Back-to-back “Rocky”s

Rocky the Musical
Winter Garden Theatre
Thursday, Feb 13, 8PM &
Friday, Feb 14, 8PM

I’ve never been a huge fan of the Rocky franchise but the mere thought of a new Ahrens & Flaherty score is enough to get me drooling in anticipation. That, and the fantasy of A&H writing a new Witches of Eastwick musical starring Audra (in the Cher role), Carolee Carmello (in the Sarandon role) and Kate Baldwin (in the Pfeiffer role). Never gonna’ happen, but a girl can dream.

Tonight’s performance was the first official preview since last night’s performance was canceled due to electrical issues caused by all the salt and melting snow. In a brief pre-curtain speech, director Alex Timbers explained that the two huge metal beasts humming outside the theatre on Seventh Avenue are actually industrial generators. That’s right, ConEd, a little electrical issue isn’t gonna’ stop Philly’s finest from making his Broadway debut.

Timbers also warned that the show might be stopped at any moment to ensure the actors' safety given the technical demands of the massive multiple moving set piecess. I briefly envisioned Rocky Balboa flying Spider-Man-style above the stage, whacking into the side of the proscenium and then slowly sliding down the side of the stage.

But I couldn’t luxuriate in my schadenfreude-induced fantasy for long. The houselights dimmed and the iconic trumpet fanfare (interpolated from the movie) blared through the speakers. The audience expectedly roared its approval. And truth be told, hearing that music coupled with the crowd’s reaction got my adrenaline pumping as well.

The show itself is a fairly straight forward adaptation of the movie by original writer, Sylvester Stallone (with an assist from veteran book writer, Thomas Meehan). The turtles, the raw eggs, the “Yo, Adrienne!”’s and the Art Museum steps are all there – no surprises. 

Straight adaptions usually bother me but perhaps I was feeling unusually sentimental on this pre-Valentine's Day evening, because the shared audience familiarity was oddly comforting. I mean, it’s Rocky after all, not King Lear.

Though the score lacks the sweeping power of A&F’s previous efforts, it possesses a simplicity and sweetness that seems entirely appropriate for these blue collar characters. Though I’ll admit I did find myself waiting for the evening’s “Wheels of a Dream.” Sigh. Maybe I'll get my anthem fix in their upcoming Little Dancer.

The physical design is pretty spectacular with hulking set pieces fluidly (at least at the first preview) moving around and above the ant-like cast. Even a rafter-descending rack of beef sides gets enthusiastic audience applause.

And then there's the climactic final boxing match. Possibly the most exciting 15 minutes of staging I've witnessed in the last 10 years of theatre-going. I won't spoil it, but if a real fight is anywhere near as thrilling as what happens at the Winter Garden eight times a week, count me in for ringside seats at Madison Square Garden.

Of course, I may have been slightly influenced by the unusually vocal audience that seemed made up of the cast's friends and family and comped Equity members. After the show I even ran into an old actor friend who mistook my straight twink theatre companion for my boyfriend. As if. I don't date anyone born after the first Back to the Future movie was released. A lady needs to maintain some standards.

Photo courtesy of Broadway.com

And I almost forgot. Sly himself took a bow after the curtain call to congratulate the cast in his unmistakably slurred Stallone speech. The man does look good, if a bit "pulled."

Déjà vu - Rocky, take 2

With the upcoming President's Day weekend holiday, Juan and Val planned a staycation in the city. And after my freakish raves about Rocky's final fight scene, Val immediately bought us all TDF tickets for Friday night's performance.

Of course, Val hadn't realized it was also Valentine's Day, so instead of spending a romantic evening with Juan, she had to settle for a not-so-intimate evening with me, my "date" Dylan (another voice teacher at the conservatory) and the other 1500 or so audience members at the Winter Garden.

I'm a total musical theatre dork, but even I have never seen the same Broadway show two days in a row. I guess I can now graduate to theatre Queen - with a capital "Q" - which I assume entitles me to a longer red velvet cape and at least an added be-jeweled scepter.

While yesterday's first preview was technically flawless, the second preview - not so much. Several automated pieces malfunctioned and had to be moved manually by stage hands. The actors gamely improv-ed to cover some really awkward pauses and missed scene changes - most notably a missing set of lockers that set up a running gag through the show.

The stage manager then had to stop the show mid-way through act one for about 10 minutes to reset two large moving walls that decided they liked where they were sitting.

An important prop went missing in the second act - the Christmas tree topper that was supposed to be the button of Rocky and Adrienne's big Act 2 love duet.

Oh well, the magic of live theatre!

