Everything I Know I Learned From Musicals

Review - Soul Doctor on Broadway

Every few seasons or so, Broadway seems to attract a WTF musical. As in, "WTF is this doing on Broadway?" The kind of show that, even if it was any good, just didn't seem to have enough of an audience to sustain a commercial run. You know, Scandalous. Or my beloved A Catered Affair. One sucked, the other didn't, but where was the audience for either?

Now we have Soul Doctor, the latest in the ignominious line of WTF musicals, although the show's quality is a lot closer to that of Scandalous than that of A Catered Affair. In fact, Soul Doctor is pretty atrocious. But even if the show were a whole lot better than it is, it's hard to imagine there would be many people outside of the Jewish community, plus maybe fans of offbeat musical theater, who would have any interest in seeing a musical about Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach, a minor figure in pop music from the 1960s to his death in 1994. The show's tag line sorta says it all: "Journey of a Rockstar [sic] Rabbi." Is that supposed to attract rock fans? Rebellious Jews? Soul Doctor really feels like a show without a country.

"What about Fiddler on the Roof?," you might ask. Well, Fiddler was an extraordinarily well-crafted musical that transcended its subject matter and painted a compelling portrait that nearly anyone could identify with. Heck, I performed in Fiddler at my Catholic high school in the early '80s. Whereas Soul Doctor is a show only a Jewish mother could love, and an extremely forgiving one at that.

Soul Doctor features book and direction by Daniel Wise, with lyrics by David Schechter, plus music and additional lyrics by Carlebach himself, drawn from his considerable song catalog. For a show that purports to be about the power of Carlebach's music and message, there's very little that's transportive or inspiring about Soul Doctor. The overall tone of the production is dour and dreary, albeit with occasional moments of joy.

The book to Soul Doctor is rather diffuse, making the same mistake as Chaplin, another WTF musical from last season, in trying to tell too much of the story of a man's life and not sufficiently developing the events and people along the way. For instance, when young Shlomo is in still in Vienna, before his family is driven away by the Nazis, he encounters this person/life spirit/mythical being named Moishe, who exhorts young Shlomo to heal the world with song. Moishe is then summarily shot dead by a Nazi soldier. It's not clear who this Moishe is, nor why his words have such a lasting impact on Shlomo. And that's pretty much how the book proceeds, with random characters who enter the story, serve their purpose, then disappear.

Another of these characters comes in the form of a young boy who sings one of Carlebach's first songs in the synagogue of Carelbach's rabbi father. One of Carlebach's life goals, the show tells us, was to bring the message of God to the people through music that was more appealing to a younger congregation. Later in the show, Carlebach, played by the talented and sympathetic Eric Anderson, meets up with this now-older young man at a concert. The young man tells Carlebach: "You encouraged me to open people's hearts. So I became a cardiac surgeon." All that for a rimshot-worthy attempt at hoary humor, with which Soul Doctor is decidedly replete.

Most of the intended drama of Soul Doctor comes from Carlebach breaking free of the strictures of his orthodox faith, but the show focuses on these family conflicts at the expense of its larger goal: to celebrate the power of Carlebach's work. Indeed the show only works sporadically, mostly when it explores the unlikely friendship that Carlebach had with Nina Simone, played here with smoky intensity by Amber Iman. When Simone/Iman enters the scene, Soul Doctor suddenly becomes interesting, with a subtle dynamic of underlying attraction and approach/avoidance. This nuance disappears again when Simone leaves the story, and returns when she does, which makes me think that it's the actress and not Wise's writing that's responsible for the show's intermittent spark.

Once Soul Doctor actually gets to Carlebach's performances and the power of his songs, the show again catches momentary fire, but the spark comes too late, and there's not enough to keep the fire burning. The second act completely falls apart in a series of clumsy blackout scenes, ill-conceived (and laughable) dance sequences, and a mad dash to the finish. It feels as though the show was drastically cut at the last minute and author/director Wise failed to see that the pieces weren't quite fitting together. The effort appears to be in vain. Soul Doctor shows every sign of becoming a late-summer casualty.

Review - Matilda the Musical on Broadway

I don't know how my fellow critics feel about this, but I find it much harder to write a rave than to write a pan. I guess that says something about me as a person, but I think it's also sort of endemic to the critical process, at least for me. When things are going wrong with a show, I have a much firmer sense of what to write about: two-dimensional characterizations, inconsistent plot developments, poorly integrated songs, etc.

In my criticism course at the Boston Conservatory, I usually pass out my review of The Book of Mormon as an example of what not to do in a review. I basically talk about the show without really ever talking about the show. No specifics, very little support. On the plus side, you can definitely tell how I felt about the show: it was great, and you should go. But that's more along the lines of consumer advocacy than genuine criticism.

I get the feeling that I'm going to have the same problem with Matilda, a blissful joy of a show that recently opened on Broadway after a smashing London debut, under the auspices of The Royal Shakespeare Company. The show isn't perfect, as I'll enumerate below. But it's a tremendously fun and engaging ride that has stronger stagecraft, finer performances, a bigger heart, and heartier laughs than any other musical that opened on Broadway this season.

I actually saw Matilda twice, once during previews and once shortly after it opened. During my first visit, I was sort of unmoved by the first act, although the second act really turned me around. I think my lack of response to the first half may have been partly because I couldn't understand the lyrics to many of the songs, and also because my seat on the far right of the orchestra was situated such that I couldn't see a lot of what was happening upstage center, where quite a few significant events take place.

The lyrics remain a liability for the show: it's rather difficult to understand them fresh in the theater, and I had listened to the London cast recording quite a few times prior to my first visit. Although composer/lyricist Tim Minchin is relatively new to musical theater, I've been aware of his comedy work for years. He's quirky, clever, and hilarious is his numerous comedy recordings. But his lyrics for Matilda are often too dense for immediate comprehension, particularly in the opening number, "Miracle," and the act one closer, "Bruce." Both times I saw the show, the only words I could figure out during the latter song were "Bruce" and its numerous rhyming words. Minchin also exhibits unfortunate tendencies toward errant scansion ("go fi-GURE") and slant rhyme ("miracle/umbilical"). And those two examples are just from the opening number.

And yet, the show is a joy. The same things that would turn me against a different show I was able to overlook, especially during my second visit to the show. I still couldn't understand all the lyrics, and the slant rhyme and poor scansion certainly hadn't disappeared. But I found myself transported by the story (Dennis Kelly has written the book, based on the classic novel by Roald Dahl), as well as the smart and sensitive direction from Matthew Warchus (acquitting himself more than adequately after the abomination that was Ghost). Adding to the sheer bliss of the production are Peter Darling's sharp, angular choreography, as well as the stunning scenic and costume design by Rob Howell. 

I get the feeling that Matilda would still be a delight even without the present cast, and yet they added immeasurably to my enjoyment. As you may know, there are four different girls who share the title role. (Raising the valid speculation that the quartet will indeed receive a joint Tony nomination, a la Billy Elliot. Saints preserve us.)

As chance would have it, I saw Milly Shapiro as Matilda both times. At first, Shapiro would seem an unlikely Broadway waif, with a face that seems virtually expressionless during performance. (That's her on the far right in the photo.) And yet, her stoic countenance really seemed to work perfectly for the part: neglected and put upon yet endlessly resourceful. She's not your typical uber-animated little belter. Her otherwise passive expression made the moments when Matilda suddenly responds to the kindness of her schoolteacher all the more heartrending. When I saw that I was going to see Milly again during my second visit, I was actually pretty excited. There's something thoroughly real and disarming about this talented little girl. 

Of course, the performer who's getting the most attention, and deservedly so, is Bertie Carvel executing a deliciously malevolent turn as Miss Trunchbull, the evil school-mistress. Carvel more than lives up to the expectation that comes with the Olivier Award he received for the same role in the London production. He plays the kind of role that you, by design, instantly hate, and yet you can't wait for Carvel to come back on-stage because he's just so delightfully nuanced and idiosyncratic.

The supporting cast are no less strong, including the heartwarming Lauren Ward as Miss Honey, Matilda's sympathetic, and pathetic, school teacher. Giving performances that (almost) rival Carvel's for sheer scene-stealing and scenery-chewing vivacity are Gabriel Ebert and Lesli Margherita as Matilda's callous, obnoxious parents. Because, here's the thing: Matilda is so full of joy that even the villains are oozing with and old-fashioned kind of showbiz charm.

It will be interesting to see whether Matilda can amass the kind of momentum that The Book of Mormon has, or whether the initial fervor will peter out, as it did for Billy Elliot. Clearly, I'm hoping it's closer to the former than to the latter.

Review - Pippin at the A.R.T. in Cambridge, Mass.

In the arts-criticism course that I teach at the Boston Conservatory, one of the DVDs that I've had my students watch almost every semester is Pippin. This isn't because I necessarily like the show, but rather because it's a relatively easy starting point for my students and their developing critical sensibilities. Many of my students are musical-theater majors, and Pippin usually gives them plenty to think about in terms of what's worth praising and what's worth criticizing in a musical production.

And the verdict by consensus from all of those reviews over the years -- and I'm inclined to agree -- is that Pippin is, at least in its initial incarnation, a triumph of style over substance. The show has some really strong and memorable songs ("Corner of the Sky," "Magic to Do"), but it also has some really dull ones ("Extraordinary," "Love Song"). Plus, the book represents this muddled sort of bildungsroman that seems to be about...I don't know, the meaning of life? The meaninglessness of life? The importance of not falling prey to the ministrations of a traveling group of performers and their charismatic leader?

Pippin's original director and choreographer, Bob Fosse, seemed to understand that the show itself was no great shakes, so he set about reshaping it with his own vision, despite the objections of composer/lyricist Stephen Schwartz and librettist Roger O. Hirson. Fosse even famously banned Schwartz and Hirson from rehearsals to keep them from meddling. Pippin hasn't been back to Broadway since that original run, possibly because people were afraid to tamper with Fosse's vision, or perhaps thought that the show wouldn't work without the Fosse flair.

Enter Diane Paulus at the American Repertory Theater, a director who has demonstrated repeatedly (see Hair, Porgy and Bess) that she's not intimidated by the iconic status of certain productions or by audience expectations. Paulus starts by getting rid of the commedia dell'arte trappings of the original production. (Although the show includes a very clever nod to Tony Walton and his original logo for the show.) Instead, we have the rather unoriginal device of the circus tent and a band of acrobats to emphasize the notion that this is a tale that the players travel the country with, looking to tempt potential Pippins into their fold. To achieve her own vision of the piece, Paulus has teamed up with Gypsy Snider of the Montreal-based acrobatics troupe Les 7 Doigts de la Main (creators of the much-extended Off-Broadway hit Traces). 

For the most part, I found the acrobatics more of a self-conscious distraction than an additive production value, and the gleeful reaction of the crowd around me the night I saw the show seemed to emphasize this. I mean, we're talking about one number that's meant to depict thousands of people being senselessly slaughtered by the forces of Charlemagne ("Glory"), and people were bursting into spontaneous applause breaks over the admittedly impressive physical feats that were nonetheless upstaging the intent of the number. This was also apparent during "Simple Joys," a song with a lyric that I've never really been able to figure out:

Wouldn't you rather be a left-handed flea
A crab on a slab at the bottom of the sea
Than a man who never learns how to be free
Not 'til he's underground

Yeah, I get that the Leading Player is trying to get Pippin to agree to "star" in the players' nefarious show, but what do fleas and crabs have to do with anything? And the staging here for the number only adds to the confusion, with acrobats bouncing on large green balls, jumping through hoops, doing back-flips, etc. So that's what the simple joys are, huh? Rolling around on all those balls at the gym?    

