Everything I Know I Learned from Musicals

Chris Sees Plays: Film at Eleven

This past weekend represented a bit of a milestone for me. As the title of my blog implies, I'm all about the musicals. I do see the occasional "straight" play (although I hate that term: so musicals are bent?), I have always gravitated toward musical theater, and likely always will.

But this last weekend, I caught four shows in New York, and they were all plays. Not a single musical in the bunch. This was partly because I had already seen all the musicals in New York that are worth seeing (and some that frankly aren't), but it also was because there were a bunch of dramas that I was genuinely interested in seeing. I won't be posting full reviews of these shows, partly because I've been feeling overwhelmed by this blog lately, and I don't want it to start feeling like an obligation, or worse, a job. But I did want to pass along to you, dear reader, my impressions of three high-profile revivals, as well as one "new" play based on a classic movie. Here they are, in decreasing order of enjoyment (mine):

The Seagull: This was my first time seeing this Anton Chekhov work on stage, and overall I found it thrilling. It's a fascinating study of a wide array of characters, but the most compelling in this production were the female roles. Kristen Scott Thomas was just delicious as the vain and parsimonious diva Arkadina. But the real star of the show for me was English actress Carey Mulligan as Nina. Mulligan gives an incandescent, nuanced, and ultimately heartbreaking performance. The men were disappointing: Mackenzie Crook as Konstantin was one-note miserable and unappealing in a role that should be somewhat sympathetic. And Peter Sarsgard as Trigorin was laconic and indistinct. Also, his beard and costume were very unflattering, making it a wonder as to why everyone else in the play was so enamored. But the women alone make this the dramatic production to see on Broadway this fall. 

Equus: You may not have heard about this one, but apparently there's this Broadway revival of Peter Shaffer's award-winning play with a couple of British actors... But seriously folks, they don't get much higher profile than this one. I remember being transfixed when I saw the movie version of "Equus" as a teenager, and I was greatly looking forward to this production. The play hasn't aged entirely well: the whole notion of the doctor who envies his patient's "passion" when in fact the kid is frickin' miserable is outmoded, to be sure. But Richard Griffiths gives a nicely understated performance as the doctor, and Daniel Radcliffe acquits himself quite well as the troubled boy. He's got some growing to do as a stage actor, and his performance could use a level or two beyond on-and-off. But the play embodies a sheer theatricality that we don't see all that much of anymore on Broadway, and overall the production lives up to the hype.

All My Sons: Speaking of hype, you may also have heard that Mrs. Tom Cruise is making her Broadway debut this season in Arthur Miller's secondary tragedy, All My Sons. I frankly didn't care a whit about the presence of Katie Holmes; I was a lot more interested in seeing John Lithgow, Dianne Wiest, and Patrick Wilson. I saw the show early in previews, and let's just say it wasn't soup yet. Director Simon McBurney hadn't yet achieved the emotional balance necessary to turn Miller's somewhat overwrought potboiler into compelling emotional drama. Ms. Holmes does a lot of screaming, and the rest of the cast seems to be taking her cue and screaming right back. Plus, the set is hideous, comprising a square of Astroturf and some often inscrutable projections.

To Be or Not to Be: The Manhattan Theater Club's pointless stage version of the 1942 movie "To Be or Not to Be" was easily the least distinguished production of my play-ful weekend. There's a handful of decent performances in the production, including Jan Maxwell as theater diva Maria Tura, but the play doesn't do anything that the movie doesn't. It's not as though they've added song and dance to make it into a musical. And unlike The 39 Steps, this isn't an imaginative reconception but rather a somewhat literal translation. Over the weekend, I kept toying with notion of blowing TBONTB off and catching the last performance of the recently closed Xanadu. I should have gone with my instinct.

13 on Broadway: Teen Angst in Song Form

I recently saw the Broadway version of Jason Robert Brown's new musical 13, which is currently in previews at the Jacobs Theater (formerly the Royale). When I saw the show at the Goodspeed, I found it promising but a tad earnest. (Read my review.) The creators have since made significant changes to the show, some of them very effective, others not so much.

One thing that is completely different is the set, designed here by David Farley (Sunday in the Park With George). At the Goodspeed, the show had more of a unit set representing a high school gym, with set pieces that rolled on and off. The Broadway set is far more literal and flashy, but I can't really say that it's more effective. Perhaps the producers thought that they needed to give Broadway audiences more visuals to justify the $111.50 top ticket price.

Composer/lyricist Jason Robert Brown seems to have made considerable changes in the score, which are for the most part effective. Act one seems more streamlined, getting to the core action of the show more efficiently. The book by Dan Elish and Robert Horn contains much that is really true-to-life, and some very funny one-liners, a few of which were a bit too sophisticated to be coming from the mouths of babes. There are also some really edgy/questionable jokes that might not go over too well with some of the PC New Yorker crowds.

I saw the show early in previews, and at that point it seemed that director Jeremy Sams had quite a few spots in the show that needed focus and tightening, in particular the opening number and the opening of Act 2. The last number in Act 1, "Here I Come," also needed attention. It takes place in the lobby of the cineplex where the characters in the show have just seen a slasher horror film, and the character Evan is surrounded by all these video-game machines (which doubtless made a dent in the show's production budget). Well, of course, the games figure into the business of the number, but it's not really organic. Then the cast launches into this (presumably fantasy) "You Got Served" dance sequence, in which the Evan character challenges his adversaries to this inscrutable dance off. It really had me scratching my head.

The show still has a rather condescending attitude toward Indiana. In fact, the creators have added a song called "The Lamest Place on Earth," which is actually a pretty good song, although the bridge is dull. And speaking of lame, "What It Means to Be a Friend" still has a horribly cliched title, but it makes for a nice moment in the show, mostly due to the talented young actress playing Patrice, one Allie Trimm. Other standouts in the cast include the deliciously evil Elizabeth Gillies as the plotting Lucy, and the endearing Aaron Simon Gross as Evan's wisecracking (and terminal) sidekick.

