2014 in a nutshell

Did you miss me?  Anyway, here's a brief rundown of most of my 2014 theatre viewing.  Short and sweet.

Mothers and Sons (Bway - Golden, May 8, 7pm) - Tyne Daly can do no wrong, but I'm sure even she is sick of getting typecast in "nightmare mother" roles. The play poses interesting question of what constitutes family in these days of shifting definitions, but seems like a draft rather than a finished product.
A Gentlemen's Guide to Love and Murder (Bway - Walter Kerr, May 14, 8pm) - Nice to see legit singing back on Broadway. Clever staging, great performances, a dry, almost British comic sensibility, site gags a-plenty. Not earth-shattering, but an enjoyable evening of theatre.
If/Then (Bway - Richard Rodgers, May 29, 8pm) - Idina Menzel is in incredible voice, sounding better than ever (including Wicked). The dual story lines, while not necessarily confusing, seem a bit contrived. Especially the whole *spoiler alert* plane crash. Weird set design that basically cuts the stage height in half, with no apparent pay-off visually. Tom Kitt knows how to write a driving pop ballad. See it for Menzel's performance.
Holler if Ya Hear Me (Bway - Palace, Jun 5, 8pm) - Unlike every legit reviewer on the planet, I actually enjoyed this show. It wasn't perfect by any means. But I found the earnest, yet wildly shifting tone - one minute hardcore street, the next minute a J-Lo music video - enough to keep me interested. Tupac's music and lyrics are worth a listen.
Lady Day (Bway - Circle in the Square, Jun 7, 2pm) - Audra is a goddess and I just needed to see the show for a third time.
Piece of My Heart (OB - Signature Center, Jun 26, 7:30p) - I had no idea that Bert Berns was behind so many hit songs of the 60s. The book is a little rough and the criminally under-used Leslie Kritzer needs more to sing, but you can't beat the score of pop hits.
Violet (Bway - AA, Jul 5, 2:00p) - Sutton Foster is just about perfect and the score is one of Tesori's best. Ensemble cast is uniformly excellent. Glad to have caught this production as a Broadway revival isn't likely again anytime soon.
This Is Our Youth (Bway - Cort, Aug 30, 2pm) - An usher randomly offered to move Trish and I to front row seats, so we got plenty of up-close time with Kieren Culkin and Michael Cera. Solid production, well-cast.
Found (OB - Atlantic Theater, Sep 21, 7pm) - Went in cold and thoroughly enjoyed this quirky musical full of unexpected wit and charm about the pitfalls of success. Always nice to see colleague Orville Mendoza on stage. The show is unique and idiosyncratic, so sadly it probably won't be a hit with the masses.
On The Town (Bway - Lyric, Sep 27, 8pm) - Huge-scale Broadway revival of the Bernstein/Comden/Green musical about sailors on shore leave in the 1940s. Cried when they played the National Anthem to open the show and everyone stood up and sang. I'm sucker for sentimentality. Athletic choreography, virtuoso dancing, huge ensemble, full orchestra, Bernstein score. What's not to like?
The Last Ship (Bway -Neil Simon, Oct 6, 8pm) - Haunting, tuneful score by pop icon Sting in a gorgeous production with a stunning final tableau. And Rachel Tucker should be a star in America (not just in her native Ireland/UK). I honestly don't understand the bad reviews.
On The Town (Bway - Lyric, Oct 23, 7pm) - With another large-scale Broadway revival highly unlikely within my lifetime, had to make a second visit.
Side Show (Bway - St. James, Oct 1, 8pm) - I'm definitely a fan of the much-maligned original production. I found this re-imagined "revisal" less affecting than the original, but appreciated the more realistic approach to the staging and make-up. And you really can't beat the score chock full of driving power ballads. What can I say? I'm a child of the 80s. It's near impossible to match the balls-to-the-wall original performances of Ripley and Skinner, but Erin Davie and Emily Padgett are worthy successors.
Fortress of Solitude (OB - Public, Nov 8, 8pm) - Wonderful score, inventive staging, the always charming Adam Chanler-Berat heading a top-notch Broadway caliber cast rocking a nostalgia-driven period pop and R&B driven score. Hope to see a move uptown in a bigger production that I think would only elevate the piece given the scope of the material.
You Can't Take It With You (Bway - Longacre, Nov 13, 7pm) - I have just three words - James Earl Jones. Annaleigh Ashford is pretty spectacular, too. Nice to see this chestnut lifted out of high-school-production purgatory and given a full-scale Broadway production.
Honeymoon in Vegas (Bway - Nederlander, Nov 20, 8pm) - Jason Robert Brown just can't catch a break. As always, a fantastic score saddled to a problematic book that maybe clung too literally to the source material. Honestly, I found my 2014 sensibilities unable to fully warm to the idea of betting your spouse in a poker game. But always great to see one of my old Grease tour castmates, Gaelen Gillilend, in yet another Broadway show (yes, I will continue to name drop!).

Italians, Asians and White Bitches...

Who said there isn’t any diversity on Broadway?

Here’s a down and-dirty re-cap of a few shows I failed to review earlier this year.

Bridges of Madison County

Schoenfeld Theatre

Tuesday, January 21, 8PM

The movie version is a guilty pleasure of mine, having bonded with my now sister-in-law, Val, while watching a rerun on TV and weeping uncontrollably as we watched Meryl agonizingly clutch the door handle of her truck while both of us screamed at the TV, “Go! Go with Clint!”

Perhaps it was our youthful idealism (or I’m now just a jaded, old bitch), but seeing the same scenario play out onstage nearly two decades later, Francesca’s choice doesn’t seem all that complicated to me. Stay with your loving husband (yeah, he’s boring, but you chose him) and children, or drop everything for the hunky drifter you’ve known for all of four days.

