It’s been weeks since Trish and I checked out Harry Connick
in the (now closed) homoerotically-tinged re-write of a flawed musical
classic. And still, the thing I remember
most about the production is the hideous set design. Sad, huh?
It’s a bummer this gorgeous score is attached to such a
problematic book. The original story is about Daisy, a young woman with
telepathic powers who, under hypnosis, reveals several hidden past lives. Through the course of the evening, the psychiatrist,
played by Connick, falls in love with one of these past reincarnations.
The current revisal tries to give the story a modern day
sensibility by pulling a Chaz Bono on the lead character. Daisy is now a flouncing gay florist named
David. As in the original, Connick’s
character still falls in love with one of David’s past reincarnations, a 1940s
jazz singer, Melinda (in the original, she’s an 18th Century lady).
What does this little bit of gender bending do to improve the
story? Absolutely nothing - well, except
give the director an opportunity to make Harry Connick look super uncomfortable
and to tease us with (almost) a gay kiss between Connick and David.
Don’t worry you red-staters, there is a convenient black-out
just before their lips lock. Although
they do get close enough to elicit a rather audible communal gasp from the audience
- just in time for intermission!
There are some other added pointless subplots, mildly
successful interpolations of other Loesser songs, some nice choreography and
some really ugly costumes to go with the set.
The performances are all adequate with Jessie Mueller’s Melinda the standout. David Turner does his best with the
material he’s given. Sarah Stiles,
channeling a young Kristin Chenoweth (in a good way), is cute and charming. Connick is bland, but sounds great.
The orchestral arrangements have been changed to fit Connick’s
rat-pack style crooning. For a
recording, they’d be beautiful, but for the stage, these arrangements drain the
score of any dramatic heft or forward momentum.
This current incarnation would have a have made a great
concert, but as theatre it’s at best a mildly interesting riff on 70s-era gender
politics, at worst, it’s a boring night at the theatre.
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.
My unholy obsession with Audra McDonald continues. Not only have I already seenthe current revival of Porgy and Bess twice, but twice within three days!! Yes, I'm practically a stalker. I'm not even kidding. Just ask Trish about my strange and elaborate plan for Audra's performance at my funeral. There won't be a dry eye in St. Patrick's Cathedral.
Given this obsession, you should take anything I say in this review with a grain of salt, because I would never, ever say anything negative about the lovely Audra. And thanks to TDF, I was able to get a double dose of that luminous voice last week.
The Gershwins' Porgy and Bess Richard Rodgers Theatre Tuesday, May 15 @ 7pm Thursday, May 17 @ 8pm
Given Sondheim's scathing letter to The New York Times
flaming Audra and director Diane Paulus for thinking they could
"improve" Gershwin's masterpiece, I had mixed feelings going into the
theatre. Besides Audra, Sondheim is the other musical theatre icon I
blindly worship. Would this little tiff cause me to make the ultimate
Sophie's choice? Thankfully, no.
The controversy surrounding the
revival has since died down. Paulus and team dropped the most radical
of the talked about changes (an added happy ending), opting instead for
the less radical addition of dialogue in place of the recitative.
Originally, I was going to first-act the show Tuesday night, thinking
I'd sit through the whole thing on Thursday with Trish and Chris Grimm
(our Billy Bigelow in Carousel who I was taking as a graduation gift - congrats!). But I was in tears (in a good way) after "Bess, You Is My Woman" and I couldn't bring myself to leave at intermission.
Hearing those legit voices singing that romantic Gershwin score only made me long for the days before the American Idol-ization of Broadway, when gorgeous, trained voices could impress without riffing and screeching their way through a score.
And for those who thinks classic musicals are old fashioned and quaint, well, they obviously don't have a clue. How many shows in the past twenty years include two gruesome on-stage murders, an extended rape sequence, a main character who's a slut and a drug addict and a not-so-happy ending?
For Broadway standards, the singing is impeccable. It's not opera caliber, but you'll likely never hear that quality of singing on a Broadway stage ever again. The ensemble sound is gorgeous and the harmonies are breathtaking. Thank you again, George Gershwin.
The acting is also first rate. Which only makes me wonder why other shows can't be cast with better singers. Usually, the argument is that the director chooses an actor who sings over a singing actor, presuming that someone with an incredibly beautiful voice probably can't act with equal proficiency. But that didn't seem to be an issue in this case. So what's the deal, casting directors?!
Audra, of course, is glorious and should already make room on her bookshelf for a fifth Tony. Norm Lewis, besides being the nicest guy on Broadway (he met me once years ago and will still stop and greet me by name whenever I run into him on the street) sounds better than ever and his character's transformation from vulnerable cripple to courageous hero is impressive.
Like me, Chris and Trish were in tears throughout, as was most of the audience. With the exception of the recent revival of The Normal Heart and the first 10 minutes of The Lion King, I have not seen anything on Broadway more moving or thrilling.
My only complaint would be with the sound design. Though the orchestra is large by Broadway standards, it sounds thin and tinny through the house speakers and doesn't match the lush vocals coming from the stage. And though I'm usual fine with a minimalist esthetic when it comes to set design, I don't think this production benefits from a stripped down approach, especially in the picnic scene. A big white, sheet and a a sad, little bush? That's the best you could come up with? Oh well, I guess that's two complaints. Who cares, Audra's in it!
Leap of Faith St. James Theatre Thursday, April 12, 8pm performance
I must be getting less critical in my old age, because I actually liked Leap of Faith. Yes, it opened and closed in a hot second and the reviews were unanimous pans, but I enjoyed myself.
