Merrily at the Movies

What marketing genius planned the digital, one-night-only theatrical showing of Stephen Sondheim and George Furth's flawed but beloved musical Merrily We Roll Along to coincide with the first game of the World Series?  And yes, this sports-phobic gay man actually knew that yesterday was the first game of the World Series.  But only because - full disclosure - I had to try and find someone a hotel room in Boston last night.

So anyone not interested in the game - that would be most wives, girlfriends and nerdy gay dudes (moi) - had the perfect entertainment alternative.  That fact alone probably accounts for the sold out showings in every NYC theatre.  Flaming theatre queen (and nerd) that I am, I purchased my tickets weeks ago and invited my friend Dan, another Merrily junkie, to join me.  This was the first Fathom Events showing I've attended, so I was excited to see if the movie theatre format would stand up to a live performance.

Merrily has always been one of those shows that critics have shit on but that Sondheim disciples like myself will defend to the death because of that fantastic score.  Admittedly, it was great to see yet another version of the oft revised book, but ultimately this production left me cold and (I can't believe I'm admitting this - sorry, Mr. Sondheim) a bit sleepy.  Not that there weren't some truly thrilling moments ("Old Friends," "Opening Doors," "Our Time," "Not a Day Goes By"), but for the most part, the rest of the show played like a Mexican telanovela, granted a very sophisticated one.

For me, the acting sometimes felt forced and just a tad over-the-top (i.e. Jenna Russell's Mary in the opening scene, though I quite enjoyed her second act).  Perhaps a result of theatrical performances being magnified and projected in close-up, twenty-feet high on a movie screen?

Mark Umbers' Franklin Shepard was charming and likable and created an unusually sympathetic take on what is often considered the villain of the piece.  He has a pleasant enough singing voice, but his hunched physicality and high-pitched speaking voice in the second act (to signify a more insecure, youthful Franklin) seemed a bit too obvious and completely unnecessary.  He can shrug his shoulders all he wants, but Umbers is just way to attractive to make anyone believe that he was at any time an insecure nerd.

Damian Humbley's performance as nebbish Charlie was a bit one note, though I very much enjoyed his less manic take on "Franklin Shepard Inc."  Humbley's Charlie didn't really seem to take much of a journey, though perhaps that's more a fault of the writing (and/or direction) than the acting.

The ensemble was competent enough, though their main function in this production was to spin the on-stage piano around and strike furniture from the stage.  And the costumes, especially for the 60s era, were just plain hideous.  Did the designer purposely try to make everyone look washed out and clunky in a color palate of black on beige on brown?  And poor Jenna Russell.  I could have cried every time she stepped on stage in yet another brown muumuu.

And why did everyone seem to become more youthful (the play moves backward in time) over the course of the play except for Charlie?  Did he really only own one pair of glasses over 20 years?

This production was hailed by critics and was a huge hit in London, but quite frankly, I don't get the hype.  The less than enthusiastic audience in my theatre seemed to tolerate the evening rather than truly enjoy themselves.  And I doubt the movie theatre format had anything to do with the chilly response.  Plenty of people were hooting, hollering and clapping during the Les Mis movie.  Though I did see a showing in Jersey, so scratch that.

Or maybe it was just the annoying queen seated behind us who could not stop commenting and loudly sighing to ensure that everyone was painfully aware of how miserable he was and how much he hated Merrily.  Why would you pay for a ticket to a movie of a musical you hate?  

To be fair, I should probably place some of the blame on the movie director.  All those quick cuts and close-ups actually lessened the impact of several scenes.  One glaring example of bad editing was during Beth and Frank's wedding scene.  The movie director never panned back to show that Mary was singing about/to Frank.  I know it's sort of obvious in context, but I think the constant cuts back-and-forth between Mary and Beth actually diluted the impact of the scene and song.  We never got the visual of happy Beth and miserable Mary both singing to Frank at the same time.

