The Seagull

I have to admit I’d never actually sat through a live performance of a Chekhov play until the current Broadway production of The Seagull. It was a smash hit in London and stars movie actors Kristin Scott Thomas and Peter Sarsgaard. I prepared myself for the stereotypical notion that I’d be bashed over the head with depressing, unfulfilled Russian peasants whining about their sad lives. And in actuality it basically was depressing, unfulfilled Russian peasants (and actors and writers) whining about their sad lives, except it was all quite entertaining and surprisingly funny.

Thomas deserves the hype from her glowing London reviews. Her portrayal of the larger-than-life actress, Arkadina, never became a caricature. She has taken a role that on the surface could appear to be, well, a bitch, and transformed it into a character the audience instead sympathizes with. She makes clear that the character’s insecurities and self-doubt are what fuel her ego and need for attention.

Sarsgaard, an actor I admire from his screen work, doesn’t fare quite as well. Perhaps his long movie stint has rendered his stage chops a bit rusty? His performance in the first half of the play seemed under-powered and under-focused. Some odd hand gestures, combined with weird line breaks and pauses in his speeches, interfered with the clarity of the text. And his every appearance seemed to suck the energy from the stage. He did improve after intermission, but someone needs to tie his hands behind his back to stop all the pointless flailing. Since the play is still in previews, I can only hope he’ll improve with more performances under his belt.

The remaining cast is wonderful all around, especially Carey Mulligan. Her wide-eyed Nina, is a wonderful foil to Thomas’ insecure aging diva.

Maybe I’m just a product of the MTV generation, but in spite of mostly engaging performances, sitting through a three hour Russian drama in a tiny Broadway theatre seat is a lot to ask of someone. Especially when your neighbor is, how shall I say, large of frame and spilling over the armrest into your personal space. Regardless, it is easy to see how in less capable hands, this could definitely be an extremely tedious evening.

13

Busy, busy, busy! With all the stock market craziness, work has been just action-packed. Therefore, some of my normal blogging time was consumed with frantic calls from bankers’ wives screaming for their husbands to sell, sell, sell! We actually hit $11 a share at one point - ouch. Nothing like having your beach house and retirement plan melt away before your eyes. Luckily, I am burdened with none of the above. So I’m just now catching up writing reviews for a couple of shows I saw this past week.

Although I didn’t love 13, I’m encouraged to hear they are actually taking advantage of the preview period and doing some real revising and making changes. I grudgingly may have to revisit it - granted I can get a cheapo TDF ticket. As we left the theatre last Thursday, the first thing Trish said to me was that she thought it should just be one act, no intermission. Lo and behold, today on All That Chat someone posted that last night’s show was indeed intermission-less and two (really bad, IMO) songs have been cut! Perhaps Trish should look into becoming a show doctor.

As for the show, it’s cute, I guess. But who wants to shell out $100 for cute!? I can get that for free walking Chris and Dan’s dog. The storyline is thinner than Mary Kate's waist and just about as substantial: NYC-raised teen Jew moves to Indiana and tries to get the cool kids to attend his Bar Mitzvah. Of course, there are no other Jews at his new school because everyone knows that Jews only live in NYC. How does he do it? By guaranteeing the coolest guy in school some tongue time with the hot chick. No, really. The whole first act is devoted to the pursuit of French kissing. Throw a brainy handicapped kid and nerdy girl outcast (who happens to be way prettier than the hot chick everyone is pursuing) into the mix and you’ve got a Broadway show. Thankfully, Jason Robert Brown’s score saves the evening with his always tuneful, folksy-pop ballads and some insightful lyric writing suitable for a 13-year-old. Unfortunately, the book writer thinks he’s writing a "Friends" episode, having teenagers spouting one-liners way too sophisticated and knowing for their tender 13 years on earth. Imagine teen age Ross, Monica and Chandler belting show tunes on an ABC After School Special but without the teen pregnancy, booze and drugs to keep us interested.