It's not a classic by any standards, but the story was engaging, the music was fun and it had a wonderful cast. Trust me, I've seen Dance of the Vampires, High Fidelity, Nick & Nora and Lestat - I know bad.
I think LOF may have suffered from premature show-jaculation. That's not a technical term, by the way, I just made it up. Instead of taking time to really work out the kinks and fine tune the book and score after its initial out of town tryout, they decided to rush into production months early because the St. James opened up (thanks to the forgettable On A Clear Day...revival's early closing).
Though Menken's score isn't on par with his early Disney days, he knows how to write a catchy tune and how to make a power ballad land. He understands how a show tune needs to develop and how it works dramatically within the structure of a musical. These are skills missing from much of the current pop music crossover artists who, though I applaud their ambition, don't really care to learn the history or fundamentals of theatre composing. By definition, innovation requires understanding of what has come before. I'm all for change, but why repeat the mistakes of your predecessors out of ignorance?
Anyway, off my high horse.
As has been written in many of the reviews, the story generously borrows from The Music Man and 110 in the Shade. This didn't really bother me, because the setting and period change were enough of a twist to keep me interested.
Raul Esparza is in his regular intense-but-tyring-not-to-seem-intense mode. He's probably not ideal for the role (I'd have gone Brian d'Arcy James or even Eric McCormack for some star power. Can Bradley Cooper sing? Hmmmm?) but he's always consistently great. As Esparza's love interest, Jessica Phillips is a great match vocally and has a sincerity and warmth that was totally missing from her performance in Priscilla (maybe her awful Australian accent was the culprit). As Esparza's stage sister, Kendra Kassebaum adds a likability factor to a somewhat under-written character.
If the show can overcome the stigma of its quick Broadway demise, I can see it being a staple at the regional houses.
What happened to November? I can't believe Thanksgiving whizzed by and we're now deep into December. Here's a quick and dirty rundown of my last couple of theatre-going experiences. Check back soon for my Thanksgiving posts! Not to worry, nobody lost a finger this year.
Bring It On: The Musical St. James Theatre July 14, 2pm performance
I guess this show didn't leave much of an impression with me considering it's been nearly five months and I never bothered to post about it. Not that I wasn't entertained. It's fun, totally harmless, summer fluff - a High School Musical wannabe with a pop-pastiche score that sort of all runs together, but enjoyable nonetheless.
I'm not sure why they bothered to keep the movie title (other than name recognition) because the characters and story line aren't remotely similar to the movie.
The choreography and acrobatics are impressive, but after the hundredth pyramid I was sort of hoping someone would fall just to change it up a bit.
The cast is super talented and mostly buff, just like real high school students (that's sarcasm, folks). Of course, all your loveable stereotypes are on display: nerdy-fat-girl-who-blossoms-into-cool-chick, preppy-white-girl-fish-out-of-water-at-ghetto-school, sassy-finger-snapping-black-girl-with-homegirl-posse, dorky-but-cute-techie-nerd, dumb-but-loveable-cheerleader-jock-boy, latin-homeboy-with-borderline-offensive-accent, seemingly-innocent-blonde-underclassman-who's-actually-a-scheming-bitch, and - well, you get the idea. I do give props to the production team for including a cross-dressing, gay character even if the character is - you guessed it - a sassy black boy. You go, girl!
In the end, it has a nice message about acceptance and individuality, if you're into that. The creative team does attempt to seem subversive, but in the end, the whole enterprise still has the whiff of Disney-fied cleanliness. It's entertaining, if predictable, and definitely geared to captivate the tween-friendly, Justin Bieber demographic.
And the lyricist gets extra points for somehow finding a way to end a song with the lead character belting the word "biyatch."
Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Booth Theatre October 2, 8PM
Has it really been only seven years since the last Broadway revival of this modern American classic starring husky-voiced Kathleen Turner and quirky clown Bill Irwin? The current production lacks the same star power but to the benefit of the text, which isn't hampered by a movie star persona.
Tracy Letts and Amy Morton give a more naturalistic performance then some of their more famous predecessors. Morton in particular gives a more sympathetic portrayal and consequently changes the usual dynamic between George and Martha. They now seem to be more equally abusive rather than having Martha just dominate George at the outset.
When I saw this play for the first time years ago, I had no idea where the story was heading and by the time act three rolled around (yes, it's three acts long but flies by), wasn't sure if they were all going to kill each other or have an orgy. But that's the beauty of the play and the writing. It's totally over the top, but anyone who's been in a relationship can identify with the manipulation, passive-aggressive behavior and general fucked-up-ness that comes with a bad long-term relationship marred with regret and disappointment. I mean, who hasn't imagined clubbing their loved one to death and then sleeping with the neighbors younger and hotter spouse? What, just me?
Anyway, if you're looking for intense - I mean really intense - psychological drama, check out Virgina Woolf. It makes "Grey's Anatomy" look like an episode of "Friends."
For another funny, yet completely accurate review, check out Bros on Broadway at Theatremania.com, a new feature where "ordinary" guys are asked to see and then write reviews of current Broadway offerings. High-larious!
The Mystery of Edwin Drood Studio 54 October 25, 8PM
I missed this show in its original run on the Broadway, but I've always had a fondness for the score and for that freakish high "E" belted by La Buckley in the finale. I'll leave Seth Rudetsky to explain the a-mah-zingness of it all (from his deconstruction series on Youtube).
Stephanie Block comes thrillingly close to achieving the same goose-bump moment, her jaw dropped so far open to make space for the note that I could nearly see her uterus from my balcony seat. But I digress...
