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.

Blizzard, shmizzard…bring on the orphans! And tales of Times Square and mom jeans.

With Storm Nemo threatening to close down the city, Trish and I decided to throw caution to the wind and ignore Mayor Bloomberg’s warning to “stay off the city streets.”  Instead, we treated visiting Summer Conservatory staff member, Dylan Shelofsky, to a day in the gray-brown slush of a NYC snowstorm.  As a native Coloradan, we figured a couple feet of snow would barely impress, let alone hamper, Dylan’s mobility during her weekend trip to the Big Apple.

My Times Square office, on the other hand, was in full panic mode and dismissed us early.  Trish and I took advantage of my free afternoon and the uncharacteristic empty sidewalks to explore midtown with our visiting protégé.  Since Dylan is way too cool to have visited any of the usual Times Square tourist traps on previous trips, we decided to take advantage of the storm-thinned crowds to go full frontal tourist!

First stop?  The Hershey Store, of course.  Where else can you buy the same candy bar your local drug store carries and sells at half the price?!  At least they give out free samples.  Next, we headed across the street to M&M’s World where they somehow manage to fill three retail floors with M&M’s merchandise.  Did you know there’s an M&M military jeep dispenser?  Who knew?  Who buys?

Dylan and Trish enjoying the Ferris wheel.

With the snow piling up to nearly a whopping eighth of an inch, we bravely made our way to the TKTS booth.  All real New Yorkers know that the best time to get great seats for a Broadway show is during a snowstorm (or a Jewish holiday).  Since none of us had ever seen a professional mounting of Annie, we decided to fork over our cash to see that plucky red head just stick out her chin and grin and say…everyone sing!

We still had a couple of hours to kill before show time.  So our next stop was Toys R’ Us Times Square.  Now, I’m usually a cynic when it comes to the Times Square big box retail stores, but Toys R’ Us is definitely worth a stop if only for it’s full-sized ferris wheel and Barbie castle.

Usually, tickets to ride the ferris wheel are sold out by mid-day, but thanks to Storm Nemo’s threatening conditions, the store was practically empty and we were able to jump right on.  Sadly, Barbie’s castle was undergoing some renovation.  But even under construction, we were able to laugh and make disparaging comments about the Pink Label Edward and Bella Barbies on display.  I’m sure Kristen Stewart is lying at home wiping away tears of hurt with hundred dollar bills even as we speak.

An example of my indelible fashion sense.

Finally, we headed to my favorite Times Square retailer, Forever 21.  Yes, you read that correctly, Forever 21.  I know many of you look to me as a barometer of teen fashion, so I hesitantly give away my fashion secret weapon.  Given the day’s busy tourist schedule, however, I was in no mood to sift through racks of skinny-legged jeans.  And yes, I do see the irony of me considering purchasing “skinny” jeans given my healthy 38” waist, but style trumps function, says I.  (For those of you new to my blog or unaware of my “unique” sense of humor, that entire last paragraph was meant to be sarcastic.  It was only a few years ago that Trish had to pry my favorite pair of high-waisted mom jeans from my death grip.)

After a needed injection of Chai tea and a slice of chocolate banana bread from Starbucks - incidentally, one of the few stores still open in the wake of the “blizzard” - we headed to the Palace theatre hoping a gaggle of depression-era orphans might cheer us up on this cold, snowy evening.

Viewing the half empty theatre from our ninth row orchestra seats, it was obvious most citizens heeded Bloomberg’s advice.  But other than a late start, the show proceeded with a full cast (no understudies!).  As the old adage goes - the show must go on - even without an audience.  You can read my review here.

Nice Work If You Can Get It or Crazy-For-You Lite

Nice Work If You Can Get It
Imperial Theatre
Thursday, Feb 7, 7pm

Seriously, can we please set-up a statute of limitation for the use of “Someone To Watch Over Me” in a Broadway show?  At least another 50 years, please?  Sure, it’s a classic, but the Gershwins did write other love songs, ya’ know.

Sorry, rant over.  Anyway – why “Crazy-For-You” Lite?  Well, unlike Crazy For You, this little Gershwin bauble isn’t based on an existing Gershwin show, but created from scratch by looting the Gershwin catalogue and throwing together what is supposed to be a capricious tale of a millionaire playboy and a tomboy bootlegger.  It’s apparently “based on material” by Guy Bolton and P.G.Wodehouse, whatever that means, since it was nominated for Best NEW Musical at the 2012 Tony Awards.

It’s also not quite as funny, the book writing isn’t nearly as tight, the songs aren’t integrated quite as well and the production numbers aren’t nearly as clever or exciting as its predecessor.

So I hated it, right?  Well, not exactly.  How can you hate a Gershwin score or the delightful (if miscast) Kelli O’Hara? 

Director/choreographer Kathleen Marshall doesn’t quite provide the needed pace and manic energy a musical farce requires.   And a 1920s musical without a single tap number?  Sacrilege!

Some of the blame can also be thrown at book writer Joe DiPietro, who does provide some solid laughs, but whose many one-liners are hit-and-miss.