Other then the technical issues, the show played pretty consistently based on yesterday's first preview. Though Andy Karl seemed much more vocally secure the second night (first performance seemed to suffer a bit from opening night nerves causing some minor pitch issues). The rest of the performances were solid to good.

Rocky certainly is no Ragtime or Once on this Island, but it's a solid evening of fun nostalgia for those of us who can still remember the 80s. It's also the perfect "straight" guy musical (if he can sit still through the more traditional first act). But there's no denying the real star performance in this production - the awesome set and Alex Timber's direction.

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.

Big Fish on Broadway - Sink or Swim?

Big Fish

Neil Simon Theatre

Saturday, Sept 7 @ 8pm

Another movie-to-musical adaptation?  I guess we should just get used to it since the trend won’t be abating anytime soon.  Not that I necessarily mind.  But the recent crop of adaptations seems to be a lame attempt by studios to make some quick cash from their old catalogs.  Just shoe-horn a mediocre score into an existing plot, keep the familiar title (albeit with the requisite “ - The Musical” suffix), market it to the brand-happy masses and voilà – instant Broadway hit.

At least Broadway’s newest film-to-stage project - or more accurately novel-to-film-to-stage project - Big Fish, aspires to more than just rehashing the movie and plugging in couple of show tunes.  With it's fantasy sequences and heart-on-sleeve emotions, the movie lends itself perfectly to characters suddenly breaking into song.  The creative team (with original screenplay writer, John August, penning the book) has retained the major plot points, but understandably streamlined the movie’s meandering story. 

Take note that tonight was only the fourth preview performance, so who knows what changes might happen between now and opening night.

Andrew Lippa’s score is surprisingly traditional.  It's got just a tinge of country and blues interspersed with several lush, heart-string-pulling ballads, vaguely reminiscent of another ballad-heavy Lippa score (one of my favorites), jon & jen.  You'd never guess this was from the same composer of The Addams Family, a show I actually enjoyed despite its workmanlike score.

The nostalgic wistfulness of "Time Stops" and earnest sweetness of "Daffodils" will leave romantics sniffling and cynics gagging (I'm in the former camp).

The always reliable Norbert Leo Butz (Edward Bloom) can prepare himself for yet another Tony nomination.  Though his quirky everyman shtick feels familiar, he has a unique gift for getting an audience to root for potentially unlikeable characters.  His performance here is appropriately showy but also unusually grounded, which helps smooth out some of the clunky transitions (mainly the fault of the direction, but more on that later) back-and-forth between the older and younger versions of his character.  

And why isn’t Kate Baldwin (Sandra Bloom) a big star?  That silky, clear soprano makes you yearn for the good old days when leading ladies didn't have to belt (i.e. screech) constant high F's or out-riff each other to impress.  Her 11-o-clock number, "I Don't Need a Roof," very nearly stopped the show - not to mention turning both Trish and I into blubbering piles of jelly.  And she looks gorgeous in every one of William Ivey Long's period perfect gowns.

Pssst, Lincoln Center, Kelli O’Hara has plenty on her plate.  Why not throw The King and I revival over to Ms. Baldwin? 

Trish's Broadway boyfriend, Bobby Steggert (Will Bloom), makes the most of an underwritten role.  His character is a cipher, seeming only to exist in order to give Butz's character a reason to tell another one of his stories.  Uncharacteristically, Steggert seemed to be having some vocal issues at tonight's performance, especially in his upper register - though he's not helped being straddled with one of the score’s few misses, the lyrically clunky “Stranger.”  

Julian Crouch’s scenic design is imaginative and appropriately fantastical.  He scores with a string of visually stunning moments.  Projections are a huge part of the design aesthetic and provide a cinematic feel and scale to the production.  Though beautiful, they sometimes feel like a cop out, used as a substitute for good old fashioned stage craft.  WWJTD - What would Julie Taymor do?

Susan Stroman’s direction/choreography is hit-or-miss. Sometimes it’s thrilling (the swamp trees) and sometimes it’s muddled and unfocused (the USO number).  It also appears she’s never ventured up into the mezzanine (where more than half the audience is seated) as much of the staging seems best viewed from the orchestra.  At times, too, the stage seemed rather sparsely populated.  It's surely a cost issue, but the look of the show would benefit from two or three more ensemble members.

Considering the events onstage have some personal resonance for Trish and I, we may have perhaps been more easily overcome by the charms of the musical than others.  Though I did notice a fair amount of tissue-passing going on around us.

Despite my reservations, I’m optimistic about Big Fish.  It’s a well-crafted, big, family musical that doesn’t pander to lowest common denominator with a lovely, original score and great performances.  It needs some tightening up and a snip here or there, but I’ll be back after opening to check it out again.

