Angels in America: Millenium Approaches

Thursday, December 30

Signature Theatre, 7:30pm performance

The gays were out in force last night at Angels in America Part I: Millenium Approaches.  It was actually nice to see such a hugely diverse crowd (age, race, and gender as well) since today’s Broadway audience is starting to become one big homogenized white, middle-class blob.  I mean no disrespect to Joe the Plumber from Ohio, but Joe doesn’t want to shell out $120 to be challenged or moved.  Joe wants familiar, safe stories that don’t tax brain cells and don’t question status quo.

I present to you Exhibit A - the abrupt closing of Scottsboro Boys and Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson on Broadway.  Without judging their artistic merits, these shows pushed the boundaries of traditional musical theatre by challenging audiences intellectually as well as emotionally.  The result?  Both closed within a couple months of opening while Mamma Mia! continues to sellout.  Obviously, America wants its entertainment served up on white bread with double cheese. 

Oddly, the shows we now consider masterpieces of the genre would probably have closed just as quickly as Scottsboro or Bloody if opening today.  Could Sweeney or West Side, shows that do not trade on spectacle or familiarity, but rather on story, score and lyric, make it in today’s fast food musical climate?  It’s a mute point, I guess.  But I’d venture they’d have a tough time raising capital today without the bankability of their composers.

Okay, enough with the ranting, let’s move on to Angels.  I remember seeing the original Broadway production and thinking, “Gee, do people talk like this in real life?   They’re so eloquent and cerebral even when they’re just ranting.”  Of course, I’ve experienced at least a decade’s worth of life since that first viewing.  Hearing the words again, it doesn’t seem so improbable.  It’s still brilliantly eloquent and intelligent, but still feels real and honest.

Trish and I had a twinge of panic seeing that dreaded slip of white paper in the program.  The cast is one of the main reasons I bit the bullet and paid for full price tickets.  It turned out that Christian Borle - one of Trish's fake Broadway boyfriends - was out.  His understudy, Eric Bryant, seemed a bit tentative in his first couple of scenes, but hit his stride by the hallway "collapse" scene.  His chemistry with Quinto also seemed a bit forced at first, but seemed to gel by the middle of the first act.  I believe today was his first time on for the role of Prior (judging from the late house opening 5 minutes prior to curtain), so pretty impressive all things considered.  Fingers crossed we see Borle for Part 2 on Sunday, though it'll be weird seeing a different actor continuing in the role.

Zach Quinto is some nice eye candy but someone needs to throw him a steak.  The man is downright waifish.  It was odd that the character dying from AIDS had more muscle definition and bulk than Quinto.  Regardless, Quinto was a highlight of an extremely strong ensemble.  I was also particularly impressed with Frank Wood's Roy Cohen.  His physicality was appropriately disgusting.  Watching him as Cohen made me feel dirty.  Though many on the chatboards found Kazan's portrayal of Harper disingenuous, I found her more than adequate and at times moving.  Bill Heck's Joe Pitt can meet me in the rambles any night.  His performance was equal turns sympathetic and frustrating (in a good way).  I appreciated Robin Bartlett's harsher reading of Mother Pitt (compared to Meryl Streep on HBO).  Billy Porter sure knows how to play sassy black side-kick and deserves the audience acknowledgement he receives, but I prefer Jeffrey Wright's less flamboyant and emotionally contained (but equally intense) Belize from TV and the original Broadway production. 

I'm looking forward to Part 2 on Sunday.  Happy New Year!

FYI: weenie alert - the audience gets to see both Quinto and Borle's wee-wee's - if you're into that.  ;-)

Kennedy Center honors

I am a blogging fool this week!  Enjoy this literary bounty while you can because soon enough, I'll actually have to work while I'm at the office.  Although it is a pleasure sitting in silence and not having bankers hurl unreasonable requests at you, after about five hours of web-surfing even I begin to suffer net-fatigue.  Still, I'm grateful for this once yearly lull in the usually tumultuous world of investment banking. 

The televised Kennedy Center Honors last night provided a welcome jolt of surprises and what-the-f*ck moments to elevate an otherwise predictable broadcasting week brimming with reruns and Holiday retreads.  Oddly, I think Oprah's segment was the most entertaining and thoughtful of the bunch.  J-Hud kicked some major ass with her rendition of "I'm Here" from The Color Purple. 

And damn, that tape worm - and by tape worm I mean Weight Watchers - is working wonders for her figure. 

The segment honoring Jerry Herman was just plain embarrassing.  Is it any wonder the red state folks cling to the cheesy musical theatre stereotype?  How are we going to get new audiences into the theatre when all they see is over-processed cheese?  I love me some Chita and Carol, but it seems this segment was produced by some big old queen finally working out his Broadway boner on National TV.  Instead of all those performers presenting 10 second snippets of songs that just don't work out of context, why not have 2 or 3 full-song performances?  I'll admit, I'm not the biggest Herman fan, but at least a full song would better illustrate his songwriting craft.  And what was with that male ensemble?  Can you say "over-choreographed?"  It was like they were on crack.  They never stopped moving and the choreography never matched the tone of the songs or acknowledged the lyric.  Sometimes more is just more.  Props to Chita, though, who's still got it at 77.  And Matthew Morrison, please smile!  "It's Today" is supposed to be a joyful and happy celebration of life.  He was more like a Mama Rose telling us to enjoy his number --- or else.

Blizzard of 2010 -- photos coming soon!

