Pippin - so many ample bosoms...and that's just the men

Pippin

Music Box Theatre

Sunday, June 2, 3PM

I don't know what they're pumping into the vents at the Music Box Theatre, but from the audience reaction to the opening chords of "Magic To Do" you'd think we were at a monster truck rally in some swampy backwater town in Louisiana.  I know there's been lots of hype, and rightly so, surrounding Diane Paulus' circus-themed revival of the psychedelic 70s tuner.  But this afternoon's audience was whooping and hollering at a black curtain.  Or more likely, at $130 a ticket people have decided that they WILL have a good time in the theatre, no matter what, dammit!

With only a week until the Tonys and the show getting prime time play on every major talk show (it seems you can't change the channel without seeing Patina Miller's maniacal, toothy grin), I was frankly shocked to see the show available on TKTS, though only at 30% off (check out the nifty official smartphone app that shows real-time ticket availability).  So much for the days of "half-priced" tickets at the booth.  With a gift certificate from one of Trish's students subsidizing our little field trip, the price for two seats was almost affordable. 

Pippin has never been a favorite show of mine.  It's got a solid score with a couple of great Stephen Schwartz tunes but the clunky book is dated and gives off a kitschy 70s vibe that I'm sure can be traced to the consumption of too many mind-altering substances.  What made the original Pippin special was the iconic performance of Ben Vereen as the leading player and the genius of Bob Fosse's direction and choreography (both of which have luckily been captured on video).

Thankfully, Diane Paulus' newly re-imagined production breathes some new life into this 70s relic.  The circus theme is a perfect backdrop for Pippin's episodic book and for Patina Miller's demented ringmaster-on-crack leading player.  

The acrobatic and aerial work by Gypsy Snyder of Canadian circus troupe Les 8 doigts de la main keeps the stage in constant motion, adding an energy and momentum that is missing in the writing.  It also doesn't hurt to have the buff cast contort, leap and dance in an eye-popping array of flesh revealing costumes.

Broadway stalwart Terrence Mann adds a humanity, depth and humor to Charles, a character that usually comes off as a one dimensional cartoon.  Charlotte D'Amboise gives a solid, if workmanlike reading of the sexy Fastrada.  Andrea Martin (Berthe) practically steals (and stops) the show with her single, acrobatic scene.  I won't give spoilers, but Ms. Martin's performance will inspire grannies everywhere to start hitting the gym.  

Matthew James Thomas is an endearing Pippin with a lovely six pack (for those who care).  He lends the perfect balance of charm and innocence to a character that can often come off as a cipher.  His pretty pop tenor voice is perfect for the folksy score but he's got to watch the growling in his middle register or he won't have that pretty voice for long.  And did I mention his six pack?

I have mixed feelings about Patina Miller's leading player.  To say her performance is intense is like saying Michele Bachmann is quirky.  Subtle, Ms. Miller is not.  But it's clearly the choice she (and no doubt Paulus) has made for the character and Miller commits to it with an unbridled ferocity.  I don't necessarily agree with the choice, but I do respect the execution.  And besides, ain't nobody gonna' mess with Patina.  Have you seen those biceps?  

Chet Walker's choreography "in the style of Fosse" is by definition derivative.  But at least it's derivative of genius.  It doesn't re-invent Fosse as much as point out the current dearth of originality and artistry found on Broadway stages today.  Don't get me wrong, I don't think there's a lack of talent, only a lack of producers willing to take a chance on an unknown commodity.  Sigh. 

Regardless, you should catch the revival now with the original cast.  I can definitely see how this production, which relies heavily on the quirkiness and individuality of each cast member, may suffer once replacements start filtering into the production.

Orphans and Trip To Bountiful

It’s been a while, but here are some thoughts on plays I’ve seen recently.

Orphans

Schoenfeld Theatre

Tuesday, April 9, 7pm

it’s hard to take Alec Baldwin seriously in a drama when he’s delivery his lines a la Jack Donaghy (which he plays brilliantly on 30 Rock). 

Maybe he’s inhabited the Donaghy character for so long that he’s adopted that same dry, self-important tone in real life.  Who knows?  But what should be a taut, psychological thriller loses its edge with unintentionally funny line readings from Baldwin that kill any sense of tension.