As for the 13 child actors (get it? 13 actors playing 13-year-olds? Clever, aren’t we?), no denying they are talented, but that’s not enough to sustain a show. The three lead nerds are exceptionally good, especially Allie Trimm who plays Patrice. She has more control over her belt/mix/chest voice than most adults I know and her acting is sincere and unfussy. I hope she doesn’t turn into a total bitch when she realizes she’s more talented than everyone else. Otherwise, the rest of the cast runs the gamut from “very good” to “just fine.” As much as I can appreciate how talented these young people are, without any adult (read: experienced) presence on stage to anchor the production, many of the young performers (unintentional, I think) drift into cheesy overacting and one-dimensionality. It’s not helped by the audiences’ over-enthusiastic response to any remotely impressive sung note or dance step. The night we attended, the house was clearly papered with family members and friends. I must note that Trish and I (and the gay couple in front of us) were kept entertained by the beauty-pageant-worthy cheesiness of one young actress who shall remain nameless. Her consistent sh*t-eating grin and blatant winking to the audience called to mind the best of Junior High School dance recitals and kept us quietly chuckling through the whole evening. Brava!

On the whole, unless some radical changes are made to the book, it’ll be just another great JRB CD to add to the collection.

Young Frankenstein

OK, so I finally made it to Young Frankenstein, mainly because I just wasn’t willing to pay full price. Luckily for me, but not so much for YF, I didn’t even have to wait a year before it found its way onto TDF.

Though it’s not as bad as the reviews made it out to be, it’s certainly not on the level of The Producers (although even Producers was a tad over-rated if you ask me). The best YF could do was elicit an occasional chuckle. The mezz, where we had choice third row aisle seats, was only 2/3’s full. At that rate, it’s doubtful they can hold on much longer given the size of the cast and the set/special effects. The bottom line is it’s just not that funny. Maybe some of the jokes play well to the over 70 crowd, but someone please tell Mel that it’s 2008. Double entendre “knocker” jokes just don’t go over anymore (the crowd audibly groaned after that punch line). Frankly, most current TV sitcoms display better writing.

Otherwise, kudos to the hard working cast for a fairly tight performance that hasn't yet shown signs of long-run-itis. And what the physical production lacks in creative design (other than the "Roll In the Hay" sequence), it made up for in sheer size and pyrotechnics - although perhaps that isn't exactly a compliment. The score was adequate at best and boring at worst. Songs were mostly one joke punchlines carried out over three useless versus and rarely did they move the plot forward or illuminate much about the characters. Stroman's choreography and staging showed glimpses of creative fire, but were mostly just adequate as well. Although I must point out the terribly staged/choreographed number where the ghosts of Victor's dead relatives haunt his dream. It literally seemed like she threw some vaguely Slavic dance steps into a hat, picked them out randomly and strung them together. From all that, it may seem like I hated the show, but I really didn't have a strong feeling for or against it. It just sort of filled two hours. It was overwhelmingly mediocre.

Ah well. It seems I'll again be suffering through a period of "I hate musicals." I was taken by this gloomy affliction last year as well, after seeing a slew of mediocre to bad musicals. Hopefully, upcoming performances of Billy Elliott, White Christmas and Shrek will prove a quick cure. If not, I'll have to start hitting the plays and the opera house again for a theatrical pick me up. I guess the jaded theatre queen in me is starting to rear its bitter head more and more often these days as I near, gasp, middle age. Or maybe Broadway's rank commercialism really is starting to effect its quality. Or maybe musicals are just plain STUPID! Why ARE the cowboys dancing!?!? Oh dear, I think I just had an outer body experience. Anyway, I'm sure I won't be giving up musicals anytime soon, so I'll just have to keep my fingers crossed that things will improve.

Perry Awards or Long Days Journey Into Night

Well, I’m fairly bursting to write about last night’s Perry Award presentation. As any of my regular readers know, I’m certainly not one to censor my - how shall I put it? - strong opinions. But since what I write may have a trickle down effect on one of our partners, the CDC theatre, I’ll simply leave the cattiness to my private blog (email me if you’d like to be added to the guest list).