I saw 13 at a Saturday matinee, so I got to see Corey Snide as the central character Evan. Snide doesn't look the least bit Jewish, and he acts way too much with his hands, but he's a great dancer, which is to be expected since he's played the title character in Billy Elliot in London and Australia. One of the highlights of the show is Christopher Gattelli's dynamic choreography, which nicely captures the countenance and attitude of contemporary teens. 

The creators seem to know that Gattelli's choreography will be one of the show's main selling points, so they've added a coda after the curtain call, which wasn't listed in the program, apparently called "Brand New You." (I'm guessing based on the lyrics.) The song is superfluous but inoffensive, and it does give some of the supporter players a chance to show off their vocal and tap-dancing skills. But I think it comes dangerously close to the concert that the producers of Grease added to the end of the show to give "American Idol" winner Taylor Hicks something else to do in the show besides just "Beauty School Dropout."

On the whole, 13 is an energetic and enjoyable show. It's certainly not perfect, but I'd much rather have kids flocking to see 13 than Legally Blonde or High School Musical on Stage.

What's That Smell? Two Great Actors at Their Best

Over the past weekend, in addition to seeing Enter Laughing (see my review below), I also took in 13 and What's That Smell: The Music of Jacob Sterling. Look for my review of 13 later in the week.

What's That Smell, which recently extended its run through October 5th, is a self-described satire charting "the career of eternally up-and-coming (and fictitious) musical-theater composer Jacob Sterling." The show is the brainchild of David Pittu, an intense and disciplined performer who was one of the best things about Lovemusik, despite Hal Prince's AWOL direction and Patricia Birch's awkward choreography.

As for What's That Smell, which is co-directed by Pittu and Neil Pepe, artistic director of the Atlantic Theater Company, here we have yet another show focused on celebrating musical-theater minutia and making gentle fun of the form. It's not quite as insider-y as [title of show], nor as consistently funny as The Drowsy Chaperone, nor as sharply satirical as Urinetown. But WTS nonetheless makes for an engaging evening, the main attractions of which are two razor-sharp characterizations by actors at the top of their form. The Atlantic's intimate Stage 2 on 16th Street is the perfect place to experience these talented actors.

Pittu is a wonder to watch, bringing an almost demonic intensity to his portrayal of the self-absorbed and utterly clueless Sterling. Matching Pittu in crafting a remarkably comprehensive characterization is Peter Bartlett as the host of a musical-theater chat show that provides a framing device for showcasing Sterling's hapless body of work. The veteran Bartlett only recently came to my attention as a replacement cast member in The Drowsy Chaperone, in which he was disappointingly indistinct as Underling. Bartlett also appeared in the short-lived reworking of The Frogs, which I didn't get to see, but Bartlett is a remarkable presence on the cast recording as Pluto.

As for What's That Smell as a show, well, it's admittedly hard to sustain deliberately bad writing, so it's probably a good thing that the show is only 75 minutes long. WTS draws a few too many of its considerable laughs from the same wells. Running gags include unlikely sources for musical ideas ("Private Benjamin," "La Femme Nikita," etc.) and a succession of risible acronyms (e.g. CLOT = Composers and Lyricists of Tomorrow).

The show also tosses barbs at stunt casting, the commercialization of Broadway theater, and consumerism in general. In the show, the Jacob Sterling character is working on a show called Shopping Out Loud, in which individual store chains underwrite their sections of the show, providing audience members with a store discount when they present their ticket stubs. Pittu also throws in an attempt at making fun of people who use 9/11 to inject ready-made pathos into their art. The overall effect is fun but unremarkable, an amusing trifle that showcases two terrific performers.

A Chorus Line Tour: For Mature Audiences?

Before I talk about the Boston stop of national tour of A Chorus Line, I need to address a major factor that definitely influenced my mood and may have affected my attitude toward the production. The night that I saw the show, there were hundreds of inner-city children in attendance as part of the Marilyn Rodman Theatre for Kids program, sponsored by Suffolk Construction. First, I want to say that I applaud every effort to engage children in the theatrical arts. I commend both organizations for their worthy efforts, and strongly encourage them to continue.

It would be great if, as part of providing an entree into the theater for these kids, that the organizations also educated them on proper theater behavior. The kids talked non-stop throughout the show, and there was a constant rustling of plastic bags as they enjoyed their snacks of choice. A Chorus Line has no intermission, and the kids were frequently getting up to go to the bathroom.

Also, I have to wonder if anyone involved had actually seen A Chorus Line before. There's a lot of saucy language, and the kids giggled every time someone said a dirty word, even if it wasn't meant to be funny. This was particularly distracting during Paul's monologue, which prompted hoots and cries of "Gross!" as Paul described his experiences with lecherous older men and forays into drag performance.

Again, I heartily applaud efforts to introduce children to the theater, but I would respectfully suggest that the parties involved choose the shows more carefully. The national tours of Legally Blonde and Spring Awakening are also part of the Broadway Across America series. Legally Blonde would be great for these kids, but I would strongly advise against Spring Awakening. I'm not trying to be a prude here: I vociferously oppose censorship. But the themes and language of this show would likely prompt inappropriate responses from the kids in attendance, and ruin that admirable and very serious show for others.

Anyway, about the show itself. When I saw the recently closed Broadway revival, I found it professional but bloodless. (Read my review.) Director Bob Avian captured all the details of Michael Bennett's original production, but none of the heart. Well, the current touring production makes the admittedly lackluster revival look good by comparison.

The strongest aspect of this production is the choreography, recreated lovingly by original cast member Baayork Lee. But while the dancing is crisp, the individual performances are forced and unfocused. There's no question that the people onstage are talented, but there's no clear directorial hand here to modulate and sharpen the performances.