Tom Sturridge gets the showier role of the emotionally-stunted, seemingly simple-minded younger brother, Phillip, to Ben Foster’s short-tempered but well-meaning older brother, Treat.  Their interaction and weirdly co-dependent relationship is intriguing and hints at so many darker themes of abuse and abandonment.  Unfortunately, once Baldwin enters, the piece just sort of deflates.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like the play suddenly turns into a Neil Simon comedy.  But there’s an underlying, ominous quality that sort of dissipated as the show progressed.  In fairness, I’d place a large portion of the blame on the director for not coaxing the right style out of Baldwin.  Too bad, since we're not likely to get another revival anytime soon.

During my silent intermission brainstorming session (Trish wasn’t with me and the friendly father and son from Calgary seated next to me were enjoying the show too much for me to rip it to shreds in front of them) I came up with some more interesting casting choices for Baldwin's role:  Liam Neeson, Liev Schreiber, Tony Goldwyn, Dustin Hoffman, Ed Harris, Russell Crowe, Denzel Washington, Sean Penn, Mark Ruffalo, Stanley Tucci, Michael Shannon...to name a few.  These guys all possess a dark quality and twisted sense of humor that Baldwin lacks.  I guess I just don't find Baldwin "dangerous."

On a side note, I can’t imagine Shia LeBeouf coming off well in the role of Treat, since Treat needs to have an intrinsic charm and likeability to counteract his abrasive character.  Given LeBeouf is about as charming as a bucket of dirt, I’d say they producers were lucky he left the production.

The Trip To Bountiful

Stephen Sondheim Theatre

Friday, April 5, 8pm

Talk about star wattage – Vanessa Williams, Tom Wopat, Cuba Gooding, Condola Rashad AND Cicely Tyson.  I imagine there was probably a lot of ego bumping during rehearsals.  But if so, it didn’t manifest itself on stage.  And anyway, I’m sure they were all bowing down in deference to Ms. Tyson.

Even with the A-List cast, the only reason to check out this revival is the performance of the legendary Ms. Tyson in the lead role of Carrie Watts, an elderly woman hoping to escape a stifling city life in Houston to return to her rural hometown.   To say she commands the stage would be an understatement.  She’s mesmerizing even when silently rocking on a chair and looking out a window.  And is it humanly possible the woman is 88 years old?  I hope I retain the same energy and mental capacity when I’m the same age (in 2058!).

The play itself can feel slow and a bit talky and in the wrong hands can be a real snoozer.  Luckily, director Michael Wilson has kept the dramatic pauses to a minimum and the pace brisk without feeling rushed.

As for the supporting cast, Gooding (as Carrie’s son, Ludie) and Williams (as Ludie’s self-centered wife, Jessie Mae) are a good match.  Though Gooding was a tad on the whiny side, he was still likeable in his Broadway debut.  The role of strong-willed Jessie Mae, on the other hand, seems tailored made for Williams and her particular brand of powerful sexiness.  It certainly doesn't hurt that Williams looks dazzlingly beautiful in the period costumes. 

Speaking of costumes, one upside to non-traditionally casting the main characters as a black family is that you can get away with some more colorful choices for the period clothing given their skin tones.  It's nice not to see the usual dour muddy hues usually associated with plays set in this period.

My favorite moment of this revival came during the bus station scene.  Tyson’s character is celebrating her escape from the city with an impromptu rendition of “Blessed Assurance.”  By about the third line, the audience had spontaneously joined her, singing out full-voiced like we were at a Sunday revival.  It's a moment that could only happen in the context of live theatre and reminds me why iPads and wide screen TV's will never replace the spontaneity of a live performance.

Save some time on the telecast and just hand Ms. Tyson her Tony already.

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.

Jekyll & Hyde (sigh)

Jekyll & Hyde
Marriott Marquis Theatre
Sunday, May 5, 2pm

Wow, just wow.  This Broadway revival is the (hopefully) last stop after a 25-week national tour.  I mean, I’m all for second chances, but the current revival is really just a train wreck.  I can’t believe any producer thought this was Broadway ready/caliber.  And besides, 12 years seems a bit soon for a show that is generally not considered a “classic” by most (all?) musical theatre experts.
 
The show has been re-worked, notably given new rock arrangements that I assume were implemented to give the score an “edgier” sound.  I’ll admit this score has always been a secret guilty pleasure, especially with Colm Wilkinson and Linda Eder’s vibrant vocals on the original concept album.  But the new synth-heavy orchestrations reduce the already power ballad-heavy score into a cheesy tribute to 80s hair bands. 

Unfortunately, no amount of electric guitar riffs or excessive American Idoli-esque vocalizing can hide the scores shortcomings – notably the lack of lyrical specificity and the generally unimaginative melodic/harmonic structures – though there’s no denying Wildhorn has a gift for writing memorable musical hooks.