And what was up with the 30-minute "making of" video shown directly before the performance?  I do not need random audience members in a theatre lobby telling me how awesome the production is.  You're preaching to the choir, gurl.  I mean, seriously, no one is buying a ticket to Merrily because Captain Phillips is sold out.  And why would you show extended excerpts from a performance we're just about to watch?  Talk about spoilers.

Merrily, Telly, "black" singing, Wit & Cats - though not necessarily in that order

I know, I know - I'm so behind with my blog entries.  I'm totally in catch-up up mode so you'll hear nothing about my crazy, harried life until I get these damn reviews up.  Today you're getting a two-for-one mini-review special with added bonus features because, quite frankly, it's been so long since I saw these shows that the details now escape me.  Old age - well, at least your 40s - is a bitch, people. 

Merrily We Roll Along                        
City Center
Wednesday, Feb 15, 7pm performance

I won't get into the whole "is it a brilliantly flawed show" or just a "great score with an impossible book" debate.  I think I'm just too biased a Sondheim fan.  Besides, they've re-worked, updated and revised the book and score so many times, I don't think there'll ever be a definitive version.

 Do you know what this is?
If so, you're old!

Having never seen a staged production (That's a lie, actually.  I saw a college production at the University of Richmond probably 20 years ago but I've blocked it from my memory), I was genuinely interested in how Sondheim and Lapine integrated the score and book.  The CD has been a favorite of mine since my theatre-dork days at Muhlenberg.  Remember when we used to have CDs ? - or tapes, or records, for that matter!?  My first cast album was...wait for it...Cats on double LP!  Yup, it was just around the time they discovered fire.

My second cast album?  Les Mis, also on LP.  remember how cool and innovative that damn turntable staging was at the time.  Seems kinda' quaint in hindsight.  Now the audience's over-stimulated brains need constant stage motion or they fall dead asleep.  Or worse, get on their cell phones to see that their friends are "at the mall having Auntie Anne's.  Yum!"  Damn you, facebook.  Oh well, I digress.

Though Encores! is officially a staged-reading, the cast was off book (though still holding those damn black binders - I know, it's a requirement of the Equity staged reading contract, but if the actors are off book, why make them lug 'em around the stage?) and the production was fully staged and choreographed.  It was also swell to hear a full orchestra rather than the wheezy, tinny, carnival-sounding pit bands that are now de rigueur on The Broadway these days.

From our nosebleed seats, we - I took my friend, Dan, since Trish was in Jersey and Dan's partner was out of town - were basically treated to shiny foreheads and bald spots.  But it was still wonderful to finally hear the score within the context of the play.  I'm not sure if the show works, but I was never bored and the classic-filled score ("Not A Day Goes By", "Our Time", "Now You Know" etc) only makes me cry at the thought of having to sit through the next inevitably over-produced, over-amplified, all-the-ballads-are-interchangeable Frank Wildhorn score.

The cast was good, if bland, though that could likely be blamed on the shortened Encores! rehearsal period.  For me, Elizabeth Stanley's Gussie was the standout with the most fully developed (reverse?) character arc.  The ensemble sounded wonderful, but why do African-American singers always have to "sass-up" their solos?  Because they can?  I mean, classically trained singers don't add high C's or "Queen of the Night" runs to their solos. 

The physical production was simple but appropriate.  Projections were used cleverly to evoke period and location and didn't distract except for the occasional unfortunate photo-shopping of the leads into some classic period photos.  Costumes were authentic, but only served to remind me that everyone was on drugs in the 70s.  I love the leg room in the renovated City Center.  It's nice not to have the person in front of you rest their head on your knees.

On a side note, Telly Leung (Glee, Godspell) was sitting behind us in the cheap seats.  He was there with a friend of Dan's who seemed to want to impress us with his star connection.  That bubble burst when Telly interrupted and blurted out, "I know Fausto!"  Telly's an Asian, male, musical theatre actor based in NYC.  I'm an Asian, male, musical theatre actor (well, former) based in NYC.  Of course we know each other.  There are only, like, six of us.