I know, it’s a romance and Steven Pasquale, I mean Robert, is super tasty, but in this case the pragmatist in me over-rides my hormones. Maybe that’s why I don’t quite buy the “soul mate” argument in this case.

That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy Bridges (the musical). The score is gorgeous, and filled with JRB’s trademark soaring folk-pop ballads along with some more – dare I say – sophisticated writing for Kelli O’Hara’s lovely legit soprano. Sadly, I think her wonderful performance might get passed over once again at this year’s Tonys for bigger names and showier roles – always the bridesmaid. Oh well, at least she doesn’t have to compete against Audra.

Steven Pasquale is the reason the wife-beater t-shirt was invented. What a voice. And did I mention he’s hot?

My main quibble is with the show’s structure. Opening up the story gives too much time to secondary characters. I wanted to stay with Robert and Francesca. Their attraction is obviously sexual at first. But when/how does it become emotional? What’s Robert’s story (other than having an ex that left him a guitar that he can’t play)? They have sex and all of a sudden they’re in love and want to run away together? There are just so many details of their relationship I wanted to explore, but instead we get a random chorus member clogging at the state fair.

Kung Fu

Signature Theatre

Tuesday, February 18, 7:30PM

Bruce Lee’s story is fascinating and definitely worth telling, but this play suffers from multiple personal disorder. It’s sometimes a by-the-numbers biopic, sometimes a campy homage to Lee, and sometimes a visually stunning father-son dance fantasy.

That said, Sonia Tayeh (one of my favorite SYTYCD choreographers) is a goddess. Her choreography and movement (along with fight director, Emmanuel Brown) are the real stars of Kung Fu. Any time the piece moves – that includes the intricately choreographed set changes – I was engaged. The book scenes seemed like filler to get us to the next production number.

The cast, too, is uniformly excellent with Cole Horibe, a SYTYCD finalist with no previous acting credits, giving a respectable NYC stage debut. Though his thick, cartoonish accent – which I guess the real Bruce Lee may very well have possessed – often took me out of the moment. What he lacks in subtlety, he more than makes up for with his dancing, martial arts expertise and six pack.

Heathers

New World Stages

Sunday, March 30, 7:30PM

Heathers is maybe the gayest thing to hit NYC theatre in years. It’s a camp musical based on a camp film full of campy performances and campy catch phrases featuring shirtless young studs. Bring on the gays! I’ll also wager the producers hope to snag nostalgia driven forty-somethings (like me) longing to feel cool and relevant. Though the homo sub-plot, snicker-inducing at the time the movie was originally released, now seems positively quaint.

Heathers is a tad darker than the same songwriting team’s last stage effort, Broadway’s Legally Blond, but it covers similar ground. I was actually hoping the satire would be darker, more on the level of their earliest commercial work, Bat Boy. Oh well, at least we get a fun evening filled with the zinging one-liners that made the movie an instant classic. I mean, has any movie graced the English lexicon with a more memorable exclamation than “fuck me gently with a chainsaw”? Methinks not.

The score is efficient and pleasant enough, with the obligatory high belting to signify emotion. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s just so, well, obvious. That said, I found “Blue,” sung by Kurt and Ram about a certain condition of the male genitalia, hilarious. Yes, my sense of humor is about on the level of a 10-year-old. And I’m sure the bullied Martha’s moving 11-o-clock number, “Kindergarten,” will be so overdone at auditions and cabarets over the next year that I’ll grow to hate it.

The cast is young and pretty and sing beautifully and loudly.

The unit set looks like the interior of a space ship from a bad 70s sci-fi movie (except in violet and pink hues) and at no time even remotely suggests any of the settings within the show.

The direction was adequate but pedestrian – basically moving traffic on an off the stage.

As a whole, the show felt like a Broadway musical banished to an off-Broadway house. The material and story cried out for a bigger venue and large cast.

At the performance I attended, the audience was peppered with annoying superfans that squealed and screamed at every familiar line or scene.

But did I enjoy myself? Yes.

“It has some nice tunes, but the story…”

The Threepenny Opera

Atlantic Theater Company

Thursday, March 20, 8PM

Now read the title of this review again, but with a thick Jewish accent.

…thus proclaimeth the elderly gentlemen sitting in front of me to his wife and their companions as the intermission house lights came up.

He probably expected a jolly romp a la Guys and Dolls after his wife sold him on the show by telling him, “It has that Frank Sinatra song ‘Mack the Knife’ in it.” I’m not sure “Brecht” and “jolly” should ever be associated together in the same sentence.

I’m actually a Threepenny virgin, so I was very much looking forward to the Atlantic’s revival (not to mention the $20 ticket price!). The production, still in previews, is a bit uneven and the talented cast is still struggling to find a cohesive style. Nevertheless, there are several great performances and a few striking stage moments.

I’ll admit, after the opening 10 minutes I was thinking, “This is going to be a very long night.” The famous opening song is a meandering mess with the ensemble wandering and writhing around the stage aimlessly.

The show finally gains some traction with Polly’s entrance. Once again, Laura Osnes proves she’s not just another pretty reality show victim but a bona fide actress. She captures the presentational style of the piece while still managing to connect emotionally with the audience. Her “Pirate Jenny” and “Jealousy Duet” with Lucy (Lilli Cooper) are show highlights.

There’s a lot of crotch grabbing, simulated sex, and even some full frontal nudity, which, I guess is part of the Epic theatre’s “shock” value. It didn’t really bother me except during Jenny’s song where poor Sally Murphy was upstaged by background actors simulating fellatio and demonstrating the reverse cowgirl position. Though Murphy emoted center stage with nipples poking through a sheer bra and in a bright spotlight, I never gave her a second glance.