For all you casual readers, let me just say that it was an excruciatingly long evening. I left after 10 pm and they had only just started the “second act” of the ceremony. Without commenting on any award winner or specific presentation, some of my observations:

The cost versus food ratio: Jeez, for $60 a pop, you could at least have an open bar or maybe free beer and cash bar for liquor. And crackers and cheese are not that expensive. Those cheese platters were virtually licked clean 15 minutes into the cocktail “hour.” The main entrée was just sad. 400 chickens died for naught. But you better believe that for $60 I forced that dry chunk of poultry down my throat. To be fair, the mashed potatoes and pasta were quite good. But how much does a sack of potatoes and a carton of dried pasta cost?

The host: Oy vey! I understand that he’s the president of NJACT, but really? His most tacky moment (in a string of tacky moments and bad jokes) was encouraging the audience to “boo” an award winner that wasn’t in attendance. I mean, I’m sure he was probably trashed, but that’s not a good enough excuse.

The cruise video: They showed a five-minute video-commercial for a Caribbean cruise where the passengers will be made up entirely of community theatre people. That’s the selling point?! I cannot think of anything less appealing than being trapped out at sea in a boat filled with thousands of theatre queens, fag hags, wannabees and their admirers - in other words a floating Sodom and Gomorrah accompanied by show tunes. Um, count me out.

The performances: Eight minutes to present scenes from your nominated show is just too long. Considering the nominated performances have all closed and we can’t see them anyway, why bother? How about letting nominees perform no more than two selections from their show not to exceed 3 minutes and then showing a couple of production photos. And since it’s just ridiculous to compare community theatre choreographers to Michael Bennett, NJACT can get off its high horse and give the outstanding choreography nominees at least a minute to showcase their work. And trust me, some of those nominees would have been better represented were they given less time. I’d have given my left nut to see the thought bubbles popping up around the room during some of the performances. Although the amount of raised-eyebrow looks across tables was nearly as amusing.

The Best Stage Manager category: I think my thoughts were best summed up by the winner herself, and I paraphrase, “I’m not sure what criteria you used to judge this category, but thanks.”

By the way, I didn't win for "Outstanding Choreography" but am still immensely proud of my cast, who managed to bring the restless, noisy crowd to complete silence during their 40 seconds of stage time. Congratulations! No award can equal the satisfaction of completely captivating an audience.

Harry's all grown up

Thank God the theatre season is back in full swing. Literally - with “little” Harry Potter giving the full monty last night at Equus. I’d never actually seen a staged version of this play until last night and although there are some wonderful performances, I think the play itself may be a bit dated. Especially considering that Dr. Phil assaults us on a daily basis and people go to therapy more often than they get haircuts. I mean, really, who isn’t psychologically scarred by their dysfunctional parents? The incident that is the impetus for the whole play is still shocking and its portrayal at the end of the play, though stylized, is disturbing. But I could see how the hypnosis scene and some of the psychotherapy sessions could have come off almost comically in the hands of lesser performers.

Although Daniel Radcliffe’s nudity was partial inspiration for buying the ticket, I was thoroughly impressed with his acting chops (and his abs). I honestly didn’t think he would be able to translate his movie acting to the stage, but I guess he showed me.

Richard Griffiths is just incredible. You really feel sympathy for the Doctor. His unfulfilled marriage and the jealousy for his patient’s misguided passion is heartbreaking. My gripe here is with the director, who kept planting Griffiths downstage front, conveniently blocking whole scenes upstage with Griffiths’ enormous frame. Thank God he moved him upstage for the nude scene. It would have been embarrassing trying inconspicuously to crane my neck around Griffiths’ stomach to get a peek at Radcliffe’s goods.

As for the rest of the cast, Kate Mulgrew is loud. It was like she was in a different play. I wouldn’t say she was bad, but she’s playing Medea. Bring it down a notch, lady, and match the tone of the rest of the cast. I’m actually surprised since I do think she’s a very good actress. Maybe she was having an off day. Oh well.

The horses were impressive and for the most part, the movement was creepily accurate. I’m not sure if the circular galloping that ends the first act was completely successful, but it was certainly athletic.

Up next is 13 tomorrow night. Looking forward to the JRB score but not so much watching a bunch of 13-year-olds “rocking out” for two hours. At least School of Rock had Jack Black.

