Dead seemed to think that the script and score didn't need to be any good because the show wasn't meant to be taken seriously. (Read my review.) But anyone familiar with Little Shop of Horrors or Bat Boy or even Xanadu knows that precisely the opposite is true: campy shows need to be even better than serious shows. Any actor or playwright can tell you that comedy is much harder to execute than drama. Apart from the hysterical denouement of Evil Dead -- a veritable ballet of blood -- the show was almost completely forgettable and without merit.

6. The Pirate Queen: Oh, the bloated, listing, foundering mess that was The Pirate Queen, the latest attempt by the creators of Les Miserables and Miss Saigon to get back on the boards. Bad word of mouth dogged the production based on its poorly received 2006 Chicago tryout, so the producers brought in director Richard Maltby, Jr. to help right the ship. But then Claude-Michel Schönberg and Alain Boublil refused to make changes based on Maltby's advice, and the show that arrived on Broadway was slightly different from how it had been in Chicago, but not much better. Among The Pirate Queen's crimes were cardboard characters, bland power ballads, incomprehensible staging, and turgid, unbelievable drama. (Read my full review.) With the ignominious failure of The Pirate Queen, along with the taint of the pair's two London failures, Martin Guerre and Marguerite, one wonders if we'll see a new show from Boublil and Schönberg any time soon -- on either side of the pond.

5. Young Frankenstein: No sooner had The Pirate Queen sunk than another bloated monster of a show took its place at the cavernous Hilton Theatre. Young Frankenstein may have been damned before it ever started performances in New York. The production team committed a number of PR blunders leading up to the show's opening, including some rather tacky behavior on the part of Mel Brooks, as well as an obscenely high top ticket price of $450. (Read a full account in my review.) But all would have been forgiven if the show had been any good. It wasn't. It was one of the laziest, most unimaginative productions I've witnessed in more than 30 years of theater going. Brooks seemed to think that, based on the phenomenal success of The Producers, all he had to do was throw the original "Young Frankenstein" movie on stage with a bunch of random, generic songs, pump it all up with Susan Stroman stagecraft, and the watch the money pour in. The show closed after little more than a year, and although Brooks famously didn't make the show's numbers public, there ain't no way in hell that a run that short could pay back on production costs that easily exceeded $20 million. Boo hoo.

4. Dirty Dancing: As cynical as Young Frankenstein was, it couldn't hold a candle to the staged abomination that was Dirty Dancing. The show has been running for years in cities across the world, which just goes to show that popularity and artistic quality are at best vague acquaintances. I caught the show during its Boston stint, and it was every bit as bad as I expected. And quite a bit more. (Read my full review.) Whatever its flaws, Young Frankenstein at least made a feint attempt at putting songs into the mouths of its characters. Not Dirty Dancing. The lead characters never sang a note. The songs from the best-selling soundtrack of what I guess is now considered a "classic" movie were sung by pool boys and chamber maids drifting along in the background. In other words, there was no creativity in evidence whatsoever. The dance was generic. The set was hideous. There were some decent performers in the cast, but the guy I saw play Johnny had all the charisma of cinder block. So far, Dirty Dancing hasn't made it to Broadway. (Perhaps the garlic and holy water that I secreted under the TKTS booth are working...) If you're ever faced with the option of seeing the show, stay home and throw in the DVD. It's the least you can do to honor the memory of the late Patrick Swayze.

3. A Tale of Two Cities: Every once in a while, a show makes it to Broadway to a collective cry of "WTF?!" A Tale of Two Cities was one of those shows. (Read my review.) It's hard to imagine that anyone could have seen this raw material and thought it was ready for a New York stage. It's also hard to conceive of producers who genuinely thought that the public would be crying out to see Les Miserables all over again, except this time without the decent score and credible human drama. Nonetheless, A Tale of Two Cities played an inexplicable 60 performances at the Al Hirschfeld Theater, then seemingly disappeared. Ah, but not so fast. Like many other unworthy properties, A Tale of Two Cities has found an international fan base, and will receive a studio cast recording and a PBS concert broadcast, which will reportedly be released on DVD. I say catch it on TV when it plays in your area. Don't take my word for it: witness for yourself the muddled, amateurish horror that is A Tale of Two Cities.

