Everything I Know I Learned from Musicals

Damn Yankees: Summer Fun at City Center

Although I briefly address Damn Yankees in my Boston Conservatory course, until last weekend I had never seen a professional production. I'm very familiar with the faithful movie adaptation, and I've long been a fan of the cast album, but this was my first time seeing the show on a real stage.

No mere concert version, the City Center's Encores! production is fully staged, with costumes and sets, and without scripts. I had heard that performers in the Encores! series have to carry scripts because they're operating under a special concert agreement with the union. This was true of Juno and No, No, Nanette, but for Damn Yankees there wasn't a script in sight. Perhaps the "Summer Stars" series has a different union agreement, and/or since the Encores! shows run a bit longer in the summer, it's more worthwhile for people to actually learn their lines.

In any case, I thoroughly enjoyed this production of Damn Yankees, although I had some minor reservations with the show itself and with a few of the performances. The marquee performers here are TV stars Sean Hayes and Jane Krakowski, and for the most part they're professional but uninspired in their respective roles as Applegate and Lola. Hayes is at his best when glimpses of his Jack McFarland character on "Will and Grace" are peeking through, but he's stiff and stilted when he's trying to play it straight, as it were. It reminded me of seeing Megan Mullaley in Young Frankenstein, who was trying way too hard not to be Karen Walker. I say, don't resist it: If something works, let it ride. Did anyone knock Jimmy Durante or Fanny Brice for always doing the same shtick? Perhaps they did, but it hasn't affected the legendary status of those performers.

Hayes has some really great moments as Applegate, and certainly has the audience on his side. However, Hayes and director John Rando have made a major miscalculation during Applegate's second act would-be show-stopper, "Those Were the Good Old Days." Hayes is a classically trained pianist, a fact that Rando mistakenly chooses to showcase during the first part of the number. It's a choice that could have worked, but doesn't. Hayes focuses so much on his keyboard ministrations that he drains the number of its comic intent. It does set up a very cute visual joke with a violin, but otherwise this choice was misguided.

Jane Krakowski has the thankless task of trying to reclaim the Lola role from the marvelous Gwen Verdon, a very difficult task, as Bebe Neuwirth discovered during the 1994 Damn Yankees revival. But Krakowski certainly holds her own. There's no real spark in her Lola, but she has a strong voice and an amazing body. Plus, she's really a terrific dancer, a fact that becomes particularly evident during the "Two Lost Souls" dance break. Krakowski didn't really get much of a chance to show off her dancing skills in Grand Hotel or Nine.

The production team have chosen to use Bob Fosse's original choreography, recreated here by Mary MacLeod. Some of the dancers aren't quite in sync with the Fosse style, including Tony nominee John Selya. He's athletic, to be sure, but he hasn't quite been able to adopt the signature Fosse postures and mannerisms.

The below-the-title cast members are for the most part outstanding, particularly Randy Graff as an animated and sympathetic Meg. Cheyenne Jackson is his strong-voiced, appealing, and gorgeous self, although some of the vocal tricks he employs to such great effect as Sonny in Xanadu don't really work for Joe Hardy. 

The show itself is not without its flaws. The Gloria character, played here by Tony nominee Megan Lawrence, starts off helping to create the "Shoeless Joe" persona, then spends the rest of the show trying to cut the guy down, and the script provides no justification for the sudden switch. And the "Who's Got the Pain?" number is a direct parallel to "Steam Heat" in The Pajama Game: neither number has any real justification in the plot, but rather merely exists to showcase some terrific Fosse choreography. But even in the '50s, this was an antiquated notion, obviated by the Rodgers and Hammerstein revolution, which dictated that every element of the show should somehow serve the plot, reveal character, or establish time and place. Both "Who's Got the Pain?" and "Steam Heat" fail on all counts. 

But, on the whole, this is a solid production with an appealing cast, and a welcome summer diversion. And it's about as close as I'm ever going to get to taking in a Yankees game. Or any game, for that matter.