Young at Heart

Watched a great documentary last night, Young at Heart, about a chorus of senior citizens in Northampton, MA that perform pop music. Wow, these are 70, 80 and 90 year olds gettin' their groove on! Embarassing for me, considering I was just complaining how tired I was from holding dance callbacks the other week for High School Musical. Even more embarassing, they're more hip to current pop music than I am. I don't think I've ever even heard a Coldplay or Sonic Youth song until watching the movie. Shows how square I am.

Anyway, what struck me most was the emotional and lyrical clarity these performers were able to convey through stillness. I don't want to get all Stanislavski on your ass, but we so-called "professional" actors could learn alot from their delivery - honest, heartfelt and unobstructed by useless physicality. Granted, their delivery choice is mainly a result of old age, but that doesn't negate the validity of their performances. Watch and learn people.

HSM Audtions and Oprah

Well, we’ve almost got a full cast for HSM. I have to admit, the auditions were pretty painful to sit through. Not because there was a lack of talent, but because teenagers (and 20- and 30-something’s who think they pass for teenagers) are freakishly obsessed with it and therefore set up unrealistic expectations for themselves. There are four leads. The chances are you’re not going to get cast as one. It’s not mean, it’s math. I’m not trying to dash young dreams, but a bit of a reality check may be in order. When I read the listings on Actors’ Equity, if the breakdown for a role doesn’t sound like a perfect fit for me, I’ll skip it or be resigned to use the audition to practice for a real audition that I know I’ll be perfect for. I, in no way, set up some strange unrealistic expectation that even though I’m too old, too fat, too ugly, too Asian or too [insert appropriate adjective here] for the role in question, my overwhelming talent will force the casting people to just overlook my physical shortcomings. We might as well start ‘em off early and let ‘em know that theatre is all about perception, with talent coming in a distant second (or even third).

I guess I’m being a bit of a jaded old queen, but it’s probably a result of all the turndowns we’ve been getting from perspective ensemble members. Everyone wants to be the star - yes, even humble little moi (I hear you all snickering) - but it’s so depressing to be rejected by our second and even third choices who I'm sure are simply outraged at not being offered lead roles (see above paragraph). Get over it people! Hilary did. The lead in your little production of Gypsy at Random NJHS does not make you a Broadway star. Big-fish-small-pond syndrome is not attractive. So what started out as excitement at the thought of having an incredible supporting ensemble, has now morphed into growing panic. I know it will work out in the end, but it still doesn’t squelch that dream for my ideal cast.

The whole situation reminds me of the story my friend, Chris, told me about his first day of rehearsals for Troika’s national tour of Grease (which, incidentally, I joined about five months into its run when the cast started dropping like flies, but I’ll save those stories for a day when I’m really strapped for blog fodder). The cast gathered together and the producers warmly welcomed everyone by saying how pleased they were to have been able to cast all their “first choices.” Of course, the NYC theatre circle being the tiny zit that it is, everyone in the cast knew someone who had already turned it down! First choice, my ass! And still, it turned out to be a pretty darn good cast - until they all started jumping ship, of course.

So I guess the moral is that everything happens for a reason and that I should keep an open mind, stay positive. Ugh, I can’t believe I just typed that. I hate all that Oprah-esque bullsh*t, especially since she could buy the cast she wanted without even having an audition. I wish I was Oprah, or at least had Oprah’s stock portfolio.

HSM or My Secret Inspiration

I really don’t get the mass hysteria and appeal of High School Musical. I mean, yeah, it’s “current” as far as musical style and story (not), but come on. I’d rather hear a well written traditional score than a poorly written contemporary one. It’s not even that “contemporary.” Spring Awakening’s score is way more current. And, hello, you can sing “You Can’t Stop the Beat” from Hairspray over the chorus of “Status Quo.” Original? Not really. And that book. Sheesh, I’ve never heard any teenagers in our summer program speak like that. Ever. For me, the only saving graces are Sharpay and Ryan. They are so over-the-top and ridiculous that you can’t help but enjoy them. The other characters, not so much.