The only production I've seen of Drood was years ago at a high school. And judging from that production, you'd think Drood was a humorless snooze-fest. Granted, I'm not convinced it's a great show, but it's amazing what a top notch cast and a strong directorial viewpoint can do for a solid, if less than dramatically perfect, show.
The success of the current revival relies heavily on its cast of Broadway A-listers and their ability to charm the audience. The show-within-a-show structure - a traveling British Music Hall troupe presenting "The Mystery of Edwin Drood" - allows the cast freedom to improvise and address the audience directly. The constant winking and mugging to the audience, which I usually despise, works perfectly in this context.
The gimmick, of course, is that the audience gets to choose the ending based on a vote. As the murderer, our audience chose Jessie Mueller's deliciously campy and mildly politically incorrect take on Helena Landless, the exotic orphan twin from Ceylon. I'm so glad her career wasn't sunk by that abysmal revival of On a Clear Day... a couple seasons back.
Yes, Chita Rivera's cockney accent disappears almost as soon as she's uttered her first line and her two ballads are now up-tempos given her inability to sustain a note, but who cares? She's Chita friggin' Rivera! A miscast legend is still a legend, says I. And she looks ravishing in a red wig.
Costumes, sets and lighting design are gorgeous. Sound, however, is an issue and the sometimes overly wordy lyrics are often lost beneath a tinny sound design. Nonetheless, unlike my endless night at that high school theatre years ago, this evening of frothy fun flew by (how's that for fancy alliteration?).
Scandalous Neil Simon Theatre October 26, 8PM
Really? Did no one see this coming? Is Kathie Lee Gifford so powerful and intimidating that no one dared say, "You're show sucks!" to her face during the show's years of out-of-town tryouts?
Carolee Carmelo is still a Goddess, but they didn't even give her one good power ballad for the gays to cream over. Seriously, it's Carolee Carmelo, for heavens sake! Make that gorgeous bitch - and I mean this with all the gay love in my blackened heart - belt a high "E". We deserve something in return for this very expensive nap time. Well, okay, I guess you did give us Ed Watts in a loin cloth. But that doesn't make up for the bland score and lyrics, ugly set, lack of character development or snooze of a book. It's not exactly thrilling to have the main character narrate her own story by stating, "First I did this. Then I did this. And then I did this." I'm not exaggerating.
It's not the worse night I've spent at the theatre, but I'd rather hate something with a passion than be utterly bored. I actually found myself staring at the glossy, white, false proscenium thinking, "Ooh, it's so glittery!" while a faux gospel number chugged away on stage - not a good sign.
There's definitely a compelling story here, but perhaps it's in need of a different writer and composer (but keep Carolee!). A Christmas Story Lunt-Fontanne Theatre November 8, 7PM
It's been a while since I've actually fully enjoyed a holiday-themed Broadway show - probably A Christmas Carol way back in the roaring 90s. Remember the 90s? When producers didn't have to announce that it was inappropriate to text during a performance?
Maybe I'm just a sucker for the Holidays, but I started to get misty-eyed during the opening production number. Then again, I weep every time I watch Colin Firth's character propose to Aurelia - sniff, sniff - in Love Actually, so perhaps I'm not the best barometer.
Anyway, the musical closely follows the movie plot (or so I've been told, since I've never actually watched the movie all the way through) but adds some sassy production numbers including a clever chorus line of lamp-shade legs.
The real joy in this production comes from the ensemble of triple threat child actors - except for maybe the one who had to keep glancing sideways because she couldn't remember her choreography. I won't name any names, but it was the one that wasn't white. And yes, I'm jealous of a 10-year-old girl and bitter, nastiness is my coping mechanism.
Where did they find these little freaks anyway? And I mean that with all the love in my heart. Caroline O'Connor is incredible (to me she'll always be that nasty bitch from Moulin Rouge) but she might as well not be on the stage when little Luke Spring starts tapping next to her.
John Bolton and Erin Dilly are a perfect Midwestern couple. But when did Erin Dilly become a "mom" type? Man, I'm getting old. Dan Lauria has the perfect warmth and charm as the narrator when he wasn't stumbling on his lines. Though given it was a first preview, I'll cut him some slack.
Pasek & Paul have created score that has a traditional sound and structure with a hint of contemporary musical theatre a la their recent off-Broadway show, Dogfight. It's a welcome relief from all the revivals and the now omnipresent faux-pop and jukebox scores pandering to tourists and bored housewives. I'm not saying they're all bad, but it's nice to have variety.
The physical production is mostly beautiful but the flimsy fake proscenium screams bus-and-truck tour.
Giant Public Theatre November 21, 1PM
Seating charts lie and sometimes row B is the front row. I know, crazy, right? Okay, now that I've got that off my chest...
At first, I was supremely uncomfortable and self conscious sitting front row center. My knees were literally touching the edge of the stage as I contorted my neck to view the raised playing area. Every so often I'd make eye contact with a cast member and then quickly avert my gaze in embarrassment as if I was some creepy old man watching a playground full of kids at recess. But then I thought, "Fuck it, I paid for my ticket. I'll ogle the cast all I want. And then I'll send them my chiropractor's bill."
With that, I was finally able to relax. And like a demented serial killer, I started to notice tiny details - the frayed netting on Kate Baldwin's wig, Brian D'Arcy James' bushy forearm hair, the trickling sweat on PJ Griffith's brow and neck, the shiny plastic face of the fake Mexican baby. Unfortunately, years of theatre-going combined with dozens of directing and choreographing gigs have spoiled my eyes to the "illusion" of theatre. Oh well, I was still able to appreciate this well-crafted, if flawed work. But from the front row? Never again.