2. Frankenstein: Most bad musicals are tedious. But then there's the occasional misstep that becomes a bastion of unintentional comedy. Frankenstein was one of those shows. Not to be confused with Young Frankenstein, this show was a sober attempt at setting the tale of the Modern Prometheus to music. And while Young Frankenstein was trying unsuccessfully to be funny, Frankenstein fought a losing battle to be taken seriously. (Read my review.) The real fun started when the monster himself made his first appearance. Eschewing the green-skinned, bolt-necked Hollywood cliche, the creators came up with the idea of making the monster look like a gay porn star/speed-metal bass player. (Click here to see a picture of the horrible hottie.) The show pretty much went downhill from there.

1. Lestat:  If the 2000s taught us one thing, it's that creating a musical about monsters (Frankenstein, Young Frankenstein) or vampires (Dracula, Dance of the Vampires) is fraught with peril. I didn't have a chance to see the latter two shows, but I have a feeling that if I had, they would have placed prominently on this list. I did, however, get to see Lestat. In fact, my review for Lestat was my very first post ever on this blog. Such an auspicious debut. The show has since become my low-water mark against which to measure bad shows. ("Was it worse than Lestat? Could anything ever be?") The main problem with Lestat was that it was mind-crushingly dull. The show moved at a positively glacial pace, and when it wasn't putting me to sleep, it was setting my nerves on edge with its shrill, unlikable characters, and Bernie Taupin's puerile lyrics. Elton John has since gone on to greater acclaim with the overrated Billy Elliot, on top of his phenomenal success with The Lion King. I get the feeling he would rather we just forgot about Lestat. The cast went into the recording studio before the show closed, but as yet the CD hasn't been released. But cast recording or no, I will never forget Lestat, Sir Elton. Never.  

Stephen Sondheim at Sanders Theater - Part 1

Last weekend, I had the pleasure of attending A Life in the Theater - An Evening With Stephen Sondheim, which took place at the lovely Sanders Theater in Cambridge, Mass. The event comprised a conversation, of sorts, between Stephen Sondheim, looking rather spry for his 79 years, and Frank Rich, the man formerly known as the "butcher of Broadway" during his stint as chief drama critic for the New York Times. 

In truth, Rich needn't have showed up. His questions were rather on the soft-ball side, and didn't really go much beyond "And then you wrote Follies. What was that like?" Pretty much anyone with even a passing knowledge of musical theater could have performed the same function. Sure, there was a certain added value to his presence, given his now legendary review of Follies for the Harvard Crimson, and other such overlaps, including his presence at the final DC performance of A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum. But on the whole, the added value to Rich's presence was minimal.

Sondheim talked about a lot of stuff that we've heard before, but it was certainly a delight to hear it from the horse's mouth, as it were. What follows is a show-by-show breakdown of some of the stories and recollections that Sondheim related to a rapt audience of about 1,100 admirers. There was so much great stuff to relate that I'm going to be breaking it up into two separate posts.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum
- This was definitely one of the more oft-told tales of the evening, but Sondheim related a few details that I found compelling. Famously, Forum was flopping in DC. The final out-of-town performance had 50 members sparsely scattered throughout a 1,700-seat theater. Jerome Robbins had come in to help doctor the show, and said the opening number, "Love Is in the Air," wasn't working. The song was charming, but Forum isn't. It's a low comedy. Enter "Comedy Tonight."
- Sondheim says that this certainly made sense to him, given what had learned from his apprenticeship with Oscar Hammerstein, who told him that the opening number is the most important part of a musical: it needs to tell the audience what to expect in terms of style and substance. "Comedy Tonight" went into the show in Broadway previews, and the rest, as they say...