Straight men, be warned.  This is definitely the musical equivalent of a chick flick.

Don't forget to bring tissues.

Orchid Overload and Horny Old People

I've heard people complain that they can no longer sleep past 9 or 10 in the morning because their bodies have been trained from years of habit.  Happily, I have no such issue.  If I have nowhere to be, I can easily hibernate through lunch hour and beyond – which is exactly what I did following a late night at the circus.

But pizza trumps sleep, so after a lazy morning waiting for Trish and mom to return from a morning of beauty, I finally burrowed my way out from under my flannel sheets to join Trish and the ‘rents for lunch.

Though a day in my jammies sounds heavenly, I grudgingly got dressed for our afternoon trip to the Bronx for The Orchid Show at New York Botanical Gardens.

Thank you, Goldstar, for the discounted tickets. 

Mom and dad strike a pose in front of the Haupt Conservatory.

This is my "Memoirs of a Geisha" moment.  I'm pretty, mama!

Not to be outdone, Trish flashes her pearly whites.

Orchids, obviously.

Mom and Trish sporting their new 'dos and freshly threaded brows.

Mom and dad have a romantic moment in front of the orchid pond.

Cool looking orchid.

More orchids!

Even more orchids!

With our allergies on full "red alert" mode, Trish and I can no longer breathe the pollen-poisoned air of the conservatory and head outside to the sculpture garden where we plant a good-bye kiss on this faceless silver giantess' cheeks.

After our orchid expedition, we headed to Jersey for a lazy evening of relaxation before Sunday's Resurrection festivities (doesn't quite have the same ring as "Easter," does it?).  Taking a cue from our trailer park brethren, we decided to forego a fancy pre-Easter dinner and opted instead for a white trash meal of frozen tater tots and chicken nuggets.  You can always count on the Pinedas to inject any holiday with class and panache.

With the rest of the family heading to bed to rest up for early church services in the morning, Trish, mom and I decided to stay up for a late night viewing of The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel.  It's basically Beverly Hills 90210 with old horny English people.  I don't know about you, but living out your twilight years in a dirty hotel with questionable plumbing in a third world country where enjoying a nice juicy, rare steak is sacrilege doesn't sound all that wonderful to me.  

Easter fun continues...

Mexican Travel Day From Hell

Enough with all this Broadway crap, let’s talk about me and my glamorous jet-setting lifestyle (I wish).

Since I use almost all of my hard-earned vacation weeks sweating it out in the summer with a bunch of show tune-loving teenagers, I take every opportunity to make the most of the few three-day weekends that pop up throughout the year.  This past President’s Day holiday, I convinced Trish to accompany me on a whirlwind jaunt down to Mexico City for a weekend of third world fun.

As soon as I’ve sifted through all the photos, I’ll post and write about our adventures.  But today, I want to dedicate a full entry to our 15-hour travel day from hell.

Monday, February 18, President’s Day – Our final day in Mexico City

9:45am – The limo service picks us up promptly in our hotel lobby for the drive to Benito Jaurez Airport.  It must be no sweat to earn a Mexican driver’s license since it appears speed limits, turn signals and painted lane markers are optional in Mexico.  Regardless, we arrive unscathed and in plenty of time to check our single bag filled with Mexican treats and (more importantly) alcohol.

10:30am – Time to break out the Tums.  Having avoided Montezuma’s revenge all weekend, we tempted fate by imbibing in a full taco and enchilada breakfast from one of the many airport fast food kiosks.  ¡Muy delicioso!

Traveler’s note:  Any pile of dubious carne can be easily salvaged by adding a healthy dose of lime, pico de gallo and guacamole.

11:30am – Our first trip through security.  Disappointingly, no cavity search.

12:00pm – In a last ditch effort to use up all our extra pesos, I purchase enough over-priced (from the airport souvenir shop) dulce de leche and tequila milk candies to feed an entire sweat shop full of child laborers.

1:20pm – Boarding time.  Even though Trish purchased our tickets together, she somehow managed to get seated up in Economy Plus (without paying the extra charge) while I was relegated to the squalor of “regular” Economy.  I tried checking-in early, but the best seat that popped up was directly in front of the rear toilet.  Thinking of the other passengers who, like me, probably imbibed in a last minute Mexican food binge prior to boarding, I cough up the extra $40 to sit in Economy Plus rather than float in a cloud of Mexi-flatulence the entire flight.

1:50pm – Take off.  Comfortably ensconced in our wide Economy Plus seats, Trish swipes her credit card in the video seatback in front of us so we might while away our four-and-a-half hour flight watching trashy movies.  First up, Taken 2.  Is it me, or is Liam Neeson quite possibly the hottest 62-year-old man on earth?