Michael John LaChiusa has crafted his most accessible score to date. In fact, it's downright melodic. Unfortunately, it also suffers from repetition and could use some judicious cutting. Several characters sing more than one song about the same issue or problem.
I admire LaChiusa's ambition as well as the show's scale and scope, but there were times I was sure the show was ending only to have the stage lights come up on another scene. Conversely, the penultimate scene seemed rushed and the finale abrupt. It was as if the creative team arbitrarily determined the show's length in order to avoid paying the orchestra overtime.
The cast is uniformly excellent with the appealing Kate Baldwin (let me suggest her now for the rumored Lincoln Center revival of The King and I) and Katie Thompson as stand outs. As much as I admire the talented Bobby Steggert, he seems to be cast in the same quirky, misunderstood, man-child roles over and over again.
Though wonderfully acted, Michelle Pawk strains uncomfortably with the vocals, consistently singing under pitch at the performance I attended. It worked for the character, but makes me wonder if there might be some vocal damage there.
The physical production evokes dozens of locations beautifully while making the small Newman stage feel expansive.
It's also a treat to hear a full orchestra live, especially given the beautiful Copland-esque orchestral arrangements.
What the hell happened to the summer? It seems like just yesterday I was lounging in my caftan poolside while a bevy of hunky, young Abercrombie & Fitch models fanned me with palm fronds and hand-fed me bon-bons. Oh, wait. I totally made that up. I was actually stewing in a pool of my own sweat, bare legs sticking to a piano bench in an un-air-conditioned, mold-infested theatre with a hundred crazed musical theatre students. Potato - potahto.
(below, Trish and I excited to see the Jim Henson exhibit at the Museum of the Moving Image and temporarily blinded by the stark white walls of the lobby).
With the summer dwindling away, Trish and I decided to cram a month’s worth of fun into a single weekend. Friday night we did a double feature of Planet of the Apes and Cowboys & Aliens. And no, we didn’t pay for both, we did the ghetto thing and snuck into Cowboys.
Put that accusatory wagging index finger away and stop giving me that "oh-no-you-dih-ih" look. We made it perfectly clear to anyone watching us that we were checking out other movie times. After exiting the first theatre, we literally walked up and down the hall, stopped at each digital display and then discussed if we had missed too much of the movie to make it worth crashing. And besides, my $130 soda and popcorn combo more than covered the price of two movies.
As far as entertainment value, Apes was the far better movie - stronger plot, better actors, interesting script, good pacing. Cowboys had its moments, but even a shirtless Daniel Craig couldn’t push it above your basic summer action fare. I found the pacing a tad slow and (spoiler) the sexy female alien thing a bit too ridiculous.
Saturday morning we hightailed it to TKTS to try and grab Anything Goes matinee tickets. TDF has this faboo new app that gives you real-time ticket availability at the half-price booth. Unfortunately, by the time we got to Times Square tickets were no longer available. We settled instead for the off-Broadway revival (um, didn't this just close on Broadway, like, yesterday?) of Rent now playing at New World Stages.
If you’re a Renthead forgive me for blaspheming, but I think the revival production is far better than the original Broadway production. Whoa, I think a rotten tomato just flew past my head.
Here’s the thing, they’ve fixed the balance between the singers and the band so that you can actually understand the lyrics! I know, what a concept. And the direction has been focused so that characters actually interact dramatically with each other rather than just screaming unintelligible lyrics at the audience. Also, instead of the original industrial-chic wasteland of a set, the new designers have created a more flexible, multi-tiered unit that retains the industrial look but more clearly defines various locations through the use of movable platforms and (minimal) projections. So what does all that mean to the average audience member? If you haven’t memorized the cast album you can actually make out what the hell is going on.
Surprisingly, the revival director, Michael Greif, also directed the original Broadway production. It’s interesting that he could have such a different take on the same exact material.
As much as I do love the score and appreciate the tragedy of the composer’s early demise, I have just three words for those rich-kid characters playing at Bohemian life - get a f*kin’ job already! Okay, that was five words, but you get the idea. When I moved to New York as a starving young artist and couldn't pay the rent, I sucked it up, tossed my dignity out with trash and became a lowly Gap-girl, folding jeans and kissing up to obnoxious teenagers wielding mommy and daddy's credit card.
Seriously, the whole show rests on your ability to feel sympathy for a bunch of free-loading hippie wannabees. Oh well, I guess that's why they threw in a drag queen. I mean, who doesn't love a sassy drag queen, right? Sorry for all that bitterness. I guess I still need to work out some issues with my therapist. I still give the revival a solid B+. Moving on.
If you haven't yet paid a visit to the Museum of the Moving Image in Astoria, get your lazy ass on the N train already! I know, "That's all the way over in Queens!" you're saying to yourself. Suck it up. If I can commute to midtown everyday, you can drag your spoiled Manhattan attitude out to Astoria for one day. You'll be rewarded with the coolest exhibit ever, Jim Henson's Fantastic World.
(right, Trish and I outside the mirrored museum doors)
On Sunday morning Trish and I actually managed to crawl out of bed before 10 AM so we could beat the afternoon museum rush. First, we made a stop down the block at Brooklyn Bagel. I always feel a pang of guilt upon entering the calculated quaintness of the franchise-perfect store. When it first opened, I swore never to support the evil corporate machine. Instead, I'd patronize our cute (but shabby) local mom and pop bagel shop. "Screw 'the man'!" I exclaimed. But alas, why does "the man" have to make such delicious bagels?