This morning was a commuting nightmare.  Thanks to the Blizzard of 2010, the Q train suspended service leaving me with only one subway line, the N train.  Of course, my stop - an outdoor platform - hadn't yet seen a shovel so this morning's throng of commuters were straddling the back metal wall for fear of slipping onto the tracks.  Misery breeds a weird sort of camaraderie between commuters and though trains were late and we were packed tighter than Adam Lambert's jeans, everyone seemed to just go with the flow.  I didn't really hear any complaining except for a singular outburst at the 59th street station when someone yelled, "Stop pushing."  Pretty tame for New Yorkers.

So here I am, at my desk and clocked-in five minutes late - not bad considering the 25 inches of snow on the ground.  But no matter, my floor is basically empty with only a few analysts and a handful of assistants at their desks.  I smell a long day of net surfing and online shopping. 

As for the rest of my holiday weekend, Saturday’s blizzard warning prompted mom and dad to adopt a wait-and-see stance before heading into the city.  I didn't want to get stranded in NJ for the rest of the week, so I headed out Sunday morning just as it was beginning to flurry - or as my malapropism-prone mother likes to say, flourish.  I guess everyone else had the same idea.  The NJ Transit bus was packed and already running 20 minutes late.  At least I didn't have to stand for the whole trip unlike some of the later boarders.  Exiting the NYC side of the Lincoln Tunnel it was clear the meteorologists got this one right - Mother Nature was gonna' take a massive dump on us. 

From Port Authority I opted for the subway rather than a cab in anticipation of some horrific weather-related traffic.  I'd already gotten a sneak peak on the bus ride in - four car accidents in less than 10 miles of highway between Union and Newark.  By the time I was finally off the subway and walking the last few blocks to my apartment there was at least an inch of snow on the ground.  Ignorant of the storm predictions, I had only packed smooth-soled dress shoes.  So you guessed it, I slipped and fell flat on my ass right in front of the Dunkin Donuts on 30th Avenue.  On reflection, this was probably a sign from God to stock up on munchkins and Boston crèmes for the long winter hibernation to come.  But as is often the case with divine revelation, I was too pre-occupied with anger, cursing and embarrassment to notice.  The moral of the story? - God wants me to eat more doughnuts. 

By six, it appeared I would be trapped in the apartment (alone - mom and dad wisely decided not to travel into the city) for at least the next day, so I threw on my boots and trekked to the Rite Aid for important supplies - toilet paper and Lindt chocolates.  Don’t judge.  They had the special Christmas flavors (of chocolate, not toilet paper - that would be just plain weird) at 50% off!  Obviously, God had given me a second chance to stock up on useless calories and at half price.  Can I get an "Amen"?

I also made a detour to Radio Shack to buy a memory card for my new video camera.  As soon as I figure out how to use it, I will post my blizzard photos.

I woke up Monday morning to a winter wonderland.  It was like a crack house threw up all over the street, only colder and without the syringes.  Ignoring the weatherman’s pleas to stay indoors, I strapped on my boots to see whether any other other idiots decided to venture out.  It seems Astoria is full of idiots because the streets were brimming with activity.  Sidewalks were being shoveled, cars were being un-buried (pardon the passive voice), dogs were shitting and kids were playing.  Plowing Queens (that sounds dirty) is obviously not a priority for the city since the side streets (i.e. my street) appeared impassable.  A few abandoned cars - I imagine the drivers got stuck in the snow and just gave up - created lovely arctic snowdrifts smack dab in the middle of the street.

I was surprised to find both the Key Food and Rite Aid open though under-manned.  I took this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to play King of the Grocery Store and shop the abandoned aisles.  This must be how Paris Hilton feels when they close the Cocaine Emporium on Rodeo Drive to the general public so she can shop un-hassled by the paparazzi.   Shopping completed, I headed home with my bags filled with ingredients for a big pot of homemade chili.

I spent the rest of the day lounging in my underwear, scoffing bowls of chili and watching an all day marathon of “Living in the Time of Jesus” on the National Geographic Channel.  The three-part documentary was actually pretty interesting and oddly secular given the title and subject matter.  Don’t worry, I’m not heading off to Seminary anytime soon.  Every other channel was showing blizzard coverage or re-runs of Oprah.  

Sadly, the snow day was wasted because I had already taken the day off from work.

A Pineda Christmas

Finally, a boring holiday. No gaping wounds or stitches, no road trips, no double set of parents, no parties – just the family in our pajamas with the TV and an endless supply of food and alcohol. What could be better? Granted, we did have to get dressed for Juan's Christmas Eve mass, but even that was relatively painless compared to the previous night’s cluster-fucked Pineda Holiday extravaganza. Is it grammatically correct to use “cluster-fuck” as an adjective? Does it really matter? At least I spelled it out, unlike our abbreviation-obsessed younger generation – LOL (Get the irony?).

This year the siblings decided to go budget with gift-giving and we set a spending limit. Now that I’m totally OCD about cleanliness and neatness in the apartment, the lack of “stuff” was definitely a plus for me. Juan, Val & Trish pooled their resources and got me a nifty handheld mini video recorder (Kodak Zi8 - isn't it pretty?). So as soon as I figure it out, I’ll actually be able to post some awesome blackmail-worthy video! Watch out family and friends. I smell a lawsuit.

Unfortunately, Gerry was unable to join us in NJ this year. We celebrated via phone as he nursed his ailing cat, Maddie (18 years old!) in Austin. He had a close call the day before and had to bring her to the vet. Hopefully, he won’t have to put her down during the holidays. Very sad.

Mom and dad, however, were able to make the trek to NJ and will be celebrating the rest of the week in my apartment in Queens. I actually don’t mind having them stay with me even though the space is so friggin’ small. What I am freaked out about (here’s my OCD again) is that I haven’t been able to clean the apartment. I’ve literally been going to work and then going straight to NJ for rehearsals everyday this week. I’ve barely had enough time at home to sleep let alone scrub a toilet. Now that I’m in my – gulp – 40’s, I take my eight hours of blissful slumber very seriously. They’ll just have to live with the scattered clothes and dirty dishes in the sink. At least I’ll have a clean set of sheets for them.