Constantine Maroulis employs his signature curly mane to excess and his pouty trademark “blue steel” is intact for all the fans.  But vocally?  Hmmm.  Yes, it’s a strong voice with an impressive range, but either the musical director has no balls or Maroulis just doesn’t give a rats ass about vocal finesse or about serving the lyric.  His back-phrasing is so extreme that at times it sounds like a recording where the technician pressed the “start” button on the vocal and orchestral tracks a measure (or more) apart.  It’s self-indulgent and screams - literally - “look at ME” at the expense of the score.


And his “accent” – oy vey!  Does Maroulis have something against ending sentences with a long “e” vowel?  i.e. “listen to meh,” “…to beh or not to beh” – OK, that last quote is not from Jekyll & Hyde, but you get the idea.

Deborah Cox fairs much better.  She’s not a natural actress and at times seems to be giving a somewhat mechanical, though committed, performance.  But she’s gorgeous (those calf muscles are dazzling) and has star presence and charisma to spare.  She at least gets an “A” for effort. 

At yesterday’s matinee Cox was suffering from some obvious vocal fatigue, but I give her props for somehow managing to squeeze out a thrilling last note and verse on “A New Life.”  And in a British accent cage match, her cockney would beat the living crap out of Maroulis’ high Brit. 

Trish hated the physical production, though it didn’t bother me.  Compared to the scaffolding of the originally production, this seemed positively lush.  At times the projections did seem like overkill.  Come on, producers, give the audience a little credit for having some kind of imagination.  And I actually liked the steampunk-inspired costume designs.

If you didn’t get a chance to catch this production, too bad.  It’s closing seven weeks early due to low ticket sales. 

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.

Cinderella on Broadway (finally) and my other musical obsession (sorry Audra)

Cinderella
Broadway Theatre
Thursday, March 7, 7pm

I have just two words for you – Victoria Clark.  She could add class to a mud wrestling tournament at the Alabama State Fair.  But I’m getting ahead of myself. 

With all the talk about a glossy new book and a modernized, empowered Cinderella, Trish and I took our seats in the nosebleed section (thanks, TDF) expecting a hot mess.  Instead, we were happily surprised to find the charming core of R+H’s show still intact. 

For the show’s first Broadway mounting (it was originally written and produced as a TV special), the R+H estate decided to gussy up the original by tossing out the existing book and raiding their own catalogue to fill out the score. 

Okay, some of the added left-leaning rhetoric is a bit heavy-handed.  A new character, political rabble-rouser Jean-Michel, seems to have wandered onstage from a touring production of Les Mis.  Regardless, I was still charmed by the production. 

You’d think hiring the campy Douglas Carter Beane (Little Dog Laughed, Xanadu and the screenplay of To Wong Foo…) to write the new book would all but guarantee that at least one of the stepsisters be played by a drag queen snapping, “You best clean out that fire place, gurl.”  Thankfully, he’s turned downt the camp factor several notches in favor of a healthy smattering of hilarious, if anachronistic, one-liners.

Granted, Beane’s sometimes self-referential, snarky writing style isn’t exactly a perfect fit for the earnest simplicity of Hammerstein’s lyrics.  But I’m sure the only thing the producers had in mind was how to keep a new generation of audience member reared on South Park and The Simpsons, to sit still for two hours.  A prime example of this degradation of audience etiquette came during the first act finale when the woman sitting directly behind us answered her cell phone. 

“I’m at a show.  No, I’m actually in the theatre watching a Broadway show right now.   Sorry, I can’t talk because it’s distracting to the people around me.”

I shit you not.  Moving on…

The familiar plot remains essentially the same though the King and Queen have been axed in favor of an evil counselor for the prince, one stepsister is now sympathetic to Cinderella's plight and there is now a romantic sub-plot between the "good" stepsister and Jean-Michel.

As for the physical production, it's all about the costumes.  The onstage transformations are off the hook.  Torn rags somehow instantaneously morph into voluminous gowns.  The moment Prince Topher sets eyes on Ella in her first white gown (yes, Beane’s gone for a hipper shortening of both the lead characters’ names), I was practically verklempt - though not really a surprise considering I cry at the opening of a Walmart.

When the Fairy God Mother presents Ella with a pair of glittering Italian glass slippers, some crazy queen in the balcony actually gasped out loud, causing a wave of tittering across the theatre.  And no, that queen was not me.

Just hand William Ivey Long the Tony now for his costume designs.