Seduced by Brooklyn Bagel's incredible reviews on yelp, I gave in to temptation one day and...well, as they say, the rest is history. Damn you, yelp!
I do occasionally stop by the old mom and pop store to purchase a pity bagel. Nothing like carbs and cream cheese to appease a guilty conscience. Anyway, after a scrumptious toasted garlic-poppy seed Brooklyn bagel with sun-dried tomato and artichoke cream cheese, we were off to the museum.
For all my fellow 70s-babies, this exhibit is not to be missed. The retrospective has original Muppets on display (including Miss Piggy in her wedding finery, left) plus storyboards, sketches and artwork by the one, the only, original Kermit, Jim Henson. For you non-Muppet fans (i.e. soulless commie pinkos), the museum also has tons of movie memorabilia, set pieces, costumes, make-up and prosthetics on display.
We ended our museum sojourn with a free screening of Jim Henson's trippy movie, The Dark Crystal. For those of you too young to have seen it in the theatres, it's like a fucked-up Muppet version of the Lord of the Rings except with a much simpler plot. Henson and his cohorts must have been smoking some seriously strong doobage in the 70s and 80s.
The movie viewing also gave us a chance to see the museum's cool, new, state-of-the-art movie theatre outfitted with seats and carpeting in our official conservatory color, Pineda teal. As always, the Pinedas are on the cutting edge of fashion and technology. Not.
Our summer-in-one-weekend ended at Five Napkin Burger, just across the street from the museum, where we were seated by the most mis-matched couple on (we think) was a second or third date. Actually, now that I think of it, I bet it was totally a post one-night stand meal! One was super cute and put together while the other was a bit on the grungy side and sporting a homeless chic look (unshaven, worn t-shirt full of holes, etc. a la Derelicte). They obviously weren't complete strangers, but they didn't really know much about each other from what I could overhear from their conversation. And yes, if you sit next to me at a restaurant, I will totally eavesdrop on your conversation.
(left, Trish's eggs benedict sliders and my breakfast burger).
I almost forgot about the delish new cupcake place Trish and I discovered near New World Stages on our way to Rent, Donna Bell's Bake Shop. It opened only a few months ago and bills itself as a Southern bakery. Trish and I are on opposite ends of the cupcake icing spectrum. She likes butter icing (i.e. a stick of butter with food coloring) and I like the sugary, almost crunchy, wedding cake type icing. Donna Bell's has the latter. So while I have a new favorite, Trish is still a staunch Cupcake Cafe supporter. Yes, Cupcake Cafe's cupcakes are much prettier, but hey, looks aren't everything. Oh well, more Donna Bell's cupcakes for me.
Yes, I actually went to see Wicked again yesterday. That's viewing #3. I know, I'm worse than a 12 year old girl, right? Actually, I haven't seen the show since the year it opened and I was lucky enough to catch the healthy Chennie and Idina both times. Yes, they actually did perform together occasionally.
Trish had never seen the show so we decided to try for lottery tickets. On a whim, I went online to see if full-price tickets were available. First try, nothing - completely sold out. Second try two hours later - bingo - center orchestra seats in row G (obviously last minute house seats were released). Having just received my tax return and knowing I'd be getting paid for my Oklahoma! duties fairly soon, I decided to splurge and buy the tickets as a surprise for Trish and as an early birthday present for myself (hint, hint - Monday, April 14 is the big day so don't forget to mail those chocolates and gift cards so they get to me on time!). I met Trish at the theater anyway for our good deed of the day. We signed up for the lottery on behalf of Jeannie, an out of town visitor, to triple her chances of winning. Karma works wonders. Trish's name was called second and our gal from Delaware got her front row ticket. Trish actually signed up for two tickets, so we were able to sell the other one to a shy Japanese gal who accepted the ticket only after her auntie threateningly told her "If you don't use that ticket, I will!" Way to show some balls, auntie.
The show is in remarkably good shape considering it's been running for years, that it was the second show of a two show day and that a standby for a leading role was on (Lisa Brescia in for Stephanie Block's Elphaba). Things got off to a rocky start with Annaleigh Ashford's Glinda, but she found her groove by the Shiz entrance. Let's just say, I don't think she's a "real" soprano. Also, starting out I was concerned that she didn't "get" the comedy either because she kept "winking" at the audience after each punch line with an "aren't I funny?" look. Brescia started out a bit stiff acting-wise, but vocally solid. Thankfully, by "Loathing" she had relaxed into the role. What a clear, laser sharp belt on this gal. I'd be interested to see what she could do with the role were she able to perform it eight times a week. Supporting roles were strong, especially Morrible (although oddly she didn't sing a single note but used a highly effective sprechstimme approach), the Wizard and Nessarose, all of whom surpassed the performances of the originals I've seen.
Random thoughts:
David Burnham's Fiyero is pretty gay. I have nothing wrong with a gay dude playing straight, but butch it up, Mary. And his dancing in his opening scene - yikes. He did sound pretty amazing in the Elphaba duet, though.
Why does the Ozdust ballroom scene look like an 80's prom? Especially Galinda's pink frock. Also, I forgot how emotional the end of the scene is when Galinda swallows her pride and dances with Elphaba. I got a bit verklempt.
I still don't get the humpty-dumpty characters in Wiz-omania. I mean, I get that it's a show within the show, but the scene really doesn't do anything to advance the plot. And they look stupid. So there.
The levitation scene lost a bit of it's punch. The first two times I saw it, I was a weeping mess. This time, not so much. I think it's because Brescia didn't do the spoken, "It's not her you want, it's meeeeeeeee (slide into singing without a breath) So if you care to find me...." Ooh, I get boner just thinking about it.