Actually, Telly and I met doing an ASCAP reading of a new musical based on an Asian (natch) myth.  It remains, to this date, the worst piece of shi...er...I mean, theatre, I've ever had the misfortune to be involved with.  Nevertheless, we performed it as though Shakespeare himself had written the book and a reincarnated Richard Rodgers had composed the score.  Well, at least the parts of the score that were written out.  I shit you not, there were actually sections of the "score" that weren't fully notated.  We winged it!  And this was at a presentation being critiqued by Stephen "Wicked" Schwartz and Susan "Working" Birkenhead!  I mean, come on.  You couldn't pull an all-nighter for Stephen and Susan?

Wit
Samuel J. Friedman Theatre
Thursday, Feb 23, 8pm performance

Intense is the best way to describe Wit.  What else would you expect from a play about a woman dying of cancer?  I saw the original off-Broadway production in the late 90s in the intimate Union Square Theatre.  Though the Sam Friedman is small by Broadway standards, I do think the play loses some of its emotional wallop when viewed from the back of a large house.

In a tiny theatre, you felt Professor Vivian Bearing lecturing directly at you.  When she spoke to the audience, Kathleen Chalfant was able to literally make eye contact with everyone in the theatre.  That kind of intimacy natural leads to a fuller connection with the audience.  Chalfant moved me to tears.  In the current revival, Cynthia Nixon came close, but I was always aware of the balcony's distance from the stage, as if we were watching her on a tiny 10" TV screen.  That's not her fault, of course. 

The play is a great example of how not to write a Lifetime movie of the week.  Instead of pandering to the audience, playwright Margaret Edson gives us a central character that seems emotionally frigid.  The beauty of the play is that after 90 intermission-less minutes, the audience is made to feel like surrogate family, hoping that by some medical miracle our eccentric aunt might be saved from the inevitable grim outcome.

For all you pervs, there's also the added bonus(?) of some full frontal Cynthia.  Though after Sex and the City, we've basically seen it all before and in close-up.

Follies

Thursday, August 18
Marriott Marquis Theatre
8:00pm performance

Follies is the Holy Grail of musical theatre and anyone who’s seen the original Broadway production claim that it’s never been, and likely never will be, topped.  Ever.  For these people, stay home with your twenty cats and resign yourself to a sad, lonely life of hoarding original cast LP’s and endless online debate over the better Mama Rose, Merman or Lansbury (don’t even mention Tyne, Bernie or Patti in the same breath unless you want to get your cyber fingers chopped off).  For the rest of you, get off your lazy asses and buy I ticket to this limited run!

The current revival (transferred from a run at The Kennedy Center last spring) is probably one of the most viscerally moving, aurally sumptuous and visually gorgeous pieces of theatre I’ve encountered in 25 years of theatre-going.  At the risk of sounding like one of those crazy musical theatre queens on all that chat who claim nothing of import has been produced on the Broadway since 1960, let me just say right off the bat, it’s not perfect.  Though it’s probably as close as we’ll get in my lifetime.

First off, the production boasts a full 28-piece orchestra (I almost jizzed my pants hearing that live harp) and 41 member cast.  Granted, Bernadette Peters as frumpy, delusional housewife (or as a frumpy anything, for that matter), Sally, might not be ideal casting.  And yes, the voice is showing some wear and there is some unwieldiness in her passaggio.  But that cracked perfection only adds to the effectiveness of her performance. 

The stunning Jan Maxwell is gorgeous (and acrobatic) as Phyllis, Sally’s former friend and roommate, now a society grand dame married to the man Sally has held a torch for all her life.  Maxwell’s “Could I Leave You” nearly stopped the show, as did her chiseled biceps.  Which reminds me, I need to head back to the gym.

Ron Raines plays Phyllis’ philandering prick of a husband perfectly and has a luscious baritone voice.  Will someone please write a new show with a baritone leading role?  Enough with all these squealing nasal tenor ingénues already.  I want a real man. 

Danny Burstein rounds out the quartet as Sally’s husband, Buddy.  It's to Burstein's credit that he can make the audience feel such sympathy toward his character's infidelity.