Company
- The original closing number to Company was called "Happily Ever After," which was eventually replaced by "Marry Me a Little" and ultimately "Being Alive." It's often said that "Happily" was cut because it was too much of a downer, but Sondheim said it was actually cut because it made the ending too bitter.
- "Side By Side" was originally supposed to be the 11 o'clock number, but Sondheim's agent suggested moving it to the opening of act 2 to give the audience a sort of progress report on Bobby. In its current place, the song really livens up the rest of the act.
- Most of the characters in Company were based on real people in librettist George Furth's life, while the part of Joanne was written specifically for Elaine Stritch. Sondheim was working on a number for her called "Crinoline," which was about memory and living in both the present and the past. (This, of course, would later become the theme for Follies.) Furth said, "No, that's not Elaine." Furth was out drinking very late one night with Stritch, in a bar on 3rd Avenue that was about to close. Stritch persuaded the bartender to keep bar open for her. "Honey," she said, "just give me a bottle of vodka and a floor plan." That's Elaine. 

Follies
- During the show's tryout in Boston, the opening sequence to Follies was somewhat abstract and featured shrill, dissonant music and slowly moving ghosts, and the audience just wasn't getting it. Sondheim spoke of the responsibility that creators have to their audience. "It's OK if they don't like it, but if they don't understand it, that's something you have to fix," he said.
- Sondheim thought the original opening would have been truer to the theme of the piece, but he worked with choreographer/co-director Michael Bennett to devise a new opening. "The audience is your collaborator," he said. "It's not about pandering. You can be subtle or indirect, but you're not allowed to baffle." 

A Little Night Music
- After such an expensive "flop" (his word, meaning Follies), Sondheim and Harold Prince wanted to make something that was a crowd-pleaser. Sondheim joked that he may indeed have a bit of a dark streak, but at the time a friend advised him to use Night Music as a chance to "show off." The friend exhorted him to "make it delightful, just a lighthearted operetta."
- The show was based on the 1955 Ingmar Bergman film, "Smiles of a Summer Night." While Night Music was running, Bergman contacted Sondheim about collaborating on a movie version of Franz Lehár's The Merry Widow. Bergman visited Sondheim the day after Bergman first saw A Little Night Music on Broadway. Sondheim asked him what he thought. Bergman said, "My dear boy, my movie and your musical share a story and nothing else. But we all eat from the same cake." Strangely enough, Bergman related that Victoria Mallory, who played the part of Ann, looked just like the woman Bergman had based the part on. "As for that Hermione Gingold, she does tend to fuck the audience, doesn't she?"
- Speaking of Hermione Gingold, when she auditioned for Night Music, Sondheim and Prince were worried that she might be too campy for the role, but she actually read extremely well. On her way out of the audition room, she told Sondheim and Prince, "I notice the character is 74 years old. So am I." (Later they found out she was actually 75.) Gingold also had noticed that at the end of the show, Madame Armfeldt dies, and the stage direction indicated that she slumps over and her wig falls off. Gingold took off her own wig, revealing that she was completely bald.
- Rich asked Sondheim if he knew whether Ingmar Bergman had seen the film version of A Little Night Music. "It may be what killed him," he said.
- Of course, Elizabeth Taylor played the part of Desiree in the movie version. Sondheim said that, to make her appear to sing on key, they had to cut and paste individual notes from multiple audio takes. And this was before digital editing.
- Taylor shared a trailer with co-star Diana Rigg. One day, Rigg asked Taylor if she knew that day's date. Taylor didn't, but started looking around for a newspaper. She found one, but said, "Oh, never mind. This is yesterday's paper."

COMING SOON: Sondheim's recollections on Sweeney Todd, Into the Woods, and Gypsy, including the revelation that "Rose's Turn" was originally supposed to be...a ballet?

Desk Clearing: West Side Spanish, Birdie Dance, Nine Movie, and Ragtime Logo

A number of things have been making me cranky lately. Not sure if it's just my mood, or if these items are genuinely annoying. So, rather than addressing each item separately, I figured I'd just get them all out of the way in one peevish post.

Bye Bye Birdie - The New York Daily News reports that the star of the upcoming Broadway revival of Bye Bye Birdie, Gina Gershon, won't be performing the show's iconic Shriner's Ballet. The article quotes Gershon as saying the dance was cut because it was too "gang rape-y." As other commentators have pointed out, that's never seemed to be a problem before, despite being Tams-Witmark's number-one show for decades. The more likely explanation: Gershon can't handle the dance. If they're so concerned about modern sensibilities, will Gershon be performing the regressive and sexist "An English Teacher"? Will the chorus girls still be fawning and fainting to the salacious sight of Conrad Birdie's gyrating hips? The show is a period piece. If you don't like the period, don't do the piece.
Peeve Factor: 7 out of 10. If you want to see a real pro in action, click here to watch Chita Rivera perform the Shriner's Ballet.