It’s now nearly midnight and I’ve been in the same tee shirt and drawstring pajama pants for nearly 24 hours! Even a visit from Audrey (an old friend of Val) and her friend Rosemary couldn't motivate an outfit change. I don’t think my regular clothes will fit me anyway. I haven’t stopped eating or drinking since 11am. I’ve been in this constant state of wanting to throw-up interrupted by hourly trips to recline on the porcelain throne. Yet I continue to shovel in ham, rum cake, sangria, chocolate, shrimp, calamari, assorted appetizers, cookies and a complete prime rib dinner with mashed potatoes and creamed spinach. I’ll have to down a bottle of Pepto before bed.

Trish and Val in their matching PJ's from mom.  They're like twins.  I can't even tell them apart!

Me in my Polar Bear pajamas being acosted by Juan and his new massager.

The happy family.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

A Very Merry Pineda Holiday Spectacular!

The staff of Pineda Conservatory in our opening number finery. 

Merry Christmas!

Spider-man and other random crap

The worker's comp claims are piling up over at the Foxwood's theatre.  And I thought WE were pushing the boundary by making our kids do full-out production numbers in 100 degree heat wearing wool costumes in an un-air-conditioned theatre in the summer (try and say that sentence out loud in one breath).*  Damn that Julie Taymor.  She's one-upped as again! 

The latest casualty of Spider-man is Christopher Tierney, an aerialist and actor who reportedly plunged 28 feet after a safety rigging failed (or was improperly hooked up - still under investigation).  Watch the video here.  I don't mean to make light of an obviously horrific accident, but come on already - a broken toe, two broken wrists (on the same actor), a concussion (sidelining the lead actress for two weeks) and now reported broken ribs and internal bleeding?  That has got to be some kind of a record.  This is Broadway, not Olympic bobsledding.  They need to just go back to the drawing board and compose a better score, write a more compelling book and just tell us a good freakin' story. 

All this flying and acrobatics while impressive and fun are merely diamonds on a necklace made of dog shit.  If I want to see ridiculous feats of physical strength and acrobatics strung along by a wisp of a plot and atmospheric music I'll go see a Cirque de Soleil show.  At least the Cirque cast has been training most of their lives to hone their skills.  I'm not sitting in the audience worrying whether someone may plunge to their death.  I'd go further and add that last summer's Cirque offering, Ovo, had a much more effective and theatrical score than Spidey.  That's just sad.

Anyway, enough about Spider-man, we have our very own stage spectacular to worry about, The Very Merry Pineda Holiday Spectacular!  Yes, folks, it's almost time for the third installment of our annual Holiday extravaganza.  Val has been going crazy coordinating rehearsals for over 80 current students, alumni and parents.  It's been a revolving door at the rehearsal hall and between final exams, vacations, all the schools' holiday concerts, and general season busy-ness, we won't even have a final cast count until the night of the performance.  I'm hoping the stage at the CDC can handle all that weight. 

Anyone not familiar with our off-the-wall family variety show is in for a pleasant (?) surprise.  Where else can you see small children singing inappropriate songs, dancing reindeer, Val in a candy cane suit, me in drag and Santa Claus?  Well, that's just business as usual at Pineda Conservatory.  Hopefully, child protective services never gets wind of us.

Speaking of children, what better way to guarantee the holiday "aww" factor than throwing a few rugrats into your act.  Yes, my friends, I've resorted to the highest form of audience manipulation, small children!  Cute little Suzy will deflect any criticism of my flat singing, botched lyrics or cracked high notes.  It's a win - win for all!  Don't judge.

*Below is a video of Peter Carmo and the ensemble in last summer's Meet Me in St. Louis performing "Banjos."  You would never know it was near 100 degrees in the theatre.  They just keep on smiling and strumming in full tuxes and gowns.  Child abuse?  I'd say we're "instilling character."  Potato - Potahto.

Women on the Verge...

Thursday, December 16

8pm performance

This show really confused me.  It’s close to being good and it’s almost always entertaining, but it’s hampered by a central character who isn’t as interesting as the secondary characters surrounding her.  It’s not Sheri Rene’s fault, either.  Her material is just, well, uninspired.  Her character, Pepa, gets straddles with one bland ballad after another.  I mean, it’s her story, yet the writers give the big, 11 o’clock number to Patti LuPone.  Yes, I know, it’s Patti LuPone and God forbid she doesn’t get the “big numbah,” but it really just throws the whole show off balance.  It’s like giving “Rose’s Turn” to Louise.

The act one finale is a big ole mess.  Until then the show is more or less naturalistic.  Then for no apparent reason it turns into Cirque de Soleil for dummies.  And the accompanying song is like an itch inside your skull that you can’t scratch.  I was actually enjoying myself through most of the act, but that finale annoyed me so much that I actually felt angry when the lights came up for intermission.

The show also suffers from multiple personal disorder, i.e. inconsistent tone.  The opening number sets us up for a big, splashy musical comedy and a few scenes later it gets super serious with the burning bed scene.  The next moment we’re in a (not very well executed) farce with zany Laura Benanti and LuPone running around slamming doors and drugging police with Valium. 

Benanti looks gorgeous and is surprisingly funny, with her flouncy walk and ditsy demeanor.  Of course, Sheri Rene’s less-than-fiery Latin fades even further into the background next to Benanti’s wide-eyed sex kitten. 