Probably the most disappointing is Gabrielle Ruiz as Diana Morales, who crosses over the line from spunky to abrasive. Her attitude towards Zach, the director character, is far too confrontational and disrespectful. She'd never get away with being that in-your-face with this guy. Likewise unsatisfying was Kevin Santos as Paul, who seems to have passed Melodrama 101 with flying colors. Crying onstage is admittedly difficult, but Santos doesn't seem to know how to do it convincingly. Natalie Elise Hall was similarly over-the-top as Val, but she brought an impish sort of porn star charm, and some original touches, to "Dance Ten Looks Three." 

A Chorus Line is unquestionably a landmark show, and the current touring production is probably fine for people who have never seen it. But I guess I'm going to have to give up on expecting any production to even come close to the power and impact of my initial experience with the show. I was thirteen when I saw the first touring production in Boston. I was riveted by the powerful score, the electrifying dance, and the deeply personal stories that the show portrayed. I also saw my first gay role models. Granted, they were a bit stereotypical and pathetic, but they were gay, and I knew then that I was, too. As I sat crying silently in the dark of the Shubert Theater, I felt a sense of welcome, a sense that this was where I belonged. As I watched the show last night at the Opera House, I thought perhaps there might be some other thirteen-year-old boy in the audience who was having a similar experience to mine.

And suddenly I wasn't so irritated anymore.

A Tale of Two Cities: Oh, the Humanity

Attention producers: the very desirable Al Hirshfeld Theater will likely be available sometime very soon. Barring any unforeseen miracle, current tenant A Tale of Two Cities is likely not long for this world. In a recent New York Post column, Michael Riedel refers to the show as being "bad-mouthed into an early grave." Keep in mind that this is the same man who referred to Cry-Baby as a possible "sleeper hit," and to the soon-to-open Fela as his pick for "this season's terrain-changer." (See my Fela review below. My take: Not so much.) 

But, at least in the case of A Tale of Two Cities, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that Riedel is probably right. Of course, I could be wrong. (It's happened before.) But I can't imagine that, once the reviews are out, anyone will be lining up to see this derivative drivel. And it's not like they're lining up now, either: the show has played to a little over two-thirds capacity for its two weeks of previews so far, and its average ticket price is has been less than $60. So, yeah, people are lining up, but at TKTS.

Some might say that the problem is that the creators have jumped onto the Les Misérables bandwagon about two decades too late. But there's another problem: the show sucks. Not as much as, say, Lestat or The Pirate Queen, perhaps, but enough to make Jekyll and Hyde look good by comparison. At first, as I sat watching A Tale of Two Cities, I couldn't help thinking of it as Les Miz light. But by the end of the show, the "light" moniker no longer seemed appropriate: although the show clocked in at an hour shorter than Les Miz, it felt about an hour longer.

Most of the blame must, of course, fall at the feet of triple-threat author Jill Santoriello, who supplied the book, music, and lyrics. It's admirable that Santoriello aimed so high, but in retrospect she might have benefited from some more seasoned assistance. Her banal dialog, a gross disservice to Dickens, is peppered liberally with hoary and anachronistic one-liners like something out of "Happy Days," and, no, I'm not talking Beckett here. Warren Carlyle's broad direction and staging certainly don't do Santoriello's words any favors.

As for Santoriello's music, well, it mostly comprises virtually tuneless recitative, undistinguished ballads, and bland drinking songs. I will admit that there were a few tunes that stuck in my head, but mostly because I had heard them before. Santoriello appears to have subconsciously lifted a melody or two from Andrew Lloyd Webber. (How's that for irony?) One motif comes directly from "Growltiger's Last Stand" in Cats. ("Growltiger had no eye or ear for aught but Griddlebone...")

I will concede that A Tale of Two Cities has a compelling story to tell, but only because we're dealing with Dickens, for heaven's sake. Even so, the big-picture plot points in the musical are cloudy: the motivation for the entire French Revolution would appear to have been the death of one child. And it's not entirely clear why the mob decides to storm the Bastille. As for the storyline itself, Satoriello employs clumsy, plodding expository techniques to relay key developments. "Did you hear, Carton? The Jujamcyns are already looking for another tenant for the Hirshfeld," and the like.

As is true of most musical disasters, there are some talented performers in the mix, including Greg Edelman, (whose wife Carolee Carmello was one of the only things worth watching in Lestat), Aaron Lazar, and James Barbour, but the most professional thing on stage is Tony Walton's economical yet visually impressive set, a modular wonder that sets an ominous tone. Unfortunately, the portent that looms over A Tale of Two Cities is its all-too-likely imminent demise. It makes me wonder how many of the reviews will feature some variant on "The worst of times" in their headlines. 

Bets, anyone?

Xanadu: Third Time's the Charm

You know it's been a bad theater weekend when the best show you saw is one that you've already seen. Twice. I started my recent NYC jaunt with the new Off Broadway musical Fela, and was not impressed. (See my review below.) Next I took in the new Broadway tuner A Tale of Two Cities and was pert near horrified. (Look for my review later in the week.)

Fortunately, as a palate cleanser, I had secured a ticket to the sold-out Saturday night performance of Xanadu, a show of which I continue to be an ardent fan, mostly for Douglas Carter Beane's riotous book and for the show's incandescent cast of Broadway's best. In fact, Xanadu is the first Broadway production I've ever seen three times. 

As much as I love the show, I was concerned when Whoopi Goldberg joined the cast. I'm all for stunt casting, if it keeps a good show running, and if it works within the context of the show. But I was worried that Whoopi would upstage or detract from the rest of the cast. Plus I wasn't sure that the people who came just to see Whoopi would be satisfied: Calliope is only a supporting role.

Well, I'm happy to report that Whoopi's stint appears to have been, at the very least, a financial success for Xanadu. Since the Tony Awards in June, the show's grosses had been rising steadily, but they topped the $300,000 mark for the first time after Whoopi joined the cast in July. It's not clear whether that momentum will continue when she leaves on September 7th, or whether things will settle back to their pre-Tony levels. Perhaps the folks who came to see Whoopi but were impressed by the show itself will generate positive word of mouth. We'll see.