I loves me some Kelli O’Hara, but she’s not quite tomboyish enough for my taste, though her singing is sublime (as usual).  She also shows a knack for whacky physical comedy in her hilarious take on “Treat Me Rough.”  Who knew?

Ferris Bueller…er, I mean, Matthew Broderick, is appealing, if a bit too stoic as playboy, Jimmy.  His intentionally underplayed characterization is an interesting choice, but one wonders why so many gals have fallen under the spell of this schlumpy, personality-free mama’s boy.

Standouts for me were the secondary couple, Robyn Hurder and Chris Sullivan (Jeannie and Duke).  Her ditzy blonde and his loveable goofball have the only real onstage chemistry.

Judy Kaye and Blythe Danner are fun, but wasted in small supporting roles.   And the costumer should be sentenced to community service at Easy Pickins for putting Ms. Danner in that unflattering black flapper dress.

If Ms. Marshall had choreographed the entire show with the same sense of frothy fun she found staging “Delishious” (spoiler alert: the ensemble spilling clown-car-like from the tiny bathtub), the show might have risen above the limitations of the book.

Oh well, just bring on a revival of Crazy For You!

Beyonce’s Warm-up Act OR Super Bowl XLVII: A Gay Man’s Perspective

Our fancy Scoops ice cream cake.

I am not a football fan.  Though I am a fan of chicken wings and tight pants, so deciding to attend Juan and Val’s Super Bowl party was a no brainer.  After scraping the snow and ice from Trish’s car, we drove to Juan and Val's Jersey abode for some game day gluttony. 

In true Pineda style, upon arrival we headed straight to the kitchen.  Sure, the TV was on in the living room, but the real action was happening in the kitchen.  Val was at the stove frying up pierogies, Juan was at the fry daddy tending to the wings and Juan’s white son, Chris Grimm, was implementing some “quality control” at the hors d’oeuvre tray.  I’d spent the morning preparing a 2-pound tray of bacon mac and cheese, so I immediately usurped the oven to re-heat my lactosean nightmare - that’s right, 4 cups of heavy cream and 2 kinds of cheese, bitches! 

Eventually we settled into the living room for the start of the show - er, um - game.  First off, what's up with the Ravens’ costumes?  Um, I mean uniforms.  Who picked that shade of purple?  Just terrible.  They could have at least gone with a nice aubergine or grape for better contrast with the Astroturf.  Perhaps, in a good will gesture the 49ers can forward the Ravens the name of their stylist.  I mean, the 49ers are from San Francisco, right?  Of course their outfits are fierce.

Speaking of outfits - who talked you into wearing that S&M turtleneck, Ms. Hudson?  Yes, you have a bangin’ new bod thanks to Weight Watchers, but that top is a little too “50 Shades of Grey” for my taste.  I hope you used a lot of baby powder because that’s gonna’ chafe.  Not that I would know.  Oh well, you still sounded amazing.  And nice touch with the back-up chorus of step-touching elementary school children.  Although the white and khaki outfits need to go.  It was like watching a convention of midget car salesmen.

Ms. Keys fared much better than Ms. Hudson in the wardrobe department, but her muzak version of the National Anthem was a real snoozer.  Here’s a helpful tip - if you need to take a breath every two words, either you’re tempo is too slow or you’re in desperate need of better vocal technique (or both?).  And it is absolutely never appropriate to riff for thirty seconds AFTER you’ve sung the last word of the National Anthem.  Self-indulgent much?

I’m not exactly sure what occurred between the coin toss and Beyoncé half-time extravaganza, but there seemed to be a lot of running, pushing and shoving.  Oh, and a lot of slow motion.  For athletes, there sure was a lot of awkward jiggling in those tight outfits.  Note to self, slow motion and spandex - not a good look.  My main concern during the first act - er, um…inning - no, wait - um…oh, I give up - was that my seven-layer dip was missing it's crucial sixth layer.  Since avocados are out of season I had to - gasp - skip the guacamole.  Oddly, no one seemed to notice.   

And then there was (insert angelic “Ah” here) Beyoncé.  To paraphrase Brian Hart’s facebook status (a former Pineda Conservatory student), “That’s what heaven’s like.”  Preach. And can we talk about her “sex face”?   Don't even get me started on her luscious weave.

Post half-time was sort of a blur to me, I think someone forgot to pay the electric bill or something.  To be honest, I couldn’t concentrate on the TV because Val was piling more food and dessert on the table. I mean, ice cream cake crunchies or Super Bowl?  There's really no contest. 

Since I usually root for the team with the cutest quarterback, this year left me with a particularly difficult quandary - Italian-American hunk or young tattoo-ed hottie?  In the end, it didn't really matter.  I got my caloric intake for the year and one team won a really big, tacky ring.  

I won't even comment on the all the lame commercials this year except to say I threw up in my mouth a little watching that hot model make out with the frizzy-haired nerd. Isn't it totally possible to be both hot and smart?  Of course it is.  I'm looking in the mirror right now at a prime example.  Call me, GoDaddy. 

Trish and I are already planning on making millions by renting out our bedrooms next year when New York hosts the next Super Bowl.

Congratulations, Ravens!