In Broadway’s current trend of feel-good, splashy, appeal-to-every-demographic earnestness, Follies’ sober, even depressing dose of regret and honesty is refreshing.  Having the spectacular baritone of Ron Raines doesn’t hurt either.   Again, someone please write a show for baritone leading man!

I honestly can't wait to see this show a second and hopefully even third time before it ends it's limited run at the end of the year.

TDF weekend

Since Wedding Singer held my evenings hostage for the last several months, I’ve not been able to get my regular theatre fix. So how do I spend my first mullet-free weekend of 2010? In Broadway immersion mode, of course. Thanks to TDF I saw three shows in two days - Sondheim on Sondheim, Next Fall and Everyday Rapture. Oddly, all three have religion as a central theme (if you count Sondheim as a religion, which I do) and are super gay. How’s that for irony?

Though word of mouth has been decidedly mixed, I enjoyed the uneven quirkiness of Sondheim on Sondheim (May 28, 8pm). I’m a confessed Sondheimite (not to be confused with a Sodomite, though the two groups naturally share an overlapping membership), so I guess it’s no surprise. Don’t get me wrong, it’s far from perfect. The staging is often bland and pointless. One of the director’s favorite “staging” devices is having the cast aimlessly wander the stage in random formations, regardless of context or lyric. And its ballad heavy format nearly kills the second act. What saves the show from crossing into college lecture territory is the music, the performances (why is Norm Lewis not a star?) and the video clips of Sondheim describing his writing process. Why see it? Steve divulges some great dirt about his private life (damn, his mom was a c*nt!), Vanessa “Dorian Gray” Williams shows off her voluptuous rack and Barbara Cook demonstrates how old school charisma trumps our current cookie-cutter Broadway star blandness.

To be honest, I decided to see Next Fall (May 29, 3pm) because it contains two of my favorite things - cute boys and a tragic death scene. Sadly, the boys weren’t all that cute and the death wasn’t all that tragic. I was so looking forward to a good “Love Actually” cry (dreamy Colin Firth proposing in broken Portuguese gets me every time). But was left disappointingly unmoved. I guess the play had some controversial subject matter (gay Christians, partner rights, etc.), but came off like a very good Lifetime movie only without the awesome cheese factor of a Valerie Bertinelli or Meredith Baxter Birney. I was never bored, but I didn’t really care all that much for the characters. They were all pretty much assholes or losers.

Sherie Rene Scott’s semi-autobiographical Everyday Rapture (May 29, 8pm) is like a really great cabaret act on steroids AND crack. Granted, the unintelligible first number (I did not understand a single lyric in the opening) could easily be tossed or replaced. But what follows is a subversive, funny and personal account of how religion, morality and fame effect people in different ways. If you do not appreciate sarcasm or parody, stay away. Scott’s dry wit and delivery is nothing new to a jaded New Yorker, but will leave more naïve audience members confused and probably offended. Is it a Broadway show? Not really. And I think some of the show’s inherent intimacy is lost on that big, empty stage and ugly set. Extra props to Scott for the funky song choices and for featuring some curvy gals as her Mennonettes.

...Night Music or What is Michael Douglas hiding in his pants?

Okay. Finally, here are my thoughts on the new Broadway revival of A Little Night Music. Yes, I realize I had mentioned seeing this show about 2 months ago, but I’ve been busy dreaming up sexually suggestive choreography for The Wedding Singer that will surely offend more than a few blue hairs at those Sunday matinees. I will not consider myself successful until I have amassed at least half a dozen complaints. I’ll keep you posted.

As far as ...Night Music goes (I'm forcing myself to use the 2 word abbreviation rather than conceding to the current teen texting trend of single letters - ALNM? - NFW), it’s witty, melodic, intelligent, subtle and (GASP! - as in "a sharp intake of breath", not an acronym for anything) non-self-referential - basically the complete opposite of anything playing on Broadway at the moment. Well, accept maybe the revival of West Side Story that coincidentally also bears Sondheim’s name. Having never seen a staged production before, the sparse (according to the old school chatters at ATC) production values really didn’t bother me. Though a fuller orchestra might have helped give the impression of lush-ness many seemed to miss.

