Pitmen Painters

Tuesday, September 21

7:00pm performance

Oh Lord, it’s already been a month since I saw Pitmen Painters and just haven’t had time to write about it.  The details are a bit fuzzy now, but I did enjoy the play.  The first act moves along quickly, the clever, laugh-out-loud dialogue milking the fish-out-of-water premise without relying too much on cliché.  It felt like a cross between a very good American sitcom and an episode of Masterpiece Theatre (in a good way).  Although I do remember thinking, “Why are they yelling so much?”  The closing moment of act one is beautiful, and because of that, act two never quite surpasses the expectation it sets. 

I especially identify with the idea that artistic ability and appreciation for art is something intrinsically part of human nature.  Though wealth and class increase accessibility, everyone possesses the potential.  Deep stuff for sure. 

The play is by the book writer of Billy Elliott the Musical and in my opinion, Pitman is a far better piece of theater.  I actually think Billy Elliott would work much better as a play.  They should just scrap the second-rate score (sorry Elton) altogether or have Ahrens & Flaherty compose a new one.  I think their stylistic mix of broad anthems peppered with intimate ballads would work much better with the material.  I can’t believe I’m saying this about Elton John, but his BE score is pretty tuneless and forgettable. 

Broadway in DC - a hot mess

The current PBS special taped at the White House is a valiant attempt to legitimize Broadway as an art form.  But I don’t think we won any converts on this one.  The show could easily have been subtitled “When bad song choices happen to good people.”  From the cheese-tastic faux jazz riffing of Brian D’Arcy James in Irving Berlin’s “Blue Skies” to the painful off-tune screaming of Idina Menzel in the now cliché “What I Did for Love” - bad choices abound (and I’m a fan of both).  The sole shining moments were (unsurprisingly) provided by the Goddess, Audra MacDonald.  Yes, I do worship at the shrine of Audra, but let’s face it, she performed in a plane far and above everyone else.

Stritchie could have hit it out of the park if she could remember lyrics.  Did someone blackmail her into singing “I’m Still Here”?  The woman is theater royalty, but she is ancient and known for “inconsistent” memory as of late, so why straddle her with verse after verse of tricky Sondheim lyrics?  In her defense, no one but La Stritch could blow lyric after lyric and still have the audience eating out of her hand.

And that 12 year old girl?  Hello - Barack’s black, so we have to get a little black girl to sing at his event?  We have plenty of girls at the Conservatory who can sing and act circles around her.  It’s national TV, folks, someone coach those robot arms out of her.  This is not the 8^th grade talent show.

In the theater Chad Kimball sounded magnificent, at the White House he sounded tired.  Karen Olivo needed to dial it down four notches for the TV camera.  The Hairspray number was fun, but didn’t excite like it did in the theatre. 

I know, I sound like a big ole jaded theatre queen - which I guess I am - but this is a nationally televised event.  To me, it was a missed opportunity to market the shit out of Broadway and make people think, “Hey, this Broadway thing looks interesting.  Maybe I should give it a try.”  Instead, we get an under-rehearsed, mish mash of unrealized opportunity.  Where were Patti, Bernie, Cheno & Hayes, Carolee, Murney, Stokes?   I’m sure the producers wanted to showcase new talent, but at least give them material and arrangements that excite.  How about D’Arcy James singing a real swinging tune like “Lady is a Tramp,” Olivo singing something from In The Heights or Menzel singing something subtle (does she do subtle?).

And we can’t even blame some idiot TV producer since it was produced by Broadway mega-producer Margo Lion and directed by Goerge C. Wolfe.   Oh well, the back-up combo kicked ass.

Opera singers are all crazy.  I should know, having started out as one.  But working with young, professional singers on a regular basis as a director has only proven the statement as fact.  Okay, maybe I'm being a little harsh, but being on the other side of the table has certainly provided me with the skill set and experience to rival any psychiatric residency program.  I think all opera singers (and actors in general) should have to direct at least a couple of productions before being granted their respective degree or union affiliation. 

Directing is equal parts therapist, baby-sitter, cheerleader and politician.  Anyone who says it's all about creating art is full of shit and is probably a terrible director.  I'd equate directing a cast to adopting a bunch of grown children incessantly asking, "Who do you love best?" while singing high C's at you.  Yes, it's also the process of creating a thematic and visual unity, creating clarity and truth from outrageous stories and coaxing real and grounded performances often out of thin air.  But if you can provide just the right combination of ego-stroking, manipulation, compromise and honest criticism, the performances always seem to fall into place.  