Laura Osnes’ Cinderella is sincere, charming and refreshingly irony-free and she sings the score beautifully.  Santino Fontana (Prince Topher) may not have traditional leading man looks (though from our rear balcony seats he looked just fine), but he has a boyish, goofy charm and sense of humor that won me over.  And that voice.  Dreamy.

I already mentioned Victoria Clark, but I need to gush again because her voice is just perfection.

My ultimate fantasy?  Victoria Clark, Audra McDonald and Carolee Carmello singing “I Will Never Leave You” from Side Show as a trio.  I dare you to come up with a combination that tops that on the gay-meter.

Annie

Annie
Palace Theatre
Friday, Feb 8, 8pm performance

After years obsessing over this show's thrilling overture on the original Broadway cast recording - sadly cut to shreds in the current revival - I finally got a chance to see my first, live stage performance of Annie. 
 
Thanks to Storm Nemo, Trish, me and visiting friend, Dylan, scored ninth row center orchestra seats via the half-price TKTS booth.  Given the storm, it was no surprise the curtain went up nearly 15 minutes late.  The real surprise came at 8:00 PM when we turned to survey the nearly half-empty theatre.  I had a flashback to the 2004 Broadway production of Dracula, The Musical.  At that yawn-inducing performance, I shared the entire balcony with just one other pathetic show queen, my legs draped over the seatback in front of me, half dozing and waiting for Kelli O’Hara’s nude scene.

Sadly, nothing as exciting as Kelli’s bare breasts is on display at the Palace. 

In the title role, spunky Lilla Crawford possesses a freakishly high and unusually pleasant belt.  And yes, I got nostalgically misty-eyed when she reached the penultimate refrain of “Tomorrow,” but it was tough to get past some of her rather - how shall I put it? - "extreme" acting choices.  I know it’s a dick move to pick on an 11-year-old, but hell, she’s got two more Broadway credits than I do, so she’ll need to suck it up.  

In fairness, James Lapine should probably carry the burden of guilt for many of these questionable choices (i.e. Annie literally having a full-on screaming fit when Warbucks tries to take her pendant).  From the very opening scene, moodily lit and draped in fake stage smoke, to the entrance of the super-scary, seemingly Gestapo-trained Hannigan (Katie Finneran), it’s obvious the artistic team was going for a darker, more “real” Annie.  But I’m not sure the orphanage scenes should read like DVD extras off of "Schindler's List."

To her credit, Finneran balances this darkness with the same quirky sense of humor that made her a stand-out (and Tony winner!) in the 2010 Broadway revival of Promises, Promises.  But at the performance I attended, her usually perfect comic timing seemed a bit off - perhaps a combination of the late start and storm - though she seemed to find her groove again about midway through the first act.

The choreography by In The Heights alum Andy Blankenbuehler had not a whiff of period authenticity, but was always interesting if at times bizarrely modern.  His only true miss was the unfortunate closing tap number.  There’s something definitely amiss when your dancing ensemble of Broadway vets looks like it was plucked from a community theatre production of Dames At Sea.

The physical production was also a series of hits and misses.  The opening tableau, the orphanage and Warbucks’ mansion felt appropriately full and sumptuous, but the entire NYC montage took place on a mainly bare stage with only a few cheesy digital effects projected onto the sprawling, back scrim. 

The small adult ensemble sounded gorgeous, but their numbers could barely fill the huge Palace stage in the large ensemble scenes. No amount of costume changes could cover the fact that the same six exhausted cast members kept running back on stage.

The orphans are all appropriately cute and obviously talented, but even with the Benetton-ad diversity, they are for the most part, indistinguishable (again, I blame the direction).

Rooster and Lily are appropriately bumbling, finding the right combination of comic silliness to balance this productions penchant for gritty realism.  J. Elaine Marcos successfully straddles the line of political correctness, imbuing Lily with the clueless naivete of Long Duk Dong in Sixteen Candles while sounding like a surly Chinese take-out waitress.

Anthony Warlow is the perfect Warbucks, handsome and possessing a gorgeous ringing, legit baritone voice.  The theatre queen in me is practically squealing at the thought of his Ben Stone or Guido Contini.

Brynn O’Malley is adequately prim and proper as Grace, but is also oddly cold and aloof.  One wonders why Warbucks is even attracted to her.  And why does she have a British accent?

The current revival is slick, well-produced, with several very good - and a couple of great - moments, but ultimately didn’t satisfy as a theatrical whole.

On a side note, while waiting for the subway at 49th Street and discussing the show, some random guy jumped into our conversation, having obviously been eavesdropping from nearby.  Not creepy at all.  Of course, if he had looked like Ryan Gosling rather than Newman from Seinfeld, I'd probably not have minded so much.  And yes, I totally admit how superficial that seems, but I guess that's why Ted Bundy was so successful.