As for Whoopi's performance, well, it could have been a lot worse. (Brought to you by the Department of Damning With Faint Praise.) She's actually a strong, if unrefined, singer, but she didn't quite fit in with the arch style of he rest of the cast. She did bring a certain undeniable Whoopi-ness to her line readings: Beane even changed a few of Calliope's lines to accommodate her presence, and most of them were quite funny. Although Whoopi clearly knew all the choreography, she executed it with a definite sense of marking, as if to say "You don't really expect me to dance like the rest of these people, do you?" 

On a side note, Beane has also changed one of the lines in the show that made reference to Les Misérables, which was playing at the Broadhurst across the street last year when Xanadu opened. Now it's a joke about Gypsy. The Melpomene character makes reference to the fact that, at this point in the show, Patti LuPone hasn't even alienated her first daughter. I wonder if, when Equus opens at the Broadhurst, whether Beane will change the line to something like "Harry Potter hasn't even taken his clothes off yet..."

Fela: Fervent But Flawed

One of the things we learned from the recently closed but admirable Passing Strange is that sometimes, when neophytes make forays into musical theater, they can bring fresh insights and innovations to the form.

Other times, we get Fela, a well meaning but tragically flawed new musical that opens September 4th at the 37 Arts theater complex in New York, and plays through September 21st. Fela proposes to tell the story of Nigerian recording artist and activist Fela Anikulapo Kuti. Fela's life and his music reveled in both the celebratory and the revolutionary. Would that the show that director/choreographer/conceiver/librettist Bill T. Jones (Spring Awakening) and co-librettist Jim Lewis have put together were worthy of Fela's passionate life and exuberant music.

Chief among the show's failings is primitive storytelling. The Fela character, played here by the formidable Sahr Ngaujah, relates the plot entirely through narration. Despite a talented cast of 18, no one else speaks a single word, that I can recall, at least not as part of the script. Jones and Lewis fill in plot holes with projected supertitles, another atavistic technique, useful for illuminating song lyrics, but rather inert when it comes to relating key plot points. The staff also print a Fela glossary in the program, always a sign of indolent storytelling, reminiscent of the plot synopsis in the Playbill of Les Misérables.

Bill T. Jones's choreography is by turns joyous and angry, replete with signature Jones touches as well as idiomatic African movement. He really knows how to dress a stage and explore the limits of the human body. What he doesn't seem to know how to do is tell a coherent story, at least as evidenced here in Fela. Perhaps Jones is too firmly rooted in the often fragmented, non-linear storytelling of modern dance. It's also telling that book writer Lewis's only two Broadway productions thus far (Dangerous Games, Chronicle of a Death Foretold) were short-lived dance pieces, both crafted with director/choreographer Graciela Daniele. 

The first act of Fela, while unfocused, has a certain ebullient charm, but the second half grows repetitive and tedious. It also features one of the least entertaining, and most irritating, musical sequences I've ever endured in the theater. Fela attempts to communicate with his deceased mother, and the vexing result is a melange of abstruse stage business and blisteringly loud music. It was the worst thing I've seen onstage since the voodoo exorcism in Roza (after which I wanted to hunt down director Hal Prince, who was undoubtedly in the preview audience at what was then the Royale Theater, and do him physical harm). Any residual sympathy I might have had for Fela (the production, not the man) drained away during that unbearable sequence.

Whatever brilliance Fela might contain lies in Jones's fervid choreography, Fela's fiery music, and the show's cast of vibrant performers. What it lacks is coherent storytelling and sharp direction. The life of Fela Anikulapo Kuti was full of dramatic incident, modern resonance, and historical importance. It's unfortunate that Jones and Lewis weren't able to successfully render those elements onstage.

[UPDATE: According to Michael Riedel of the New York Post, Fela has a capitalization of about $1 million, which it hasn't a chance of recouping at the 37 Arts, but producer Stephen Handel is hoping for a significant afterlife for the show. There has been talk of moving Fela to a Broadway house, possibly Studio 54 under the auspices of the Roundabout Theater, or the Circle in the Square. If the show moves, I'll probably see it again, just to see what changes they've made. But I don't have very high hopes. Then again, I didn't much like In the Heights when I saw it at the 37 Arts, only to be pleasantly surprised at the show's progress upon moving to Broadway. So anything's possible.]

The Fantasticks: Why It's Lasted

Over my most recent weekend in New York, I also took in my first professional production of The Fantasticks. I had appeared in the show about...well, a depressingly large number of years ago, playing Matt, the callow young boy. The part was too high for me vocally, but I was the only one in our little short-lived theater group who could convincingly play the part. So I have a very special place in my heart for this show, but it's also a terrific piece, and I had been meaning to see it in New York for some time.

It hardly needs relating that The Fantasticks is the world's longest-running musical, having lasted a stunning 42 years in its original incarnation. The show received a 2006 revival that ran for more than 650 performances, and closed earlier this year. After a five-month "winter hiatus" ("Oh, no, we didn't close. We were just hibernating..."), the production reopened at the recently renamed Jerry Orbach Theater at 50th Street and Broadway. (That's right across the street from Wicked at the Gershwin, for those in need of a landmark.) Orbach, as you may know, originated the part of El Gallo in the original production of The Fantasticks, which makes the name of this theater a fitting and moving tribute to a beloved performer.

From the opening of the delightful overture, I found this production of The Fantasticks a non-stop joy. First, you're dealing with a near-perfect little gem of a show, with a deceptively simple story and a rich and melodic score. Tom Jones' book is nothing short of poetry, full of wise epigrams and witty repartee. And Harvey Schmidt's score is a multifarious wonder, all the more remarkable given that the "orchestra" comprises simply a piano player and a harpist. But that's all you really need: this show is a model of theatrical economy.