Brian Stokes Mitchell with the Boston Pops

As part of my discovering-what's- playing-in-my-own-backyard tour, last night I took in Brian Stokes Mitchell singing with the Boston Pops. The title of the concert was "Broadway's Leading Man," which I felt was a bit presumptuous. BSM is a talented guy, but he's not the only leading man Broadway has these days.

So I have to admit I was a bit prejudiced going in, further reinforced by a conversation I had recently. When I mentioned I was going to the concert to my friend David, he said that after he saw Mitchell's self-aggrandizing curtain-call bow at the end of Ragtime, it was over for him with BSM. He even skipped the revival of Kiss Me, Kate, lest he be forced to witness the self-love fest once again.

But before we get to Mitchell's performance with the Pops, I must mention what happened during the first half of the concert. After a perfunctory tribute to Leonard Bernstein on the 90th anniversary of his birth, conductor Keith Lockhart segued into three performances by semi-finalists in the Pops' first-ever high school musical-theater sing-off. In other words, "American Idol" with showtunes. Predictably, the girl with the most vibrato and the biggest mannerisms won, giving an emotionally excessive rendition of "Being Alive." (As performed here, "Being ALLLLLLLLLLLive!!!")

So, I was feeling a mite perturbed when BSM took to the stage. Lockhart introduced Mitchell as a "legendary" performer, which made me bristle. No, Keith. Judy Garland is legendary. Brian Stokes Mitchell is sort of well-known within a very parochial group of Broadway insiders. I was reminded of Gerard Alessandrini's parody of "Wunderbar," featured in Forbidden Broadway 2001: A Spoof Odyssey.

Would-be stars
Would-be stars
[...]
But my name you'll forget
'Cuz I'm not quite famous yet

My overall reaction to Mitchell's concert set was that I wanted to climb up onto the stage and wipe the smug, self-congratulatory smile off his admittedly chiseled face. The songs he sang were mostly over-the-top show-stoppers ("Some Enchanted Evening," "Impossible Dream," "This Nearly Was Mine") mixed in with the occasional over-orchestrated standard ("How Long Has This Been Going On"), or showboating virtuoso piece ("Don't Rain on My Parade," "Tchaikovsky").

The few interesting selections (Maury Yeston's lovely "New Words," "I Was Here" from The Glorious Ones) also failed to land, mostly because of Mitchell's immodest delivery, and his propensity toward RLNS (Really Long Note Syndrome). Mitchell also did a painfully twee rendition of "It's Not That Easy Being Green," trying unsuccessfully to channel his remote youthful self, which had me squirming in my seat.

Don't get me wrong: Brian Stokes Mitchell can be a terrific performer. With the right material and a strong-armed director, he's quite an imposing and effective actor. But left to his own devices, he seems to be following in the self-indulgent steps of Mandy Patinkin.

As Guenevere says to Lancelot in Camelot: "Tell me, Milord, have you come to terms with humility lately?"

A Little Night Music With Christine Ebersole

As I walked to my seat at Boston's Symphony Hall, I noticed that the multimedia warm-up screen hovering above the stage touted Stephen Sondheim's A Little Night Music as "one of Broadway's most overlooked masterpieces." Masterpiece? Yes. Overlooked? Hardly. Night Music is pretty much universally regarded as a masterwork. It's also one of the very few Sondheim shows to make a profit in its original Broadway run.

I had been greatly looking forward to seeing Christine Ebersole and Mary Louise Wilson reunited for this concert, only to discover that Wilson pulled out at the last minute, citing a scheduling conflict. (What kind of "scheduling conflict" comes up the day before the show? The kind that isn't really a scheduling conflict.) Local Boston actress Bobbie Steinbach made for a wonderful replacement for Wilson, bringing just the right mix of world-weariness and wistful recollection to the role of Madame Armfeldt. 

So, no Wilson. Hey ho. At least I got to see my beloved Christine, who entered with an effusive rope of pearls and a shimmering, diaphanous red and black jacket. Her performance was no less luminous. Opposite her as Frederick was Broadway pro Ron Raines, with his marvelously rich and effortless baritone.