West Side Story - According to the New York Times, the current smash-hit Broadway revival of West Side Story has changed back much of the show's much-touted Spanish to the original English lyrics and text. As you may know, director Arthur Laurents brought in Lin-Manuel Miranda (In the Heights) to translate huge chunks of the show into Spanish. The article quotes Laurents as saying the Spanish was "an experiment." Yeah, a failed experiment. As I've written about in my reviews of the show itself and of the CD, I wasn't a fan of the Spanish text. I found it alienating and thought it robbed two terrific songs ("I Feel Pretty" and "A Boy Like That/I Have a Love") of their humor, pathos, and drama. But I also thought that Miranda's lyrics didn't match the quality of Sondheim's original work.
Peeve Factor: 5 out of 10, mitigated by the fact that they've, for the most part, reverted to the infinitely preferable original words.

"Nine" - The more I hear about Rob Marshall's forthcoming film version of Nine, the less excited I become. First, the delectable Javier Bardem dropped out, replaced by the talented but IMHO considerably less sexy Daniel Day Lewis. Now, according to Playbill, Maury Yeston has provided three new songs for the movie: "Guarda la Luna," "Cinema Italiano," and "Take it All." Which is fine, but to make room, they're cutting at least five of the original songs: "Simple," "Be On Your Own," "Grand Canal," "Nine," "The Bells of St. Sebastian's." Boo and grrr. (For a detailed discussion of the cut and added songs, check out a post by my friend Kevin at Theatre Aficionado at Large.)
Peeve Factor: 9 out of 10. Pun intended. I'm not a knee-jerk purist, but the movie is going to need to be pretty spectacular to make up for the butchering of the score. Of course, the "Sweeney Todd" film involved a tremendous amount of cutting as well, and I raved about that movie in my review. So, the jury's still out, despite my current annoyance.

Ragtime - The press folk for the upcoming Broadway revival of Ragtime have recently been touting the new visual identity for the production. (See left) Apparently, it's the work of some famous Italian illustrator. Whatever, it's washed-out, flat, and unmemorable. Plus, the physical arrangement seems borrowed from the logo to The Secret Garden. Of course, I was also nonplussed by the logos for Hair and A Catered Affair, and impressed by that of Cry-Baby. So there's no necessary connection between the quality of an individual show and that of its marketing materials.
Peeve Factor: 2 out of 10. Like many of you, I'm simply thrilled that Ragtime is getting another chance on Broadway. During its original run, it was overshadowed by The Lion King and hampered by irresponsible -- and now felonious -- producing.

Catch Me If You Can and First Wives Club in Tryouts

Two rather high-profile musicals are currently in the middle of their out-of-town tryout runs. First, there's Catch Me If You Can, which is in previews at Seattle's 5th Avenue Theater. (The show's opening was tragically delayed by the murder of Norbert Leo Butz's sister Teresa. I'm sure all of our thoughts are with Norbert during this terrible time.) Quite a bit further south, we have The First Wives Club at the Old Globe Theater in San Diego.

Variety recently ran a piece talking about the pros and cons of billing a tryout production as "Broadway-bound," citing both Catch and First Wives as examples. The producers of First Wives Club are of the opinion that the "Broadway-bound" moniker gives a boost to ticket sales, and in fact the show has extended its San Diego run until the end of August. However, the folks involved with Catch Me If You Can have been very careful to call the Seattle run a "world premier," possibly to hedge their bets in case the show needs work.

Well, according to Michael Riedel of the New York Post, Catch Me If You Can would seem more likely to be bound for Broadway, whereas First Wives Club could well be dead in the water. The critical response to First Wives was, in Riedel's words, "harsh," and even worse was the word of mouth among potential investors. The show is pleasing the California crowds, but the producers are scrambling to fund a move to New York.