The current cast features a roster of seasoned pros and eager young faces who infuse the production with a sense of freshness, aided greatly by librettist Tom Jones's sharp and lively direction. At the helm as the narrator El Gallo is the wonderful Dennis Parlato. El Gallo is a part that all too easily lends itself to histrionics and bluster, but Parlato wisely eschews both in favor of an underplayed intensity that evinces both the menace and the magnetism that make the part one of the best male roles in the musical theater canon.

The delightful Gene Jones and Steve Routman, as Hucklebee (the boy's father) and Bellamy (the girl's father) respectively, add just the right touch of ham to these wonderful comic roles. Margaret Anne Florence gave the part of Luisa just the right mix of young foolishness and silly self importance. At this performance, understudy Jordan Nichols played Matt, and he did a fine job. Since Nichols typically plays the Mute, he's no doubt had ample opportunity to see the role performed, but his subbing the role of Matt gave Douglas Ullman, Jr. a chance to play the Mute, and Ullman brought a sort of omniscient intensity to a part that could easily be a throwaway role. 

So, if you're like me and you've seen all the musicals that Broadway has to offer, or if you're just looking for a wonderful time in an intimate setting, check out The Fantasticks. It really is a timeless show with a universal message ("Without a hurt, the heart is hollow"), and as far as I'm concerned, it deserves to run another 42 years.

Hair: Theater as Protest and Celebration

As I've been mentioning, over the weekend I also saw Hair in Central Park at the Delacorte Theater. On the bus ride down, I was thinking about how most of the stuff I'd been reading about the production was focused on the social context of the show, and not so much on the show itself. For me, it's always about the inherent quality of the piece. Musicals that are merely (or mostly) a product of a particular time and place don't tend to age well (e.g. This is the Army and World War II, I Love My Wife and the sexual revolution).

When I teach my unit on the '60s in my course at the Boston Conservatory, I typically address Hair rather briefly. In the past, I've dismissed the show as a novelty, possessing a fantastic score but a sketchy and episodic book. Upon seeing this production, I've recognized that, while all that is still true, somehow these fragmented parts coalesce into a powerful whole, at least as realized in Diane Paulus' (The Donkey Show) dynamic production. Hair is unquestionably a product of its time, but it's also a stunning reminder of the power of theater as a form of protest and celebration.

Act one is a particularly piecemeal melange of sketches and songs, flowing with inchoate yet interrelated ideas and notions. The connecting tissue here is the choreography by Karole Armitage (Passing Strange), comprising swells and swirls of mass frenetic movement, only sporadically resembling actual choreography, and I mean that in a good way. Armitage's amorphous clusters emphasize the importance of the tribe, and mirror the parts of the show converging toward a larger purpose.

The prime motor of the plot - Claude's draft notice - doesn't arrive until a half hour into the show, but once it does, it brings everything, and everyone, together. For the most part, the scattered structure works, although there are just a few too many numbers that don't really go anywhere, including the admittedly lovely "Frank Mills," which seems to exist merely to cover a costume change at the end of act 1.

The first act culminates with a draft-card burning ceremony of sorts, which builds hypnotically to Claude's "Where Do I Go?," delivered energetically here by Jonathan Groff. One of the major issues I had with the show is that we're never really sure why Claude is torn about going to war. We certainly understand why he *doesn't* want to go, but it's never really clear why he makes the final choice that he does.

Act two is much more powerful and cohesive than act 1. It's still fragmented, but somehow the pieces come together and the action builds to an emotional and satisfying climax. Hair is one of those shows that doesn't really work on paper, yet on stage all the elements come together to create something extraordinary.

Will Swenson as Berger makes for an effective foil to Groff's Claude. Swenson has this remarkable stage presence, which works much better here than it did in the last show I saw him in, The Slug Bearers of Karol Island (or the Friends of Doctor Rushower). (Read my review here.) In that show, Swenson's undeniable magnetism was more of a distraction than an enhancement, but here he brings just the right balance of playfulness and vulgarity to the proceedings.

Another standout in the cast was Andrew Kober, playing the father figure and then the Margaret Mead character during "My Conviction." Although his part here wasn't very big, he really distinguished himself as someone worth watching. The main hole in the cast was Caren Lyn Manuel as Sheila. There's no question she's a talented woman, but there was something about her look, style, and countenance that didn't fit in with the rest of the cast. Her style was too modern Broadway, whereas the rest of the cast were firmly centered in the manner of the '60s. Her "Easy to Be Hard" stopped the show cold, but not in the good way. It was more like an "American Idol" audition.

The Public Theater recently announced that Hair has been extended again to September 7th. Although there have been rumors of a commercial transfer or tour for the show, I highly recommend that if you're going to see it, see it in the park. There's really no better place to see this powerful and important show.

Gypsy: Still a Knockout

I started my recent theater weekend in New York with a revisit of Patti Lupone's knockout turn in Gypsy. I'm still in agreement with most of what I said in my original review, so I won't repeat any of that here. Suffice to say, I still think that Gypsy is the best musical ever (this week, anyway), and that this production of Gypsy is the best I've ever seen. (Alas, I was not alive to see the original.)

I also feel that LuPone has successfully deposed Ethel Merman as the quintessential Rose. And that's some feat. I mean, has there ever been a role that's previously been as closely identified with one performer as Rose? Yul Brynner and the king, perhaps, or Rex Harrison and Henry Higgins. But whereas we still think of those performers when we imagine those roles, it's possible that from now on, when we think of Rose, we'll be picturing Patti LuPone instead of Ethel Merman. I know I will.

Those who know me will know that I do not say this lightly: I worship Ethel Merman. But there's something about LuPone's portrayal, nay, embodiment of the role that brings the role to a place that Merman probably never could have, no matter how long she played the role. By all accounts, Merman was a heck of a performer, but her acting was often rote or two-dimensional. LuPone's Rose is vivid, multifarious, and devastating.

LuPone's fellow Tony winners were a bit of a revelation upon second viewing. Laura Benanti seems to have grown nicely into her role. The first time I saw the show, I thought that she pushed a bit too hard in the confrontation scenes, but that her transformation from repressed Louise to liberated Gypsy was astonishing. Well, I'm happy to report that she seems to have tamed her excesses, while still retaining her glistening chrysalis qualities.