Besides the Broadway pros on hand, most of the cast comprised fellows of the Tanglewood Music Center. As you might expect, they were almost universally outstanding vocally (although Ashley Logan as Ann Egerman was a bit disappointing in this regard), but in the acting department almost all of them suffered in comparison to Raines and Ebersole (although Rebecca Jo Loeb made for a feisty and animated Petra). Matthew Worth as Carl-Magnus was especially emblematic of this dichotomy: His bellowing bass was impeccable, but his acting was cartoonish, far more than the admittedly broad role of Carl-Magnus requires. Now, it's a bit unfair to compare these younger folk to their more seasoned cast members. After all, these performers are music fellows, not acting grad students. But if they're going to share the stage with pros, they're going to face the inevitable, and potentially unflattering, comparison.

The role of Desiree was written for an actress with significant vocal limitations, Glynnis Johns. The short vocal lines were meant to give Johns plenty of room to breathe. Others who've played the role include Judi Dench, Elizabeth Taylor, and Jean Simmons, none of whom was really much of a singer. But Ebersole gives the role a lot more melodic emphasis, actually singing much of the material on which Johns and the others relied on sprechstimme. It made for a lovely change. It was similarly jarring, albeit pleasantly so, to hear Katherine Growdon sing Charlotte's songs in a resonant alto.

The show actually worked quite well in a concert setting, with Lawrence Goldberg's adaptation clocking in at an economic two hours and fifteen minutes, with intermission. This allowed the full splendor of Stephen Sondheim's rapturous score to take center stage. The highlight of the evening was unquestionably Ebersole's full-throttle "Send in the Clowns," which was ravishing, as was the reprise with Ebersole and Raines. The main flaw in the show is, and always has been, "The Miller's Son," although this is certainly no reflection on Rebecca Jo Loeb's energetic delivery of the song. It simply doesn't belong in the show. While a tour de force one-act in its own right, it serves no dramatic purpose. We don't care about this character, and it comes at a time when we just want to wrap things up, not spend four and a half contemplative minutes with the saucy maid.

After the show, I met up with some friends who had also attended the concert, and we went for drinks at Brasserie Jo, a tony local watering hole. As we sat discussing the concert, we started to notice Night Music cast members trickle into the restaurant. We speculated as to whether we might be so lucky as to run into Christine Ebersole.

Well, as we were chatting up Bobbie Steinbach, congratulating her on her masterful last-minute sub job, my friend Fred bellowed, "Oh, my God. It's Christine!" In an effort to be kind, Fred's husband David kept talking to Bobbie, but for Fred and me it was all about Christine. As La Ebersole passed our table, I extended my hand, which she graciously accepted and, embarrassed as I am to admit this, I actually uttered the words "I worship you." The cast retired to their table, and we continued with our libations. Later, as people started to trickle out, Fred practically forced me over to Christine's table to get a photo with her, for which I am eternally in his debt. Isn't she lovely? You can barely even tell that she's really thinking, "Oh, no. Another gay stalker..."

Boston Pops Night Music With Ebersole and Wilson

I was just walking past Boston's Symphony Hall on my way home from a dance rehearsal (watch later this week for a self-promotional announcement). As I passed the entrance, I glanced at the posters outside and noticed that the Boston Pops will be doing a concert version of Stephen Sondheim's A Little Night Music next weekend.

With a shrug, I kept walking: concert versions don't typically grab my interest. (City Center's Encores being a notable exception: I just got my tickets for Damn Yankees with Jane Krakowski, Sean Hayes, and Cheyenne Jackson. Woo hoo.) But something in my brain ordered me back to the Pops poster. I then noticed that two of the stars of the Night Music concert will be none other than Christine Ebersole and Mary Louise Wilson.

Oh. My. God.

Regular readers will no doubt recall my abiding affection for Grey Gardens and its Tony-Award-winning stars. I'm not sure how it had escaped my attention that these wonderfully talented women would be appearing literally up the road from where I live (a quick Google search reveals that the concert certainly received a fair amount of press from the usual outlets), but I hightailed it home and scooped up a ticket for next Saturday night.