Why the pointed rant?  I guess I'm just stressed out with all the rehearsals for La Traviata.  It's been a somewhat harrowing enterprise, given the fact we won't see a full cast until probably the first run through.  I was also the bad guy this weekend, having to cut dancers out of a number not because they couldn't execute the combination, but because I had to own up to the fact that my choreography just didn't work in the scene.  Now I know how a Broadway composer must feel when he's told he needs to cut his favorite song because it just doesn't move the plot along.  

Okay, enough of the self-pitying crap.  I will now official suck it up and stop whining.  Only two more rehearsals and then - gasp - TECH WEEK!  Did I mention this cast is going to sound amazing?  It's officially my last night off until we close the show.  I will now watch some TV and do absolutely nothing for the next few hours.

So offensive I loved it!

Thursday, October 14

8:00pm performance

Talk about pushing buttons.  The minstrel show concept of Kander & Ebb’s newest and last (RIP Fred Ebb) Broadway musical is political, offensive and unapologetic.  What up, Broadway?  Two political-satirical musicals in the same season (see BBAJ)?  Am I in some alternate universe where Broadway’s Disneyfication never happened?  Thank God we finally get entertainment that actually has a viewpoint and ain’t afraid to throw it in your face.  Booyah!

Yes, the finale in blackface left the audience wide-eyed and gaping-mouthed (I bet the cast enjoys staring out at that sea of shocked, frozen, mainly white faces every night).  This may well be Susan Stroman’s best work since Contact.  I usually find her shows over-choreographed and low in character development.  Here, she actually allows the actors to stand and just sing, letting the material speak for itself.  Of course, she does throw in her signature “prop” dance, this time a chilling and scary electric chair tap dance.  Girlfriend definitely has a freaky side.

The score is of the traditional ilk, and there are a couple of gorgeous ballads likely to become musical theatre standards.  Sadly, this means we’ll probably end up hearing them ad nauseam at auditions next year.  Too much of a good thing is sometimes a bad thing.

The cast is uniformly excellent, and it was nice to see a former NYGASP-er, Derrick Coby, in his Broadway debut.  Looking for some good old racist fun?  Check out the Boys.

Wieners, walkers & cheese, oh my.

Trish and I played lunch lady to over 7,000 hungry walkers last weekend at North Central New Jersey’s Walk Now for Autism Speaks.  Pineda Conservatory’s own Mama Love, catering Goddess and volunteer extraordinaire, chaired the event and we took this opportunity to repay Jen for her constant support over the years (and for her regular supply of lip-smackingly good lemon chicken). 

First off, unlimited free hot dogs and mac & cheese - can I get an “Amen”?  I haven’t seen a Sunday morning in months except flat on my back in bed (don’t judge), so it was quite a feat getting up in time to drive from Queens to Cranford for the event.  Soaking in the unseasonably warm fall weather, Trish and I lazed around Nomahegan Park.  Jen, armed with her sexy security guard walkie talkie, soon received word that they were looking for “two good people” to help at the food stand.  Do you know anybody “good”-er than Trish and I?  Methinks not. 

Thus began our three hour stint scooping mac & cheese and stuffing wieners into buns (tee hee).  Trish found her rhythm with the wieners and was soon satisfying the hungry hoards (tee hee hee).

Several Conservatory mothers were surprised to reach the end of the long line (at times stretching clear down the length of the parking lot) only to find Pinedas on the other side of the table.  Trish took umbrage at one parent who commented (and I paraphrase) that she was surprised to see us working.  Oh no she dih-int.  We only wipe their kids asses nine hours a day during the summer and at least once a week during the school year.  This parent has obviously never spent a tech week backstage with us.  Serving wienies is a spa treatment compared to putting up a show in a week.

Anyway, Trish and I had a great time socializing and feeding the masses for the day.  We even got to enjoy cinnamon donuts and sparkling cider by the lake after clean-up. 

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Trish, Jen and I showing alot of teeth

Trish and her weiners

Me and my cheese

A Life in the Theatre

Saturday, September 25
2pm performance

Who knew Mamet had a nostalgic side?  Well, at least until the first use of "c*nt" about five minutes into the first act.  Oh, that Mamet.  Which, by the way, doesn't sound quite as nasty intoned in Sir Patrick Stewart's regal baritone.  Mamet obviously has (or had) - given the play was written in the late 70's - a great love and respect for the stage and specifically, actors.  He understands the insecurity and doubt actors may feel offstage, even though their onstage (and stage door) persona might suggest otherwise.