Is it just me, or does the end of "No Good Deed" look like a Stevie Nicks' video with that wind machine and lighting going on?
The guy sitting next to Trish was audibly sobbing during several moments, most notably during the first act finale during Elphaba's cherry picker flight. When the lights came on at intermission, the crying dude turned to his girlfriend and the couple next to them and said something to the effect of, "I'm a (banker? or some other boring trade), but now I have a new dream," while gesturing to the stage. Ding, ding, ding - warning. Girlfriend better cancel the wedding shower and start preparing for his coming out party.
High school kids never change. There was a group there that couldn't stop "ooh-ing" during the kissing scenes.
The straight-tone-to-vibrato thing was out of control in the choral singing. It made the ensemble sound synthesized.
A group of four arrived 20 MINUTES LATE. Of course, they were also in the fifth row of the orchestra. Also, two gals, dead center orchestra decided to take a pee break an hour into the act. I can understand one having an emergency, but two? Did her friend have to go along to help wipe? One of these gals also climbed back to her seat 15 minutes after the second act had already begun, causing mumbled cursing from audience members all around.
Staycation: Day 1 (Friday, 5/24)
What better way to inaugurate the official beginning of summer than with a Brazilian buffet and Audra McDonald (not together, of course - though the thought of it does get me all hot and bothered - not sure my heart could take the fanboy excitement combined with the cholesterol). Trish has raved about Villa Brazil for months since her friend, Mara, introduced her to it's carnivorous pleasures.
The restaurant is in our Astoria nabe, but torrential rains (and my laziness) combined with unseasonably cool temperatures forced us to drive the 15 blocks rather than walk. Mara enthusiastically agreed to join us even though she had just supped with Trish the day before. Like us, she never passes up an opportunity to stuff her face with grilled meat.
We dropped our umbrellas in the foyer and faster than you can rip the tape off a Brazilian bikini wax, Mara had dragged me to the back of the restaurant where a buffet of South American delights awaited my watering mouth. I have no idea what anything was (nothing is labeled), but it was all delicioso. Especially the churrascaria-style meats (pictured above) that the grillman cuts and piles on your plate to order. I can feel my arteries hardening at the sheer memory of those scrumptious, bloody cuts of sirloin, skirt and rib.
We followed up our animal flesh bacchanal with a trip to, where else, the Entenmann's Bakery Outlet. It's only two blocks from the restaurant, so we trudged through the wind and rain for $1 pound cakes and english muffin packs.
Trish and I ended our evening in a post-feast haze, watching The Goddess, Audra McDonald, on Live from Lincoln Center. We were privileged to be in the audience during the live taping, but I wanted to re-live that night from the comfort of my couch and with the added luxury of close-ups.
The gorgeous lobby of the Koch Theatre
Staycation: Day 2 (Saturday, 5/25)
With dreams of Audra wafting through my brain, I slept in until almost noon. But once up, there was no time for more lounging. I'd already wasted half of staycation day 2 in my jammies. With just enough time for the three "sh"'s (shit, shower and shave), Trish and I were off to Lincoln Center for New York City Ballet's "Tribute to Broadway."
Today's matinee program included ballets based on or taken from classic Broadway shows. First up - "Fancy Free," the Jerome Robbins ballet that inspired Leonard Bernstein to write On The Town. Gotta' love a man in a tight white uniform, right? And since Fleet Week was canceled this year, today's show was my only opportunity to openly ogle sailors in NYC this spring.
Second on the program was Christopher Wheeldon's "Carousel" (not to be confused with Agnes de Mille's "Dream Ballet" created for the original Broadway production). The Wheeldon ballet is a loose interpretation of the musical's Billy/Julie relationship employing excerpts (including the thrilling "Carousel Waltz") from the iconic Rodgers & Hammerstein score. This piece was new to me, and I appreciated the intricate pattern work and liberal use of - for lack of a better term - the "peel-off" effect. I also made a mental note of how Wheeldon created a human carousel with his dancers and a few poles. I'll definitely be stealing this moment...er, I mean recreating the moment "in homage"...the next time I'm called to choreograph the show.
Intermish photo shoot - aren't we lovely? That's rhetorical.
Trish and I took advantage of the extended intermission to stretch and do some minor back re-alignment. Our cheapo fourth ring seats, though front row, were way off to one side so we had to sit in an abnormally twisted position in order to see the stage without resorting to some serious Cirque du Soleil neck contorsion.
Act 2 was comprised entirely of Robbins' "West Side Story Suite." It's sort of the Cliffs Notes version of West Side Story. I'd never seen a performance of the suite, so I didn't realize the scenes (except "Something's Coming") were literally exerpted from the original staging - including the singing.
I know there are some kick-ass dancer/singers out there, but yikes. The singing in "America" was barely at the level of a competent high school production. To be fair, it is a ballet company, but I just couldn't get past Anita's thin, underpowered vocals. Chita and Rita have forever spoiled me. Thankfully, a professional singer (on mic stage right) sung the role of Tony during "Something's Coming."
Staring at emaciated dancers for two hours can really work up the appetite. So after the final curtain call Trish and I headed to Aldea, a Michelin-starred, Iberian restaurant in Union Square. Normally, this type of fancy-shmancy place is out of my price range. But the advantage of a staycation is not having to shell out for flights or hotel rooms. Instead, I was able to divert the extra cash to fund my favorite pastime - gorging until I throw up!