The Pops Web site doesn't specify which roles Ebersole and Wilson will be playing, but I would imagine that they'll be Desiree Armfeldt and Madame Armfeldt respectively. Mother and daughter, again. It's just too delicious for words. I've always loved Night Music, and the prospect of seeing it with two of my favorite performers has me giddy as a schoolgirl.

Well, giddier than usual.

P.S. I also got a ticket to the presumptuously titled "Broadway's Leading Man," featuring but one of Broadway's many leading men, Brian Stokes Mitchell. I really need to start paying closer attention to what's going on in my own back yard.

What the Heck is Jollyship the Whiz Bang?

I'm really starting to expand my horizons beyond the high-profile Broadway musicals. This season I've seen quite a few Off-Broadway shows, and I've even begun my first forays into wilds of Off-Off-Broadway. And I'm finding that there's a great big world of live entertainment out there beyond the confines of 6th and 9th Avenues.

The last time I was in New York, I was supposed to see a show with my fellow blogger Patrick Lee (check out his blog at Just Shows to Go You). We had planned on seeing Glory Days, but it closed on opening night, and efforts to line up a replacement show were fraught with peril and misunderstanding. So I told Patrick that this time I would place myself entirely in his hands. I had already seen all the musicals I was interested in, so I told him I was game for anything he chose, even if we'd be sitting on folding chairs in a church basement watching Krapp's Last Tape in Swahili. Well, as it turns out Patrick's selection turned out to be a musical.

Of sorts.

How to describe Jollyship the Whiz Bang? Passing Strange meets "Kukla, Fran and Ollie"? Avenue Q meets Mutiny on the Bounty? The Talking Heads meets Mr. Rogers? Whatever, Jollyship the Whiz Bang is a deliciously ridiculous rock-concert-based musical with a pulsating series of songs. The plot, though really irrelevant, concerns a ship of pirates initially looking for the elusive Party Island. But as I said, the story is incidental, serving merely as a frame for some truly silly hipster humor and some terrific indie rock songs.

The cast is a combination of band members and other performers manipulating crudely carved puppets most analogous to the citizens of Make-Believe on "Mr. Rogers Neighborhood." At first the show came off a bit lame, but once the beer kicked in (did I mention there's a bar?) I began to have a grand old time. And it features some wonderfully arch performances from lead singer and co-creator Nick Jones, as well as Steven Boyer and Julie Lake in a diverting series of cameos and supporting roles.

These days, whenever a musical opens, there's immediate chatter about whether the show is bound for bigger and better things (i.e. Broadway). I heard it from numerous groups in the audience at the other new musical I saw that weekend, Saved. (See my review later this week.) Well, Jollyship is the sort of show that really shouldn't play anywhere except a small club-like venue like Ars Nova, where it's running until June 28th. This intentionally ridiculous show benefits greatly from an intimate atmosphere and readily available alcohol, and it really doesn't want to be anything more than it is.

And what's wrong with that?

No No Nanette: Great Cast, Dumb Show

Over the weekend, I caught No No Nanette as part of the Encores series at City Center. Although I often briefly address the show in my BoCo course (there usually isn't much time, what with having to cover Show Boat during that particular session), I had never actually seen it. Overall it reminded me why we never really see too many revivals of 1920s shows: they suck. No, No, Nanette is one of the very few to have survived, and it's not very good either. It's mildly amusing, but hardly engaging.

Although the Encores folk have chosen to use Burt Shevelove's heavily rewritten book for the 1971 revival, No, No, Nanette still plays like a creaky period piece. It's essentially innocuous, warmed-over farce: the plot complications aren't credible, even for farce, so there's no dramatic tension. Yeah, in musical comedy everything usually works out, but there has to be even the suggestion of a possibility that it might not. Or else what's the point? The songs and the dances arise with scant justification, and since this is the revised version, it's a bit more fair to judge the show by modern standards of integration and cohesion.