Methinks some over-sized star wattage blinded the writers’ focus.  Certainly Lucia’s first act song and scene with Paulina would have been tightened up, even cut, if not for LuPone’s star stature.  Same goes with Stokes’ (whose understudy was on) boring microphone song which definitely should have been cut by at least a verse or so.  I’m not saying these troupers don’t deserve to be upstage center, but poor Sheri Rene’s character has been relegated to spectator status in her own story.

With some judicious editing, a more streamlined story, more consistent tone and the deletion of a song or two, I think there’s potential for a great show.  As it stands, it’s perfectly average. 

A weekend flat on my back

Minds out of the gutter, people!  I threw my back out a couple weeks ago during the strike of La Traviata.  Forgetting that I'm no longer a nubile, young thing but a fat, middle-aged theatre queen, I tried to move a set piece that probably required two fat, middle-aged theatre queens (or one fairly in-shape young person).  Alas, I thought I was recovering well enough until I spent a weekend on Juan and Val's click-couch futon and a night awkwardly twisted in my own bed. 

Too embarrassed to call out of work due to a bad back, I instead did what any honest working girl would do, lie.  Feigning illness, I spent the day reclined on my couch, wrapped in an ace back support, watching twelve hours of holiday-themed cooking shows - actually not a terrible way to spend a cold winter day.  Note to self, back braces only look good on hunky weight lifters, professional wrestlers and delivery men.  On regular schmucks like me, they only accentuate an already bulging muffin top. 

I did manage to make it to rehearsal (for the Very Merry Pineda Holiday Spectacular!) Sunday evening, but wasn't much help.  Thankfully, Chris was on hand to whip the Pineda-ettes into shape for their featured number while I remained sidelined at the keyboard in my back brace.  Coincidentally, Chris also had a senior moment earlier that day.  He lost his car at the Short Hills mall parking lot.  Yes, he actually forgot where he parked and spent a panicked 15 minutes roaming the huge lot in a cold sweat.  What a sad pair we make.   Was it really only 13 years ago that we hand-jived our way across the country playing teenagers?!  Now we're wearing back braces and losing our cars.  Sad, just sad. 

Carolee

Many of you know about my un-holy obsession with Audra MacDonald.  But many of you may not be aware of my other, more subtle fanaticism for Broadway singer/actress Carolee Carmello.  Unlike Audra, Carolee doesn’t appear on a weekly National TV show (yet) so her adoration by the masses may not quite be so ubiquitous. 

Last Thursday as Trish and I wandered through the Bryant Park Holiday Shops (exiting the Kate Spade booth to be exact) we stumbled upon the tree lighting ceremony.  The usual cute (but awful) school groups performed as well as casts from a couple of Broadway shows.  No biggie, right?  Well, after the cast of Rock of Ages screamed through a couple of 80’s covers, the MC started the following introduction: 

MC:

Next up is a Broadway actress who’s starred in Mammia Mia, Lestat…

Me (squealing like a tweener at a Justin Bieber concert):  

CAROLEE CARMELLO! 

Yes, I know, that very well may have been the gayest moment of my life.

Regardless, Trish and I were giddy with delight as the many tourists around us surely wondered, “Who the hell is Carolee Carmello and why are these two crazy Asians flipping their shit?”  They obviously have never experienced the magic that is Carolee. 

I, of course, was hoping for her crazy high belt version of “Do You Hear What I Hear.”  (See below and listen through the end for the juicy belting.)


 
Instead, he announced “Oh, Holy Night.”  Even better.  Trish whipped out her cell phone and started filming the historic event.  You’ll have to check back soon when Trish’s figured out how to download the video so I can post.  We give a blow-by-blow complete with cut-away shots of our facial expressions.  Priceless.

Needless to say, Ms. Carmello was fabulous even though her last belted “di-VINE” was a little wonky.  But hey, it was cold outside. 

If you ever get a chance to see her in action, do not miss it.

Kardashians are to Spider-man as...

Brace yourselves, kiddies, this is going to be a long one.  Trish and I saw Spider-man: Turn off the Dark last week in previews at the Ford Center...I mean Hilton Theatre...I mean Foxwoods Theatre (corporate sponsorship, gotta' love it!) for its third public performance.  The national papers, TV networks, blogs and chatrooms have been abuzz with nonstop gossip and innuendo over the most expensive Broadway show in theatre history. 

First off, that title is just awful and really has nothing to do with the show except for a casual reference in one lyric.  It's surprising I was even able to catch that lyric given the horrifically bad sound design, but more on that later.  And that hyphen?  I know, I know, that's how Stan Lee spelled the character's name in the original comic book, but it's just awkward and looks ugly.

My post title pretty much sums up my feelings for the show as it stands after three previews.  Spider-man is like a Kardashian - a lot of money spent to look good, but not much substance.  Yes, Taymor gives us some spectacular visuals and a gorgeous design that makes you almost forget about the clunky book, mostly un-theatrical score, banal lyrics and unintelligible Arachne mythology in the second act.  Almost.  Don't get me wrong, I love U2 and own plenty of their CD's.  Yes, I still have a CD player and yes, I actually play CD's on it.  Call me old-fashioned.  But much of the score is basically tuneless, generic alt-rock that at times badly mimics the genuinely eerie film scores of Danny Elfman.  Why not just hire Danny Elfman?  They could have also thrown this one to theatre composer Tom Kitt (Next to Normal) or to keep with "rock names", David Bryan (Memphis and Bon Jovi) or Jim Steinman (who gave us the even more awful Dance of the Vampires but which at least had some great tunes.  Who doesn't love "Total Eclipse of the Heart"?).  I can't believe I'm going to suggest this, but I'd even give Sir Andrew Lloyd Weber a shot, in hopes he could pull another Superstar or Evita out of his ass.