As for Boyd Gaines as Herbie, he was a revelation, too, but of a different and disappointing sort. Gaines seems to have broadened his performance a bit too far for my taste. He's still the best Herbie I've ever seen, bringing a smoldering slow burn to his character arc. But he's also mugging up a storm. It's as though at some point he realized that everyone else was getting the laughs, and he might as well get some, too. Here's hoping he returns to the modulated performance that won him his fourth Tony Award.

On a side note, it's interesting that the producers have changed the color of Rose's dress in the logo. The original design featured LuPone in a blue dress on a blue background (see left), but the new Playbill features the same color dress as in the CD cover above. Perhaps they changed it because the red dress stands out more?

Speaking of the CD, it will apparently go on sale August 28th. (What's the friggin' holdup, folks?) As previously reported, the new cast recording will feature a number of cut songs performed by the current cast, but apparently Barnes & Noble will be carrying an exclusive two-CD set that will feature even more material. Looking at the B&N track listing, it appears that some of these tracks will be alternate takes of songs from the show, but there are also dialog tracks and exit music. I've heard the tracks from the Tony preview tape, and this recording, in whatever form you choose to obtain it, is looking like a must-have.

[title of show] an insular joy

I was thrilled to hear that the plucky little musical [title of show] would be headed to Broadway. I missed the show in its previous incarnations, so I was glad to have the chance to see it in its newly revised, ready-for-the-big-time form.

I inadvertently bought a ticket to the very first [tos] preview, which turned out to be quite a thrill and a bit of an annoyance at the same time. While it was great to experience the unbridled enthusiasm of all the hardcore [tos]-sers in attendance, the piercing shrieks did tend to grate. At the very top of the show, when beloved [tos] pianist Larry Pressgrove came on stage, he got an ovation that lasted two to three minutes. This was but a taste of what was to come: overall, first-night tosser enthusiasm easily added more than ten minutes to the show's running time.

On the whole, I loved the show, particularly for Hunter Bell's funny and fresh book, and for the cast of four incredibly appealing performers. I mean, what's not to love about a show and a cast that are as crazy about the minutia of musical theater as I am? Bell himself is charming and sweet. Jeff Bowen is more than just the hot gay guy (to Bell's adorable, aw-shucks, teddy-bear gay guy), he's also very personable, and a talented composer to boot. And Heidi Blickenstaff and Susan Blackwell are just about the best darned hags you could imagine. Blackwell has a hysterical deadpan delivery, and Blickenstaff is the resident brassy belter, a role she handles with great aplomb. On the whole, this wonderful cast of four comprise the kind of people you'd really like to be friends with: smart and funny, but at the same time genuine and vulnerable.

Much as I adored [title of show], I do have a few quibbles with Bowen's lyrics. For someone whom the show portrays as a grammatical nitpicker, Bowen doesn't seem all that fastidious when it comes to prosody and scansion. His lyrics often place the em-PHA-sis on the wrong syl-LAB-le. (e.g. "CRE-ating a vehicle" "Car-RIE," "mar-RY," etc.) Granted, this is a pet peeve of mine, but he also doesn't seem too particular about consistent meter (i.e. he often throws in extra syllables to accommodate certain words in a line).

[Oh, and a grammatical note to Bowen: There's absolutely nothing wrong with ending a sentence with a preposition. That's an old grammatical wives' tale that no current grammar maven of note really adheres to, just pedantic English teachers.]

But on the whole, I loved [title of show], so much so I that went back the next day to see it again. It was great to experience the show without a theater full of hardcore tossers, and it gave me a better sense of how the show would play to a more mainstream audience. There were still plenty of the faithful in evidence, but a few of the lines that got an uproarious response the night before were met with relative indifference the next day.

As funny as the show was for me, the humor is very insider-y, making me wonder whether [title of show] will appeal to anyone besides theater queens. For the show to enjoy a long run, it will need to catch on with non-tossers. There's no question that little shows can make money on Broadway: Avenue Q and The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee are evidence enough of that. But both of those shows would seem to have more universal appeal than [title of show]. Of course, people said that A Chorus Line wouldn't run because the inherent drama was too specific to the theatrical community. How wrong they were.

Last week, [title of show] played to about 50% capacity, and had an average ticket price of $42. It's certainly possible that the $163,000 the show took in could cover its presumably modest expenses, but things are going to need to pick up if the show has any chance of lasting. I would certainly love to live in a world in which [title of show] would enjoy a long, healthy, profitable run.

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.

Boeing-Boeing: Return Trip Even Better

One of the best times that I had in the theater this season was taking in the revival of Boeing-Boeing, a middling excuse for a sex farce given a first-rate production by director Matthew Warchus. I somehow found myself convulsed with laughter, even as my logical mind was telling me that the play shouldn't have been as funny as it was. Since I saw the show, I've been reading the script, and although there's some clever wordplay, there's really not much on paper that would lead you to think it would be so hilarious on stage. 

So I decided to see the show again to see if it would hold up to repeat visits, and I'll be damned if it wasn't even funnier the second time. The expert cast of comic actors have settled comfortably into their roles, crafting even finer farcical performances. Christine Baranski was out for this performance, but her understudy Pippa Pearthree was just as good, although admittedly Baranski hadn't exactly blown me away.

Bradley Whitford and Tony winner Mark Rylance also gave performances that were satisfyingly on par with the ones they gave when I first saw the show. Rylance seemed to be adding business to his performance, probably to keep it fresh for him and to keep his fellow cast members on their toes. That spontaneity created an atmosphere in which everyone on stage seemed to be having a ball, which was terribly infectious.