Michael Park is a credible Macheath, though I wanted him to be a bit edgier, darker – more dangerous. He’s almost a bit too “clean.”

Mary Beth Peil is a droll Mrs. Peachum. She would have made a fantastic Lovett in her day.

F. Murry Abraham has great stage presence, but seems like director/choreographer Martha Clarke hung him out to dry. He spends most of his songs wondering the front lip of the stage, directionless. He was not helped by some really obvious lighting queue gaffes that left him treading water in near darkness.

The three act musical takes a brief intermission in the middle of Act II. The second half of the play seems much more stylistically coherent than the clunky first half, though it could be a fault in the writing/translation.

As always, lobby eavesdropping prior to the show proved almost as entertaining as the stage performances. You would think a mother taking her adolescent children to a show would do a little research. "There's nudity?" she surprisingly asked the usher after reading a warning at the box office window. I'm sure she had no idea the show is about murderers and whores.

Reviews - 2013

• Macbeth (Bway)
• Romeo and Juliet (Bway)
• Two Boys (Met)
• Fun Home (OB)
• Merrily We Roll Along (London/Movie Showing)
• Big Fish (Bway)
• The Glass Menagerie (Bway)
• The Nance (Bway)
• Nobody Loves You (OB)
• Pippin (Bway)
• The Little Mermaid (Paper Mill)
• Here Lies Love (OB)
• Into The Woods (McCarter)
• Far From Heaven (OB)
• Orphans (Bway)
• The Trip To Bountiful (Bway)
• Audra McDonald (Avery Fisher)
• The Last 5 Years (OB)
• Jekyll & Hyde (Bway)
• Passion (OB)
• Totem (Citi Field)
• It's a Bird...It's a Plane...It's Superman (Encores)
• Cinderella (Bway)
• Hands On A Hardbody (Bway)
• Annie (Bway)
• Nice Work If You Can Get It (Bway)
• Golden Age (OB)
• Evita (Bway)
• Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (Bway)

I'm still here! Catching up on 2013...

Nobody Loves You
Second Stage Theatre
Saturday, Aug 10 @ 2PM

A fun sit-com of a musical where a snotty grad student goes on a reality dating show to prove that reality shows are a scam.  And of course, ends up falling in love.  It's totally predictable, but the characters and actors are so likable that you excuse the trite set-up and inevitable conclusion.

The score is tuneful, generic pop musical theatre, but the talented cast elevates it beyond what it probably deserves.  It's crammed full of media and technology references that scream "aren't we clever" and for the most part, they are.  Although many of the gray-haired matinee ladies were looking around in confusion as the younger set laughed over hashtags and texting acronyms.

I wish Leslie Kritzer had more to do, but she does the most she can with a big ole stereotype of a character (incidentally, all the characters as written are big ole stereotypes).  Heath Calvert is perfect as a hunky, dim narcissist of a television host.  And Rory O'Malley displays his comic versatility in a range of characters from douche bag frat boy to flamboyant gossip queen.

It's harmless fun with a top notch cast.

The Nance
Lyceum Theatre
Saturday, Aug 10 @ 8PM

It's been months now, but what I remember most was my surprise at Nathan Lane's heartbreaking performance in a dramatic role.  Ever since The Producers, it seemed Lane was stuck in a never-ending loop of wacky, flamboyant comic character roles.  He'd become a caricature of himself.

In The Nance Lane plays Chauncey, a 1930s burlesque comedian trying to come to terms with his sexuality at a time when homosexuality was still considered a mental illness.  Things get complicated when a handsome young stranger forces Chauncey to question his hedonistic lifestyle (to whore, or not to whore?).

The play's structure consists of period musical and comedy skits intercut between traditional dialogue scenes, with the skits commenting on the action of the play.  Cady Huffman, Andrea Burns and Jenni Barber are the lovable activist strippers trying to stand-up to the evil censoring Republicans looking to shut down the burlesque houses.  The only thing missing is a trumpet, some butterfly wings and a light-up bra.

Refreshingly, this isn't the campy romp we usually come to expect from Douglas Carter Beane, who appropriately leaves most of the bitchy one-liners within the skits.

Jonny Orsini is affecting as the young object of Chauncey's lust.  The straightforwardness and simplicity of his acting - as well as some full frontal action - quickly earn the audience's sympathies.

The Glass Menagerie
Booth Theatre
Sunday, Sep 8, 2PM

I'm now officially an aging theatre queen.  It's depressing enough that producers are reviving shows I've seen in their original productions.  But now I'm on to multiple revivals of the same show!  Sigh.  Pretty soon I'll be lamenting the bygone era of LPs and mix tapes and reminiscing about the good ole' days when MTV used to play - gasp - music videos.

Anyway, the most striking aspect of the most recent revival of Tennessee Williams' The Glass Menagerie is the stunning set and lighting design.  The designers have interpreted the "memory play" aspect of the script into a literal visual image.  The set and players seem to float within the dark expanse of the theatre's proscenium.

As always, Cherry Jones gives a thoughtful, intelligent performance as Amanda, the fading southern matriarch.  She infuses her Amanda with a grounded, earth-mother vibe that I'm not totally convinced is the most appropriate route for the character.  It's a growling, fierce performance that seems at odds with Amanda's genteel debutante past.  It's definitely original and unexpected, but I prefer my Amanda's a bit more, well, southern.  Maybe it's because my first Amanda was the delicate, oh-so-southern, Jessica Lange.