Just because you can write a good song doesn't mean you can write a good THEATRE song.  What's catchy and profound on the radio can sound cliche or just downright silly in a theatrical setting (i.e. "turn off the dark" - huh?  Seriously, isn't this just an obnoxious way to say "turn on the light"?).  Theatre songs have to move plot along, illuminate character or hopefully, both.  Most songs in this score do neither.  It isn't a total wash-out.  There are two pretty ballads in the second act, both are duets between Peter and Mary Jane sung beautifully by Reeve Carney and Jennifer Damiano.  The latter of whom is totally wasted in an underwritten, underdeveloped role.  Happily, the orchestration and muddy sound design don't interfere with the (mostly trite, faux-expressionist) lyrics here.  Speaking of sound design, there were 5-6 minute stretches where I literally couldn't understand a single word or lyric uttered on the stage.  Conservatively, I'd say 40 percent of the lyrics were lost under heavy reverb, over-amplified orchestra and unclear staging.  It seemed Taymor was more interested in creating stunning visual images than creating a cohesive narrative.

Realistically, with a lot of editing, tightening and score-tweaking, the first act is definitely salvageable.  Taymor's work with perspective and imagery is often inspired and the familiarity of the story sweeps you along in spite of the sound and book problems.  But it all falls apart in the second act when Taymor's Arachne character takes center stage. 

The Arachne myth has potential, but again, it seems Taymor's forsaken clarity for the sake of beautiful pictures.  The character isn't developed enough and the myth itself has so many holes in it that I was often confused or simply didn't care.  And I'm sure I wasn't alone on this one considering the many yawns emanating from the audience members sitting around me.  Yes, I was actually bored during the second act.  And what's with all the video?  I can appreciate the technology as an aid to story-telling, but we're literally watching a movie for 15 minutes of the second act (10 minutes of which could be cut and not missed at all).   I honestly don't think the second act can be fixed without shutting down the show for a couple of weeks and re-working it.  This is a luxury I'm sure this production can't afford, considering they're already in the hole for $65 million. 

And that brings us to the flying.  Yes, it's impressive and definitely something that's never been seen in a Broadway show, at least not on this scale.  Although for my money, the flying - or perhaps more accurately, the flight - in Mary Poppins is more of a "wow" moment for me because you don't see wires and because the single occurrence makes it somehow more special.  In Spidey, it starts to get a bit redundant by the time the second act rolls around.  It's basically the same three or four patterns over and over again.  I'm not saying they need to increase the intricacy level, but maybe instead of a tenth flying pass there could be, oh, I don't know, a coherent book scene that actually moves the plot forward?  I know, I'm such a traditionalist.  Or how about going the complete opposite route.  Fuck the book and just make it all action, flying and spectacle.  Either method would improve the current product immensely.  And I use "product" rather than production here, because that's exactly what it feels like - a well-packaged marketing tool for the Spider-man brand presented under the guise of art.  There's nothing wrong with that, but expectations wouldn't be quite so high had the producers just fessed up to it in the first place.

I'm happy to report the stage manager only stopped the show once for about 5 minutes in the first act when it appeared there was some tangled wiring during the first flight sequence.  Still, I was unable to fully engage in the flying sequences because in the back of my mind, I was always fearful for the actors and their safety.  In a Cirque de Soleil show, it's obvious that the stunts are being performed by highly trained acrobats who have spent a lifetime honing their skills.  I always feel they are in complete control of their bodies and their surroundings - not so in Spidey.  All the stunts seem to be quite dangerous and seemingly difficult to control with any degree of consistency given the unpredictability of live performance and the inevitable variances with understudies and replacements.  The actors are at the mercy of the stagehands as far as timing, velocity and accuracy of movement.  Not that I don't trust the stagehands, but the actors don't seem to possess much control.  Seriously, three actors are already out of the show: one hurt his foot, another broke both wrists attempting a flying stunt and the lead actress was out with a concussion the night we attended after being hit in the head with a flying rope.  Nuff' said?

Back to the physical production, what's up with the costumes in the Daily Bugle scenes?  The high school kids (including Peter and Mary Jane) are in modern dress, but everyone working in the Daily Bugle are in 1940's period costumes - not to mention anachronistically using typewriters to dictate copy.  What time period are we in? 

With all that said, the creative team does have until mid-January to get their act together.  I'll have to give them the benefit of the doubt until the sucker actually opens.  I just don't see realistically how they can overhaul this behemoth given the constraints of the technical design.  Even the lighting, striking though it is, seems to have a new cue every half second or so.  Any small change will likely take days just to program into the computer.  I think the best we can hope for is tweaking of the book scenes, which would greatly improve, but not fix, many of the shows narrative problems.  I'll definitely pay another visit after opening, granted I can afford a ticket, to see what's changed. 

Spider-man and ...

...Kim - separated at birth?

Elling and more starf*cking

Poor Elling.  Less than a week after opening it’s posted a closing notice.  That’s really quite sad.  I’m surprised they didn’t just keep the thing running for another couple of weeks to at least allow Tony voters see it.  No performances = no chance for Tony voters to view = no Tony nominations = no way to market it for licensing.  The producers have basically guaranteed no one will ever produce this play again.

Granted, it’s no Death of a Salesman, but it’s an entertaining, escapist new comedy (although based on a movie, but hell, nothing new there).  I’m also surprised that it wasn’t able to eek out even a few weeks on Broadway given star casting.  Denis O’Hare, Brendan Fraser and Jennifer Coolidge are recognizable Hollywood names.  If that combined threesome can’t sell tickets, it doesn’t bode well for the future of new plays on Broadway.  I guess I should’ve seen the writing on the wall given Trish and I were able to score opening night tickets on TDF!  I know, how sad is it they couldn’t sell the place out for opening night?  There were actually empty seats in the back of the mezzanine. 