3:00pm – Liam’s movie wife is bleeding out onto a dirt floor while his dingbat movie daughter (high school-aged, my ass - unless she's flunked at least three grades) scampers across the Istanbul skyline attempting to act scared and anxious, but looks constipated.  Before Liam can begin another round of Albanian ass kicking, the screen goes black and the pilot gets on the loudspeaker.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you may have noticed we’ve changed course.  A warning light went off on one of our engines.  We’ve turned that engine off and we’re flying back to Mexico City as a precaution.  There’s no reason for alarm, we’ve been trained for this type of situation and the plane is designed to fly with one engine.  The landing shouldn’t be a problem either.”

Our plane will likely fall out of the sky at any moment and all I'm thinking is, "What about my movie?  Will we land land before I get to see Liam kill every Albanian sex trafficker in Istanbul with just his bare hands and a piercing gaze from his Irish blues?"

4:00pm – After a rough landing (“shouldn’t-be-a-problem” my ass) and lukewarm applause from several panicky passengers, we’re back on the tarmac in Mexico City.  We sit in the plane waiting for the crew to “investigate” the problem.  My worst nightmare has come true – they’ve turned off our video feed before the end of our movie.

After about 20 minutes breathing in the warm, stale air that only a plane full of anxious, angry humans can produce, we’re informed that our plane is not immediately repairable.  We’ll have to de-board, wait for our baggage in the claims area, go through customs, line up at the United ticket counter and get re-booked on another flight.

4:30pm – It’s like BestBuy on Black Friday as passengers stampede towards baggage claim and then to the ticket counters.  It’s late and there are few alternate flight options left.  We wait almost half an hour in line until we finally speak to an agent.  Luckily, United has re-assigned a new aircraft to our route and we’re re-booked in the exact same seats.  According to the agent, the plane will start boarding at 5:00pm.  It’s 4:58pm.  There are at least 50 more passengers behind us waiting to get re-ticketed.  Sucks to be them.

5:00pm – We race to security and are greeted by a hostile group of fellow passengers.  Apparently, because the gate agents aren’t aware of our new flight, they can’t let us through.

30 minutes pass and we’re still standing at the x-ray machines waiting for clearance.  Several irate passengers get all “Norma Rae” on the security personnel and it looks like there might be a mini-uprising.

Trish notices several armed guards now surrounding the group.  Great, we made it the whole weekend without being kidnapped, robbed or developing explosive diarrhea and now we’ll die in a bloody barrage of gunfire at the airport.  I hope they get BD Wong to play me in the Lifetime movie.

5:30pm – Security finally gives us clearance and with a weary cheer from the group, we make our second trip through the metal detectors.

6:30pm – Time to board…again.  Seems the ticket agent was a wee bit off regarding the new departure time.  The good news:  United has bumped a flight to Houston and given us their plane.  The bad news:  their plane is super ghetto – no Economy Plus and no seatback movies.  Oh well, I guess that’s fifty bucks I’ll never see again.

7:30pm – It takes an additional half hour of shuffling and re-seating before we’re able to take off because the seating configuration is slightly different on the new aircraft.  We’re now due to land in Newark around midnight.  Yay!

8:00pm – The flight crew tries to console us by lowering the overhead screens and treating us to a free viewing of Alex Cross.  Thanks, United.   How about a free snack or a big ol’ cocktail considering we haven’t eaten in the last nine hours because we’ve been too busy alternately running around the airport and waiting in lines.  And Alex Cross?  Really?  That’s the best you can do?  Madea just doesn’t cut it as an action hero.

12:00am, Tuesday, February 19 – Our plane of weary travelers finally touches down in Newark.  We get in yet another line for our second trip through customs in less than 24 hours.  The agent thankfully rushes us through the line and after some minor confusion with a lost customs slip, we grab our luggage and exit customs where we are bid a gruff farewell from an annoyed Asian security guard with a Bronx accent.  God bless America.

1:00am – We’re tired and cranky and still dressed for the balmy South American clime.  Waiting on the chilly NJ Transit platform is not an option.  We suck it up and splurge for a cab.  After two trips through customs, a near death experience in the air and the sad realization that I'll probably never find out what happens at the end of Taken 2, I deserve a little pampering.

1:30am - $115 poorer, we drag our asses and luggage up three flights to our comfy Queens apartment.  I realize I have to be in the office in a couple of hours so I literally walk straight to my room and plop into bed.  Tomorrow will not be pretty.

The End

Addendum (4/17): Start from the beginning of our Mexican adventure here.