The choreography for this Pippin is by Chet Walker, working "in the style of" Bob Fosse. Part of me thinks it was a mistake to retain this constant reminder that this production is based on someone else's vision, but to Walker's credit, he manages to put his own imprimatur on many of the numbers, and he's certainly not slavish to Fosse. The opening song, "Magic to Do," for instance, is staged here without the iconic white hands seemingly floating in space. The only segment that's a complete reproduction is the famed "Manson Trio," although the genders are reversed: a female Leading Player (Patina Miller) and two male back-up dancers. Also, I loved how Walker included a loving nod to Fosse in staging the orgy scene with obvious references to the dance from "Take Off With Us" from Fosse's movie "All That Jazz."

The cast here are decidedly mixed, although I must admit that, having watched that DVD of Pippin so many times, I'm a bit spoiled by the intensity and showmanship of Ben Vereen and Chita Rivera. Patina Miller lacked the captivating presence and sinister subtext of Ben Vereen, although she did occasionally find ways to make the part her own. Charlotte d'Amboise as Fastrada was breathless and flat when singing, and her dancing lacked Chita's sharp angularity. Matthew James Thomas as Pippin couldn't seem to hold my attention or inspire my sympathy, although that might be partly because of all the distracting activity in this production. But even when he was alone onstage, his presence was mostly rather bland, although there were some times when his gawkish awkwardness made him almost real.

On the sort-of plus side, we have Terrence Mann as Charlemagne. Mann found lots of small ways to make the part believably pompous and doddering, although his diction was extremely poor during his songs. I don't think I understood a single word of "War Is a Science," and then Paulus makes the mistake of speeding up the final verse to make it a patter song, which only compounded the issue, clouded over the point of the song, and buried Schwartz's erudite lyric.

The two key reasons to see this production are Andrea Martin as Berthe and Rachel Bay Jones as Catherine. Yes, Catherine. How many times do you see Pippin and have Catherine be the one who stands out? Catherine is usually as thankless a role as Hope Harcourt in Anything Goes or Sarah Brown in Guys and Dolls, but Jones brings the part a certain goofball charm and a strong sense of vulnerability. One of the highlights of act two was "I Guess I'll Miss the Man," a song that's often a throwaway, or even cut entirely (as it was from the DVD).  

And Andrea Martin is simply a force of nature, in everything she does really, but in particular here. She's the best thing in the whole show, and delivers her one and only song ("No Time at All") with enough focus, clarity, and professionalism to lift the first act out of its doldrums and propel the show toward the newly inserted intermission (after "Morning Glow"). Suddenly, I was transported, but Martin's performance only served to underscore what was missing from the rest of the production: focus and honesty. Thankfully, Rachel Bay Jones served this same function in the second act, but for me it wasn't enough. 

Full disclosure: I seem to be the only person in Christendom who didn't like this production. Most of my friends who have seen Pippin at the A.R.T. were thoroughly charmed, even amazed, and the local reviews have been strong. The show announced that it was transferring to Broadway even before the reviews came out, and the entire run at the A.R.T. is almost completely sold out. What can I say? The show doesn't quite work for me, and never really has, and Diane Paulus's production wasn't able to change my mind.

Review - A Christmas Story on Broadway

I love blogging. I love teaching. But they do tend to conflict with each other.

The two busiest times of the year for New York theater tend to be right before Christmas and then right before the Tony Awards in June. Unfortunately, these two times coincide with the end of the semester at the Boston Conservatory, where I teach full time. And, of course, school has to come first. (They pay me. Blogging doesn't.)

So, please forgive me, dear reader, as I start to play catch-up on some of the shows that I was able to see before final exams, but that I haven't yet had time to blog about. Two of those are unfortunately closed: Giant and Murder Ballad. But I do plan to weigh in on those shows, partly in anticipation of their upcoming cast recordings, but also toward the possibility of future productions of either, or both. I also caught a preview showing of the film version of Les Miserables earlier this week. Watch for my review sometime next week.

I figured the best way to start working through the backlog was to start with my review of a show that's still running, A Christmas Story. I must first confess that I've never really been a fan of the original "A Christmas Story" movie. I find it charmless and cloying, but I seem to be in the decided minority there. I also appear to be outnumbered in terms of critical response to the musical version, as the reviews were downright rapturous.

I think part of my nonplussed reaction to both the movie and the musical comes from the fact that I can't even begin to identify with little Ralphie in his all-consuming desire to receive a BB gun for Christmas. I also never really saw the tacky charm of the iconic leg lamp that the father receives as an award for a crossword contest. And the other iconic scene in which the poor young boy gets his tongue frozen to a flag pole seems not funny but cruel.

But, as I've said time and again, every musical ultimately comes down to execution, and I like to think that I went into the Lunt-Fontanne Theatre with as open a mind as possible. However, I found the whole production to be a distressingly run-of-the-mill affair, except perhaps for two rather buoyant production numbers. The staging for most of the numbers felt...well, staged. This was particularly true in "When You're a Wimp," in which the cartoon bullying felt as artificial as the snow decorating the stage. It felt as through we were watching a run-through and that at any minute director John Rando would step in and ask the kids to do it again, but this time really mean it. (Of course, this isn't really the kids' fault, but rather Rando's.)

As I said, there were two numbers that rose above the pedestrian, and one of those was, interestingly, "A Major Award," in which the protean and dynamic John Bolton, in the Darren McGavin role of "The Old Man," rejoices upon receiving the aforementioned leg lamp. The combination of Bolton's exuberance, Warren Carlyle's momentarily inspired choreography, and a whole slew of mini-leg lamps for the chorus, brought the father's joy to exhilarated life in a way that the movie never really did for me.

The other number that temporarily lifted the show above the serviceable was "You'll Shoot Your Eye Out," a fantasy sequence in which we are rather inexplicably transported from Ralphie's classroom to a speakeasy. (Is that really where nine-year-olds go on their flights of fancy?) Flimsy justification nothwithstanding, the number provided ample opportunity for the talented supporting cast to show off their tapping skills. I'm not usually one to respond to bald-faced showboating, but these kids were pretty sensational, particularly the phenomonal little scene-stealer Luke Spring, a preternaturally gifted little tapper. Simply amazing.

A Christmas Story represents the Broadway debut for the extremely promising writing team of Benj Pasek and Justin Paul, and I really wish I could say that their score here made more of an impression, particularly because their score to the recent Off-Broadway musical, Dogfight, was so strong. A Chistmas Story starts with a sprightly overture that promises much in the way of memorable melodies, but in performance the score just kind of sits there. I do, however, genuinely hope that we continue to see shows from Pasek and Paul make it to the professional stage. They're a talented pair of writers and have much to offer the musical form.

But, hey, what do I know, right? Most of the reviews for this show were positive love letters, and the grosses have been increasingly strong. I get the sense that we'll see A Christmas Story again in seasons to come.

 

Review - Bring It On: The Musical on Broadway

Like many of you, I'm sure, I was skeptical when I first heard that Bring It On: The Musical was to become a musical. "Great," I thought. "Another movie-to-musical franchise show." And we're not even talking a Steven Spielberg film or a Reese Witherspoon vehicle, but rather a middle-of-the-road teen flick that has since spawned seemingly countless straight-to-video sequels that aptly encapsulate the law of diminishing returns.

But then I heard about the creative staff that Bring It On was amassing, and I became increasingly intrigued: Jeff Whitty of Avenue Q on book, Tom Kitt (Next to Normal) and Lin-Manuel Miranda (In the Heights) on music, and Miranda and Amanda Green on lyrics. Plus, direction and choreography by Andy Blankenbuehler, also of In The Heights fame. That's some pretty high-powered creative right there, although as we know there are certainly no guarantees when it comes to musical theater.

Bring It On was initially announced as a touring production, with no specified plans for a Broadway run, but when the St. James Theater became available after the premature (IMHO) demise of Leap of Faith, the producers of Bring It On saw an opportunity and grabbed it. The show was originally scheduled for a three-month run, which has since been extended through the end of the year. The extension was no doubt a product of the enthusiastic audience response to the show, plus slowly building weekly grosses. 

And here's the thing: for once, I'm siding with the throng. Bring It On is an infectious joy of a show, well-crafted and ably performed. True, it has nothing on its mind that's any more complex than "Who's going to win the big cheer-leading competition?", but what's wrong with that? Youth-focused shows don't have to be dumb, or poorly crafted. Bring It On doesn't pretend to be anything more than it is, but the stagecraft, lyric writing, character development, and musical composition put the show head and shoulders above such uninspired movie adaptations as Sister Act and Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. 

The show starts a bit slowly, at least in terms of moving the story beyond the central female teen, Campbell, the new captain of the cheer-leading squad at Truman High School. Campbell, played with a winning and winsome charm by newcomer Taylor Louderman, begins the show with what are essentially two "I want" songs ("What I Was Born to Do" and "One Perfect Moment"), both of which get reprises within the first 15 minutes. OK, we get it. The kid wants to lead her squad into becoming the national champions. Do we need to say it four times?

But the show quickly broadens its focus to an appealing array of vivid characters. Bring It On is the show that Lysistrata Jones wished it could be: Lysistrata Jones was clever, Bring It On is smart. Both the story and the people who inhabit Bring It On have a fairly stock feel to them, but the creators have given them both depth and heart. Even the villain in the story (played by the marvelously perky and nuanced Elle McLemore) has a certain comic charm to her, although Whitty very wisely keeps us guessing until the middle of act 2 as to whether she's really plotting against our heroine or whether it's all in Campbell's mind. (Not unlike what Roman Polanski does in "Rosemary's Baby," if I may be so bold as to make such a seemingly bizarre comparison.) 

Bring It On also has a rousingly infectious score. From what I can surmise it appears that Kitt and Green have provided the pop songs, while Miranda has supplied songs reflecting his own particular brand of accessible hip-hop. It's a canny choice: the vastly different styles help differentiate the separate student populations therein, and emphasize the culture clash between the competing high schools. Among the most appealing of the songs are "Do Your Own Thing," which introduces the lead character, as well as the audience, to the culture shock that is Campbell's new high school.

And then there's the crowd-pleaser "Ain't No Thing," in which a transgender teen and his/her sassy friend instruct the spunky, hefty girl (the delightfully animated Ryann Redmond) on the joys of accepting who you are. It's really remarkable how off-handedly the show portrays the transgender character, acknowledging the difficulties, and yet allowing him/her to blend comfortably into the fabric of the school. Performer Gregory Haney adds immeasurably to this process by giving the character a fierce individuality that gets the entire audience rooting for this no-nonsense tiger of a teen.

One of the most pleasant surprises of Bring It On is director/choreographer Andy Blankenbuehler. His thrilling work on In the Heights was beginning to look like a one-time thing, after the ignominious misfire that was 9 to 5. Blankenbuehler's ebullient and idiomatic hip-hop style, which was so woefully out of place in 9 to 5, suits Bring It On to a T, and gives the production a joyous sense of effervescence. What's more, Blankenbuehler reveals himself as a sensitive and sharp director, helping the young cast craft indelible characterizations, bringing an exuberant theatricality to the show's presentation, and demonstrating a lively flare for dramatically effective stagecraft. Blankenbuehler may just be one of those choreographers who makes a successful transition to the elite club of theatrical auteurs.