The play itself has its charms.  Though I think O’Hare and Fraser were over-selling a bit.  The quirkiness of the characters might have been more interesting if not always played for easy laughs.  In this case, subtlety was definitely not a directorial choice.  They might have had something here had the producers chosen a smaller, Off-Broadway house and if the director chose to downplay the “cute crazy people” aspect and instead emphasize the difficulties that come with unwillingly being thrown into a “sane” world.  Regardless, by the second act I was won over by the obvious chemistry between the two leads and by the deliciously funny Coolidge as a smoking, drinking pregnant neighbor.  Translated from a Norwegian source, perhaps some of the quirky fun of the original text has been lost in translation. 

The best part of the evening though was audience watching.  Given the cast’s star wattage, Hollywood types dotted the opening night audience.  I spotted TR Knight, George Takei, Victor Garber, Fisher Stevens and Brian D’Arcy James.  Andy Karl and a jewel-bedecked Orfeh were a few rows in front of us.  Apparently, Sam Rockwell, Angela Lansbury, Rachel Dratch, Vincent Pastore, Blair Brown, Paul Wesley and Jamie-Lynn Sigler were all there as well, but I didn’t happen to see them. 

Thankful for butter!

In an attempt to guarantee Val keeps all her fingers intact this year, I invited the Jersey Pinedas to Thanksgiving in Queens where I spent hours - no, days - slaving in my tiny, unventilated kitchen preparing a lavish feast to rival the debaucherous ways of the ancient Romans and Greeks.  Not.  I booked a reservation at Bar Americain and made Bobby Flay my Thanksgiving bitch.  Yes, this may be a Pineda first, Thanksgiving dinner in a - gasp! - restaurant.  Well, all I can say is why haven’t we done this sooner?  I mean, it honestly costs about the same.  Except unlike your home, a wait staff is at your beck and call, you don’t have to wash dishes, and the food eventually stops coming so you don’t unconsciously eat until you fall into a food coma.

My Bobby Flay Thanksgiving started with a delightful citrus rum drink with a brown sugar rim.  I shouldn’t continue without warning you many innocent sticks of butter gave their lives up for my holiday enjoyment.  First course was a butter-licious bowl of shrimp and grits with bacon followed by a Flintstone-sized slab of prime rib topped with, you guessed it, more melted butter.  Oh, the humanity!  Dessert was a yummy profiterole swimming in a delectable smoky-sweet caramel brittle sauce.  Of course, we all made sure to order different items and passed the plates around.  So I also got a bit of Juan’s apple glazed pork chops and Val’s heavenly lamb. 

Since no holiday can go by without someone family member incurring an injury, Juan was gracious enough to take one for the team.  He arrived at my apartment with a swollen foot and had to hobble around the city all day.  Since the weather sucked (cold and rainy), we just made a quick, after-dinner stop at the Bryant Park holiday bazaar to do some window shopping and watch the ice skaters careen uncontrollably around the rain-slicked temporary rink.  There’s nothing like a good dose of schadenfreude to brighten up a dreary holiday evening.

We ended the evening in our PJ’s watching a heartwarming film to get us into the holiday spirit, Predators.  Yes, the loving tale of an alien race that takes pleasure in hunting and killing humans for sport.  It really gives you the warm fuzzies.  Strangely, something about murder and death made Val think of Joey’s cats and how she had forgotten to feed them.  The thought of starving felines so overwhelmed Val that they decided to cut their stay short.  Tired and stomachs full of red meat, they took off late last night and headed straight to Joey's to give the cats their Thanksgiving meal.   

Today I am at my empty office waiting for the day to end.  Luckily, we’re off at two so I’ll have the rest of the day to nap and eat.  I’m continuing my Thanksgiving gluttony this afternoon with a tray of homemade sausage stuffing and apple crisp that I had prepared for Juan, Val and I to nosh on throughout the night.  Oh well, more for me I guess.  Oh, and I almost forgot about that pitcher of sangria I’ve had fermenting in the fridge for the last three days.  I guess I’ll be full and drunk by about four this afternoon (and laying with my head in the toilet by around eight).  Don’t try calling.  I won’t answer.

Happy Holidays!

Seeing double

My preparation-H weekend continued at Gatz (yes, the nearly seven-hour dramatized reading of the entire novel, The Great Gatsby - but more on that later) on Saturday with twin Steve sightings.  Stephen Sondheim sat two rows in front of me cozying up to some preppie college twink.  They exited after the second intermission for what I can only imagine to be some private “tutoring.”  I didn’t spot Steve #2 until the first intermission.  But Mr. Martin looked dapper in an all black suit and his now-trademark black fedora.  Incidentally, Mr. Martin stayed the whole seven hours.

As for the show, it was long - really long.  Not that I wasn’t impressed by the clever way the cast integrated the text and story into the office setting.  But seven hours of concentrated attention (and sitting on the most uncomfortable stacking chairs imaginable) is a lot to ask of any theatre fan; even the black, skinny-jeaned hipster audiences that the Public Theatre seems to attract more than a Park Slope poetry slam.  At about hour six and a half I was mentally going over my Thanksgiving dinner shopping list while Jay Gatsby went belly-up in his pool.

The marathon production did elicit some emotional highs and several striking visual moments, namely the first party scene and the Plaza hotel scene.  Though obviously prop hell for the cast, the ingenious use of everyday objects coupled with strategic costuming and intelligent lighting created the illusion of luxury out of a musty old office. The actors’ onstage transformations from office workers to roaring twenties socialites is fully realized and seamless.  But Scott Sheperd (as narrator, Nick) is the the solid foundation upon which this production stands.  He has a natural charm and endearing quality.  He's the kind of guy you could actually hang out with for seven hours shooting the shit and having a drink.  How is it even possible he has a speaking voice by the end of the evening?  Seriously? 