Christmas with the Pinedas OR Things You Should Never Do With Your Mother

Above:  What I like to call the "Magic Mike" effect.

I have just two words for you, dear readers - Magic Mike. 

Thankful for Santa’s generosity and our hearts brimming with joy in celebration of Jesus’ birth, the Pineda and Sieracki clans gathered around the flat screen on Christmas afternoon for some additional family bonding time.  We decided to pop in the DVD of Magic Mike that Juan and Val had given Trish for her birthday earlier in the month.  I know, it’s not exactly holiday fare, but who wouldn’t want to spend the afternoon with a bevy of loveable male strippers? 

We’d laughed and ogled at the hilarious previews in the theatre, so we thought, “How bad could it be?”  At worst, we’d be in for a reverse-gender Showgirls-type catastrophe and have a few laughs.  At best, we might discovery a hidden gem a la Pretty Woman.

We should have pressed “eject” the moment Channing Tatum’s bare (though lovely) ass strutted across the screen and Olivia Munn’s perky breasts shone into our unshielded eyes. 

Nothing says Christmas like the sight of an engorged male member in a penis pump stretched across the widescreen in high definition blu-ray, am I right ladies?   My only consolation is that I don’t think my mom even realized what she was seeing.  Luckily, the movie cut to the next disturbing scene of drug abuse and wife-swapping before she had a chance to ask any questions.  Awkward. 

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think Magic Mike is necessarily a bad movie.  In fact, under different circumstances - i.e. not watching it on Christmas day with your mom - I would have better appreciated this surprisingly stark and brutal representation of the male stripper industry. 

Matthew McConaughey was born to play sleazy and there’s a reason Channing Tatum is People’s "Sexiest Man Alive."  But from the movie previews, you’d think Magic Mike was just a more hunky version of The Full Monty.  Oh well, live and learn.  Next year we'll just pop in The Little Mermaid.  Prince Eric is pretty foxy.

Click here to read more about the Pineda's (g-rated) holiday.

Pssst...I'm back...

Surprise, I’m back!  Yes, I realize it’s been over a month since my last blog entry - June 1^st  to be exact.  And since then I’ve seen four Broadway shows (and one Off-Broadway show) and help put up four full productions at our family’s theatre camp.  So I’ve been just a teensy bit busy.

But don’t fret, my dear Pineda-starved blogytes, for the next week or two I’ll be consumed with writing and updating.  Last week was my first full week back to NYC following another stress-filled, but far less sweaty, Pineda Summer Conservatory season thanks to our new air conditioning (yeah!).

The first Monday back at my desk job was hellacious - over 1200 unread emails and I was working on five hours of sleep - damn those Sunday night shows and their accompanying late night cast party.  So it’s taken me pretty much the entire week to finally get my shit together.

For my first free summer weekend since Pineda Camp hell, Trish and I decided to check out Dogfight at Second Stage.  The new off-Broadway musical is based on the indie

film from the early 90s.

I’ll be honest, this show caught me by surprise.  I went in with no expectations and found

myself an emotional wreck and nearly in tears by intermission (Trish too).  Central to my enjoyment was Lindsey Mendez’s remarkably honest and moving performance as Rose, the “homely” unknowing participant in the dogfight alluded to in the show’s title.  Amazing, since I found her character in the recent Godspell revival a tad cloying and vocally a bit gimmicky.  Here she’s perfect and gets to show of her clean soprano and easy belt. Oh well, I guess I can chalk Godspell up to bad direction.

The score is folksy-pop a la Jason Robert Brown. There are definitely some great pull-out audition songs that I’m sure we’ll all be tired of hearing by this time next year.  But it's a relief to finally hear a score that’s musically interesting as well as lyrically specific - a nice change from the bombastic self-importance of some recent new scores (I’m talking to you, Frank Wildhorn).  One “This is the Moment” is quite enough, thank you very much.

The physical production is simple, but appropriate with a sometimes stunning

lighting design. 

Chris Gattellis’ choreography/musical staging is spot on.  It’s odd, because I definitely have a love-hate opinion on most of his work.  Sometimes I find it repetitive and gimmicky (Newsies) and sometimes it’s so perfect and character-driven that I can’t imagine a production without it (Altar Boyz).  Here, the latter applies, particularly in the group soldier scenes and the battle scenes in the second act.

And for a musical about horny, young soldiers, there’s only one semi-gratuitous shirtless scene.  Good for you, Joe Mantello.

Dogfight

Second Stage Theatre

Saturday, August 11, 2pm performance

How do you follow-up a surprisingly satisfying afternoon at the theatre?  With a double-header at the movies, of course.