Bring It On will doubtless enter the canon of shows performed regularly at the high school and college level, but you'd be a fool to wait. The Broadway cast and production, plus the fact that the show is still heavily discounting its tickets, make this particular production a must-see. Also, you're unlikely to see a subsequent production with cheering routines that are this athletic and genuinely exciting.

Review - Into the Woods in Central Park - The Public Theatre

The idea of setting by Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine's Into the Woods in the actual woods may seem, at first, to be a stroke of genius, or at the very least an obvious but cool idea. It certainly seemed to work two years ago in England when the Regent's Park Open Air Theatre presented Into the Woods al fresco to considerable acclaim. This summer, the Public Theater is presenting a transplanted version of that London production at its Delacorte Theater in Central Park. The directors are the same: Timothy Sheader and Liam Steel, the latter of whom also choreographs. So there was every reason to believe the magic would make the leap across the pond with them.

As reports came out of the cast members that this American version of Into the Woods was amounting, excitement among theater cognoscenti, and Sondheim aficionados in particular, rose to a feverish pitch: Donna Murphy as The Witch; Denis O'Hare as the Baker; Jessie Mueller as Cinderella; Gideon Glick as Jack; Johnny Newcomb in the ensemble. (Sorry, that last one was mostly exciting to those of us at the Boston Conservatory, of which Johnny is a recent grad. BoCo, represent!) And then, perhaps most exciting of all, came the announcement that Oscar-nominee Amy Adams would play the Baker's Wife. Suddenly, Into the Woods became the absolute must-see show of the summer.

The resulting show, however, was a pretty significant disappointment. I saw one of the previews, toward the end of the first week of performances, and at that point there was very little magic happening on stage. In fairness, there were still quite a few technical glitches in evidence, in particular with the sound system, the lighting cues, and vocal entrances during quite a few on the numbers, so I made allowances for the fact that the production probably needed some time to gel. But based on the critical response now that the show has officially opened, it would appear that, although the technical glitches may have cleared up, the main problems with the production itself remain: uneven casting and a decided lack of emotional power.

From where I sat (which was row P, considerably far away from the action), a huge part of the problem with respect to the show's emotional impact was the elaborate jungle gym of a set, designed by John Lee Beatty and Soutra Gilmour. The set comprises a visually impressive but somewhat imposing series of walkways, staircases, and balconies reaching 50 feet into the air. Directors Sheader and Steel spend so much time trying to utilize all the different playing areas that very little of this highly emotive show took place downstage center. Also, because of the breadth and height of the set, it often took a second or two to figure out where to focus, and the lighting and sound design didn't much help in this matter. In total, the production design had a distancing quality, which works against the very concept of the show.

The casting choices at the center of the show served to exacerbate this affective disconnect. The emotional core of Into the Woods should ideally come from the Baker and his Wife. However, Denis O'Hare and Amy Adams displayed very little chemistry, as if they barely knew each other. Their "It Takes Two" was all mechanical movement and forced conviviality. Of course, Adams is primarily a movie actress, but what works for the camera doesn't always play in a 1,900-seat amphitheater. Vocally she seemed to hold her own, despite sharping on some of her high notes, but she seemed to be constantly distracted throughout the show. (Perhaps it was the hideously exaggerated wig she was forced to wear in this production. Yeesh.)

As for O'Hare, it's beginning to seem as though he won that Tony for Take Me Out basically for playing himself; he really hasn't deviated much since from that mannered, quirky sprite that brought him so much acclaim. In retrospect, it may have been a mistake to cast Chip Zien, who originated the part of the Baker, as the Mysterious Man. Zien is laser sharp, with a radiating warmth that only serves to emphasize what was missing from O'Hare's performance.

As for the rest of the cast, the usually sensational Donna Murphy had at least three very noticeable lyric flubs, two in "Last Midnight" alone, but from other reports it would seem that Murphy gained her footing as previews progressed. Two major standouts were Sarah Stiles as Little Red Riding and Gideon Glick as Jack, both exhibiting strong voices, clear focus, and a wonderful sense of individual character. Ivan Hernandez is also strong as Cinderella’s Prince and the Wolf, playing each role with clear choices and a firm sense of the inherent comedy. Jessie Mueller, who was such a knockout in last season's unfortunate On a Clear Day You Can See Forever, has a decidedly individual take on Cinderella, playing her with much more of an earthy, grounded countenance than others who've played the role.

Another factor in the overall emotional disconnect of the show may have come from the fact that the directors seemed more focused on being clever than in bringing out the richness of the characters. Admittedly there's some pretty fantastic stagecraft on display here. The way the creative staff handle Granny's bed in the scene with Little Red Riding Hood and the Wold is pretty frickin' cool. Jack's beanstalk magically appears through the use of a spiral staircase and a bunch of green umbrellas. And the manifestation of the giant is nothing less than a coup de theatre. It's funny, though, all the clever stagecraft in Peter and the Starcatcher doesn't seem to impede the audience connecting with the characters, but with Into the Woods, I walked away admiring the production elements while not being particularly moved.

And then there's what seems to have become obligatory in modern musicals: the framing device. The show starts with a young boy screaming at his parents and being sent to his room. The boy enters the stage fulminating, and eventually he starts to tell the story of the show, seemingly making it up by cobbling together stories he's heard before.

Two problems here: first, the moral that comes at the end of the show ("Careful the things you say. Children will listen.") is rather sophisticated, and is even stated from a presumably adult point of view. (Note the word "children" in the lyric.) This makes it unlikely that the boy would come up with this notion on his own. Also, there's quite a bit of sexual innuendo and outright lewdness in this staging of Into the Woods, and I don't recall being quite that salacious when I was ten. (I must say that when we discover the true identity of the boy at the end of the show, it makes for a really nice surprise. But it would have been even sweeter if the proceedings leading up to it were more emotionally charged.)

We've recently heard reports of a possible Broadway transfer for Into the Woods. Perhaps in redesigning the show to fit in a Broadway house, the production staff could minimize or eliminate the distancing factor of the set design. Perhaps they could also bring in James Lapine to do some table work with the cast and help them find the heart of the show. I have to wonder if Amy Adams would transfer with the show; most likely she has movie offers awaiting her. But if she didn't make the transfer, would anyone outside the theater community want to attend?

Review - Newsies on Broadway

I hated the movie "Newsies." Hated hated hated it. I found it plodding, forced, cloying, and resolutely earthbound. My roommate at the time, Todd, has a father who's an actor, and his father appeared in "Newsies" as Robert Duvall's assistant or something. Todd and I went to see the movie together, and when we exited the theater, I turned to him and said, "If that movie kills movie musicals, I'm going to blame your dad. You know that, right?"

Well, "Newsies" did kill movie musicals, at least for a while, but I was big enough not to blame Todd's dad. (At least not entirely.) And, for me, "Newsies" has always been a sort of short-hand reference for bad movie musicals.

So, when I heard that Disney Theatricals was planning a stage version of the movie, I was understandably nonplussed. But the word from Paper Mill Playhouse was good. Really good. So good, in fact, that although the production was initially intended as a kick-start for a licensing property, Disney found itself with an unexpected hit on its hands.

A Broadway transfer became inevitable, and the show has become a smash, even garnering eight Tony nominations in the process. Does the show deserve its smash-hit status? Well, there's no question that the stage version of Newsies represents a huge improvement over the movie. (How could it not be?) In fact, if you separate the show itself from the hype -- and the squealing fangirls -- Newsies represents a reasonably entertaining, if somewhat overblown production.

On the plus side, this might just be Disney's best stage show ever, mainly because it focuses mostly on the story and not on visual effects or spectacle. Also, director Jeff Calhoun has whipped the cast into an energetic froth of high spirits and vivid characterization. And the cast members themselves are pretty darned appealing, led by the strikingly charismatic Jeremy Jordan as the central newsie, Jack Kelly. Jordan, who almost made Bonnie & Clyde worth sitting through, gives a similarly memorable performance here, imbuing the role with so much more personality and vibrancy than the young Christian Bale did in the movie. And Jordan's singing is far superior to Bale's.

In terms of the score, the songs were never really the problem with the movie. They were just presented very poorly, both in terms of the singing voices of the cast and Kenny Ortega's leaden choreography. The songs actually represent Alan Menken at his most tuneful and some genuinely interesting lyrics by Jack Feldman. Among the new songs written for the stage show is an ambitious and engaging character number called "Watch What Happens" for Katherine, a new character, the female reporter who takes up the cause of the newsies and becomes Jack Kelly's love interest. But then there's "Something to Believe in," a ballad that's every bit as bland and uninteresting as its title.

Overall, Newsies is a charmer, but there are some considerable flaws. The abundant and strenuous choreography by Christopher Gattelli becomes a bit relentless. The dance numbers are so copious, and so in-your-face energetic, that it starts to feel like a competition for who can leap the highest, twirl the fastest, or do the most amazing series of leaps. Most of the numbers feature showboating acrobatics, and as a result the scrappy crew of supporting players eventually comes off a bit self-satisfied.

That said, the show certainly has its share of showstoppers, including the act-two crowd-pleaser "King of New York," a joyous tap dance for the ensemble. And the dance is, for the most part, thematically linked to the needs of the story line (i.e. not merely decorative), including the angry dance when the newsies go on strike and show their displeasure by stomping on their newspapers, a rousing moment that is nonetheless brazenly stolen from "Summer Stock" with Gene Kelly. (Watch the original number.)

(Oh, and a special shout-out to Boston Conservatory sophomore Jack Scott making his Broadway debut as a swing on this production. Because Gattelli's choreography is so physically demanding -- i.e. injury-inducing -- Jack has seen plenty of stage time, including the night that I saw the show. You go, Jack.)

The new libretto by Harvey Fierstein is full of good humor, but it's also full of holes. At least three of the show's significant characters disappear for huge stretches of time. At first, Fierstein seems to be setting up Medda, a female African-American vaudeville performer, as a significant presence in the show, but she basically sings one song in the middle of act one and never does anything else. Joseph Pulitzer, the show's antagonist, has one number at the top of act one, and then disappears until Act 2.

The seemingly major character with the shudder-inducing name Crutchie is missing for most of the second act, even though we're supposed to feel outrage and sympathy because he's been thrown into a home for wayward boys. Also, most of the newsies don't emerge as individual characters, but rather as a monolith of back-flipping urchins. Also, Jack Kelly has so many changes of heart in act 2, I got a bit of character whiplash. In standing up to Pulitzer, Jack caves and then finds his backbone twice in rapid succession.

As for the plot, the strike happens so quickly, and is resolved so easily, it kinda gave me the feeling that the creators were trying to leave as much room for the dancing as possible. Nevermind believable complications or a satisfying denouement: it's grand jetés and back-flips people want. As if to drive this point home, the show ends with a sort of dance megamix, recapitulating moves from many of the night's showstoppers. I guess that's fine, but the reprise of the tap number "King of New York" seemed kind of silly: at this point in the show, the boys haven't had time to change into their tap shoes, so we get a sort of muffled choreographic callback.

So Newsies is certainly not perfect, but it's undeniably infectious and entertaining. As of this writing, the show's limited run has been extended to August 19th. If the show scoops up a bunch of Tonys, you can be damn sure that date will change. One thing Disney has learned from its limited DVD releases: limit the supply and you increase the demand. But I get the feeling that Newsies will be hanging around on Broadway for a long time to come.