Because the ensemble is so strong, a couple of the supporting players stand out as merely adequate.  Susie Sokol is an adept physical actress, but when she opens her mouth as Jordan, she shows all the emotional depth of a computerized GPS voice navigator.  I don’t know if she’s bored or was having an off day, but her stiff narration stood out, and not in a good way.

I also had some problems with the abrupt tonal changes.  One moment we are immersed in a naturalistic, literal acting style and the next, the actors are hamming it up like some Charles Busch campfest.  Though this schizo style seemed intentional, it often just took me out of the moment and seemed an attempt to milk cheap laughs from the audience. 

If you’ve got seven hours, $150 and time to see the chiropractor the next day, go for Gatz.  Except you’ll have to wait until the revival since the rest of the run is already sold out.  Or just turn off your computer, iPad, cell phone, TV, Wii or Xbox and actually read something!

Elf

My ass hurts.  And not from what you’re thinking, dirty-birdy!  I had a crazy show-filled weekend so between that and sitting at my desk chair eight hours a day at work - well, you get the (not very pretty) picture. 

Show week started Thursday with Elf, the Broadway adaptation of the Will Ferrell movie.  It was harmless fun and worth a TDF ticket - though I’d rent the movie before I’d shell out $120 for a full price seat.  The music is adequate with a few numbers amped up by some great performances (“There is a Santa Claus”, “The Story of Buddy the Elf” and Amy Spanger’s elf dating song - which I’m sure casting directors are already putting on their “don’t sing” lists - as the standouts).  It’s harmless holiday fun and I did feel my tear glands welling a few times.  Granted, I cry at a bake sale, so I’m probably not a good barometer.  The incredible Beth Leavel added some meat and depth to what on paper probably read as a throw-away role.  Amy Spanger in a long, dark wig looks freakishly similar to Zooey Deschanel’s character in the movie.  The part is a bit under-written and her laissez-faire characterization didn’t help matters much.  Sebastian Arcelus is charming and enjoyable but lacks Will Ferrell’s abashed childlike ignorance.  He seemed to try too hard to ingratiate himself to the audience, but I think a longer run will help settle him down.  Oddly, the physical productions (except for the awesome, Technicolor costumes) looked cheap - like a budget bus-and-truck touring production.  Those rolling desks were hideous and the “nice” decorations in the Christmasland sequence look like dollar store finds.  The choreography also came off a bit theme park-y and seemed like a desperate attempt to throw in prop-ography in place of clean, character-driven movement. 

I know, it sounds like I hated the show.  But I actually did enjoy myself despite some reservations.  I think the score is good and the book adaption is excellent, but the physical production falls a bit short.  If I had all the money in the world to produce it, I’d give it to Jerry Zaks and Susan Stroman and let Michael Yeargan do the sets.  But since that will never happen, you’ll have to settle for what’s at the Martin Beck for now.

 The original Elf (Will Ferrell) l. and his Broadway doppelganger (Sebastian Arcelus) r.

It’s the most wonderful(?) time of the year

The holiday season snuck up on me like a bad case of acid reflux.  That’s right folks, haul out the holly and all that good shit, because the holidays are here.  I spent this past Saturday morning singing Christmas carols.  No, not for fun - please, I’m way too jaded for that.  I had my first rehearsal for caroling season. 

For the last decade or so I’ve been donning Victorian tails and top hat and spreading holiday cheer in malls and bank lobbies across the tri-state area.  Glamorous, no?  It all started way back in the late 90s when I got hired to be a promotional singer for A Christmas Carol at Madison Square Garden.  The cast had like, 20 shows a day so Actors’ Equity didn’t allow them to do any of the regular promotional stuff that a normal Production Contract requires of a Broadway cast.  Instead, the producers hired a quartet of singers (including little old moi) that did all the promotional appearances for the show, pretending to be actual cast members.  Well, officially, we didn’t pretend to be anything, we were just told not to refute the fact if anyone assumed we were.  Thus, all the confused voicemails on my service from friends and colleagues after my Today Show performance chastising me for not telling them I had booked such a great gig.  As a historical footnote for all my teen and twenty-something readers, back in the stone ages we didn’t have cell phones, we had voicemail services that we checked 50 times a day from - gasp - pay phones!  Anyway, all I remember is that we had to be at the studio holy hell early, John Denver performed, I met Prince (he wasn’t yet “the-artist-formerly-known-as”) in the green room and we froze our asses off outside the studio waiting for Al Roker to introduce us -- oh, and we sang "Carol of the Bells"!  Yes, random, I know.

We actually booked some pretty sweet gigs through Christmas Carol - lots of big parties and openings - including Marilyn Albright’s Christmas party at her New York apartment (her last Christmas in NYC before being named Secretary of State).  But eventually Christmas Carol tanked and I started caroling for my friend, Donald’s, company.  Though the gigs haven’t been as high profile as Christmas Carol, it’s definitely been an experience dealing with crazy shoppers, PC police screaming “equal time for Hanukkah” and some extremely uncomfortable private parties where we were viewed as live ornaments.  Some caroling highlights from the last decade:

• Singing at a model home in New Jersey with a quartet consisting of a Ravenel (Show Boat Nat’l Tour), a Madame Thenardier (Les Mis Nat’l Tour & Bway) and a Madame de la Grande Bouche (Beauty and the Beast, Bway) and laughing about what a stepping stone Broadway is for your career.
• Walking across the backstage of Radio City Music Hall during a performance of the Christmas Spectacular and getting to watch that huge hydraulic stage lift up while the Rockettes were tapping away on top of it (we were performing in the lower lobby for a pre-show reception). 
• Dealing with drunken partiers/hecklers in the Natural History Museum at Bloomberg’s big Holiday party where he rents out a wing of the museum.
• Taking requests from tired Brooks Brothers employees at their empty Fifth Avenue store late on Christmas Eve.
• Sitting at the bar and getting free holiday drinks at the Firebird Café on restaurant row after a long New Year’s Eve gig in their dining room.
• Riding the Sorrento Cheese float as a “Sorrento Cheese Caroler” in the Little Italy Christmas Parade and not knowing we’d have to be singing without a microphone to a screaming crowd from on top of a flatbed truck. 
• Asking for a Diet Coke and then getting chastised at a private party given by an executive of Pepsi (I swear I didn’t know).
• The numerous times mid-song when someone will walk right up to us and ask a question (usually something stupid, like “Are you guys carolers?”) thinking we’ll just stop mid-note to answer them. 
• The annual Christmas party at a Connecticut family’s home where we end the evening lighting real candles on their tree and singing "Silent Night" - all three verses and the German - and taking breaks in the kitchen with their Polish cook who is constantly bad-mouthing the “wasteful habits” of  “rich people.”  Sadly, the parents got divorced a couple of years ago and the wife couldn’t afford to keep hiring us.
• Strolling with the free booze cart around a big NYC advertising company’s Christmas party trying not to feel humiliated as young hipsters laughed while we serenaded them with Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

Here's a holiday toast to more ridiculous Caroling adventures in 2010!

Me, Trish and Caroling buddies in our festive debut at some mall in upstate New York - so glamorous!

The reviews...err...review, is in!

Congrats to the cast of La Traviata for their glowing review in the Westfield Leader.

And here are a couple of photos:

 Flora (Jessica Renfro) and her boys

Flora (Renfro) and Violetta (Michelle Trovato) laughing it up

Groundbreaking? What ev's.

With all the hoopla over the current non-traditional casting in Arena Stage’s (DC) current production of Oklahoma! (rumored for a possible Broadway transfer no less!!)  I just want to say - we did it first!  Eat that Arena Stage.  Yes, in our 2008 production at CDC Theatre - two years before Arena’s “groundbreaking” casting of a Hispanic Curly and African-American Laurey - we cast Michael Miguel (Filipino) as Will Parker.  We originally even offered the Curly understudy track to an Asian guy. 

So for our production team’s obviously brilliant foresight, I’m giving us a well-deserved electronic pat on the back.  Now back to spreading crazy rumors about next summer’s conservatory show.  Best Little Whorehouse in Texas?  Dreamgirls?  Bring in 'da Noise, Bring in 'da Funk?  Flower Drum Song?  Hah…you’ll just have to wait until the end of the year.

Our "groundbreaking" casting of Michael Miguel vs

Arena's "groundbreaking" casting.

The party's over...

The cast party’s over and the soprano’s dead - again.  The last performance of La Traviata went off pretty much without a hitch.  The production itself was one of our strongest in years, with top-notch singers and musicians, good production values and more rehearsal time than usual.  Unfortunately, with the economy tanking and donations and funding nearly non-existent, we’ve been stretched thin.  The four of us (me, Trish, Juan and Val) seem to be pushing a boulder up Mount Everest.  To have me (the director) also doubling as stage crew, stage manager and prop master; Val (the producer) doubling as the box office, costumer and lighting designer; Trish taking care of wigs & costumes plus random administrative tasks and Juan handling every other backstage element while also performing a role in the opera - it’s just ridiculous.  Trust me, it’s not like we love doing everything ourselves, but that topiary won’t move itself into place.  And no one’s storming the theatre insisting on volunteering to help backstage either, so what's a lowly non-profit to do? 

A “mom-and-pop” operation isn’t quite as fun or quaint when you’re bordering on “grandma-and-grandpa” territory.  Yes, I exaggerate, but there’s a big difference between 30 and 40 years old when you’re dragging around set pieces and hanging backdrops.  At 30, it’s bohemian, at 40, it’s … well … hard work.  I woke up this morning unable to bend at the waist.  Yes, I actually threw my back out last night at strike!  Depressing? - Yes, but maybe it’s time to let the young-ins take over the heavy lifting (if we could find any that would back away from center stage). 

With Traviata over, at least I can temporarily enjoy the “freedom” of only having to work at my day job.  Yeah, right.  Now I have my nights “free” to get CDC’s - that's Cranford Dramatic Club, not the Center for Disease Control - new website up and running by Thanksgiving, publish and update both mine and Trish’s new websites and figure out what the heck Mrs. Claus is going to sing at this year’s holiday concert. 

Money, money, money

I just made 500 francs!  Literally.  As director, choreographer, set designer, prop mistress, sometime accompanist and stage crew for Pineda Lyric’s upcoming La Traviata, I was busy at my office desk this afternoon cutting and pasting pictures of old French currency and printing it out on green paper (shhhh, don’t tell HR).  Before you get all high and mighty on me, I’ve seen plenty of recipes, articles, fifth grade book reports and miscellaneous random personal crap sitting on top of the work printers.  I don’t feel the least bit guilty about my counterfeiting project.  At least I bought the paper, so I’m really just stealing a few pennies worth of ink.  Isn’t rationalizing fun?!

We’ve got just one more run-through of Traviata tonight and then the final dress rehearsal on Friday.  After that, well, they’re on their own.  Buy tickets here and mark your calendars for the upcoming Very Merry Pineda Holiday Spectacular on December 23.  You know you want to.