Not wanting to head back to our tiny Queens apartment just yet, Trish and decided to catch The Dark Knight at the Times Square AMC, but not before stopping at Auntie Anne's to fill Trish's over-sized bag with illicit pretzel dogs and cinnamon sticks.  When a popcorn and soda are $20, sometimes you have to resort to smuggling the occasional wiener.

And when the hell did movie prices jump to fourteen bucks!?  And that's without 3D or IMAX - just the plain old, regular boring 2D.  Trish and I decided to stick it to the man by sneaking into a second movie, Total Recall.  I'm a fan of the original and Colin Farrell is super hot, so even with lukewarm reviews, we decided we'd at least get to stare at his pouty face and maybe get some harmless shirt-free ogling time.

Well, it didn't suck AND we got to see a shirtless Colin Farrell, so I'd say it was a win-win all around.

Collard Greens, Bernadette Peters, Drunk Gays and Cancer

What a weekend.  NYC had a summer flashback with temperatures in the 80s (yay, aerosol cans!).  It was the perfect weather for fulfilling comfort food cravings and seeing the incredible Broadway revival of Follies.  Again!  I know, I’m obsessed.  

We decided to try our luck at TKTS Saturday morning, but they only had extreme side seats available.  Even at half price (actually 40% off this particular performance), I’m not spending three hours watching bored chorus girls yawn in the stage right wing.  If that makes me a theatre snob, so be it.  No matter, like any true addict, I was determined to find a way to get my Follies fix even if it meant resorting to theft, murder or even - gasp! - prostitution.  Well, maybe not murder. 

We detoured a few blocks south to the Marquis Theatre and asked the box office attendant if there were any full-priced seats available for the matinee.  “Row F, center orchestra,” he smiled seductively, dangling that Follies crack pipe in my face.  Crap.  If he had said ‘last row mezzanine,’ I could walk away.  But my addict instinct kicked in.  My hands started itching and my forehead broke out in a cold sweat, paranoid that I’d never get to experience that Sondheim high again.  The desire was too strong.  I blindly handed over my credit card.  Like any junkie, I promised myself this would be the last time. 

We had a few hours to kill before the performance so we decided to try Shake Shack’s new midtown location.  It was still before noon so surely we’d beat the regular lunch time mob.  The line didn’t snake out the door and down the block as it usual does, but the dining room was standing room only prompting my newest pet peeve - people who refuse to give up their table after they’ve finished eating, laughing and lazily lounging as if they’re out at a fucking Hampton's country club, ignoring the hungry, tray-clutching throngs standing around them.  I can understand not wanting to eat and run, but sitting and nursing your empty cups after the dining room attendant has already completely cleared and wiped down your table is a little ridiculous.  Thankfully, a vacationing Australian couple graciously offered to share their table with us. 

This was my first Shake Shack burger and I must admit the burger lives up to the hype.  With one bite, my pent up rage aimed at those selfish table-hoggers subsided, replaced by the obscene pleasure - and accompanying grunts and sighs - that only a perfectly cooked bovine patty can produce.  We topped off our perfect burger with peanut butter milkshakes made with Shake Shack’s famous frozen custard.  Heart attack be damned!

We still had some time to kill, so we took a leisurely walk up to Worldwide Plaza for some sun and people watching.  How can you tell the temperature in NYC has peaked 80 degrees?  The gays are out in full force, armed with MacBooks and Starbucks grande iced caramel lattes and sporting the official Chelsea summer outfit of flip flops, khaki shorts and flimsy tank top.  Is it really October? 

I won’t go into too much detail since I just reviewed Follies a couple of weeks ago.  It really is just sensational, with every performance heartbreakingly honest.  Bernadette was in excellent voice (she seemed vocally tired on last viewing) and it seems she’s learned to maneuver through her break.  Jan Maxwell’s Phyllis remains the steely core of this production, her cathartic “Could I Leave You?” one of many highlights in the second act.  Ron Raines’ sumptuous baritone is like a little slice of vocal heaven.  Danny Burstein is so charming and sympathetic that you actually root for his adulterous husband.  And Rosalind Elias’ duet with her younger self evokes tears and an instant, wild ovation from the audience.  Imagine that - nearly stopping a show with an operetta-inspired aria.  Maybe Broadway audiences aren’t as stupidly puerile as I thought.  Then again, Mamma Mia! is still packing ‘em in at the Winter Garden.