Review - Evita Revival on Broadway With Ricky Martin

How much of a difference can one performer make? That's the question I was left to ponder while walking out of the strangely lifeless revival of Evita that's currently packing them in at the Marquis Theater in New York. I had seen this production during its London run and was generally positive about it, particularly regarding the dynamic central performance from Argentinian spitfire Elena Roger. (Read my review of the London production.)

So, I was genuinely looking forward to seeing the production again, now that it has made the trek across the pond. There was, however, a bit of a bump in my road to the Marquis, as I was originally scheduled to see one of the performances that got "rained out," as it were. As you may have heard, the producers of Evita had to cancel two performances because the "deluge curtain," part of a theater's fire protection system, was accidentally triggered, which flooded the stage, necessitating a two-day clean-up process.

Since I was already in the city to see some other shows, I hustled over to the Marquis box office to exchange my ticket for another performance. Well, in my absent-mindedness, I chose a matinee performance, momentarily forgetting that the actress who plays Eva Peron historically doesn't do matinees. Which means I didn't see Elena Roger again but rather Christine DiCicco, the Eva alternate. DiCicco was never less than professional, and at times was downright impressive in terms of her energy level and vocal prowess. What she wasn't was electrifying, which Elena Roger decidedly was when I saw the show in 2006.

The experience put me in mind of seeing the recent revival of A Little Night Music both with Catherine Zeta-Jones (read my review) and then Bernadette Peters (read my review) in the central role of Desiree Armfeldt. With Zeta-Jones, the show was presentable but uninspired. With Peters, the show came to vibrant life. The cast was otherwise almost exactly the same, as were the members of the production staff. But Peters, like the rising tide, lifted all of the boats, whereas Zeta-Jones was more like an anchor dragging the show down and keeping it from achieving its full forward speed.

I genuinely hope to get back and see this production of Evita again to see if, perhaps, it was Elena Roger who made all the difference in London. That would also give me the opportunity to more fully put Ricky Martin's somewhat spotty performance as Che, the show's sardonic narrator, into context. Don't get me wrong: Martin is by far the most entertaining part of the current production. He's animated, engaging, mischievous, and boasts a genuinely strong and resonant musical-theater-quality singing voice. But he did frequently allow his mannerisms to overshadow his sense of characterization, and he noticeably flubbed his lyrics on more than one occasion. It was almost as though he was trying to make up for the lack of energy in the production as a whole. I got the sense that, if he had just relaxed a bit more and trusted the material, he could have been outstanding. (Parenthetically, I was very glad to see that, despite the fact that Martin is clearly the draw here, the production still gives Eva the final bow during the curtain call.)

But the more I think about it, the more I have trouble ascribing the listless nature of this production to the change in the central player. Something else seems to have been lost in the translation from London to Broadway. The production as a whole lacks focus and a sense of forward motion, and those deficits must fall at the feet of director Michael Grandage. The production remains visually impressive (with sets and costumes by Christopher Oram and lighting by Neil Austin), but the scenes and characterizations lack cohesion, as though there were no sure hand at the helm. Even Rob Ashford's choreography, which I found it thrilling in London, here seemed resolutely earthbound, although thematically the movements seemed more restrained and idiomatic than some of his more recent Broadway work.

One final note: it's really interesting to have the chance to see both Jesus Christ Superstar and Evita on Broadway at the same time. (Read my review of JCS here.) It's a sort of sobering reminder that, at one point in his career, Andrew Lloyd Webber actually made challenging choices and used interesting musical devices, mostly when he was paired up with lyricist Tim Rice. It makes me wonder what could happen if Sir Andrew ever teamed up again with a lyricist who actually made him think.

Review - Jesus Christ Superstar Revival on Broadway

The current theater season has provided me with ample opportunities for wistful nostalgia: Godspell, Evita,  Follies.  These were some of the recordings that I and other show-tune queens of a certain age listened to when we were first becoming obsessed with musical theater. ("Gee, Chris, there was a time when you weren't obsessed with musical theater?")

As I've sat watching the current productions of these shows (or will sit watching, when I see Evita tomorrow), certain musical passages have elicited warm rushes of memory, transporting me back to my teenage bedroom, with my LPs strewn across the floor, singing heartily along to the songs, imagining what the full Broadway stagings must have looked like from the production photos in the gate-folds of the cast recordings.

In some cases, the shows have more than lived up to the promise of those teenage memories. The most recent Follies, for sure, and Evita when I saw the current production during its London run. Other times, the memory has been richer and more artistically fulfilling than the production itself. Godspell and the recently opened Jesus Christ Superstar fall into that disappointing category. It may be mere coincidence that it was the two religion-based shows that appealed far more to my younger self than to the adult who has strayed significantly and irrevocably from the path. I think it has more to do with my evolving musical-theater aesthetic: when I was younger, I either didn't see or was able to forgive these shows for their dramaturgical flaws. Today, I'm not.

Regarding Jesus Christ Superstar in particular, here's the bottom line: individually, the songs are great, but they add up to an entertaining album, not a compelling stage show. The score represents composer Andrew Lloyd Webber at his most inventive and ambitious, back when Lord Andrew actually seemed to care and made adventurous choices. Note the interesting time signatures, for example the 5/4 in "Everything's Alright," giving the listener the subconscious impression that the title is ironic. Or the purposeful use of leitmotif, as in "Judas' Death," which quotes numerous musical passages from earlier in the show, including "I Don't Know How to Love Him." Even more moving is the use of the musical phrase that underscores the lyric "Then I saw thousands of millions..." from the premonitory "Pilate's Dream." Lloyd Webber repeats the phrase during the scene in which Pontius Pilate pleads with Jesus to assist him in saving Jesus's life, and the emotional callback is stunning.

(Interesting footnote: I saw this Jesus Christ Superstar on the same day that I took in How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying for the second time, and was reminded that the first six notes of the "Jesus Christ Superstar" title number are virtually identical to the first six notes of "Rosemary" from How to Succeed. And remember that How to Succeed was written about seven or eight years before JCS. Just sayin'. I have absolutely no larger point to make here. Nope. Just sheer coincidence. Yup.)

But if Lloyd Webber's music is more interesting than anything he's written since, Tim Rice's lyrics for Jesus Christ Superstar have aged far less well. The quips, the schoolboy snark, the anachronisms, which I found refreshing as a teen, in context work against the tone of the piece. For instance, during "The Last Supper," the apostles sing, "Then when we retire, we can write the gospels so they'll still talk about us when we've died." It's clever, sure, but it calls attention to the lyricist rather than revealing something meaningful about the characters. The show is also replete with slant rhyme: "fire/messiah," "fighting/riding," and most egregiously, "apostle/gospel."

The show also has detrimental holes in the narrative. For instance, we never really learn why Judas turns Jesus in to the authorities. We see him kvetch and moan before and after, but we don't really know why he did it. Now, someone might say that the Bible never really explains this either, and that this question has been the subject of debate for nearly two millennia. But Jesus Christ Superstar isn't a theological treatise. It's a musical-theater piece, and it would have been perfectly appropriate for the author's to fill in the blanks, as it were, to make the piece more dramatically compelling.

(Also, has "Herod's Song" ever worked? In context, it seems stunningly out of place. It doesn't help that Bruce Dow, who appears as Herod in the current production, plays the role like a drag queen in pants. I must admit, I've always really liked the song as a song, and even imagined myself playing the role, but when you're sitting in a theater and experiencing the score in order, the song is a real head-scratcher.) 

[SPOILER ALERT: I reveal a significant piece of staging in the paragraphs below.]

So, for a variety of reasons, Jesus Christ Superstar doesn't really work as a show. What about the merits of the current production beyond the words and the music? Well, director Des McAnuff seems to have returned to his Jersey Boys form after the painful misstep that was the most recent revival of Guys and Dolls. McAnuff makes a number of smart and additive choices in staging the show, particularly in the prologue, which compellingly evokes a sense of police-state persecution and establishes Jesus for what he most likely would have been at the time: a wanted man, a subversive figure, a danger to the men in power. McAnuff makes only one major misstep, during Judas's death scene. At first, it seems that McAnuff is content to suggest Judas hanging himself by having 30 pieces of silver fall from the fly space, which was extremely effective. But then McAnuff gilds the lily by having the feet of a dummy Judas suddenly appear dangling from the top of the proscenium. Which was extremely laughable.

McAnuff stages the show with a constant sense of motion. Unfortunately, this sometimes gives rise to some showboating dance moments from choreographer Lisa Shriver. (For more examples of showy, crowd-pleasing, and not entirely thematic dance maneuvers, watch for my review of Newsies in the coming weeks.) Some of the dances feature rather impressive but dramatically questionable ninja-like acrobatics, which seem decorative, superfluous, and ultimately counterproductive. What's more, a number of the members of the chorus were continually pulling focus, giving the impression of a number of regional performers who were clearly thrilled to be making their Broadway debuts. (I mean, bully and congrats and all that. But, "Don't pop the head, Cassie." Know what I'm saying?)

Most of the comments I've heard about the show focus on the cast, and there are certainly some standouts. Paul Nolan as Jesus has piercing eyes and killer rock belt, but there didn't seem to be much emotion going on behind those eyes. Josh Young as Judas Iscariot could certainly act the role, but his vocal technique didn't seem sustainable, although perhaps that's more a function of the illness that has caused him to miss quite a few performances. Young seemed to be focusing more on making the role of Judas believable and sympathetic, and less on the vocal pyrotechnics that typically accompany this role. Young did, however, appear to be very uncomfortable during the title number, and couldn't seem get into the groove of the music, although that may have been due to the tight, unflattering, bright blue Vegas tuxedo he was forced to wear in this number.

For me, the best person on stage was new to this production. As you may know, this Jesus Christ Superstar started at the Stratford Festival in Toronto, followed by a stint at the La Jolla in San Diego. Tony winner Brent Carver originated the role of Pontius Pilate, but dropped out before the California production. In his stead, we have Broadway stalwart Tom Hewitt, who has both the vocal and the acting prowess to bring this role to vivid life. Hewitt is simply outstanding, and it made me wonder what the production might have been if more of the performers had Hewitt's well-rounded profile of performance abilities.

Review - Once the Musical on Broadway

When I saw the new musical Once Off-Broadway at the New York Theatre Workshop, I found it disarming and sweet, but I had serious reservations about plans to move the show to Broadway. It's a lovely show, but it seemed a bit too delicate and small for Broadway. I had to wonder whether a commercial transfer was wise.

Well, the critical response to Once, which opened last week on Broadway, was almost universally positive. Downright ecstatic, in many cases. And, so far, the Broadway grosses for the show look pretty solid. So, what do I know, right? Well, for once, it seems that the critics and the ticket-buying public are rightfully in-sync, because Once is an unqualified winner.

I had a chance to see Once again shortly before it opened on Broadway, and, whereas I was charmed the first time I saw it, the second time I was blown away. I'm not quite sure how to explain this, except perhaps that the Wednesday matinee audience I saw at the NYTW was a tad listless, and this may have had an effect on the performers.