Zachary "Spock" Quinto is lending a not-so-subtle gay subtext to Tom, and there is some pretty overt homo-eroticism going on between Tom and the gentleman caller in the second act.  No such undertones in the Lange production, where Christian Slater (yes, that Christian Slater) played Tom as just a schlubby loser.

The director, John Tiffany, adds some interesting impressionistic flourishes to the staging.  Some work wonderfully - characters literally teetering on the "edge" of the set (i.e. their memories) - while others seem gimmicky - repeated movements reminiscent of acting class exercises.

And in case your wondering, I'm in the camp that likes the woman-eating couch.  Don't ask.

It may not be the perfect production for Menagerie purists, but this is a genuinely original take on the well-known melodrama.

Romeo and Juliet
Richard Rodgers
Sunday, Sep 29 @ 3pm

Beside the several phone interruptions and clandestine photo-taking by the teenager and her mom sitting next to me, I found myself not hating this recent Broadway revival of the Bard's classic love story.  It's not ground-breaking or revelatory, but the well-known story still packs an emotional punch and Bloom and Rashad are charming and likable.

Sure, the loud, clanging incidental music and sleek modern design obviously caters to the attention-span challenged tweeners and star-fuckers feigning class by attending "Shakespea-uh on the Broadway," but it's entertaining nonetheless.

Thanks to a second row orchestra seat (go TDF!), I got an eyeful of the strapping Orlando Bloom and lovely Condola Rashad.  But the unfortunate placement of the balcony at the lip of the stage left me with a stiff neck and aching lower back by the end of the evening.

Even up close, the 30-something Bloom still passes for a twink - must be some kind of Middle Earth elf magic - and he gives a charmingly earnest, unaffected performances.  I'm a Rashad fan, but surprisingly I found her the weaker of the pair, trying just a tad too hard to feign the glow of youthful naivete.  But Bloom and Rashad have a palpable chemistry and from the balcony scene onward, they literally can't keep their hands off each other.

Director David Leveaux has a weird obsession with two-wheeled vehicles.  Romeo enters on a motorcycle (for no apparent reason other than for the "cool" factor) and the nurse spends most of her time walking a bicycle around the stage.  Oddly, she never rides it.

There are some inconsistencies in the acting styles within the company and the production doesn't really seem to take place in any specific time or period, but it didn't bother me much since the language is so darn beautiful.

Not a total waste of an afternoon, but sitting in the Rodgers I was reminded of a former tenant, a show that I enjoyed much more, In The Heights.

Fun Home

Fun Home
Public Theatre
Sunday, Nov 3, 3PM

I can't believe it's been nearly a month since I last enjoyed a live theatre performance.  Sure, I get plenty of show biz pizzaz during my workouts at Mark Fisher Fitness, but even buff trainers in red bikini briefs and top hats can't replace this theatre queen's need to hear a Broadway diva belt out a show tune live.

What, pray tell, could possibly counteract the elevated testosterone levels coursing through my body from three weeks of deadlifting and split squatting?  Why, an old fashioned, downtown lesbian musical, of course!

As my close friends know, I love any entertainment mode that can move me to tears - preferably a really good ugly cry.  I consider these moments therapy, since my limited budget doesn't allow me the conventional office and couch setting needed to heal my undoubtedly damaged psyche.  But that's a topic for another post.

Earlier in the week I had bumped into friend and Playbill reporter, Michael Gioia, and actor, George Salazar, on the N train (on my way to a work out, no less, and on their way to a matinee of Spider-Man - don't judge, they were seeing a friend who was going into the show that day).  They assured me that Fun Home would fulfill all my ugly crying needs.

Perhaps my expectations were set too high (aside from my friend's recommendation, the show has garnered across-the-board rave reveiws).  Or perhaps I was just too physically tired and emotionally drained from weeks of heavy exercise and food depravation.  Whatever the reason, I found myself disappointingly dry-eyed by the end of the performance.

Not that I wasn't moved.  The show is beautifully written and acted with a sincerity and uncloying earnestness rarely seen on uptown stages.  And the score is probably Tesori's best since Violet (which, incidentally is being revived on Broadway next year with Sutton Foster. Yay!).  It feels and sounds contemporary, but without the familiar pseudo-pop/rock/folk sound that Jason Robert Brown does so well and that seemingly every theatre composer under the age of 40 tries to duplicate (most, unsuccessfully).

I did come close to having a Kleenex moment during my favorite songs of the show.  After having her first sexual experience with a women, the main character, Alison (played by three different actresses at different ages), sings unabashedly about how she could happily spend the rest of her life in bed with this woman who took her heart (and virginity).  I was smiling so hard my cheeks ached and I had to hold back tears of joy over this awkward teenager's moment of self discovery.  Or maybe I was too closely identifying with the denial and confusion I experienced in my own awkward youth.  Again, a topic for another day, or more appropriately, a therapist's couch.

The three characters playing Alison are all sensational.  Though I definitely now have a show boner for Alexandra Socha's geeky, sexually-confused college-aged Alison.  I just wanted to run up on stage and give her a big hug and tell her everything was going to be OK.

And Hallelujah!  Judy Kuhn finally gets to show off her soprano voice again.  The theatre dork in me still thinks lovingly of my first Broadway show, Les Miserables, and jizzing over Ms. Kuhn's floated high C.  You never forget your first time.  As put-upon wife, Kuhn's character could have easily come off as an annoying bitch.  But Kuhn lends a humanity and vulnerability to the character's seemingly cold facade.

Michael Cerveris is, as usual, giving a flawless performance of yet another oddball outsider.  He seems to be Broadway's go-to guy to play creepers who look like they might molest your child.

And I have to give a great big "thank you" to an old college friend, Margie Kotler Hinsdale (whose super talented and adorable son happens to be in the cast).  She was able to hook me up with a discount code for a great seat at the last minute.