But perhaps the most moving part of the show?  Experiencing this production with the weepy, emotional (and I think drunk) older gay gentleman sitting next to us.  In charming jacket and bow-tie, Charles (yes, that was his name, he introduced himself) wept, laughed, muttered “divine” and “brilliant” under his breath, screamed “brava” at every possible opportunity and generally had the time of his life.  Literally.  With tears streaming down his face in an almost instant standing ovation he exclaimed, “This is the greatest thing I’ve seen in my entire life.”  I know, he sounds like he would be totally annoying, but he was so genuinely moved that you couldn’t help but smile and be charmed.

How do you top an afternoon of Follies and Shake Shack?  With an uplifting movie about cancer, of course!  We met Trish’s friend, Billy, after the show and headed to the Regal E-Walk on 42^nd Street to see “50/50”.  You should all buy your tickets now.  I won’t spoil it, but by the end, all three of us were reaching for a Kleenex - simply divine, as Charles would say.

Billy came over after the movie and stayed until 3 AM obsessing over his newest beau, a handsome young doctor.  Some people have all the luck.  Doc is apparently “the One,” so what can you do but nod your head and pretend to listen while you’re actually jealously fantasizing about the millionaire Abercrombie & Fitch model/helicopter pilot you’ll meet on the subway platform on the way to work on Monday morning when you drop your newspaper and he drops his portfolio and you accidentally bump your foreheads causing you to fall into each others arms, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, instantly falling in love, get married on a beach in Positano, buy a weekend home in Colorado and adopt two labradoodle puppies named Dolce and Gabbana.  Yes, I have a vivid fantasy life.  Anyway…

After a Sunday morning spent dozing in bed, Trish and I got our lazy asses up and headed to Harlem for a garden party.  The first thing you think of when you hear “Harlem” is likely not “garden party,” but the nabe’s cleaned up since the 80s and the white faces you see uptown aren’t necessarily lost tourists or drug addicts (though they might be). 

Jill, a family friend who also happens to manage opera singers, rented an apartment in a Harlem brownstone for the week while in NYC attending some seminars at the Met.  Guests have access to a private garden in the back.  The party was supposed to have been a networking event for Jill’s clients, but they all canceled at the last minute.  I’m not surprised.  Opera singers are some flaky individuals.  Must be all those vibrating sound waves shaking up the cerebrum.  Val and Juan drove in from NJ for the “event” so at least there was a group of us on hand to take back all the left over wine and cheese.

A block from Jill’s apartment and just down the street from Red Rooster, we noticed the signage for Sylvia’s, the famous soul food restaurant.  In an effort to salvage our little Harlem field trip, Trish and I decided to stop for some southern treats before jumping the M60 bus back to Queens.  The temperature was still hanging in the mid-70s so we grabbed a table out front and dined al fresco on fried chicken, BBQ ribs, collard greens, garlic mashed potatoes, mac and cheese and fried catfish fingers.  You know, just something light and healthy.  Incidentally, Sylvia's serves real southern sweet tea, made with simple syrup - not that tasteless brown water NYC restaurants pass off as iced tea. 

Collard greens, Bernadette Peters, drunk gays, cancer and Harlem garden parties - just your typical New York weekend. 

Miss Piggy, Rent & Aliens

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.

For anyone interested, this Saturday and Sunday the museum is offering free screenings (with your $10 admission fee) of The Muppets Take Manhattan.  I'll be there with bells on!

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.

Summertime and shopping

What happened to spring?  Seriously.  We went from record snowfall to 90 degree heat and humidity in a matter of weeks.  Stop with the aerosol cans already, people! 

Anyway, I’m usually very temperamental when it comes to shopping.  I get bored and tired really quickly.  But when I’m in the mood, watch out.  We’re talking marathon session and the debt of a small communist country.  So after a double dose of drama the other day, I decided on an afternoon of relaxation and retail therapy. 

My current obsessions are fedoras, namely the short-brimmed version or trilby, and espadrilles.  I know it’s a bit Eurotrash-y of me, but I can’t help it.  Don’t judge, but I even bought a couple pairs of linen drawstring pants.

Trish and I met Billy and Dan at the Urban Outfitters on the Upper East Side, just for a change of shopping scenery.  I filled my espadrille quota with a pair in brick red and a pair in Pineda Conservatory teal (see above).  I know you’ll all be jealous and want a pair, so better run out to your local Outfitters before they run out.  Those Pineda Conservatory kids are quick and are sure to buy out the whole stock.

We then wandered around The Container Store, which is my second favorite retail shop - my first being any type of office supply store (I know I have such weird fetishes!) where Dan, Billy and I stalked this young, muscle dude who was obviously cruising the store in tight jeans and a flimsy little tank top - trash!  I guess he wants a really organized boyfriend.

