Everything I Know I Learned From Musicals

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 - Godspell Revival on Broadway

For most musical-theater performers, Godspell is a rite of passage. Or at least it seems that way. I mean, is there any drama nerd out there who hasn't done Godspell? I suppose, perhaps, there must be, but I can't help shaking this notion that everyone who wants to perform in musicals has to have at least one Godspell under his or her belt.

I've performed in the show twice, both times while I was in high school. The first time was in my high school's acoustically challenged auditorium cum basketball court. The next was in a rather squat and dingy church basement. And yet, somehow, both experiences helped to solidify my resolve to pursue musical theater as an avocation, and, eventually, as an academic pursuit.

As a musical-theater piece, Godspell represents an accessible introduction to theater for young performers. The score is fun to perform, and the fragmented nature of the show lends itself to a lot of different staging approaches, production concepts, and theatrical devices:

• "We did the Good Samaritan with hand-puppets."
• "Everyone in the cast was represented by a light bulb hanging from the ceiling, and as each character caught on to what Jesus was talking about, his or her light bulb turned on."
• "We shot a video for our Prodigal Son at the beach, and then showed the film in performance."
• "Our Jesus was dressed like Michael Jackson, but at the end he turned into Bruce Springsteen."

And so on. But, as with so many things that we adored during our ever-receding formative years, there are certain youthful fascinations that simply don't hold up to clear-eyed, objective, modern-day scrutiny. And, at least for me, Godspell was better left a fond but fading theatrical memory than a multimillion-dollar commercial Broadway revival. 

First, let's deal with the show itself. The book, as constructed by the late John-Michael Tebelak, is a seemingly random series of parables, adapted from the Gospel According to Matthew. Each vignette is certainly not without its charm or life lessons, but really the "book," such as it is, merely exists as a framework for the popular score, with music and lyrics by Stephen Schwartz.

Again, I grew up on this show. In fact, the original cast recording to Godspell was one of the LP records that I discovered in my parents' ample but underutilized record collection, and was thus partially responsible for turning me into the musical maven that I am today. And, again, I have such fond memories of performing these songs back in the day. But, hearing them for the first time in years, and with new orchestrations, I was struck by how dense and impenetrable the lyrics to many of these songs really are, particularly "Bless the Lord," "Alas for You," and "We Beseech Thee." I found myself straining to figure out what the words actually mean, perhaps for the very first time. I mean: 

I send you prophets, and I send you preachers
Sages in rages and ages of teachers
Nothing can mar your mood
- "Alas for You"

What exactly would marring a mood entail? And how does it pertain to the lawyers and pharisees in question?

Grant us all from earth to rise
And to strain with eager eyes
Towards the promised Heavenly prize
- "We Beseech Thee"

Grant us all what from earth to rise?

And like an eagle, He renews
The vigor of thy youth
- "Bless the Lord"

Um...eagles? Renewing vigor? Is that what they do?

Yes, I know, if I took another second, I could probably figure these lyrical enigmas out. But audiences don't have that chance during a musical performance. As Stephen Sondheim said recently at a talk that I attended, song lyrics are different from poems in that a song needs to make sense as you're hearing it. When you're reading a poem, you have a chance to stop and reflect about meaning.

So, as for quality musical-theater writing, Godspell is no great shakes, IMHO. But it seems as though the creators of the current revival of Godspell understood this going in and felt that they needed to shore up the show with a ceaseless, chirpy energy and non-stop gimmickry. For this Godspell is staged within an inch of its afterlife by director Daniel Goldstein and choreographer Christopher Gattelli. Admittedly the result is not unpleasant, and the production is certainly never dull. What it is, though, is relentless, and incessantly eager to please.

The production staff have augmented the show's book with a dizzying, and ultimately wearying, series of topical references. (e.g. Performers texting during "The Tower of Babble," the Electric Slide, the Chicken Dance, Pictionary, charades, references to Facebook, Donald Trump, the Occupy Movement, the "stimulus package," etc.) It's as though every inch of staging is trying to say, "Hey, this show is relevant!," but it only serves as a reminder that the original book was apparently not serving its purpose.

There are certainly some clever staging touches, including an on-stage pool for John the Baptist and his ministrations, which becomes the source of some really effective moments, including having Jesus walk on water and creating an ethereal glow for the Last Supper. And the staging for the crucifixion scene (I hope that's not a spoiler for anyone), was both simple and stunning. I wasn't quite sure what to make of the trampolines during "We Beseech Thee." It seemed like a fun idea at first, but the device was underutilized in terms of he movement/choreographic possibilities, and it wasn't clear what it was supposed to actually mean.

The cast was talented and game, although Hunter Parrish as the Man Himself was a bit too bland and, well, "Rock Me, Sexy Jesus" for my taste. His persona at the start of the show is rather cloying, and he couldn't really carry the drama in the second half. As for the supporting cast, most of these people would ideally be on Broadway at all times, but perhaps in more worthy vehicles. (Watching the show reminded me of the feeling that I get when I see reruns of "Pee-wee's Playhouse," with Laurence Fishburn as "Cowboy Curtis" and S. Epatha Merkerson as "Reba - the mail woman." Amazingly talented performers, earning a paycheck before they hit it big. It's almost as though you can see them saying in their heads, "It's a gig, man. It's a gig.")