Meanwhile, the advance word on Catch is relatively positive, although the show is apparently in need of some polish. Catch is scheduled to open tonight (8/6/09), and I've found no indication that the delayed previews have changed this, so the reviews will likely appear tomorrow.

Here's a promotional clip from the show, featuring Aaron Tveit (in the Leonardo DiCaprio role) performing the number "Live in Living Color." Um...gee, I hope the show is better than that clip. Much better. The song itself is unimpressive, with a decent tune but generic lyrics that tell me nothing about this character. And Jerry Mitchell's choreography here is atrocious, like something from a bad community production. Perhaps it's supposed to be bad, kind of like the garish costumes? Who knows. Yeah, it's not entirely fair to judge the show solely from this clip, but there's not much here that impresses me.

Then again, if I had only seen one number from Hairspray -- say, one of the forgettable numbers, like "It Takes Two" or "Without Love" -- I probably wouldn't have been all that stoked either. But the way "Live in Living Color" was shot would seem to indicate that this clip was meant for press distribution, so this was the number that someone somewhere chose to best represent the show. But there's no questioning the talent of the team behind Catch Me If You Can. (Book: Terrence McNally, Music and lyrics: Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman, Direction: Jack O'Brien.) Count these gentlemen out at your peril. So I remain hopeful that they'll be able to pull the show into shape before its likely Broadway bow.

9 to 5 Will Close September 6th

Today's New York Post ran a pointlessly snarky column by Michael Riedel announcing the imminent closure of the Broadway musical 9 to 5, probably around Labor Day. Of course, this was before the producers had a chance to break the news to the cast before today's matinee, but that didn't seem to matter to Miss Riedel.

Then, later in the day, came the official announcement, which ran on Playbill.com and other online sites, that 9 to 5 would indeed be closing, specifically on September 6th. At that time, the show will have played 148 performances and 24 previews, which makes it likely that the producers will have lost their entire investment, which is rumored to have been about $14 million.

I must admit that it's a bit two-faced of me to admonish La Riedel for dumping on 9 to 5. For weeks, as I've pored through the Broadway grosses, I've been predicting in my Twitter updates that the show would be shuttering soon. After all, 9 to 5 has been playing to about 70% capacity with and average ticket of around $70. And this is during the summer, when New York is teeming with pleasure-seeking tourists. Plus, 9 to 5 has been grossing around $700,000 a week at a time when no fewer than ten Broadway productions are bringing in $1-million plus. And even if $700k is enough to meet the show's weekly nut, that amount would likely plummet come fall, much like what happened to Legally Blonde last year, precipitating the show's October 2008 demise.

Now, I didn't much care for 9 to 5 when I saw it in April. (Read my review.) I found it to be a middling entry in the movies-into-musicals genre, ranking somewhere below Dirty Rotten Scoundrels and The Wedding Singer. But I know a number of people who enjoyed 9 to 5, including my esteemed blogger buddies Esther and Steve. (Click on their names for their respective takes on 9 to 5.) And there was much to appreciate in the show's central trio of performers: Allison Janney, Stephanie J. Block, and Megan Hilty. So I take no great pleasure in seeing 9 to 5 close, although I genuinely wish that the show had been better.

As always, with the closure announcement for 9 to 5, came word that the show will launch a tour. I definitely see this happening; the movie has a sufficient fan base that the musical version will likely attract decent crowds in the provinces, although I can't really seeing it making more than one nationwide sweep. Those who aren't able to catch the show before it closes, or won't get to see the tour, will have to make do with the 9 to 5 cast recording, which came out yesterday. I haven't received my copy yet, but I'm hoping the Dolly Parton songs hold up better than they did in the theater. After all, she's the person who turned a so-so song ("I Will Always Love You") from a pretty bad movie ("The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas") into a veritable goldmine. The self-described "Backwoods Barbie" will rise again.

Forever Plaid - 20th Anniversary Cinecast

A few weeks back, I wrote a rather dismissive post about the one-night-only 20th anniversary cinecast of Forever Plaid, which took place last night. I expressed skepticism as to whether this was the show that the movie-going public was really crying out to see. In response, the folks at NCM Fathom contacted me, inviting me to see the show and judge for myself.