We ended the day with a late showing of “The Green Lantern” in Times Square after traipsing for miles - literally - around the city in search of Tasti D-Lite.  Didn’t it seem like there was a frozen yogurt joint on every block just a couple of years ago?  Oh well, like condoms, you can never find one when you really need one.  

As for the movie, thank God for the gratuitous shots of Ryan Reynolds in his underwear.  Otherwise, the script is pure curdled cheese.  And Tim Robbins and Angela Bassett must be hard up for cash to take such small, badly written roles.  Oh well, I guess stars have to eat, too.

Help me!

Profuse sweating, hand tremors, anxiety, sleeplessness, intense food cravings - wait, that’s nothing new - but the rest, classic withdrawal symptoms. My name is Fausto and I’m a showtune-holic. It’s been 18 days since I last “viewed” (that would be Sunset Boulevard at the Signature in DC which I haven’t even written about yet!).

With so many shows closing in January and the new crop of shows starting previews in March (just in time for Tony nominations), I’ve been in a show-going slump. Yes, I already have my tickets for The Book of Mormon and I’m waiting for my bank account to plump up a bit before using those discount codes for How To Succeed, Anything Goes, War Horse, Catch Me If You Can & Sister Act - but what’s a girl to do during the February doldrums? Why, go to the movies, of course!

I know it’s totally not the same thing, but Trish and I decided to do a movie-themed Saturday beginning with a visit to the newly renovated Museum of the Moving Image right in our very own ‘hood, Astoria. The ultra modern lobby is a minimalist’s wet dream, all white and clean lines. It’s damn impressive, but they’re gonna’ use a lot of swiffer pads keeping that floor scuff free.

The exhibits are basically the same (I last visited about five years ago) but “spiffed up” with additions that include recent movies like Black Swan. If you’re not the reading type, there are plenty of cool interactive exhibits - like voicing over classic movie scenes (we tag-teamed on a scene from My Fair Lady and the we’re-not-in-Kansas-anymore scene from Wizard of Oz) and creating your own stop motion animated movies. They also have a huge collection of costumes, set designs and models, prosthetics, make-up and wigs and memorabilia on display. It’s definitely worth the ten bucks to get in. But get there early, the under twelve crowd starts to take over around noon time. I feel only slightly guilty for knocking a bratty nine-year old out of the way in order to add burping noises to a Simpson’s episode. Don’t judge me, I’m in withdrawal.

The rest of the day was literally spent in the Kaufmann Astoria movie theatre. We did a double feature, Sanctum (the James Cameron produced 3-D flick that takes place in a cave) and The Rite (the Anthony Hopkins exorcist movie). Technically, we only paid for Sanctum since we … um… “accidentally” wandered into The Rite looking for the bathroom. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Sanctum didn’t suck as much as I thought it would and what it lacked in story-telling finesse it made up for in bloody action sequences.

Anthony Hopkins is the ultimate creeper. I mean, he is just a scary dude. There’s nothing new or groundbreaking happening here, but it’s totally enjoyable with several good scares and a couple of hands-over-your-eyes moments. Though admittedly my opinion might be slightly skewed given I didn’t pay anything.

Neverending rehearsals

My apartment is a pigsty, I'm carrying heavy duty American Tourist-ers under my eyes and I've got a severe case of brainal leakage. Between my 9-5, rehearsals for two shows and our benefit concert on Friday, I'm just about ready to step over the ledge.

I'm still only about 80% memorized for Friday, which doesn't bode well considering tomorrow is our first and only rehearsal with the pianist (not to mention our first and final run-through). We're basically winging all the blocking. Good times. As a stress reliever, Trish and I saw "Quarantine" last night. It was mindless good fun. And though I wanted to bitch slap the leading lady for her annoying screaming and hysterics, it was still worth ten bucks. I do think the shaky, hand-held, "you are there" gimmick has run its course. But no matter how stupid, I just can't pass up a good zombie flick.

Young at Heart

Watched a great documentary last night, Young at Heart, about a chorus of senior citizens in Northampton, MA that perform pop music. Wow, these are 70, 80 and 90 year olds gettin' their groove on! Embarassing for me, considering I was just complaining how tired I was from holding dance callbacks the other week for High School Musical. Even more embarassing, they're more hip to current pop music than I am. I don't think I've ever even heard a Coldplay or Sonic Youth song until watching the movie. Shows how square I am.

Anyway, what struck me most was the emotional and lyrical clarity these performers were able to convey through stillness. I don't want to get all Stanislavski on your ass, but we so-called "professional" actors could learn alot from their delivery - honest, heartfelt and unobstructed by useless physicality. Granted, their delivery choice is mainly a result of old age, but that doesn't negate the validity of their performances. Watch and learn people.