But the Friday night Broadway audience was all in, taking full advantage of the on-stage bar, and mingling jovially with the performers during the raucous pre-show jam session of Irish and Czech songs. There's no real start to the show: the action emerges almost imperceptibly from the warm-up concert. What follows is a refreshingly heartfelt expression of simple, honest emotion, but nonetheless brimming with human complexity. Once is a restorative tonic of simplicity amid the non-stop barrage of spectacle and glitz that most of the movies-turned musicals these days have to offer. (See Sister Act, Priscilla, Ghost, etc. Or rather, don't see Sister Act, Priscilla, and Ghost.)

The musical Once is, of course, based on the movie "Once", which was written and directed by John Carney, whose screenplay was adapted for the stage by Enda Walsh. The story is simple: boy loses girl, boy writes songs, new girl persuades boy to record his songs, boy and new girl may or may not fall in love in the process. Despite the seeming simplicity of the tale, the appeal here is in the richness of the telling and the characterization.

The subject matter of Once could easily have careened off into the land of the precious, but director John Tiffany shows a firm hand in keeping the interactions real. Choreographer Steven Hoggett aids Tiffany ably here with movement that not only propels the story forward, but is also thematically additive. Some of Hoggett's Bill T. Jones-esque hand-ography is a tad awkward, but for the most part the movement helps to drive the hypnotic build of the songs, particularly in the act 1 finale, in which the young man and woman at the center of the story (known only as "Guy" and "Girl" in the program) bring the young man's songs to an open-mic night at a local pub. It's one of those wonderful moments in musical theater when song, movement, and character coalesce into something genuinely thrilling.

It's interesting, but one of the things that really struck me about the songs to Once is that they are all diegetic: that is, the characters are actually performing songs within the context of the show. (The songs are mostly by Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová, who also starred in the original movie.) Now, according to musical-theater purists, scores that comprise a series of unintegrated pop songs shouldn't be effective. And this actually tends to be true. Witness the plague of "songbook" and "jukebox" musicals, and how for every show of this ilk that actually works (Jersey Boys) there are at least a dozen that don't, at least not dramatically (Mamma Mia, Baby It's You, Good Vibrations, All Shook Up). What makes the songs work in Once is that each number has a strong emotional resonance with what the characters are experiencing. Plus, they're just really good songs, seemingly simple, and yet rich in atmosphere and timbre.

I'm surprised that I haven't heard anyone denounce the whole "actor/musician" aspect of Once. Nearly everyone in the cast plays at least one instrument during the performance, and there is no pit band or off-stage orchestra, at least that I could see. I've heard many people decry director John Doyle and what they see as his "lazy" reliance on the same actor/musician "gimmick." Well, anyone who thinks actor/musicians are just a gimmick should definitely see Once. Whereas the idea of all the people in Bobby's life playing musical instruments in Company may seem like a stretch, here it makes perfect sense, partly because the characters themselves are actually playing instruments, but also because it adds to the communal nature of the piece. Should every musical have actor/musicians? Most assuredly no. But should it remain a viable option for other musicals? I'm thinking yes.

The cast members of Once add immeasurably to the show's appeal, particularly Steve Kazee and Cristin Milioti as "Guy" and "Girl." Milioti makes a stunning impression from her very first scene, bringing a heartfelt buoyancy to a character who could very easily have come off as forced and annoying. A major (and pleasant) surprise here is my old friend Steve Kazee. Long-time readers may recall that Kazee and I had a bit of a run-in a few years back when he was appearing as the Pirate King in an updated version of The Pirates of Penzance, called Pirates, which played the Huntington Theater here in Boston. (Read my review.) At the time, I expressed dissatisfaction with his performance, and said that it was beginning to look as though his "charisma-deprived" performance as Starbuck in the 110 in the Shade revival wasn't a fluke. Kazee contacted me and took issue with my observations.

Well, based on Kazee's performance in Once, I think I can safely say that he is an extremely talented man who was simply waiting for the right part to come along. Starbuck and the Pirate King are about larger-than-life showmanship. Guy is about quiet dignity and vocal expressiveness, which seem much more in Kazee's idiom. Guy starts Once with the wail of a shattered man, and as the show develops, we see him open up and begin to heal, driven by the inexorable force of Girl entering his life and imbuing him with a sense of purpose. Kazee handles this transformation with deceptive ease, and along the way provides a series of spine-tingling song performances, one of the major highlights of this all-around excellent production.

So, congratulations, Steve. I'm genuinely thrilled to see you in a show so suitably matched to your undeniable talents.

Contest - Win Two Tickets to Jesus Christ Superstar Revival on Broadway

As you may have read, two formidable cultural icons are making double comebacks on Broadway this season: Jesus Christ and Andrew Lloyd Webber. The former is represented by both Godspell and Jesus Christ Superstar, while the latter has Evita and...Jesus Christ Superstar.

(Click through on the Godspell link above to read my review. I'll be seeing both Evita and JCS later this week. Watch for my reviews.)

I've been hearing great things about the new Jesus Christ Superstar, which has played successful and acclaimed engagements at both the Stratford Festival and in La Jolla. My sources tell me that director Des McAnuff has breathed new life into the piece, which already features one of Andrew Lloyd Webber's most ambitious and accomplished scores, not to mention the sharp and erudite lyrics of Tim Rice. I'm eagerly anticipating seeing the show again, and greatly look forward to communicating my views of the show to you, dear reader.

Now, here's a chance for you to see the show yourself. I have here a voucher two tickets to see Jesus Christ Superstar. (The voucher is good for performances from March 27th to April 26th on Tuesdays at 7 pm, Wednesdays at 2 pm and 7 pm, and Thursdays at 7 pm)

Below are five trivia questions about the show and its authors. Answer the questions as best you can and I will randomly draw a winner from all of the entries with the correct responses. (You can submit your answers via the comment link below. Don't worry: I won't publish your comment until the contest is over.) The contest ends Monday, March 19th.

Good luck!

PLEASE NOTE: The contest is over and the winner has been notified. The answers to the trivia questions are below. Thanks to everyone who entered. --C.C.

1. Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice worked together on a number of shows in the early years of their careers. What are the names of their two other shows that have played on Broadway? [ANSWER: Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat and Evita]

2. Before they struck gold with their big commercial successes, Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber collaborated on a show that wasn't actually produced until 2005. What was the name of that show? [ANSWER: The Likes of Us]

3. Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber have collaborated, albeit infrequently, since they parted ways after Evita. What was the name of the show they wrote for Queen Elizabeth's 60th birthday? [ANSWER: Cricket]

4. What was the name of the song that Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber wrote that won them the Academy Award? [ANSWER: "You Must Love Me"]

5. What's Andrew Lloyd Webber's last name? [ANSWER: "Lloyd Webber" is ALW's technical last name, not "Webber," although one observant reader pointed out that "Lloyd" is actually ALW's father's middle name, and that "Lloyd" isn't historically part of the family's surname, but rather a relatively recent addition to same. So there.]

Review - Lysistrata Jones on Broadway

As you may know, the terminally perky little musical Lysistrata Jones closed this past weekend on Broadway after only 30 performances, despite a near-rave from Ben Brantley of the New York Times. The show moved to Broadway in December after a critically lauded run downtown at The Gym at Judson, only to discover that many of the same critics who loved the show Off-Broadway were far less enthusiastic when the show opened on the main stem.

Was it the change in venue that made the difference? Did the show work better in the funky gymnasium atmosphere than it did in the gilt-edged opulence of the Walter Kerr? 

Not for me. This may come off as smug, but I was one of the critics whose opinion didn't change between the two productions. I found the Off Broadway version of Lysistrata Jones inconsistent and unengaging (read my review), and my opinion of the Broadway production remains virtually the same. The only improvement that I noticed was the new logo, which is miles above the hideous, garish, amateurish logo from the downtown production. (Click through to my review to see the OB logo.)

Sure, there were changes to the show, but they were mostly superficial. The set design is far more lavish, and book writer Douglas Carter Beane seems to have updated a few of the glib topical references, but these added nothing to the effectiveness of the piece itself. With the Off-Broadway production, one of my key problems with the piece was that the score didn't match the witty tone of the book. But upon second viewing, the book isn't so much witty as jokey, replete with one-liners but lacking in any larger cohesion or significance.

In his book for Xanadu, Beane deftly maintained the unifying themes of playfulness and self-conscious irony. Here, the characters merely spout interchangeable quips. At one point, one character says, "The best theater is always a movie first. That way the audience doesn't have to worry about being surprised." It's telling that I can recall the line, but I can't for the life of me remember which character said it.

In this sense, Beane's book represents a throwback to about a century ago, when musicals were stuffed with topical references, irrespective of whether they had any relevance to the show. Off Broadway, one of the characters made a quip about Dominique Strauss-Kahn. Perhaps you can recall the name, but can you remember why he would have been topical during the Off Broadway run? No? Well, in its place, we have a line in which the title character taunts her boyfriend about the new uniforms for the cheer-leading squad, which she promises will make the boys "stiffer than Kim Jong-il." Both references are ephemeral, tangential, and indicative of the superficial nature of the humor as a whole. (Some of the jokes are already way past their sell-by date, including one reference to someone receiving Greek lessons from Kitty Dukakis. Really?)

That said, Beane's book is a damn sight more enjoyable than the show's score, by Lewis Flinn. Sure, Beane renders the anti-war message of Aristophanes' original Lysistrata meaningless by changing the motivation for the women withholding sex from their men. In the original, it's to stop an interminable war. Now, it's to get them to break the thirty-year losing streak of the college basketball game. But there are at least a significant number of laughs to be had.

Flinn's songs start on the fun-but-unmemorable side, but they eventually bog the show down as they veer away from the comic sensibility of the book and become increasingly earnest. I only recall laughing once during one of the songs: in "Lay Low," the basketball captain exhorts his teammates to rise to the challenge that their girlfriends have set before them by riding it out. "That's why God invented porn," he sings. Yeah, not brilliant, or particularly original, but it gave me a chuckle.

Worse, Flinn's lyrics are typically either generic or meaningless. During the song "Hold On," Lysistrata's burgeoning new love interest Xander encourages her not to abandon her chosen path: "Hold on. Don't let go. In the morning when the lights are low." Um, why would lights be low in the morning? Why would they be on at all? And, more to the point, what does this have to do with what's going on in the scene at hand? I must admit that the tune to "Hold On" was kind of catchy, and it remained the only song to stick with me beyond the final curtain, but I attribute this more to the bouncy nature of the song's musical hook than to its inherent meaningfulness. 

On the plus side, director/choreographer Dan Knechtges consistently found ways to make the numbers interesting, engaging, even exciting at times. Knechtges has a wonderfully dynamic sense of how to dress a stage, as well as how to find movements that exist within the idiom of the show. Particularly impressive was how he found ways to make the basketball moments seem believable without making them literal. I never got the sense that these were dancers who were trying to act like ball players, but rather that they were ball players who were also really strong dancers. (It would be interesting to see what Knechtges could do with West Side Story. Maybe, for once, we'd actually have some masculine, menacing Jets.)

Also, my heart goes out to the game and fresh-faced cast of Lysistrata Jones. Although I really wasn't a fan of the piece itself, it was great to see talented and energetic performers get a chance to show what they can do. Patti Murin in particularly was sweet and appealing as Lysistrata, as she was Off Broadway. Josh Segarra really seemed to have grown into his role as Mick, Lyssie's boyfriend, bringing a much stronger comedic sensibility and confidence to the role. Hopefully, we'll see these bright young performers, not to mention their equally talented castmates, on the stage again sometime very soon.