But what really made this performance a treat were Mary McCormack and Kathryn Hahn, who have taken their already broad performances and made them even broader. Yet somehow it works, and deliciously so. This isn't the sort of play you can't really take seriously, on either side of the footlights, and McCormack and Hahn have embraced that notion and pulled out all the stops. Hahn seemed to sense the audience's approval of her exaggerated style and responded with more of the same. And McCormack was a nonstop riot from her very entrance.

The show is doing rather well at the box-office, grossing around $400,000 a week, which is pretty strong for a play. The average ticket price has been around $60, which means there are a lot of TKTS-ers in the mix, a fact I could tell by witnessing the cross-section of humanity in my immediate vicinity. A number of them talked a blue streak during the performance, and at least four of the people around me were chewing gum WITH THEIR MOUTHS OPEN throughout the entire show. Talkers I can deal with: You just politely ask them to cork their pie holes, and if they don't you get the house manager. But how do you delicately tell people to close their mouths when they chew? It's just such a fundamental element of manners that it's sort of like telling them they need to wear shoes.

But then at intermission, I overheard one of the cud-chewers talking about how Bradley Whitford was also in A Few Good Men on Broadway. "Wasn't that by that guy who did the TV show?" he asked his masticating wife. "You know, Aaron Spelling." Sometimes, if you wait, the universe provides you with its own satisfying version of revenge: blissful stupidity.

Bash'd: A Gay Rap Opera

Although many of the shows that I saw over the past weekend were revisits, there were three that I hadn't seen before. The first of these was Bash'd, which describes itself as a "gay rap opera." I wasn't sure what to expect, although I had read that the show was an attempt to co-opt the often homophobic medium of hip-hop to tell an empowering story about gay bashing. That seemed a bit strident to me, but this was one of the very few musicals I hadn't seen, and I was looking for something new to add to the mix.

It was also my first time at the Zipper Theater, recent home to the revival of Jacques Brel Is Alive and Well and Living in Paris, and Margaret Cho's The Sensuous Woman. It's a funky, sort of seedy space, with old car seats for chairs. Upon entering, I was informed multiple times that drinks were allowed -- nay, encouraged -- in the auditorium. (Uh oh...)

Bash'd tells the story of two "star-crossed" gay lovers from different backgrounds whose eyes meet across a crowded dance floor, and the next thing you know they're getting married. (The show is based in Canada, which is where the two stars and co-creators Chris Craddock and Nathan Cuckow hail from. And, of course, gay marriage is legal for all of our northern neighbors, not just those in a few ultra-liberal pockets, as we have in the states.) The show tells the story of these lovers entirely through rap, which is bearable -- even fun -- at first, but the meter quickly wears out its welcome.

When the show is focusing on the courtship and marriage of our ill-fated lovers, the show is amusing and often quite clever. Director Ron Jenkins employs some artful theatrical touches, not dissimilar from those employed in Broadway's The 39 Steps. But once the gay bashing comes on the scene, the show quickly veers into preachy, maudlin melodrama, without a shred of irony. There's no question that Chris Craddock ("T-bag") and Cuckow ("Feminem") are talented performers. But since they are also the show's creators, its failings fall at their feet as well. Their lyrics reveal a certain facility, but the deftness of their words is quickly overshadowed by the perplexing nature of the show's final message.

[SPOILER ALERT: Stop reading here if you intend to see the show. In order to fully explicate my views, it's necessary that I reveal what happens at the end.]

Since our narrators inform us from the beginning of the show that our lovers are "star-crossed," it's clear that we're not headed toward at happy ending. As the title implies, one member of the couple is beaten up rather severely by a pack of queer-hating dickwads. Gay bashing is a heartbreakingly important social issue, and one that certainly deserves attention.

But then the story takes on a certain "Thelma and Louise" vibe that muddies the authors' intent and makes the ultimate message of the show downright inscrutable. The husband of the beaten man heads out into the night seeking vengeance, and picks a fight with a group of straight guys, none of whom had anything to do with the original beating. Unbeknownst to him, his wounded husband has followed him, toting the gun that his well-meaning mother had given him when he left home to get away from his homophobic father. In a sort of West Side Story series of misunderstandings, the husband shoots and kills one of the straight guys. When the police arrive, the couple decide that rather than face jail, they'd rather die at the hands of the police, and they raise the gun to shoot at the police, and are instead both shot dead.

Normally, I wouldn't go into such detail, and ruin the ending of the show, but I'm at a loss to explain exactly what the message is here. Is it, "Here's what could happen if we don't stop the gay bashing"? Or is it, "If you do get bashed, don't pick a fight with straights in case your husband has followed you with a gun"? How is this supposed to be empowering? In a blind rage, our heroes fight back and are killed in the process. What exactly are we to take away from that? Although Bash'd starts out promising, it quickly dissipates that promise with a denouement that defies explication.

Don't get me wrong: this is very important subject matter we're discussing here. But there's a huge difference between having your heart in the right place and executing a show that does your noble subject matter justice.

Adding Machine: The Best New Musical of the Season

One of the highlights of my recent theater weekend in New York was getting a chance to see Adding Machine again before it closes July 20th. I was simply astonished the first time I saw the show (read my review), and I'm glad to report that the show holds up to repeated viewings.

And Joshua Schmidt's score, recently released on CD by PS Classics, just gets richer and more interesting the more I listen to it, and I've been doing so practically non-stop since the recording came out. I particularly enjoy trying to spot each motif that Schmidt has assigned to the characters as it recurs throughout the show, including Mrs. Zero's "Mrs. Twelve was sayin' to me..." and Daisy's "Darling, I'd rather watch you."

Director David Cromer had made a number of brave choices in putting the show together, such as eschewing applause breaks and casting...er...ordinary-looking people pretty much throughout the show. Another essential part of show is Keith Parham's neurasthenic lighting design, which does more than merely create a grim atmosphere, but rather punctuates the proceedings with stark slashes and staccato rhythms that firmly coalesce with the authors' intent.