Thank God we finally have a singers’ show back on the boards. Can I get an “Amen,” people?! I’m sick of pseudo-pop/rock screeching, unhealthy belting (read: screaming) and itsy-bitsy voices cranked up to max levels. Granted, Zeta-Jones might not be considered a “singer,” but she doesn’t suffer from any of the above vocal sins currently well on display on various midtown stages. She also happens to have some great acting moments and is stunningly gorgeous on stage. Grandpa Douglas must have a huge penis. I’m just saying. CZJ’s “Send in the Clowns” alone is worth the price of admission. And of course, any chance to see Angela Lansbury is greatly welcomed. Though someone needs to tell the grand dame to tone down the dark eye shadow and eye liner, she looked positively corpse-like from our sixth row orchestra seats.

The real star of the show is Stephen Sondheim. He’s at his best here, delivering clever, character and situation specific lyrics to memorable, and for lack of a better word, beautiful melodies. You can call me a snob, but most scores landing on Broadway stages in recent years have been crap, lyrically.

Of course, this particular production of ...Night Music isn’t perfect. The Leibesleider Singers look ridiculous singing “Remember” considering they all appear to be in their 20s and 30s. And I miss the full orchestra and cut verse of “A Weekend in the Country.” But I’ll take a solid production of ...Night Music over recent mega-produced spectacles of mediocre material. You know who you are.

Roadshow

Experiencing a new Sondheim show, you realize just how inadequate other modern composers are. Roadshow may not be the next Sweeney Todd, but it’s like pizza, even when it’s bad it’s good. And it’s not bad either, it’s just not Sondheim’s most brilliant work. After being brainwashed into believing that corporate-churned modern spectacles are “quality” and that pop scores with generalized, unspecific lyrics are adequate; listening to the intricacies and nuances of a Sondheim score/lyrics is almost like experiencing a musical theatre multiple orgasm after having subsisting on a steady diet of boring, drink-induced, pity f*cks. It’s almost criminal that we let such mediocre fare, like Legally Blonde and The Little Mermaid - both shows that I don’t necessarily dislike, but could have been much better - become representative of the modern Broadway musical. But I’m ranting way off topic here.

Like most of Sondheim’s oeuvre, at first reading, the story doesn’t exactly scream out to be musicalized: the relationship of two brothers turned conmen who lose their fortunes on risky schemes and bad business decisions. But again, Sondheim makes a detailed and interesting case study of the brothers’ psyches and explores how their deeply destructive relationship develops over a series of soured relationships and business ventures. All the while incorporating humor, interest and just the slightest bit of pity (although not much) for these unsavory characters.

The tone and style of the show are reminiscent of Pacific Overtures and Assassins in that the structure, though loosely linear, is a series of vignettes illuminating the high and low points of both brothers’ lives. There are some wonderfully melodic and touching songs, notably, “The Best Thing That Has Ever Happened to Me,” sung by Addison and his lover.

Lyrically, Sondheim is still untouchable. He makes everyone else sound like elementary school students forced to write poetry for class. His rhyme schemes are never obvious and are always unexpected - unlike most modern day composers, whose rhymes you can spot a mile away. All the while, he creates lyrics that are character, time and situation specific.

The cast is uniformly excellent and both Michael Cerveris and Alexander Gemignani, as Wilson and Addison Mizner, respectively, turn in believably nuanced portrayals. Not usually a fan of Gemignani, I found him likeable and extremely believable as the well-intentioned, but self-destructive brother. Through the show, I grew jealous of the ensemble of actor-singers who had the pleasure of interpreting Sondheim’s lyrics.

My only regret is that our country’s greatest living theatre composer may not be for long. Nearly 80, his output has vastly dwindled in the last few years. Here’s hoping he can churn out at least a show or tow more before departing.