Reviews - Venus in Fur and Private Lives on Broadway

More blogging catch-up today. This post is about two (gasp) non-musicals that I saw recently on Broadway. One of these shows has already closed, but is likely to return later in the season. The other closes this week, about a month sooner than it was supposed to. In short: the one that's coming back deserves to, and the one that's closing early is no great loss.

Let's start with Venus in Fur, the smart, funny, surprising new play by David Ives. My only previous experience with Ives was in his capacity as adaptor for the Encores! series at City Center. Ives has the unenviable job of cutting down the libretti to the classic shows that Encores! presents in concert form, and the result is almost always a show with a book that doesn't fully set up or justify the songs. It's really hard to hold this against him, but it was my only previous exposure to Ives.

I had heard really great things about Venus in Fur based on its 2010 Off-Broadway run at the Classic Stage Company. In particular, I had heard that Nina Arianda gave a star-making performance, and after the show closed, I genuinely regretted not having had a chance to see her in the play. However, when I heard that Arianda would be taking on the Judy Holiday role in last season's revival of Born Yesterday, I went out of my way to make sure I saw that production, and I was oh so glad that I did. (Read my review.)

When I heard that the Manhattan Theatre Club would be presenting Venus in Fur as part of its Broadway season at the Samuel J. Friedman Theatre, I knew that I would be taking the show in, if only to see Arianda fulfill the promise of her word of mouth, and her terrific turn as Billie Dawn. I'm glad to say I was anything but disappointed. In fact, Arianda is a non-stop delight as Vanda, the enigmatic central character in this thrilling two-hander.

I'm convinced that Arianda is going to be a major star. She has such a strong sense of character, and a wonderfully appealing presence on stage. Performers with this much appeal come along very rarely, and if there's any justice, Arianda will grace the stage for many years to come. (Unless Hollywood snatches her away from us. If so, let's hope that she returns to us regularly, as folks like Hugh Jackman, Patrick Wilson, and Laura Linney continue to do.)

Arianda plays an actress who shows up two hours late to an audition. (Or does she? More on that later.) Arianda plays opposite Hugh Dancy, who is every bit Arianda's match as Thomas, the director/playwright for whom she auditions. Arianda certainly has the flashier role, which she handles with astonishing aplomb, but Dancy's achievement is no less noteworthy. The Thomas character is more subtle, but just as complex as Vanda, and Dancy makes the gradual transition from arrogant master to bewildered slave with deceptive ease.

The most satisfying thing about Ives's deftly crafted play is that you're never really sure, even after the final curtain, who is really who, or what is really transpiring between these characters. Much of the fun of Venus in Fur comes from watching the power dynamic shift over the course of the play, and in speculating as to what's really going on. Ives plants questions in the mind of the viewer, and wisely he never fully answers those questions. But, again, that's part of the fun.

As I mentioned, Venus in Fur prompted me to reconsider David Ives as a writer, but it also gave me new insight on director Walter Bobbie. I had long since written Bobbie off as a has-been, coasting on his success with the Chicago revival. I mean, my dismissal is certainly understandable based on his track record since 1996, when Chicago opened: High Fidelity, White Christmas, Sweet Charity, Footloose. You know what I'm saying here? But, based on Venus in Fur, Bobbie is back in my good books, at least as far as non-musicals are concerned. His direction here is smart, swift, and crackling. It's hard to imagine that Arianda and Dancy would have been able to craft such strong performances without Bobbie's guidance. Will Bobbie find a similar return to form with a musical some time soon? I'll certainly be on the lookout.

The response from critics and audience members alike to Venus in Fur has been sufficiently positive to prompt producers to announce that the play would return later this season for a commercial run. If you didn't get a chance to see Venus in Fur in the fall, do yourself a favor and grab a ticket. (Performances resume February 7th at the Lyceum Theatre.)

In the "no great loss" column, we have the latest Broadway revival of Noël Coward's classic comedy of manners, Private Lives, which plays through the end of this week at the Music Box Theatre. It's funny, but my response to this Private Lives was very similar to the way I reacted to the current Anything Goes: I enjoyed both shows while I was in the theater, but the productions really haven't stayed with me, the way that previous productions of each of these shows have. The 1987 Anything Goes with Patti LuPone was iconic. The current production is merely pleasant.

Likewise, I last saw Private Lives in its 2002 revival with Alan Rickman and Tony winner Lindsay Duncan. Both Rickman and Duncan were masterful as Elyot and Amanda, imbuing the production with both the rapid-fire assuredness that Coward's dialog requires, but also the sort of playful chemistry that brings these potentially insufferable characters to life. (Coincidentally, Rickman is currently appearing across the street from the Music Box in Seminar. Some would call that ironic. They'd be wrong.)

The current production of Private Lives features TV stars Kim Cattrall and Paul Gross. Again, as I sat watching the performance, I found Cattrall to be lively and spirited as Amanda, and Gross as Elyot makes for a handsome and dashing rake. Director Richard Eyre certainly keeps the proceedings going at an entertaining clip.

But.

The show just hasn't stuck with me. I can vividly and easily recall specific elements from both Rickman's and Duncan's performances, nine years after the fact. But Cattrall and Gross, while eminently professional, haven't managed to burn the same indelible impressions. Is the comparison fair? Well, if you're going to sign on for a revival of a show that's only just recently had a revival -- and a really good one at that -- you had better be prepared to offer something that the first show didn't. This Private Lives doesn't.

The producers apparently thought that Cattrall would be a significant draw, based on the popularity of the Sex and the City franchise. Perhaps they even hoped that ticket sales would justify an extension or two beyond the show's announced limited run. For that to happen, the show would have needed to cross over beyond the Coward fans and theater regulars into the tourist trade, and that clearly hasn't happened. As I said, the show is closing this weekend, a little over a month early.

Review - Follies Revival on Broadway

Someone is always trying to bring Follies back to Broadway, or at least it seems. There was talk of moving the 1998 production at Papermill Playhouse to NYC, but apparently backstage politics put the kibosh on that move. The well-received 2007 Encores production also had people calling for a Broadway transfer, but that never materialized either.

So more than a few folks (including me) were at first skeptical at talk of bringing the recent Kennedy Center production to Broadway, but, lo and behold, this time it actually happened. And the results, while somewhat mixed, are thrilling enough to warrant a huzzah or two from the Sondheim faithful (including me).

The first sight that theatergoers encounter when entering the Marquis Theatre for the current production of Follies are the various gray tarps covering all of the walls in the auditorium. A number of people have quipped that the notoriously sterile Marquis has never looked better, but the tarps create an appropriately oppressive atmosphere. Follies does, after all, take place in a decrepit theater that is about to be torn down.

Thankfully, director Eric Schaeffer has made no apparent attempt to reinvent Follies, focusing instead on bringing out what makes the show compelling: Stephen Sondheim's powerhouse of a score and the two central - though overlapping - relationships between Buddy and Sally Plummer, and Ben and Phyllis Stone. The more I hear Sondheim's score for Follies, the more enamored I become of its complexity, its leitmotivs, and the way the songs are paced to alternate showstopping uptempo numbers with heartbreaking introspective ballads.

There's really not a bad number in the mix, making it all the more perplexing that Sondheim saw fit to augment the score with a handful of fascinating, but ultimately unnecessary new numbers for the 1987 West End production. (Including "Country House," which sounds more like 1980s Sondheim than 1970s Sondheim; the delightful "Ah, But Underneath," which has become a standard of sorts with cabaret singers and drag queens everywhere; and the clearly autobiographical "Make the Most of Your Music," which is completely inappropriate for Ben, who doesn't speak in musical metaphors.)

The show is already front-loaded with concept (the ghosts of the characters haunt their modern-day selves throughout the show), so Schaeffer lets the big picture take care itself and instead concentrates on bringing out the complex emotional content with small but evocative directorial touches. Early in the show, Phyllis reaches for Ben just as Ben is walking away to put down his drink. At the end, as Sally and Buddy exit, Buddy moves to put his arm around the small of Sally's back, but pulls it back at the last second. Both moments are easy to miss, but are nonetheless indicative of Schaeffer's precision.

I've seen Follies many times, but I don't remember ever sensing the subtext as keenly as I did while watching this production. This is especially true during "The Road You Didn't Take" and "In Buddy's Eyes," which perhaps is not coincidental, since both songs feature Ben and Sally, and both emphasize Sally's as yet unspoken agenda.

If there's any justice, come Tony time, Jan Maxwell (Phyllis) and Danny Burstein (Buddy) will finally receive their long-overdue recognition. Maxwell and Burstein are always reliable, frequently inspired performers, and it's a pleasure to see them finally getting their due with this production. Maxwell brings both a stately elegance and a brittle edge to Phyllis, and her "Could I Leave You" was a national treasure. Maxwell spat out the words and raged across the stage during the number, and in the hands of someone of lesser talent, this might not have worked, but Maxwell is self-assured and laser sharp even when her character is on the verge of losing it.

Maxwell even makes some of James Goldman's clunky dialog work better than it deserves to. The script for the current production takes the 2001 version and adds in a few lines cherry-picked from the original. At the very end of the show, Phyllis turns to Ben and says, "Hope doesn't grow on trees; we make our own and I'm here to tell you it's the hardest thing we'll ever do." Oy. Who thought that was a line worth reinstating? It sounds like something from a bad, forgotten World War II Hollywood melodrama. But, again, Maxwell sold it, which is a testament to her inestimable talent.

Burstein is no less a wonder as Buddy. Schaeffer shrewdly places Buddy on the scene to witness much of Sally's attempts to rekindle her long-imagined romance with Ben, and Burstein's heartrending facial expressions vividly convey the tortured feelings of this man caught between the woman he loves and the woman who loves him (who are not necessarily one and the same).

The one misstep in Burstein's performance was actually not his doing. Warren Carlyle's choreography for "The Right Girl" seemed woefully out of place. Most of the dances, and in fact the songs, in Follies are diegetic: the characters are actually dancing in the context of the show, as Follies girls or performers, as opposed to dancing as their characters. It's not clear why Buddy would be the only character in the show to dance in a non-diegetic fashion, to break into a dance monologue, as it were. Yes, there's dance music in the song, or at least an orchestral section, but this could have been used for evocative staging as opposed to a jazz speciality.

As for the other two stars, Bernadette Peters has been getting mixed reviews as Sally, and I would be inclined to agree. There were times when Peters was a suitably frumpy housewife, but there were other times when it was just too much of a feat for her to pull it off. Her singing was mostly strong, although her breath control has lost some of its power over the years. Her final moment, however, was positively stunning. Sally stands staring out at the audience, while Buddy waits patiently to take her home. The sense of despair on Bernadette's face will remain for me an iconic moment, full of gravity, pathos, and eventually resignation. Simply breathtaking.

As Ben, Ron Raines has a rich and characterful voice, but some of his acting seemed a bit summer stock-y. He started off promising: his "The Road You Didn't Take" was remarkably powerful, yet full of restraint. But he seemed to abandon this restraint as the performance progressed. Phyllis makes numerous references to Ben's impassive nature, and that one of her key frustrations is that she finds him difficult to read. Whereas Raines wasn't difficult to read at all. In fact, he displayed his heart quite openly, on both of his sleeves, as it were.