Aldea's small, sleekly furnished dining room has a clear view of the open kitchen in back. The modern design afforded us an unobstructed view of hunky celebrity chef, George Mendes. Talk about wetting - I mean whetting - your, um, appetite. Yowza.
We decided to forgo restraint in favor of the gluttonous 9 (!) course chef's tasting menu. You can check out all the gory details to the left (I have no idea what that brown smudge is, but I'd venture to guess it's probably my drool). Jealous yet? If not, let me list the "Petiscos" for you:
Is it any wonder the meal took over two and a half hours to serve?
I was so mesmerized by the volume and variety of dishes and the gorgeous plating that I forgot to take pictures. I finally regained my composure by the dessert course, at least enough to make Trish take this aerial shot (left) of the dessert plate. Beautiful AND tasty - just like me.
In an effort to burn off a few calories, after dinner we decided to walk uptown to the next subway stop instead of jumping on at Union Square. As we reached 23rd street we noticed some brightly colored tents and strung carnival lights. With no other plans for the evening, we decided to investigate. Nearing the site, the hypnotic smell of beer and fried food wafted passed us and we knew we were heading into dangerous territory - an outdoor food festival.
Just past Eataly, on a tiny triangle of asphalt just west of Madison Square Park, the festive tents of Madison Square Eats were buzzing with a mix of Flatiron yuppies and excited tourists. I stood wide-eyed, mesmerized by the stands of artisanal street foods. Though still obscenely full from our 9 course dinner, I was tempted to sneak down a side alley, purge and re-fill. Instead, Trish and made a plan to return later in the week for dinner.
Not wanting to leave the festival empty handed, we stopped by Macaron Parlour's stand for a sample pack featuring some of their more unusual flavors (including salted caramel, smore and - wait for it - candied bacon with maple cream cheese frosting and - wait for it again - cheetos infused white chocolate ganache!). We managed to make it all the way home to Astoria before ripping the box open and devouring all 12 of the the colorful, chewy bundles of cream-filled goodness.
Ah, Sorrento. We left Naples and the ashes of Pompeii behind us and headed for the hills. After a stomach-churning drive up the snaking two-lane Sorrento Coast road, Paulo took us up to a tiny church off the main "highway" (I use the term loosely as the terrain doesn't permit expansion past a narrow two lanes). We ascended through some olive groves and up a one-lane road, honking at each blind curve lest we smash head-on into one of the many compact fiats whizzing about, until we literally reached the end of the road. Yes, scary, but worth the eventual view.
Behind us are the cliffs of Sorrento. Paulo grew up on these mountains so we were lucky enough to enjoy this private vantage without having to fight off other tourists for prime photo real estate. Yes, Val might look friendly, but for the perfect picture, she'd cut a b*tch.
This is the cute little church opposite of where we're standing above (Paulo stood on its steps to take the picture above). Imagine walking out of mass and out into that view. It would almost make it worth going to church - almost. After much "ooh"-ing and "ahh"-ing, we piled back into the Mercedes mini-van and headed for Positano via the famous Amalfi Coast road (listed in National Geographic's new book, Drives of a Lifetime, as one of the world's greatest road trips. I'd say THE number one greatest road trip).
Here's a shot looking down one of the dizzying, narrow village roads. Positano is literally a vertical city, with buildings stacked one on top of each other all the way up the side of the mountains. It's really like nothing I've ever seen or experienced, with roads carved out of sheer cliffs. Unlike in the picture above, most roads had a sheer stone wall on one side and just a shoulderless, short stone barrier separating you from an excruciatingly painful death on the cliffs below. If you're acrophobic and/or claustrophobic, stay far away from Positano, because there's only one way to get there and it's down this road.
The constant fear of falling to one's death surely works up one's appetite. So when Paulo suggested we do a leisurely sit-down lunch at a nice, family restaurant overlooking Positano, we quickly said "Yes." Once again, we headed up a tiny one-lane road even further up into the mountains, finally stopping at a tiny wooden gate with the simple sign above hanging from a tree.
We climbed down some stone steps where the Rosemary that was soon to garnish our lunch was sprouting from the wall and greeted by...
...this incredible view from our table. Yes, we dined al fresco, enjoying this spectacular view. Jealous much?
For 25 Euro a person, we dined on a home-cooked, three-course, multi-dish feast (we're talking bread and antipasto followed by 8 or 9 different appetizers and four different homemade pastas followed by dessert) with unlimited wine and yeah, that ridiculous view.
Here I am enjoying my second (or maybe sixth or ninth) glass of wine. I certainly do look happy.
No glass required for mom. Just hand her the bottle.
Amalfi is known for its limoncello. So of course, our dessert course started with free shots of the yummy lemon liquor. Once again, mom showed us she could still party like a rock star and opted to chug it straight from the bottle, provided happily by mama's very cute son who also happened to be one of our hosts.
How did we know our meal was being prepared fresh by mama (yes, when we asked who the chef was, the staff simply answered "mama")? Because it was an open kitchen and we could literally watch her prepare our dishes. Of course, we had to thank mama personally for the extraordinary meal, so we called her out from the kitchen for a picture with our very own mama.
These are just a sampling of some of the dessert plates presented to us at the end of our meal. The food was so good I almost forgot about the beautiful view of Positano just behind me. No worries, after the meal we still managed to haul our fat asses back up the stairs and were again greeted by glorious views...
...like this one. Here's mom striking a drunken pose. We're actually standing on the roof of the restaurant where we just dined. Like most buildings in Positano, you have to either enter from above or below.
Dad and Trish are soaking in some rays as well as the view.