Here Lies Love - Imelda's MTV moment

Public Theatre

Saturday, July 6 @ 5pm

First off, I have to congratulate my homegirl, Jaygee, for tearing it up as Imelda Marcos at today’s performance of Here Lies Love.  I met Jaygee back in 2001 at the now defunct Seaside Music Theater in Daytona Beach, FL, where she shot and killed me nightly in their production of Miss Saigon.  Ah, the memories.

Smacking the shit out of Jaygee in Miss Saigon.

Following the recent NYC trend of immersive/environmental stagings (Sleep No More, Great Comet of 1812, Murder Ballad et al), the Public transforms one of their theatres into a dance club where moveable stages and platforms surround the standing audience.  The actors move among, around and above the audience/party-goers, as they dramatize the milestones in the Filipino first lady’s life.  And of course, with a score by David Byrne and Fatboy Slim, it’s all set to a thumping dance beat.

It’s all pretty trippy.  You’re led up stairs to the performance venue as the hall fills with hazy smoke.  You emerge into a cavernous, neon lit room where elector-dance music is blaring and ushers in orange jumpsuits dance and guide you to fill in the space.

With the wild lighting, driving bass and techno drum beats, hypnotic music, hip hop choreography, quick cutting scenes and video projections, it feels like a Willy Wonky-type acid trip through Imelda Marcos’ scrapbook.  It’s a sensory overload that is thrilling for the first hour or so, but does get a tad tiresome as you feel your calf muscles start tightening up from standing.  But it's worth that extra effort to reach the emotionally satisfying last 10 minutes of this intermissionless show.

We've obviously made-up.  After the show at the Public.

I usually hate any type of audience interaction/participation (see my review of Hair) since I really feel like I’m paying you to entertain me and not the other way around.  But I didn’t really mind it here since the participation seems so intrinsic to the staging of the show.  

One of my personal show highlights didn’t even happen on stage, but in the audience.  At one point in the evening, the show’s DJ leads the audience in a great Filipino cultural tradition – the line dance.   An older gentlemen refused to participate and stood right up front with his arms firmly crossed, scowling at the rest of the audience who happily danced along.  Gramps was not having it.

There were also a couple of folks who succumbed to the heat.  Hey, Public Theatre, if you’re gonna’ sardine can an audience into a big ole box and force them to dance around, at least crank up the AC!

But let me get back to the crazy, eclectic audienct.  Aside from grumpy old guy, there were gay club kids, several middle-aged bear types, lots of hipsters and many drunk, white, twenty-something posers who probably read on gawker that this was the “hot new thing” but had no actual interest in the show (as demonstrated by their constant need to check their smartphones).  Oh, and Asians.  Lots of Asians.

I heard some complaints that the show is light on content and heavy on flash, but I think that's the point.  The subject matter dictates the form.  And in this case, art imitates life.

Staycation 2013 NYC part deux

Friday, July 5 (click here for part une)

Unlike the rest of civilized society, my office decided to open for business the Friday after July 4.  I sat in my empty office and watched the clock tick by as my phone and inbox sat silent for five hours.  The powers that be at least had the sense to let us leave after lunch.

Tonight, the boys and girls split up for separate date nights.  I took Juan for a belated birthday dinner to michelin-starred Aldea for their nine-course Brazilian tasting menu.  Coincidentally, Trish and I noshed here earlier in the summer during our Memorial Day staycation.  If you're an adventurous eater and appreciate gorgeous plating, you can't go wrong for the $95 price tag.

Three hours later, Juan and I stumbled out of Aldea in an Iberian food coma.  Time to burn some calories by renting citibikes.  After some issues with the credit card kiosk - nothing a few good kicks and a slew of obscenities couldn't fix - we were peddling back downtown to the hotel.  What's that saying?  You never forget how to ride a bike...bullshit.  I was weaving back and forth on First Avenue like a drunk drag queen in platform stilettos.

The girls chose a date spot in Little Italy, walking distance from the hotel.  Val's sporting her new pixie cut.  While I was twiddling my thumbs in the office earlier in the day, Juan, Val and Trish were getting all Housewives-of-Orange-County at the salon with haircuts, massages and mani-pedis.  Bitches!

Trish is showing off her fancy dessert.  She and Val were generous enough to bring back a bag of Italian goodies for Juan and I to try.  So what if we had just finished a 9-course dinner, there's always room for a cannoli.

Saturday, July 6

Still woozy from last night's food orgy, Juan and I decided on an early morning bike ride across the Brooklyn Bridge.  Since we purchased 24-hour citibike memberships the night before, we still had several hours of rental time available to us when we got up this morning.

I'm finally getting my "bike legs" back after nearly a decade of living bikeless in the city.  On a side note, notice the unintentional cross branding.

In theory, a bike trek across the Brooklyn Bridge seems like a pleasant enough way to spend a morning.  In practice, it sucks balls.  With the mercury already nearing 90 degrees and the humidity crushing my out of shape lungs, we made it about two-thirds of the way to the first tower before I felt the pangs of an impending heart attack.  We decided to stop and take a breather while enjoying the downtown Manhattan skyline.

Here's my artsy-fartsy overhead shot.

I take one more minute to catch my breath before heading back to dry land.

Here's Juan.

After working up our appetites crossing (at least partially) the Brooklyn Bridge, Juan and I dropped off our bikes and headed back to the hotel to pick up the ladies.  Next stop, Petit Abeille for waffles and mimosas.  Directly across the street from the restaurant we spotted this freakish array of superheros and marine life hanging out in front of the Balloon Saloon.  In NYC there is literally a specialty store for everything.

