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.

The countdown begins...

How’s this for comedy? - Friday night’s final dress rehearsal of La Traviata will be the first and only time the full cast will ever run the show together before opening night on Saturday.  I know, hilarious.  I’d be crying if it wasn’t so ridiculous. 

That said, I’m tired, but not as stressed out as usual.  Tonight is the sitzprobe followed by three run-throughs and then (insert bombastic trumpet fanfare here) opening night!  We’re actually in pretty good shape except for a couple of scenes that haven’t gotten much stage time.  I just have to keep reminding myself that in the past there are always at least a few scenes left to block when we hit tech week - not so this time.  We’ve actually hit every scene at least once.  I know, that’s not exactly something to brag about, but I think that’s actually a Pineda record for preparedness.

I cannot even begin to explain the rehearsal schedule nightmare this show turned out to be.  Val, of course, was the one banging her head on the coffee table trying to make everyone’s crazy schedules coalesce.  But it’s a common opera producer’s dilemma - do you hire the tried and true talent so busy flying back and forth from gig to gig that they can barely make rehearsals or do you go with unknown singers and hope to discover the next “big thing.”  Regardless, come Sunday night, I’m sure you can find her washing down prozac appetizers with red wine spritzers at the cast party.