Brainal leakage

You all know the warnings on those fat free products and foods cooked with synthetic oils: MAY CAUSE ANAL LEAKAGE. Well, I've decided to coin a new term describing what happens when you have too much information to learn in too short an amount of time - Brainal leakage. I can't believe how many songs I have to memorize for next week's benefit concert. I think my brain might literally explode, leaking rhymes and poetic metaphors about birds and the moon and all that other bullsh*t all over the floor. I'm even starting to get dorm room flashbacks from those all-nighters I used to pull for my chem and bio classes in college - Intermediary Metabolism, Hystology, Genetics, Physics - I used to be a f*cking genius. Now I can't even memorize two verses of a song. Oh, for the simple days when you could just roll out of bed, grab a piece of 2-day old pizza from the box under your mattress and just head to class in the clothes you had slept in.

One benefit from all this cramming is my newly realized appreciation for the art of lyric writing, especially the old schoolers. Take Oscar Hammerstein (we're performing a butt load of his songs from South Pacific, Sound of Music and State Fair). His lyrics always make emotional sense and seem to fit Rodgers' melodies perfectly. He is succinct and specific. And when he goes off on a poetic tangent, it is always for a reason (to clarify a point, accentuate a previous idea, or as a riff on an existing "trite" phrase thereby reinventing it for a fresh perspective). Take the opening lyric for "It's A Grand Night for Singing": "...the moon is flying high. And somewhere a bird who is bound he'll be heard, is throwing his heart at the sky." Hammerstein takes a metaphor that in lesser hands would read cliche, and through an unexpected adjective and verb, creates something original.

I even have to give props to Andrew Lloyd Weber for being smart enough to borrow T.S. Eliot's poetry for his snoozefest, Cats. And I'm not being sarcastic, I literally fell asleep during the second act pirate ship scene. Anyway, I've always tuned out during any rendition of "Memory." But now that I have to memorize it (yes, I have to perform "that song" at next week's concert), I can actually see why ALW was drawn to the text in the first place.

Speaking of genius lyricists, I just purchased tickets for the New York premiere of Sondheim's newest musical, Roadshow. Yippee! It's playing a limited run off-Broadway at the Public. This will be my second time seeing an original production of a Sondheim show (the first being Passion). I'm so excited, yet a little depressed thinking that at the ripe old age of 78, this may be his last. Hope to report good things about it soon.

"Sunday" last Tuesday

My only exposure to Sunday in the Park… before last night was the Mandy/Bernadette video and CD. Now I loves me some crazy, overindulgent Mandy and squeaky, not-too-subtle Bernie, but watching last night’s revival clearly supports the fact that Sunday can exist thrillingly outside of the original, brilliant Lapine staging and concept. Companies rarely revive Sunday due to the intrinsic difficulty in staging the “painting come to life” aspect of it. Sam Buntrock has used modern projection technology to finally bring a fresh, new look to Sunday. I don’t want to spoil the effects for anyone, but the audience audibly gasped at several key moments - notably the opening “white, a blank page or canvas” moment, the dog scene and the transitions in the last 10 minutes of the second act.

As for performances, I have to say I prefer the current British performers to Mandy/Bernie. Daniel Evans as George is a much more nuanced actor and not given to the “look ma, I’m acting” approach that Patinkin seems to embrace. It was also refreshing to see different characterizations for the Georges in each act. Jenna Russell’s Dot is a bit more grown-up than Bernie’s (in a good way) - more a youthful free spirit as compared to Bernie’s sometimes petulant child. I feel she found moments in the text and lyrics that didn’t even register for me when watching Bernie. Vocally, Evans and Russell are both wonderful, granted they can’t touch Mandy or Bernie, but I don’t feel vocals were compromised for the sake of finding better actors.

The “not-so-good” - I don’t think "Putting It Together" was improved by the projection technique and I think the original cut-out concept is much more successful. There was also some random reverb added to some of the singing. Overall, the balance in the group numbers was so homogenized that you couldn’t tell who was singing onstage - most evident in Act II Opening. Chorus also sounded a bit thin on "Sunday", not bad, just not full.