Patrick Stewart is a stage God.  Unfortunately, I just couldn't buy him completely as a sad, washed up, stage relic.  I guess I can't get past that Macbeth-meets-Captain-Picard image in my head.  And that voice.  I could listen to him read the ingredients off a candy wrapper.  But it's just not the voice of a man fragile enough to attempt suicide.  T.R. Knight is cute as a button, but I think a more conventional leading man type would have served the piece better.  He's obviously got stage chops, but he was just a bit too "cute" for my taste (in the play, at least).  I wanted him to be more of an asshole.  My fantasy pairing would be a young Sean Penn (or Tom Cruise) and an older Philip Seymour Hoffman (or for fun, Nathan Lane).  Or how about another Trekkie, William Shatner, who I think could have pulled off the Knight role in his youth but would be an interesting choice now for the Stewart role.  But until physicists figure out how to harness that wacky time / space continuum, it just ain't gonna' happen.

The director's pacing is uneven at best.  He and his actors works up tremendous forward momentum, only to be shot dead by sleepy set changes.  What up wit dat?  Yikes.  The play is episodic, with lots of short scenes and cuts.  Some scenes don't even last as long as the scene change that follows it.  I mean, those damn walls move so... friggin'... slow - in silence, no less.

OK, reading over this again, it seems like I hated the performance, but I actually enjoyed myself.  It's a funny and almost touching production.  The actors are wonderful (if perhaps miscast) and some of the sight gags (the rocking boat is genius) are laugh-out-loud funny.  I just think there were a few missed opportunities.  And I know this sounds creepy, but anyone else think Patrick Stewart is hot for an old guy?  Maybe it's the uniform.

Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson

Saturday, October 2

2:00pm performance

The immersive set design hits you as soon as you enter the theater and definitely piques interest and anticipation.  Except of course for the inane comment Trish overheard from a woman entering next to us (please add thick Long Island accent), “Ooh, it looks like an Indian Wedding.”  Um, yeah, if the aforementioned wedding’s theme happens to be “Western Hoedown at the Local Brothel.”  The theatre is completely engulfed in thick red draperies, neon lights, old saloon-type chandeliers, faux wood paneling, red Christmas Lights and a couple of taxidermy horses.  Yup, exactly like an Indian wedding.

Anyhoo, it’s hard to imagine how the life and presidency of Andrew Jackson could be reduced to a one-act, emo rock Broadway musical.  But hell, you could say that about nearly any show Sondheim’s ever written (minus the "emo" and "rock" discriptives) and he always seems to make it work.  I guess the tone of the show can be summed up in the opening line, spoken by the hunky Ben Walker as Andrew Jackson.

“Are you ready?  I’m wearing some tight, tight jeans and tonight we’re delving into some serious, serious shit.  I’m Andrew Jackson.  I’m your President.  Let’s go.”

 I enjoyed the opening song and energy, but about 15 minutes into the first scene I thought, “This is going to be a very long 100 minutes.”  It was like an extremely good Saturday Night Live skit that’s gone on just 5 minutes too long. 

Luckily, things turned around sharply when the play got to Jackson’s acquisition of lands for the U.S. - by literally killing anyone (Indian, Spaniard, Brit) standing in his way.  This ain’t the glossed up portrait we read about in High School.  Jackson’s several presidential campaigns and his time in office are historical periods most enlightened by the ironic, modern-vernacular dialogue.  It really is shocking to see that the same problems - immigration, terrorism, plight of the working class versus ruling elite - have yet to be resolved a century later.  The show breaches some sensitive subjects like racism and class struggle, making you laugh at some racially insensitive comment and then instantly catching yourself the next. 

A lot has been written about how the show is trying so hard to be hip.  But I think those critics are watching the show with a much too literal eye.  I think the writers are actually making fun of the hipster set and their often better-than-you attitude; blatantly showing us how ridiculous hipster posturing looks by having everyone on stage act like a whining Park Slope emo teenager (Though I’m grateful for the tight t-shirt and skinny jeans Walker sports through the play which I doubt are historically accurate).

If anything, the play (it’s billed as a musical, but it’s more play with music) makes you realize how the revisionist history taught in our schools might be stifling real social reform in our country.  We like to think we’ve come so far, but in fact, we’re not that much more enlightened than our fore-fathers. There was an audible gasp from the audience when the narrator offered that some modern-day historians regard Jackson as “America’s Hitler.”  Yeah, I know.  That’s some deep shit for a musical.

(left) Ben Walker's Andrew Jackson, (right) the real Andrew Jackson.  Hmmm - they do have similar hair.