Annie

Annie
Palace Theatre
Friday, Feb 8, 8pm performance

After years obsessing over this show's thrilling overture on the original Broadway cast recording - sadly cut to shreds in the current revival - I finally got a chance to see my first, live stage performance of Annie. 
 
Thanks to Storm Nemo, Trish, me and visiting friend, Dylan, scored ninth row center orchestra seats via the half-price TKTS booth.  Given the storm, it was no surprise the curtain went up nearly 15 minutes late.  The real surprise came at 8:00 PM when we turned to survey the nearly half-empty theatre.  I had a flashback to the 2004 Broadway production of Dracula, The Musical.  At that yawn-inducing performance, I shared the entire balcony with just one other pathetic show queen, my legs draped over the seatback in front of me, half dozing and waiting for Kelli O’Hara’s nude scene.

Sadly, nothing as exciting as Kelli’s bare breasts is on display at the Palace. 

In the title role, spunky Lilla Crawford possesses a freakishly high and unusually pleasant belt.  And yes, I got nostalgically misty-eyed when she reached the penultimate refrain of “Tomorrow,” but it was tough to get past some of her rather - how shall I put it? - "extreme" acting choices.  I know it’s a dick move to pick on an 11-year-old, but hell, she’s got two more Broadway credits than I do, so she’ll need to suck it up.  

In fairness, James Lapine should probably carry the burden of guilt for many of these questionable choices (i.e. Annie literally having a full-on screaming fit when Warbucks tries to take her pendant).  From the very opening scene, moodily lit and draped in fake stage smoke, to the entrance of the super-scary, seemingly Gestapo-trained Hannigan (Katie Finneran), it’s obvious the artistic team was going for a darker, more “real” Annie.  But I’m not sure the orphanage scenes should read like DVD extras off of "Schindler's List."

To her credit, Finneran balances this darkness with the same quirky sense of humor that made her a stand-out (and Tony winner!) in the 2010 Broadway revival of Promises, Promises.  But at the performance I attended, her usually perfect comic timing seemed a bit off - perhaps a combination of the late start and storm - though she seemed to find her groove again about midway through the first act.

The choreography by In The Heights alum Andy Blankenbuehler had not a whiff of period authenticity, but was always interesting if at times bizarrely modern.  His only true miss was the unfortunate closing tap number.  There’s something definitely amiss when your dancing ensemble of Broadway vets looks like it was plucked from a community theatre production of Dames At Sea.

The physical production was also a series of hits and misses.  The opening tableau, the orphanage and Warbucks’ mansion felt appropriately full and sumptuous, but the entire NYC montage took place on a mainly bare stage with only a few cheesy digital effects projected onto the sprawling, back scrim. 

The small adult ensemble sounded gorgeous, but their numbers could barely fill the huge Palace stage in the large ensemble scenes. No amount of costume changes could cover the fact that the same six exhausted cast members kept running back on stage.

The orphans are all appropriately cute and obviously talented, but even with the Benetton-ad diversity, they are for the most part, indistinguishable (again, I blame the direction).

Rooster and Lily are appropriately bumbling, finding the right combination of comic silliness to balance this productions penchant for gritty realism.  J. Elaine Marcos successfully straddles the line of political correctness, imbuing Lily with the clueless naivete of Long Duk Dong in Sixteen Candles while sounding like a surly Chinese take-out waitress.

Anthony Warlow is the perfect Warbucks, handsome and possessing a gorgeous ringing, legit baritone voice.  The theatre queen in me is practically squealing at the thought of his Ben Stone or Guido Contini.

Brynn O’Malley is adequately prim and proper as Grace, but is also oddly cold and aloof.  One wonders why Warbucks is even attracted to her.  And why does she have a British accent?

The current revival is slick, well-produced, with several very good - and a couple of great - moments, but ultimately didn’t satisfy as a theatrical whole.

On a side note, while waiting for the subway at 49th Street and discussing the show, some random guy jumped into our conversation, having obviously been eavesdropping from nearby.  Not creepy at all.  Of course, if he had looked like Ryan Gosling rather than Newman from Seinfeld, I'd probably not have minded so much.  And yes, I totally admit how superficial that seems, but I guess that's why Ted Bundy was so successful.