My biggest complaint - please God restore the French horn! The "Sunday" theme on a saxophone just doesn’t cut it! Otherwise, the reduced orchestrations didn’t really bother me. And though I can’t explain why, I started tearing up as soon as the accompanying chords to "Sunday" started playing in both acts.

This is a definite must-see since a Broadway revival of Sunday will likely not happen again anytime soon. They just don't write 'em like this anymore.

Bloody Good

In a word, bloody. If you are not comfortable watching someone’s throat sliced open and seeing blood spurting from the carotid artery with pulsating life-like accuracy, Sweeney may not be for you. I suggested seeing the movie on Christmas day with the family until my sister, Trish, prudently advised against it, citing mom’s delicate sensibilities. I thought it would be a nice way to spend the holiday with the family, seeing a big movie musical together. She was right, I was way wrong.

Tim Burton has created an incredible adaptation, successfully translating the operatic scope of the stage work to film. I was never jarred out of the moment by the singing nor did the singing ever feel forced or out of place - unlike in Dreamgirls where even I had to hold back some awkward laughter at that first sung dialogue sequence. Future movie musical directors (and current for that matter) take note - you must set up the musical “rules” at the onset in order to acclimatize the audience to the world you are creating. Mr. Condon, you should have known better after the success of Chicago. If the characters don’t sing dialogue until half way through the film, it is startling when all of a sudden they do.

Though typically Burton-esque, the sepia-toned cinematography and depressive gloom is tailor-made for Sweeney. The contrasting “By the Sea” sequence is an enlightened change of pace and much needed relief from the surrounding darkness.

Although I truly miss the booming baritone of a Hearn or Cariou, Depp acquits himself quite nicely and his nuanced acting, perfect for the big screen, makes up for his more pop-inflected vocal interpretation. It took me a bit longer to warm up to Bonham Carter’s Lovett. But once you let yourself stop comparing her to Lansbury or ever LuPone, you start warming up to her more sexily manipulative Lovett. Die-hard Angela fans will never be satisfied, but it is refreshing to see a new take on an iconic performance. My only complaint is that Carter’s light vocals made it very difficult to understand the clever Sondheim lyrics, often swallowed up by the gorgeous orchestrations. Many chat boards complained that Burton and his cohorts drained the comedy from the work, specifically citing "A Little Priest." I disagree, I think most of the comedy played very well and fit in stylistically with the generally more naturalistic acting throughout. Playing specifically for laughs wouldn’t have fit this version - it would have read too wink, wink, elbow, elbow - here’s the punch line, aren’t we funny.



















Borat - I mean, Sacha Baron Cohen - was hilarious, at least for the few moments I was able to pry my eyes from his bulging (prosthetically enhanced) nether regions. Anthony and Joanna were fine, nothing extraordinary. Although I understand the vocal choice for Joanna, it was still a disappointment to hear “Green Finch” sung with the same pale and anemic coloring as the actress portraying her. Anthony fared better vocally, but was a bit too wispy and androgynous for my taste. Conversely, Burton casting Toby as a young boy worked surprisingly well, heightening the relationship between Toby and Lovett. The mother-son dynamic truly humanizes Lovett. The stage Toby is more of a mentally challenged adult and Lovett’s pity reads less sympathetically. I’m willing to bet some theater companies will adopt this convention for the stage.

The musical cuts made complete sense, and only theater fans and Sondheim fanatics will miss hearing these sequences. I admit I missed them, but mainly for the loss to Sondheim neophytes in hearing the brilliant “Kiss Me” quartet and frightening “Ballad of Sweeney Todd.”

On a side note, we arrived half an hour early and the line wrapped around the theater lobby. When we exited, they had barricaded areas for the Sweeney crowds to wait. Seems like a hit - at least in musical-friendly NYC. Just the adrenaline boost we needed to continue Christmas shopping down at Macy's Herald Square, which is open 24 hours until Christmas Day!