After brunch, we bid Juan and Val a fond adieu.  Juan, unfortunately, has a church job so he and Val had to cut their weekend short.  Trish and I, however, decided to keep the hotel room an extra day and extend our Chinatown staycation.

After a power nap, Trish and I were hankering for some Vietnamese food.  Based on yelp reviews, we headed to Bo Ky, which was just around the corner from our hotel.  I'm not gonna' lie, the place seemed a little ghetto and the cleanliness level was, well, just a notch above outdoor truckstop picnic table, but damn, the food tasted good.  You know it's authentic when you can't spot a single white face in the joint.

I'm enjoying a bowl of yummy pho and an appetizer portion (yes, appetizer portion) of their fried spring rolls.

Trish opted for a heaping plate of marinated steak.  Amazing how a delicious chunk of cow can make you forget all about that sticky spot on the table top.  Shout out to our waitress, a crazy old Asian grandma, who helped allay our initial wariness and made us feel like we were having lunch in her dining room.

After dinner Trish and I headed a few blocks uptown to the Public Theatre where my gorgeous and talented friend, Jaygee, is appearing in David Byrne and Fatboy Slim's environmentally-staged rock musical, Here Lies Love, based on the tumultuous life of Filipino first lady, Imelda Marcos.

Me with the delightful Jaygee after her rockin' performance as Imelda Marcos.  She's the swing and understudy for Imelda so when I heard she would be going on this weekend, I bought my ticket pronto.  (Read my review)

Trish and I were exhausted from the day's flurry of activity and non-stop noshing, so we decided to take advantage of our last evening at the hotel by watching TV and lounging in our PJ's.

Sunday, July 7

Our staycation is nearly over, but not before one last stop for soup dumplings.  We checked our bags in the hotel lobby and headed to Shanghai Gourmet.

11am on a Sunday morning in Chinatown - nothing like having an empty restaurant all to yourself.  These babies arrived just in time to sate a raging dumpling craving.  Soup dumplings are exactly what they sound like, tasty little bundles of scalding hot broth and pork wrapped in a slightly sweet dough.  Heaven.

As a final farewell to the lower east side, Trish and I ventured slightly northward to the Essex Street Market where we leisurely strolled passed the many arstisonal vendors.  Still bloated from our earlier dumpling adventure, we left empty handed and merely made mental notes for our next visit.

One cannot venture to the lower east side and not make a pilgrimage to the Doughnut Plant.  So on our way back to the hotel from Essex Street, we made a little detour and visited their original location.  And after ordering a half dozen luscious, diabetes-inducing beauties for the walk home, we opted to wash it all down with a "healthy" drink option - fresh watermelon juice! 

Far From Heaven - A Valiant Attempt

Far From Heaven
Playwright's Horizons
Tuesday, May 14, 7pm

I desperately wanted to love this show given the merits of the artistic team, the subject matter and the fantastic cast (dreamy Steven Pasquale and the always lovely Kelli O’Hara).  But by the closing scene, I found myself surprisingly unmoved.  And this from a man who literally cries at the end of an Undercover Boss episode.

Trust me, I was open and ready for the moment I’d be moved to tears for Cathy, the show’s heroine (played sensitively by O’Hara).  But it never came. 

(MAJOR spoilers ahead)

Let me break down Cathy's shitty life for you (I almost cried just typing it):

• Her sexy, closeted husband won’t put out.
• She walks in on sexy husband with his tongue in another guys mouth.
• She falls in love with Raymond, a black man (in suburban 1950s Connecticut, no less), whose daughter gets attacked by white thugs.
• Raymond breaks it off and moves to Baltimore.
• She's abandoned by her husband for some hot young twink he meets on their vacation and is left alone to raise two young children.

Seems like a pretty emotionally devastating evening, right?  Sadly, I was left admiring the artistic effort and the talent on stage, but not so much the final product.

The first act was most troublesome for me. The opening number sets the tone well, but the rest of the act seems like a string of plot points relayed through a pleasant, if perfunctory, score.  Perhaps the writers are trying too hard to mirror the repressed emotional state of the characters through the writing.  The approach sounds good in theory, but in practice comes off like an extended recitative interspersed with several notable musical motifs that don't get fully developed. 

The second act is more successful.  There is a romantic sweep, almost lushness, to the score that I found missing in the first act.  Unfortunately, there are also many missed opportunities, moments – like the train station scene (seriously, where’s the big duet about lost love/opportunity?) – that pass without comment yet to me, scream out to be sung.  And don’t get me started on the embarrassingly bad blocking for the stoning scene.  Talk about not giving an audience credit for having an imagination.  

Yes, the setting is an idealized 1950s suburbia where everyone has the restrained veneer of Stepford perfection.  But this is also a musical, dammit!  A musical about passion, forbidden romance and lost inhibitions - massive emotions I didn't hear expressed in the score.  

The writers obviously respect the source material, but perhaps to the detriment of their adaptation.  There are some satisfying moments (especially between Cathy and Raymond, her black gardener) in both acts.  But for the most part, what's on stage is a faithful but dispassionate musicalized version of the movie. 

The ubiquitous Kelli O’Hara is the ingénue du jour, and rightly so.  She’s gorgeous, sings beautifully and is always so natural and un-mannered in her acting.  She’s perfect for the role of a dutiful 1950s housewife.  Steven Pasquale is equally perfect, handsome with a strong, lovely tenor.  Though for some reason the writers have chosen to set most of his character's music in Pasquale's less powerful lower range.

But the real travesty on the Playwrights Horizons' stage is the hulking, hideous scoffold set.  It looks like scavanged remnants from the Rent bus-and-truck.