The supporting cast was, for the most part, top-notch, from the electric Terry White to the joyous Jayne Houdyshell. A genuine standout for me was Rosalind Elias, making her Broadway debut at the age of 82 as Heidi. Heidi is meant to be an aging operetta star, and her song "One More Kiss" typically reeks of poignancy when Young Heidi enters and reminds both Heidi and the audience of the beautiful voice that this woman once had. With Elias, both Heidi and the number maintain that poignancy, but Elias still possesses a vocal control and richness of tone that women half her age would kill for. A song that often becomes a throwaway number became, for me, a thrilling centerpiece.

My one major complaint with this production lies in the "performance" of Elaine Paige. Yes, Paige, at least to some people, is a star. And, yes, she retains the great vocal power that made her a star. But Paige uses "I'm Still Here" not so much to play a character as to make a personal statement, and it left me ice cold. Paige plays the introductory scene and the song for laughs, to a distracting and deleterious extent. Her vocal histrionics produced a flat and characterless wall of sound, and her scooping was nothing less than egregious, with the musicality of Sondheim's masterful song lost amid the shtick and gimmickry. To paraphrase Dorothy Parker, Paige's performance ran the gamut from Y to Z.

Follies runs through the holiday season to the end of the year, at which point a number of the stars have concert engagements, making an extension rather unlikely. Those who have never seen the show staged, or those who are still smarting from the deeply disappointing 2001 revival, will clearly want to take this production in. In fact, anyone seeking to experience a classic show, sensitively staged, and featuring some of the best performers Broadway currently has to offer are well advised to head post haste to the Marquis.

Of course, no sooner did I post this review than Playbill.com reported that Follies will indeed be extending its run by three weeks. That's what I get for reckless prognostication.

Review - Porgy and Bess at the American Repertory Theatre

A confession: There are certain historic entries into the musical-theater canon that I've never really warmed up to, supposed masterpieces that I can appreciate for their innovations and craft, but that in performance usually leave me cold. One of those is The Threepenny Opera, which, although I recognize its importance, I've never actually enjoyed on stage.

Porgy and Bess has, for me, typically fallen into the same category. I know I'm supposed to love it, but it's always felt like homework. I guess it's because I've never been much of an opera fan, and every time I've seen Porgy and Bess, it's featured singers performing in an operatic style, and the productions have been rife with recitative, which I detest.

Recently, I sheepishly admitted my disdain for recitative to the head of the vocal performance program at the Boston Conservatory, and she said, "That's because very few people write recitative well. And many don't know how to perform it." OK, so that made me feel a bit less like a uncultured slob, but I nonetheless approached the current production of Porgy and Bess at the American Repertory Theatre with a decent amount of dread.

Of course, I had heard ahead of time that the Porgy and Bess production staff, director Diane Paulus and libretto adapter Suzan-Lori Parks, were making changes to the show to make it more accessible. I mean, how could I not have heard about that, right? First came Patrick Healy's New York Times article about the production, followed by Stephen Sondheim's dyspeptic, cranky screed in response. (Nothing like judging a production you haven't seen, is there, Steve?) Thankfully, Paulus opted not to engage with Mr. Sondheim in his testiness, issuing a brief and respectful response. Audra McDonald was equally classy, responding on Twitter with a very simple message: "Here's what I think...to quote the greatest musical theater composer of our time...'Art isn't easy'."

I wound up seeing Porgy and Bess at the A.R.T. twice. In between the two performances that I attended, which were exactly a week apart, I rewatched the 1993 DVD of the 1986 Trevor Nunn production at England's Glyndebourne Festival. Nunn's production was over three hours long, and contained a lot of the recitative. (Oh, and, BTW, Mr. Sondheim, the DVD refers to the show as "The Gershwins' Porgy and Bess." And there's not a goat cart in sight.)

[SPOILER ALERT: Of necessity, I must discuss the ending of the show in the paragraphs below.]

The sequence of live show/DVD/live show again was actually perfect for appreciating what's really strong about Paulus's production. Mr. Sondheim needn't have worried. This Porgy and Bess is actually very respectful of the piece, and to the legacy of composer George Gershwin, lyricist Ira Gershwin, and librettist and co-lyricist DuBose Heyward. A huge portion of the recitative has been replaced by dialog, which speeds things up considerably. The song tempos are also considerably faster, and the staging and pace of the book scenes is full of urgency. The production as a whole feels so much more efficient, but also more heartfelt as a result.

Seeing the show twice afforded me the opportunity to witness a failed experiment on the part of Paulus and Parks. The first time I saw the show, the ending was a bit different from that of the original show. In this new version, when Porgy comes back from viewing Crown's body and spending a week in jail, Bess hasn't yet left for New York City with Sporting Life. This gave rise to a confrontation scene between Porgy and Bess, in which Porgy asked Bess if she really wanted to go, and Bess answered, "Yes." Bess left, and Porgy proceeded to sing "I'm on My Way." Presumably the boat hadn't left yet, and Porgy would have a chance to catch up to Bess.

Of course, in the original, Bess has long since left when Porgy returns, which gives rise to a heartbreaking scene in which the Catfish Row residents struggle to tell Porgy that Bess has gone. It's not clear whether Paulus and Parks made the switch because of Sondheim's letter, but in the long run, the show is better for it.

So, is this Porgy and Bess an opera or a musical? Well, at intermission at one of the performances I attended, I overheard the following interchange:

Man 1: "The program says they're making Porgy and Bess more of a musical than an opera."
Man 2: "Well, they're wearing microphones."
Man 1: "Is that the difference?"
Man 2: "And they're actually acting."

Hardly an accurate characterization of the genres, but it gave me a chuckle. More to the point, I was struck by a recent article by New York Times music critic Anthony Tommasini, in which he very succinctly and aptly captured the distinction: "Both genres seek to combine words and music in dynamic, felicitous and...artistic ways. But in opera, music is the driving force; in musical theater, words come first."

For me, the chief reason why this production of Porgy and Bess works so swimmingly the is that Paulus and Parks have succeeded in their aim of making the show more of a musical than an opera. Certainly the singing voices are more from a musical theater idiom than an operatic one. And, although this production doesn't stint on the music, the words really do come first here, and so do the characterizations.

The performances are vivid and fresh, particularly that of Audra McDonald, who brings a laser-sharp intensity to every moment she's on stage. Her confrontation scene with Crown, "What You Want With Bess," was by turns erotically charged and emotionally mesmerizing. You could see why she was so torn, drawn in by Crown's raw sexuality rather than merely repulsed by him. And her delirium scene after Bess has spent two days slogging through the marsh to return from Kittiwah Island was utterly heart-wrenching. I've rarely been so moved.

As for Norm Lewis as Porgy, he kind of ran hot and cold for me. It's certainly an asset to have a Porgy that you can imagine someone actually wanting to sleep with. (OK, not just someone. Me.) Having a sexually appealing Porgy makes the romance more credible. Porgy is more than just a convenient meal ticket for Bess: He's a genuine love interest. I've always melted at the sound of Lewis's rich, resonant baritone, and thrilled at the tonal quality of his upper range. But his emotional intensity came in and out during the book scenes. However, his climactic scene with Crown was stunning, full of seething rage and raw catharsis.

Based on the publicity that Sondheim's letter generated, a number of national critics broke with precedent and made the trip to Cambridge to review the show before its scheduled run in New York. Suddenly it wasn't just a show, it was news. In particular, Ben Brantley of the New York Times, weighed in last week, and although he marveled at Audra's performance, he was less than impressed with the rest of the production. According to Michael Riedel of the New York Post, Brantley's review made some people involved with bringing the show to New York question whether this was wise.

Well, from where I sit, this Porgy and Bess is too good not to go to New York. More people deserve to see, not only Audra's sensational performance, but also this engaging, passionate, and faithful take on this musical classic. Let's hope that cooler heads prevail, and that this production takes its rightful place at the Richard Rodgers Theater in December.

Contest - Win Two Tickets to Follies on Broadway

I'm not really a summer person. I never really have been. I've always looked forward to the fall, partly because my birthday is in September, but also because, when I was in school, I always looked forward to the the new academic year. (Yeah, I'm kind of a dork.) And now that I'm teaching full-time, I'm filled with that same sense of eager anticipation when August rolls around.

Of course, autumn also brings the promise of the new theater season, and, I don't know about you, but I'm becoming pretty darned excited. Sure, some folks are lamenting the relative paucity of new musicals. So far, the announced crop of new tuners is somewhat thinner than last year's crop. (Watch this space for a preview of new musicals for the upcoming Broadway season.)

But last season there were only two musical revivals on Broadway, whereas this season we're likely to see at least a half dozen. Of course, there's the eagerly anticipated new production of Porgy and Bess, which I'll be seeing twice during its run at the American Repertory Theatre. Plus there's Godspell, Evita, and potentially Jesus Christ Superstar, not to mention a significantly revised version of On a Clear Day You Can See Forever.

But for Stephen Sondheim aficionados, the clear favorite will undoubtedly be Follies, a show that, to date, has found greater success in its recordings and concert presentations than in open-ended, fully staged productions. Follies had a decidedly lackluster revival in 2001, which, despite direction by Matthew Warchus and choreography by Kathleen Marshall, just kinda fell flat on the stage of the Belasco Theatre. For me, the problem was partly one of casting. The four central players -- Blythe Danner (Phyllis), Judith Ivey (Sally), Gregory Harrison (Ben), and Treat Williams (Buddy) -- somehow didn't mesh to create an emotionally moving core for the production, despite the considerable talents of these individual performers.

Ten years later, we have another chance to see Follies on Broadway, under the auspices of the Kennedy Center, where this production played a well-received engagement earlier this year. The production has transferred nearly intact for a limited run at Broadway's Marquis Theatre, with Eric Schaeffer and Warren Carlyle repeating their duties as director and choreographer, respectively. Much of the stellar cast has made the transfer as well, including headliners Bernadette Peters, Ron Raines, Jan Maxwell, and Danny Burstein. The supporting cast features such Broadway stalwarts as Jayne Houdyshell, Terri White, Mary Beth Peil, Susan Watson, and Florence Lacey, not to mention London regular Elaine Paige.

Sounds pretty good, huh? Well, if you're as eager as I am, I'm sure you'd love the chance to win a couple of tickets to see the show. Well, look no further, dear reader. Below are a few Follies trivia questions. Please submit your answers as a comment below. I will select a winner randomly from all entries with the correct responses. (Don't worry: I will only publish the comments after I have selected the winner.)

Good luck!

The contest is over, and the winner has been notified. Thanks to everyone who played!

1. The original working title for Follies remains with the show as the title of one of the show's songs. Which song is it? [The answer I was looking for was The Girls Upstairs, but as many of you pointed out the name of the song is actually "Waiting for the Girls Upstairs." So I accepted either answer.]

2.  Stephen Sondheim and co-director Hal Prince were supposedly inspired to create Follies by a photo of a legendary silent-film star standing amid the wreckage of a demolished movie theater. Who was the star and what was the theater? [The film star was Gloria Swanson and it was the Roxy]

3. As often happens with shows under development, lots of songs came and went during the tryout period for Follies. Which song did the now-classic "I'm Still Here" replace? ["Can That Boy Foxtrot"]

4. Many of the original stars of Follies have passed away, but one of the original leading players is still going strong, and is currently appearing on Broadway in another musical revival. Who is this performer, and which show is he or she performing in? [John McMartin is in Anything Goes. And he's pretty frickin' amazing in it, too.]