Ensemble member Telly Leung has a sparkling voice, and does an uncanny series of terrific impersonations. Nick Blaemire proves himself a genuinely strong comedian and rather adept at accents. The adorable Lindsay Mendez has an appealing and lively presence even when she's not at the center of the action. Unfortunately, the phenomenally talented Uzo Aduba, who was simply mesmerizing in Prometheus Bound at the A.R.T., here fades rather facelessly into the ensemble.

Godspell has been playing to increasingly strong houses, although at significantly discounted rates. Will business build to the point where it can play through the notoriously barren winter months? Well, miracles do sometimes occur.

Review - The Blue Flower at the A.R.T.

The venerable American Repertory Theater has come under considerable fire recently because of its supposedly crowd-pleasing, profit-seeking tendencies under the reign of new artistic director Diane Paulus. Well, the A.R.T.'s latest offering -- The Blue Flower -- would seem to defy that populist notion, careening instead into the realm of deliberate alienation and artistic pretense.

A.R.T. purists will no doubt be delighted. This reviewer? Not so much.

The Blue Flower is without question an ambitious and well-intentioned effort. Local Boston-area couple Jim and Ruth Bauer have apparently spent the better part of the last ten years working on the The Blue Flower. I'm told the show was quite captivating at the New York Musical Theater Festival, catching the eye of one Stephen Schwartz (yes, that Stephen Schwartz), who has since signed on as a producer.

Well, either people are seeing something in The Blue Flower that I wasn't able to, or the piece has changed considerably for the worse since its previous incarnation, because the show I saw this past Thursday at the A.R.T. was a tedious morass of obtuse stage business and oblique musical numbers. The Blue Flower seems to want to be both intellectual and sentimental; however, it serves neither of those functions effectively.

The story centers around a fictionalized foursome of artists, lovers, and free-thinkers in Germany in the very early 20th Century: German Expressionist painters Max Beckmann and Franz Marc, Dada artist Hannah Höch, and scientist Marie Curie. Set against the backdrop of World War I, the Weimar Republic, and the rise of the Nazi Party, The Blue Flower sits perched above a vein of great dramatic potential, which the Bauers, despite ten years of trying, haven't even begun to mine effectively.

The main problem with The Blue Flower is its method of storytelling. The authors seem to have made the conscious choice to have the characters rarely - if ever - speak in character, relying instead on subtitles, visual projections, and the supposed narrative power of the songs to carry the day. But often the lyrics appear only obliquely connected to the action, or are opaque to the point of inscrutability. As a result, we have the egregious and off-putting use of narration to set the scene and communicate what the characters are feeling. Ideally, the songs should be doing that, but only rarely do, which saps these inherently fascinating characters of any possible pathos.

It's entirely likely that the Bauers have deliberately chosen this Brechtian presentation style. But here's the rub: Brecht usually had something revolutionary to say. The Bauers don't, other than what appears to be the standard war-bad-art-good mantra. In case you miss the Brechtian parallels, the score here even quotes The Threepenny Opera. But whereas in Brecht the alienation devices serve to enrage, here they merely enervate.

To fill in historical holes, the authors employ the rather inert device of flashing forward 20 or 30 years and having now Professor Bauman (the fictionalized version of Beckmann, played by the remarkably protean Daniel Jenkins) deliver a lecture on World War I or expressionist art. This only serves to further emphasize that the songs aren't doing their narrative job. When the Bauman character actually does speak, it's usually in "Maxperanto," a language that the character invents and speaks as a protest against the supposed meaninglessness of existence. Again, alienating and off-putting.

As I've said, the story here is potentially powerful, but the Bauers don't seem able to evince the inherent drama, which is admittedly rife. For example, when Franz Marc joins up as a cavalryman in World War I, he encounters a gruesome scene involving a severely wounded horse. Anyone familiar with Marc's work will know that horses were a recurring motif. In The Blue Flower, Marc performs a humane act for the dying horse, the sole moment during which I was actually engaged emotionally in this show, and then a narrator steps forward and dispassionately announces Marc's own fate. What could have been a cathartic moment is robbed of any dramatic weight by taking the actual people out of the equation, a situation that happens all too frequently during The Blue Flower.

Jim Bauer's music for The Blue Flower comprises a bewildering and seemingly random mix of styles, from country and western to warmed-over Weill. When the lyrics aren't maddeningly vague, they're banal. After Marc (played by the appealing Lucas Kavner) meets his fate, Marie (a strident and dynamic Teal Wicks) sings, "This day was like no other. I climbed the Eiffel Tower and I closed my eyes and thought of you." She continues, "Things will never be the same." Yes, well, thanks for the bromide: at this point in the show, I was actually in need of a sedative.

As another lyric from the show puts it, "Oil sits on the surface of the water, annoyingly still." Well, in The Blue Flower, it isn't just the oil that's irritating. It's the whole damned painting.

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