On a side note, the fabulous Christine Ebersole (Tony winner for Korie & Frankel's Grey Gardens) sat right in front of me.  During intermish she chatted with composer Scott Frankel about recent productions of Grey Gardens in Brazil.  

The Last 5 Years and Dogfight redux

The Last 5 Years
Second Stage
Saturday, May 4, 2pm

I’ve never seen a staged production of the show, so it was interesting to finally see the material on its feet.   And with composer Jason Robert Brown directing, I guess there’s also really no debate regarding the author’s intent.  I mean, he created the thing, so how can you argue that he’s “wrong,” right?

I’ve always admired the score but have wondered if the structure - simultaneous reverse timelines - would work onstage or if it was really just a gimmick, an intellectual experiment meant to impress a grad school theatre professor.  But I found myself fully engaged and at times, moved by this study of a relationship that blossoms unexpectedly, yet coasts to a sad, inevitable end.

Adam Kantor (Jamie) and Betsy Wolfe (Cathy) are giving heartfelt and vocally impressive performances, especially Wolfe.  An actor playing Cathy is at a distinct disadvantage given that her storyline begins as the relationship is already falling apart.  She begins the show as a shrill, sniveling mess, while Jamie starts the show off as a charming, lovestruck young man. 

Wolfe finds laughs in unlikely places, yet never to the detriment of the material.  Her high belt and mix is extraordinarily clean with no trace of break between belt and head.  For me the audition scenes, painfully familiar to any NYC actor, were a particular highlight.   And judging by the audience’s response, many of us were in attendance. 

I don’t mean to undermine Kantor’s contribution to the show, but let’s face it, Brown doesn’t hide the fact that the show is autobiographical.  Is there really any wonder why Jamie comes off as the sympathetic one of the pair?  I’ll even admit to some near-tears at the end of the “Schmuel Song.”

Now we shall wait for the movie.

Another Second Stage production, Dogfight, just released its original cast album.  I have to admit, I’ve been playing the song “Pretty Funny” on repeat for the last couple of days.  Heartbreaking.  I nearly cried on the subway on the way to work, but pretended to have an extreme allergy attack.

Sondheim’s Passion and Thongs Gone Wrong (though not at the same time)

Oh, the magic of Powerpoint.  Click to enlarge.

With temperatures peaking just above freezing here in the Big Apple, it’s inevitable we spot our first glimpse of douchebaggery in the form of fratboys donning over-sized basketball shorts to prove their dude-worthiness.  This ridiculous display of testosterone ranks just below fist bumping on the douchebag scale (see diagram at left).  On a side note, it's amazing what you can accomplish on your lunch hour at work and have access to Powerpoint.

Anyway, this beautiful spring day also marked the completion of my 2012 tax returns.  Thankfully, Uncles Sam will be direct depositing a nice fat Birthday check into my bank account shortly.

Speaking of douchebags, no self-respecting bro would be caught dead without a tasty ho at his side.  To that end, I present Exhibits A, B and C of the species hobagueus skankilia, as each emerges from her long winter hibernation to entrap the male of her species (Author's Note:  No hos were harmed during filming).

Exhibit A:  We stumbled upon this wily thong-stress prowling the happy hour crowds around the bar at Linen Hall in the East Village, where Trish and I had dinner following Passion (scroll down for review).  In order to mask our covert photo shoot, I leaned in for a candid shot with a mouthful of what is likely our subject's favorite after-drink snack, spicy nuts (pun intended).  Our subject - an NYU law student, if my ears didn't deceive - was last seen lasciviously beer-goggling two young males of the species, petting their sweaters and slurring softly, "Your nithe."  Things aren't looking very bright for the future of the American judicial system.

Exhibit A-1:  A closer look at our subject's "assets."  Can she honestly not feel the draft?

Exhibit B:  Though fully covered, this desperate lass from the ill-informed "House of Black-Is-Slimming," stopped at nothing to squeeze into the six inches of unoccupied space between our table and the bar.  In her sad attempt to cockblock our thong-stress (just visible at left), she freely flaunted her ample wares right in our faces - literally.  Luckily, I was able to move my plate away from the edge of the table before she imprinted on my steak sandwich.

Exhibit C:  This rare sighting of the elusive afro'd-ass-cracker was captured by my work colleague, Tina, on her way home on the exotic Q train.  Notice our subject's exaggerated hunched position, used to obtain maximum crack exposure and reflection on the seat back.  Friends, don't let friends ride the subway bare-assed.

I suspect that as the weather continues to improve, this type of gag-inducing, inappropriate behavior will only increase in frequency.  And speaking of socios-exual politics...

Passion
Classic Stage Company
Saturday, April 6, 3pm

I was giddy as an 11-year-old girl at a One Direction concert as I waited outside the CSC to see another one of my straight-crush (sorry Audra and Carolee), musical theatre idols, Judy Kuhn, perform the lead role in Passion.  I hadn't seen her live on-stage since my senior year in high school (gulp - 25 years ago!), in my first Broadway musical, Les Miserables.

Trish, cursed with bad subway karma, nearly missed the show.  But thanks to the traffic Gods and plain dumb luck, she ditched the subway, jumped into a cab and with two minutes to spare pulled up in front of the theatre.  We managed to take our seats just in time for the dimming house lights.

I'm happy to report that Ms. Kuhn did not disappoint this aging theatre queen.  She gives a subtle and almost - almost - sympathetic portrayal of the obsessive Fosca.  I mean, really, as written, even a brilliant performance by Mother Theresa would not likely produce a completely sympathetic Fosca.

Ms. Kuhn sounds gorgeous and teases the audience with the strategic use of her now signature Florence Vassy belt.  Otherwise, her singing is beautifully controlled and buttery smooth.  And you can never have too much butter according to Ms. Paula Deen.