5. Sondheim has described most of the songs in Follies as pastiche, i.e. homages to classic songs, or to particular composers and lyricists. For example, "The Story of Lucy and Jessie" was a homage to "The Saga of Jenny" from Lady in the Dark. And Sondheim intended "Losing My Mind" as "a Gershwin tune with a Dorothy Fields lyric." So, what classic theater song is "Beautiful Girls" an homage to? And in which series of shows (hint, hint) did the song originally appear? [The song is "A Pretty Girl Is Like a Melody," and it first appeared in the Ziegfeld Follies.]

The Fine Print: The tickets are good for Tuesday through Thursday performances between August 16th and September 29th. The contest deadline is midnight EST, Thursday, August 11th, 2011.

Review - War Horse at Lincoln Center Theater

The essence of theater is artifice. As audience members, we know that we're being manipulated, and yet we're eager to submit, as long as the production in question exhibits craft and genuine emotion.

It's funny, though, sometimes when we're actually aware that our collective chains are being yanked, it sort of spoils the fun. Sometimes. Other times, we know full well that the show we're watching is shamelessly tugging at the old heartstrings, and yet we succumb.

War Horse is fairly shameless. And manipulative. And, at times, cheap. And yet it works, and smashingly so. I can't remember the last time I felt so pummeled and yet so emotionally satisfied by a staged production, musical or otherwise. (Although War Horse has quite a bit of music, the show is technically a play.)

The production is the latest in a delightful succession of productions imported from the The National Theatre of Britain, and it shows every sign of becoming a smash hit: the production was originally supposed to play at the Lincoln Center's Vivian Beaumont Theatre through June, but has been extended indefinitely based on boffo box-office sales and a raft of raves from the critics.

From where I sit, the show deserves both its praise and its financial success. Frankly, War Horse is not the deepest play ever to trod the boards. The play is based on the children's book by Michael Morpurgo, adapted for the stage by Nick Stafford, and the story essentially comprises "boy meets horse, boy loses horse, boy goes to war to get horse back." The show is directed by Marianne Elliott and Tom Morris, and in lesser hands, this could have been nothing but a turgid, sappy melodrama. And, frankly, at times, it is. But Elliot and Morris bring the admittedly predictable story to vivid and often horrifying life through some simply stunning stagecraft, aided by a handful of heartfelt performances.

You may have heard about the amazing puppetry involved in War Horse, and everything you've heard is true. (The puppets are designed and constructed by Handspring Puppet Company, with horse-movement sequences credited to Toby Sedgwick.) But, here's the thing: it's not the technical wizardry that makes the horses astonishing, but rather the way the talented team of puppeteers brings each horse to life. I swear, at times, I completely forgot that I was watching puppets.

But who wants to go and watch a three-hour puppet show? Not I, I can tell you that for sure. No, the magic of War Horse ultimately lies in a simple tale, well told, and a cast of talented performers. Particularly moving is Seth Numrich as Albert, the boy who follows his beloved horse into the horrors of war. Also affecting were Matt Doyle as Billy Narracott, Albert's cousin and rival, and a wonderfully understated Alyssa Bresnahan as Billy's mother.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               

As a play, War Horse stumbles a bit in its second half, when the show broadens its scope beyond the story of the boy and his horse. As the show began to put Albert's tale into the larger context of World War I, along with the technical developments that made that war so horrifying (e.g. machine guns, barbed wire, armored tanks), I found myself thinking, "Dude, it's just a horse." But when the narrative was focused on Albert, I was totally on board with what he was doing.

Also, the dialog in the second act became a bit more ham-handed, particularly the lines for the German deserter, Friedrich (Peter Hermann). The story became a bit plodding and confusing, and the writer/directors missed some ripe opportunities for pathos. The unceremonious demise of one of the show's main characters is treated in an almost off-handed way. The show forecasts many of its developments long before they arrive. ("What's that in the distance? A German regiment? Or a predictable plot twist?") And the climactic scene in particular seemed blissfully unaware of subtlety and all its synonyms. 

So, not a play for the ages, but definitely a production to be cherished, savored, and remembered for years to come. This is pot-boiler theater at its tear-jerking best. I was weeping like a little girl, practically from start to finish. And I hope to see the show again, to marvel once more in the physical production, the clean and honest emotion, and one of the most genuinely moving stories I've ever had the pleasure of witnessing. But this time, I'll bring tissues.

Review - Hair Tour in Boston (and Back on Broadway)

A few days ago, the good folks at the Public Theater announced that the national tour of Hair, currently wending its way across the country, would settle onto Broadway this summer for a ten-week limited engagement at the St. James Theatre, soon to be vacated by American Idiot.

It's a welcome bit of news, even more so since I had a chance to catch the Hair tour when it was in Boston, and I can happily report that the production is holding up quite well.

This is my third time seeing Diane Paulus's production of Hair, and each time I see it, I enjoy it even more. The show emits a wondrous morass of front-loaded energy, a warm and atmospheric microcosm that welcomes audiences into the show's affirming world. I've always found the piece itself somewhat problematic, but somehow Paulus smooths over the flaws, even making some of them into assets.

For instance, the show's first act is a bit plodding, featuring a succession of rapid-fire character introductions, and it gets a bit mechanical. But the sheer energy of the cast and the melodious nature of the score more than carry the day, turning what could potentially be repetitive into a welcome rush of warmth and exuberance. The show really gains momentum in act 2, in particular during Claude's hallucination, which builds in hypnotic power, and careens the audience head-long into the show's simple but shattering climax.

For some reason, I came into this particular version of Hair show with a chip on my shoulder. I genuinely enjoyed both the Central Park (read my review) and Broadway (read my review) versions, but the musical-theater historian in me wanted to pick the show apart and find the flaws. Despite my conscious efforts to remain analytical and objective, I found that I was getting caught up in the celebration, almost despite myself.

The flaws are nonetheless manifold. My main problem with Hair remains Claude's justification for eventually deciding to go to war. The show does a great job of showing that Claude is conflicted: he wants to please his parents, but he is also haunted by visions of what the war will actually be like. But we never really see him make the decision to go, nor do we fully understand his reasoning. Yeah, there's nothing wrong with subtlety, but at least in this regard the show crosses the line into inscrutability.

Also, some of the song setups are a bit forced, particularly the one for "Easy to Be Hard." Sheila buys Berger a yellow polyester shirt, which Berger proceeds to tear in half. So Sheila sings "How can people people so heartless." Well, boo-frickin'-hoo. Couldn't we come up with something a bit more compelling, guys? For me, the lame setup robs the powerful song of its full impact. And the song "Frank Mills," while charming, is rather pointless, and seems included here only to cover the costume change before the "Be-In."

And yet the show works, and smashingly so, carried by the luminous charm of Galt MacDermot's score and the sheer force of the talented performers currently appearing in the tour. Perhaps most remarkable is Steel Burkhardt as Berger, who is every bit as dynamic and engaging as Will Swenson was, perhaps even more so. On the debit side, we have Paris Remillard as Claude who can certainly sing the role, but doesn't really have the stage presence or emotional range of either Jonathan Groff or Gavin Creel, whom I saw as Claude in the Delacorte on Broadway productions, respectively.

Depending on my schedule and what else is playing this summer, I way have to take Hair in one final time. I keep finding new things to love in the show, despite my reservations and conscious efforts to deconstruct it. I do find it interesting to note that the show's creative staff, including MacDermot and librettists/lyricists Gerome Ragni and James Rado, weren't able to replicate their success with Hair, despite numerous attempts. (Dude? Via Galactica? The Human Comedy? Oh, please, my nerves...)

And I'm starting to get the same what-have-you-done-for-me-lately? feeling about Diane Paulus, who's now in the process of shaking the venerable A.R.T. to its very core. Her last two musical-theater efforts, The Blue Flower and Prometheus Bound, left me decidedly nonplussed, but based on the magic that is her production of Hair, I'm willing to patiently await the day when she gets her groove back.

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 - The Scottsboro Boys on Broadway

I'm often struck by the preconceptions people have about musical theater. For many people, musicals are only supposed to be fun and tuneful, and that's basically it. Anything that transgresses these confines couldn't possibly be a musical, at least not in their narrow estimation.

Well, these people would probably hate The Scottsboro Boys, which is a tad ironic, because it's one of the most tuneful shows in many a season. But beyond the deceptively pleasant nature of John Kander's music are the late Fred Ebb's alternately searing and simple lyrics, as well as David Thompson's indignant and incisive book. One of the hallmarks of the long and fruitful careers of Kander and Ebb was demonstrating the power of the musical to go beyond mere entertainment into the realm of human drama and social relevance. And, on that front, The Scottsboro Boys represents a fitting cap to a productive and groundbreaking partnership.

I was fairly blown away when I saw The Scottsboro Boys at the Vineyard Theatre. (Read my review of Scottsboro Boys Off Broadway.) The show has since played a stint at the Guthrie Theater, but I didn't notice any major changes to the show itself, other than maybe clarifying some scenes, and a bit of recasting. The authors have decided to retain a certain historical framing device, which they had originally asked critics not to reveal in their reviews, but have subsequently begun revealing it themselves in certain promotional materials. I will, however, maintain silence on this front, as the revelation significantly increases the impact of the show.

As you may know, the show is a stylized retelling of the story of the "Scottsboro Boys," a group of nine African American men falsely accused of raping two white women on a train in 1931. In keeping with the longstanding Kander & Ebb tradition of "concept" shows, the creators have conceived The Scottsboro Boys as a minstrel show, including a stunningly subversive use of blackface. The result is an upsetting but emotionally cathartic show that is frankly hard to sit through, but not because of any lack of talent on the authors' part. It's just not a very proud moment in U.S. history.

Although the show clearly places the blame for the Scottsboro tragedy at the feet of Southern racism, the authors are careful not to let the North off the hook. In the guise of the Jewish lawyer who takes on the Scottsboro defense, the show sends up both the anti-Semitism of the south and the patronizing attitudes of the northern liberals.

Director/choreographer Susan Stroman and librettist Thompson have worked closely with Kander & Ebb (the latter in absentia) to create "entertaining" interludes throughout the show to keep it from becoming a preachy, depressing dirge. I was reminded of the daring and controversial nature of The Scottsboro Boys when a man seated in front of me at the Lyceum got up and left during a stunningly conceived number called "Electric Chair," which employs the racial stereotypes of tap dancing to illuminate the horror of a child's nightmare. Yes, it's shocking and offensive. It's meant to be.

The show retains some of its admittedly minor flaws. I still find the number "Commencing in Chattanooga" inscrutable. The tune is pleasant and certainly sets the scene, but the lyric is uncharacteristically opaque for Fred Ebb. The result is an uninspired "wanting" song, a rare misstep in an otherwise powerful and provocative show. The stunning finale thankfully retains its power to astound. Even though I knew it was coming, the raw shock of the moment once again had me numb and in tears.

The Broadway cast features many of the same performers from the Vineyard run, including the great John Cullum as interlocutor and emcee, as well as the formidable Colman Domingo and Forrest McClendon in protean roles throughout the show. The major cast change is Joshua Henry in the central role of Haywood Patterson. Henry brings great strength to the role, but I didn't find him nearly as emotionally compelling as Brandon Victor Dixon, who played the part Off Broadway.

A bunch of my students from the Boston Conservatory are headed down on a school trip to New York City next weekend. As part of the package deal, they have the option of seeing either La Cage aux Folles or The Scottsboro Boys. As fond as I am of the current production of La Cage (read my review), I've been recommending that students see The Scottsboro Boys. And anyone who cares about the future of musical theater will want do the same.