Well, I went. And there were 17 people in the theater, including me and three friends, who had received comps. And this is in Boston, which is about as receptive a locale as any for a show such as this. I get the feeling that there were a lot of empty or near-empty theaters among the 500 or so that were part of the simulcast.

I had never seen Forever Plaid before; it just never really caught my interest. And now that I've seen the show, it still doesn't. On paper, the premise is promising: a four-part close-harmony men's group dies in a car crash, run off the road by a bus filled with Catholic school girls. But for some inscrutable reason, they're granted passage back to earth for one final performance, I guess to earn their place in heaven or some such reason. It really wasn't clear, and I'm frankly not moved to do any research to find out.

Overall, I found the show, created and directed by one Stuart Ross, to be a yawn-fest, repetitious beyond the limits of my patience. I guess I'm just not a fan of this category of song (e.g. "Three Coins in the Fountain," "Love is a Many Splendored Thing," "Matilda," "Rags to Riches" etc.) Perhaps if I were, I would have been more engaged. I was momentarily entertained during the sequence during which the Plaids pay tribute to "The Ed Sullivan Show," which contained some very fun moments, props, and performances. Original Plaid cast members Stan Chandler (Jinx) and David Engel (Smudge) were on hand, joined by Larry Raben (Sparky) and Daniel Reicherd (Frankie). A very talented foursome to be sure, but I found myself wishing I were seeing them in a show that gave them a chance to show what they can really do.

The cinecast included a pre-taped performance of the show, which again I found mostly dull, followed by a live segment featuring the cast members, with special guest star Carol Channing. During the after-show, the Plaids performed some doo-wop versions of "Memory" and "The Ballad of Sweeney Todd" that I actually found quite enjoyable. Then, my beloved Carol came onstage and sang "Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend," and even at the advanced age of 88, my girl Carol was an absolute delight. If they release the Forever Plaid movie on DVD, I'm hoping that they'll include the after-concert in the DVD extras. Because, although I can't imagine being in any hurry to watch Forver Plaid again, I would like to get another viewing of the doo-wop showtunes and Carol's star turn.

So, the night was not a total loss. Plus, I got to meet and spend time with my fellow bloggers Scot and Michael Colford (see their respective takes on Forbidden Plaid here and here) as well as my BGMC buddy Victor R-R-R-R-R-Ramos. But it makes me wonder what I'm going to think of The Marvelous Wonderettes when I see it next week, which strikes me as pretty darned similar to Forever Plaid. Oh well. It's all a part of my journey to offer as full a chronicle as possible of modern musical theater. The things I do for you, dear reader.

August Osage County to Close June 28th

Regular readers will recall that, despite the title of my blog, I do make occasional forays into non-musical theater. By recent count, in fact, my musicals-to-plays ratio for Broadway theater was about 3 to 1.

One recent play that I found particularly captivating was Tracy Letts' multiple award-winning August: Osage County. Despite the play's formidable length (3 hours and 20 minutes), I was so taken by the show that I went back to see it again. Twice. Once to see Tony winner Deanna Dunagan, who was out the first time I saw the play, and again to see Estelle Parsons. Despite knowing all the show's many surprises ahead of time, I still found the play stunning, and appreciated the many differences among the equally masterful performances from Dunagan, Parsons, and understudy Susanne Marley.

Now comes news that the Broadway production of August, alas, is closing. The show, which currently stars Phylicia Rashad, will play its last performance at New York's Music Box Theater on Sunday, June 28th. The show will have played 648 performances and 18 previews, putting it past other such successful plays as Doubt, Master Class, and Six Degrees of Separation. August has long since recouped its $2.5 million initial investment, a year ago, in fact. The show's grosses have been declining pretty steadily since peaking at about $600,000 in early 2008, and lately have been coming in a bit closer to $200,000. Even so, it's likely that the investors have made a tidy profit for themselves. That's quite a feat when you're talking about a three-hour-plus, star-less drama.

What's more, the movie version of August: Osage County is currently under development towards a projected 2011 opening. And the national tour, which will star Estelle Parsons, launches later this year, with a stop at Boston's Colonial Theater in May 2010. You can bet that I'll be seeing it again.