After driving back down to the center of town, Paulo let us out of the car for some exploring time in Positano. We made it down to the beach where we couldn't help but stand slack-jawed and in awe of this beautiful city. Looks like something straight out of a James Bond movie, no?
Here's another view of the beach. As beautiful as it looks in these pictures, it was a thousand times more beautiful in person.
Val and I couldn't resist taking our shoes off and wading in paradise. We swore when we win the Mega Millions, we're retiring here (which means never).
Here I am with my newly purchase chapeau, wandering the vine-covered streets of Positano.
Here's Trish on the beach.
It was indeed sad to jump back into the van and drive away. But we had one more stop before heading back to Naples and our ship - the town of Sorrento. I made another promise to Val - when I get married, we're coming back to Positano and holding the ceremony here (which again, means never). Hey, a girl can dream, right?
As crazy as this sounds, especially seeing these pictures, Sorrento was a bit of a let down after Positano. It's basically the difference between "stunningly beautiful paradise" and just plain "beautiful paradise". Sorrento is built on the top of a cliff that plunges into the ocean. Standing by the cliff wall (like mom above in her stylish outfit) you can look down to see...
...Sorrento's version of the beach. Look how clear that water is. Not like the cloudy, syringe-filled waters of the East Coast. What the Sorrento shore lacks in sand it makes up for in style and cleanliness.
Trish and I are smiling through jealous tears at the beach goers lounging below us. Mount Vesuvius is hovering just above us on the left.
We dash down one of the tiny Sorrento streets for last minute shopping and to pick-up all things limon - including soap, liquor and yes, even chocolates - before heading back to the ship.
Our driver and guide Paulo with mom - now friends for life after presenting mom a bottle of free booze.
Trish also gets a hug and more free booze from our guide. Oh those Italians, always flirting with the ladies.
Tonight's towel animal greets us in our cabin after a full day on the Amalfi Coast.
Monday morning at the office was painful. I was late again (although only 20 minutes this time and not 3 hours) because I just couldn’t force myself out of bed. But somehow I made it through the day and hopped on the 5:30pm bus to NJ for our Merry Widowsitzprobe. Work on Tuesday was torturous since I hadn’t gotten home from rehearsal until well after midnight the evening before. But at least I managed to get there on time. Since I was extremely excited to Barack the vote that night, I got through the day on sheer adrenaline (and diet coke).
I highly doubt a more historic election will happen again in my lifetime. The energy and anticipation was palpable on the streets, especially in Times Square (where I work). I giant TV screen was set up smack dab in the middle of it and throngs of people were just watching and waiting. In anticipation of long lines at the polls, Trish and I headed to our voting site as soon as I got home from work. I know New York is waiting for new voting machine technology to be perfected before replacing the old voting machines, but come on. Those huge hunks of gray steel are positively ghetto. They could at least throw on a coat of paint or change those moldy curtains. The old voting booths remind me of a cross between those huge old computers from the 1970’s (you know, the ones that used to take up a whole room) and a peep booth at an adult video store - not that I’ve had any experience with those, of course.
I just want to say how proud I am of our country’s choice. It almost makes up for the fact that Bush was voted into office two terms in a row. Almost. Unfortunately, I feel like Obama is in a no-win situation. Intellectually, people know that he can’t change the country overnight, but Americans are emotional and fickle. Can they wait a couple years to see his policies start to take effect or will they have the unrealistic expectation that the economy will turn itself around instantaneously? I guess we can only wait and see. Whatever happens, I’m glad that all Americans, not only the rich, white ones, are finally starting to take ownership of their voting rights as citizens. Let’s hope that in four years, we haven’t returned to our old, apathetic selves. But enough politics, let’s get back to me, me, me!
I was a hot mess at work again on Wednesday morning. I thought I’d finally get a full night’s sleep, but I just couldn’t stop watching the election results. I got so swept up in the emotion and momentum of the election that I inevitably stayed up for Obama’s acceptance speech and didn’t get to bed until well after midnight. So once again I had to rely on a steady stream of diet coke and tootsie rolls to get me from 9 to 5. As has become an almost daily ritual, I boarded a NJ Transit bus after work and headed to the first dress rehearsal of Widow. I can’t honestly tell you how the run went because my back was to the stage the whole time. I’m playing in the pit, supplementing the orchestra on the piano. I can, however, tell you that the cast doesn’t know their lines. That much was clear even without seeing their faces. Some of the “acting” on stage was embarrassingly amateurish. Of course, some of the blame does fall squarely on Juan and me, but come on, people! We can’t memorize your lines for you. The show opens in three days and you’re still stumbling over dialogue? That’s just plain sad. Anyway, I was just too tired to even take notes. But regardless, the show looks and sounds lovely. The audience will just have to grit their teeth through the book scenes. They should be used to it anyway if they attend opera with any regularity.
It looks like sleep just isn’t in the cards for me, at least until around mid-December. I ended up missing the last bus back to NYC by five minutes. Damn NJ Transit for actually running on time! Again, home after midnight and my alarm set to go off way too early Thursday morning for work. The rest of the week's schedule? - Thursday: work then NJ for final dress, Friday: work then NJ to finish building set, Saturday: set up for champagne event and opening night, Sunday: reception, closing performance and strike. Then Monday we start all over again with High School Musical. Yeah!
The current revisal tries to give the story a modern day
sensibility by pulling a Chaz Bono on the lead character. Daisy is now a flouncing gay florist named
David. As in the original, Connick’s
character still falls in love with one of David’s past reincarnations, a 1940s
jazz singer, Melinda (in the original, she’s an 18th Century lady). 