Believe me, I’m not saying that musicals are supposed to be the height of realism, but some things just don’t happen in real life, not even musical theatre real life. People auditioning for a show as a couple? Come on. Someone being shunned for playing the cello? Maybe in back woods Mississippi where they still walk to school barefoot, but at a contemporary, urban high school? I think not. Maybe my high school was weirdly ahead of its time, but in 1988, we did The Wiz and practically the entire school was in it, including most of the football and basketball team. So perhaps I just don’t “get it.”

Either way, I just don’t think it’s a well written piece. Even Grease, where you’d literally have to slip me a date-rape pill, hog tie me to a chair and ball gag me to sit through, at least has a tuneful score and tries to scratch (though barely) below the trite “peer-pressure-is-bad” message with references to teen pregnancy and underage drinking. Nothing in HSM even comes close to “We Go Together” (which “We’re all in This Together” is a terrible rip-off of), “Beauty School Drop-out” or “Worse Things I Can Do” as far as musical quality. “Ballad of Sweeney Todd” they are not, but they are solid musical theatre songs.

I know what you're thinking, "The kids love it. So who cares?" or "You're just an old fart" or maybe "F*ck you, I wanna' have Zac Efron's baby." Well get in line bitches. But really, why all the ranting? Why do I give a rats ass about HSM? Actually, I don’t, really. It’s just that now I’ll literally be bombarded by it for the next four months (I’m choreographing it for CDC Theatre), and I want to get all the hatred out of me before rehearsals start so I can smile and put on the happy face for all the kiddies in the cast. Trust me, I will in no way use this opportunity to display my HSM-phobic nature. On the contrary, I’m going to try my damn best to make the musical staging so ridiculously good that you won’t notice the material’s shortcomings. So I guess, in a way, HSM is inspiring me to do my best work. Yeah, that’s it. OK, now I think I can move on.

A Tale of Two Cities

Well, it was really, really loud (sound man, please turn down Barbour’s mic. I thought my ears were going to start bleeding). And James Barbour is really, really tall. And the lighting was really, really pretty. And there was plenty of smoke. If you loved Les Mis, you won’t hate A Tale of Two Cities. The problem with Tale is that its overabundance of enthusiasm, commitment and investment money far outweighs its musical merits. As much as people diss Les Mis, there’s no arguing that Claude-Michel Schönberg has moments of quite beautiful melodic writing, even if he repeats those same snippets ad infinitum. Honestly, I kept waiting for the “big song.” You know, the one that everyone will be using at auditions next spring. And it did come eventually (midway through the extremely long first act), but it just wasn’t as good as even the mediocre songs in Les Mis. And a side note to the composer, you don’t have to end every song either on a loud, high, long note or a soft (read falsetto), high, long note. She might as well of had the actors just yell out, “I’m done now, please clap for me.”

I don’t mean to completely bash the composer, though. I have to give Ms. Santoriello props for effort. The writing and musical development showed obvious craft, but the whole affair lacked musical inspiration. Example: I know the first act closer was meant to make me leap to my feet in excitement, but it just sort of laid there. I kept wishing they’d just start singing “One Day More” instead. Sure, it ended loud and high - emphasis on loud - and the requisite rhythmic drone on the snare drum was meant to get my blood pumping, but good orchestration and vocal writing can’t make up for uninspiring melodies. It is a musical, after all.

The production itself is gorgeous to look at and it’s probably the strongest vocal cast I’ve heard on a Broadway stage in a long time (those bitches can sing!). But again, it’s all just a beautiful wedding gown thrown on a homely, but rich, bride.

The cast is outstanding and Barbour is especially good as Sydney. I thank Ms. Santoriello for acknowledging that there are other vocal ranges other than tenor and belt. It was refreshing to actually hear legit voices on Broadway. A soprano ingénue - imagine that! I sort of expected more from Natalie Toro, but her high belt was a bit weak. Perhaps she was having an off night?

For full disclosure, I did start to well up a couple of times in the second act, but I don’t think it was a direct result of the score. I mean, unless you’re made out of stone, the story itself is moving: a man trades his life to save the husband of the woman he secretly loves. You’d have to f*ck up pretty bad to drain the emotion from that storyline. So although I can appreciate the composer's and the cast's obvious commitment and dedication to the project, and the beauty of the physical production, they just can't make up for the score's shortcomings.