As for that intent, Schmidt and his co-librettist Jason Loewith aren't afraid to portray Elmer Rice's downtrodden characters as stupid and bigoted, yet somehow sympathetic. The main character Mr. Zero emerges as a flawed but credible, three-dimensional anti-hero. "I'm like anyone else...What would you do?," he sings, as he confesses to the central crime of the show. Somehow, I felt for Zero, even as I said to myself, "Well, I was laid off recently by an asshole boss, but I didn't kill him. Much as I would have liked to..."

The show's performers maintain a high level of engagement and subtlety. Amy Warren as Daisy was particularly nuanced, giving every line reading what seemed to be a different spin from both the previous performance I saw and the recording. But they were all somehow equally effective. Warren is a marvel, fully embodying this woebegone drudge of a character. Also strong were Joel Hatch as Zero, Cyrilla Baer as his banshee of a wife, and a focused Joe Farrell as the intense and tortured Shrdlu.

Adding Machine is certainly not the feel-good hit of the year, although there seemed to be considerably more laughter from the audience this time. It didn't seem to stem from anything the actors were doing. Perhaps this crowd was simply more attuned to the comedy, or maybe I just don't fully recall the laughter from the first time I saw the show. I do have some minor quibbles with the production, including the inordinately long set changes. But on the whole Adding Machine is easily the most daring and satisfying musical of the year.

Passing Strange: Revisit and Broadcast News

Over the weekend, I revisited a whole bunch of shows, including A Catered Affair, Passing Strange, Adding Machine, and Boeing-Boeing. See my Catered re-review below, and watch for my Boeing-Boeing and Adding Machine reappraisals later in the week.

As for Passing Strange, my initial enthusiasm for the show has been waning somewhat as I listen to the cast recording. (Read my first review here.) The music doesn't seem quite as compelling upon further investigation, and I find myself increasingly irritated by the over reliance on assonance (rhyming "sex" with "cigarettes") and poor scansion in the lyrics (e.g. "un-DER your wing," "far lon-GER than you," etc.).

But since I had plenty of available show slots during this trip, I figured I'd take the show in again to see how it would hold up. Plus, it was one of only five shows with matinées on July 4th, and none of the others really struck my fancy.

Even with the limited competition, Passing Strange still wasn't able to attract a full house. In fact, the show played to just 37% capacity last week. So the show's probably not long for this world; I wouldn't be surprised if we heard about a closing notice sometime soon, perhaps this week.

Which is probably for the best, because Stew and Heidi Rodewald look like they're ready to pack it in. Stew seemed to be phoning it in, although frankly he didn't really seem all that demonstrative the first time either. The crowd energy was low; there were far fewer downtown alternativo types in attendance, and not that many African Americans either. The audience seemed mainly to comprise middle-class vacationers who got their tickets at TKTS and weren't really sure what to expect. The couple next to me left at intermission.

But the supporting cast was really on, perhaps because they're trained actors, not rock musicians. Colman Domingo and Chad Goodridge were particularly sharp. The dynamic Daniel Breaker was out for this performance, but understudy Lawrence Stallings was very animated and capable.

Even so, Passing Strange remains a bold work, one that challenges Broadway conventions and demonstrates new ways of approaching the form. For those of you who won't be able to catch the show before its imminent demise, Playbill.com reports that director Spike Lee will be filming the show for a TV broadcast on a cable channel TBD. Lee will reportedly record three performances later this month, two of which will have a live audience, and then edit the three together.

For a while there, it looked as though Passing Strange might turn out to be another Hair: a safe way for the middle class to experience the counter culture all within the relative safety of Times Square and the familiar Belasco proscenium. Even though Passing Strange doesn't seem to be catching on, the show's score is more mainstream than those of most Broadway shows. Ever since Hair debuted, people have been talking about how Broadway needed to stay relevant by reflecting changing tastes in music. Forty years later, it's finally starting to occur in earnest.

A Catered Affair: An Underrated Gem

When I got down to NYC yesterday, I was pleased to discover that A Catered Affair now has a Thursday matinée. This meant that I could see two shows on Thursday, maximizing my weekend show-attendance potential. But more important, it gave me a chance to see this marvelous musical again before it closes on July 27th.

I'm not entirely clear on why the producers would change the schedule so late in the run. Perhaps the show is especially popular with the matinée crowd, which tends to skew a bit older. But since A Catered Affair was the only Broadway show with a matinée that day, the theater was pretty full, most likely with discount-ticket buyers.

As I said in my original review, I saw a very early preview, but was nonetheless captivated by the show and its quiet charms. The production seems tighter now, and the performances more rich and dimensional. The various pieces have coalesced nicely since last I saw the show, emanating more humor and greater nuance. Director John Doyle has gone out of his way to avoid pat, obvious sentiment, crafting an efficient show that tells its story with very little ornament or pretense. It's really a shame that it hasn't caught on with the broader ticket-buying audience.

The performers are a marvel to a person. Faith Prince has tempered her tendency toward excess and evinces a very modulated and moving performance, although she does tend to scoop a bit too much in her upper register. Leslie Kritzer was again a model of restraint and honesty. Matt Cavenaugh was far more three-dimensional than before. And Tom Wopat is still a crotchety wonder as the frugal father with a really slow burn. Harvey Fierstein does tend to mug a bit (well, a lot), but he does it so well that it seems churlish to object.

I do still have some minor quibbles with the show. The blocking during the "Never Stop Saying 'I Love You'" song is still inscrutable. (Why does Ralph leave Janie in the middle of the scene, walk down the fire escape, and then continue the scene from downstage right?) John Bucchino's otherwise stellar lyrics fall victim to a cliché or two, and I spotted at least one anachronism: one character refers to a potentially prosperous situation as a "win/win/win," a usage that hadn't yet been coined at the time in which the show is set.

But overall, this is a lovely little gem of a show. If you have a chance, take in one of the remaining performances of A Catered Affair. It's not a splashy blockbuster, but it is a show with a stirring score, a humorous and heartfelt book by Fierstein, and a cast-full of moving performers at the top of their game.