The intimate configuration of CSC is optimal for this nearly sung-through chamber piece.  Having seen the original Broadway mounting of the show, it seems the actors necessarily needed to amplify their performances to fill the larger house.  The result was exaggerated performances that bordered on garish caricature.  In a small house, the actor's can be more "real" and thus the idea of the handsome and hunky Giorgio (Ryan Silverman) falling for the plain and sickly (rather than hideous and witch-y a la Donna Murphy) Fosca, doesn't seem so far-fetched.

I'm not sure if it's the staging or the actor (probably a combination of both), but in CSC's production, Passion is definitely Giorgio's journey of self-discovery.  On Broadway, Donny Murphy's unrelenting Fosca anchored the production.  It was all about her manipulation, consciously or not.  With the emphasis distributed more evenly between the three main characters, the story becomes less about Fosca's hot bag of crazy and more about the nature and meaning of love.

Though I'm still not quite convinced of the show's premise, this scaled down, intimate production presents a much more successful case for a show that had originally divided critics (as well as Sondheim fans).  What was downright laughable on a Broadway stage, now plays like the over-zealous behavior of a lonely woman.

Shout out to Orville Mendoza who is representin' the Pinoys as Sargeant Lombardi.  I had a the pleasure of sharing the stage with him in NAATCO's Off-Broadway production of Antigone several seasons back.  Between shows we had an impromptu reunion at Momofuku Milk Bar down the street from the theatre, where we noshed on cereal milk frozen yogurt and candy bar pie.  We also got to hear some show gossip, but I can't divulge that in writing.  You'll have to ask me about that in person. 

I also kept waiting to bump into Ms. Kuhn on the street so I could embarrass Trish by insisting on a private concert.  Well, actually, I would probably just hold Ms. Kuhn down until she agreed to belt out the lines "how high does the sycamore grow" and "I don't seeeeeeeee, a reason too be lonely."  If you aren't familiar with either of those phrases you should be immediately banned from Broadway and punished for your ignorance by having all the music on your iPod replaced with Sarah Brightman's version of "Think of Me" on an endless loop.

And Judy, if you're reading this, please reconsider that restraining order.

Psychedelic Superman - Encores

Encores:  It's a Bird...It's a Plane...It's Superman
City Center
Sat, March 23, 8pm

How do you cripple the most powerful superhero of all time?  Hit him where it counts – his ego.  This clever supposition drives the plot of Charles Strouse and Lee Adams’ funky, 60s musical.  From the groovy rhythms and meandering book, it seems clear there was some psychotropic motivation involved here.  I mean, it was the 60s. 

Regardless, the show retains a goofy charm and endearing honesty that makes up for its shortcomings.  Sadly, the words “charm” and “honesty” are adjectives rarely used to describe shows post-2000.  Not that …Superman… is by any stretch a great musical in the vein of the Golden Age classics.  It’s a light-hearted trifle whose purpose is to entertain and amuse – which I don’t mean as derogatory. 

Hunky Ed Watts fills out the red and blue tights nicely.  He’s a sensitive Man of Steel with a full, legit baritone.  Jenny Powers, as love interest Lois Lane, sounds gorgeous and deftly handles the not-quite-belt-yet-not-quite-soprano vocal demands of her material. 

The supporting cast of Broadway vets are at their campy best with villains David Pittu and Will Swenson as standouts, selling their numbers with vaudevillian panache.

And that full orchestra…sigh.  So sad that modern Broadway audiences are robbed of the excitement that a live orchestra (not 8 players and 2 synths) can provide. 

The Roy Lichtenstein-inspired comic book-style set design is a perfect fit for the material and I loved the swinging choreography in “It’s Super Nice.”

Golden Age

Golden Age

City Center Stage 1

Saturday, January 12, 2pm 

I’m trying to catch up on some missed reviews, so although it’s been weeks since Trish and I saw Golden Age, I’ll try to wring my aging brain for recollections. 

First off, thank you TDF for a lovely set of third-row, center orchestra seats!  All the better to view Lee Pace in all his dreamy glory. 

The opera purists and fact-checkers in the audience will likely take issue with Terrance McNally’s fast and loose interpretation of history (not to mention the musical and verbal anachronisms).  But no matter, this is a comedy about the creation of art, not a historical drama, and McNally creates a believable backstage microcosm where the plentiful use of modern four-letter profanity doesn’t seem out of place. 

Lee Pace - did I mention how dreamy he is? - has the charm and charisma to make the egocentric Bellini a likeable, even sympathetic, figure.  He’s a man that is never satisfied musically (or sexually, for that matter).  Pace plays these proclivities with a refreshing matter-of-factness.

Bebe Neuwirth, as the diva Maria Malibran, is the only character in the play that is completely aware of her incredible talent as well as shortcomings.  She accepts and acknowledges the decline of her voice, yet is the only artist lacking in self-doubt. 

Malibran’s appearance - in flaming red gown, natch - may not be the most subtle symbol, but opera queens will recognize the comparison McNally offers.  What is most preferable, a perfect technique lacking in emotional depth or a flawed instrument connected to a vibrant emotional core?  Po-tay-to, Pa-tah-to - though from my interpretation, it seems McNally endorses the latter.

Though at times the script reads like a high-concept sitcom, McNally plays with the inherent insecurities of performers and artists, while scrutinizing the audience's ideas about art and the creation of art.  

It's an enjoyable afternoon with an eccentric group of characters, but I wish McNally had either pushed the comedy further into true farce territory, or gone a much darker route with the psychological breakdown of Bellini and/or the dueling sopranos.

Bring It, Woolf, Drood, Scandalous, Christmas Story and Giant

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.