The main attractions at this particular production are Randy Skinner's tap choreography, the sprightly-but-staid songs by Vincent Youmans, Otto Harbach and Irving Caesar, and the cast of stellar performers. I've long been an admirer of Skinner's work, which is lively and varied. The guy really knows how to dress a stage. And the songs include such effervescent gems as "Tea for Two," "I Want to Be Happy," "Take a Little One Step," and "You Can't Dance With Any Girl."

As for the cast, I must admit a bias towards the wonderful Beth Leavel, who stole the show a few seasons back in The Drowsy Chaperone. I'm happy to report that Leavel here shows the same sparkle, the same command of the stage and comic timing that one her the Tony Award. Another standout was the delightful Sandy Duncan, who more than keeps up with the chorus of hoofers who are all easily 40 years her junior. (Oh, and according to her Playbill bio, she does NOT in fact have a glass eye, contrary to popular myth.)

The very talented Mara Davi was bright but bland in the admittedly underwritten title role. Shonn Wiley is quite a discovery as Nanette's beau: gorgeous voice, terrific arch style, and a great dancer. Likewise light on his feet was Michael Berresse in the role played by Bobby Van in the 1971 revival. I've seen Berrese numerous times (Chicago, Kiss Me Kate, The Light in the Piazza, A Chorus Line), and this was by far his most assured and breezy performance.

As for Rosie O'Donnell, well, let's just say it was nice that she was there to help sell tickets. She's a game performer, but you can really tell she's not stage-trained. There was no nuance to her delivery: it was all just blunt wisecracks. (Full disclosure: I was once laid off because of Rosie. I worked at the same company that published the abortive Rosie magazine, and because she flaked, they lost millions of dollars, had to consolidate, and I and many dear friends got dumped in the process. In truth, the company screwed up big-time, but Rosie didn't help with her erratic, mercurial behavior.)

Finally, a special shout out to two of my former BoCo students who were in the Nanette chorus: Luke Hawkins and Ryan Malyar. Guys, it was great to see you cheek-by-jowl with so many great performers, and you more than held your own in the process. In fact, you shone. Here's hoping there are more great things in both of your respective futures.

No, No, Nanette at City Center

Suddenly I'm a lot more interested in seeing the upcoming Encores presentation of No, No, Nanette. In fact, I pretty much have to see it: one of my former Boston Conservatory students, Ryan Malyar, just got cast in the ensemble.

Ryan was a member of my first class of freshmen, essentially my out-of-town tryout for the course, during which I ironed out a lot of the bumps. (Some bumps, of course, remain: I always consider the course a work in progress.) In deference to Ryan's guinea-pig status alone, I guess I owe him one. But he's also a very talented guy, and I greatly look forward to seeing him perform alongside Sandy Duncan, Rosie O'Donnell, Beth Leavel, and Fred Willard.

Apparently, the City Center concert version of No, No, Nanette will follow Burt Shevelove's script from the 1971 revival of the show and not the (presumably creaky by today's standards) original book by Otto Harbach and Frank Mandel. The choreography will be by the wonderful Randy Skinner: as I said in my review of the Boston production of White Christmas, I could watch an entire evening of Skinner's tap choreography. Until such an event occurs, his work in Nanette will likely tide me over. (Ryan informs me that Rosie has been in tap camp for weeks in preparation. The mind reels.)

Coincidently, I just picked up a copy of The Making of No, No, Nanette by one Don Dunn, which chronicles the tumultuous development process that the show went through prior to its 1971 Broadway bow. The original 1925 production went through a similarly stormy tryout: it toured the country for two years, and in the process nearly the entire show changed. Producer H. H. Frazee at one point reportedly locked composer Vincent Youmans and lyricists Otto Harbach and Irving Caesar in a room and told them not to come out until they had written two hits: they emerged with "Tea for Two" and "I Want to Be Happy."

I guess this is all a message from the cosmos that it's time for me to bone up on my No, No, Nanette knowledge. But here's an interesting tidbit that I already do know: Nanette spawned a less successful sequel titled Yes, Yes, Yvette. I kid you not. More evidence that musical sequels aren't really a good idea.

Break a leg, Ryan!