Shakin’ his Broadway Bon Bon - Ricky Martin in Evita

Evita

Marriott Marquis Theatre

Saturday, Jan 5, 8pm

Menudo!  Gotta' love the 80s!

No, Ricky does not play Eva in the current Broadway revival (check out that mullet!).  Although I’d definitely pay premium prices for the sight of those waxed pecs in the white “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” gown.  And after spending an intense afternoon with Benjamin Walker’s repressed Brick, Trish and I decided a night spent with everyone’s favorite Latin dish would be just the ticket for a cold winter night.

I don’t know what voodoo witchcraft he prescribes to, but that Ricky just gets better looking with age.  I mean, he’s so glaringly attractive that you almost don’t notice he can’t act.  Perhaps I’m just a bit critical, having played the role myself years ago with staging based on the original, brilliant Hal Prince concept. 

Ricky looks and sounds wonderful, has charisma to spare and his accent adds some extra sex appeal, but he’s basically just being Ricky Martin.  I didn’t sense he had a strong connection to the story or that his character had a discernable point of view.  He also loses points for his generic “robot arm” acting gestures.  But since he’s so dreamy, I’ll give Ricky the benefit of the doubt and blame the director for any shortcomings.  I mean, if you cast a pop star with limited acting chops, you’d better direct the hell out of him or have him shirtless throughout.  Am I right, ladies?

Of course, the Latin-heavy tourist crowd (the opening cell phone announcement was made in both English and Spanish) could have cared less about silly details like acting.  And given the very loud chatter throughout the show (in Spanish, btw, so I’m not just making broad racist assumptions), most of the crowd didn’t even realize they were in a Broadway theatre and not casually lounging in their living rooms.  The gentleman next to me was literally chanting “Peron” along with the cast.  I kid you not.

Many in the theatre chat rooms have complained about Elena Roger’s vocal deficiencies.  Granted, hers is perhaps the ugliest, shrillest voice in the history of Broadway leading ladies - and that’s being generous.  Despite that, by the middle of the first act I had warmed to - or at least gotten used to - her odd vocal quality and actually quite enjoyed her performance.  Let’s face it, the show is basically a check-list of historical events with little character development inherent in the script and score.  And still, Roger’s manages to provide a thrilling, three dimensional performance without belting any high notes -- though they are sorely missed.  Her Eva is strong yet sympathetic, making her act two decline particularly moving.

Like Roger, Michael Cerveris elevates his material well beyond what on paper is a very sketchy characterization.  Though I must admit, to my ears his basso profundo always seems faked and artificial.  It doesn’t have the true bass-baritone ring of a George Hearn or James Barbour.  I guess you could say the artificiality adds to his characterization of a manipulative politician.  Or you could say he’s just faking it.

Even though I take swipes at the script and score, Evita is actually my favorite Andrew Lloyd Webber show.  It’s concise, driving and contains some of his best melodies.  When performed well, the show is visceral and exciting to watch.  But because the characters aren’t intrinsically sympathetic, it takes a great director/choreographer to make the show work.

If you don’t know the original Hal Prince staging or are only reading this review to find out if they’ve added a Che nude scene (no such luck, folks), then you can probably stop reading now. 

In no particular order, these are my specific observations of the staging and production values given my familiarity with the material and original staging (warning: spoilers ahead and probably really boring if you’re not an Evita-phile).

• For the most part, I liked the tango inflected choreography, especially in the opening “…Circus” and “Buenos Aires.”
• Tempos, especially in the first 30 minutes of the show are deathly slow and kill any momentum inherent in the rock and Latin rhythms of the score.
• The set is gorgeous, but clunky.
• Cutting the opening scene in the movie theatre is a mistake.  The scene gives the audience a frame of reference as to how much the common Argentine folks loved Eva Peron. 
• The original musical chairs concept for “Art of the Possible” makes much more sense than the weird, tango fight staging in the current production.  The point of the scene is that Peron’s ascent to power is random, like winning a game of musical chairs.  The staged fighting doesn’t nearly convey this point as clearly.
• In the original staging of “Waltz for Eva and Che,” the two dance but never touch.  To me, this is a much stronger choice since it emphasizes Che’s role as an observer, not participant.  It also visually symbolizes Eva’s wish to separate herself from her humble beginnings.
• The ensemble choral singing is superb. 

Neutered “Cat…” and Benjamin Walker's lucky towel

Richard Rodgers Theatre
Saturday, Jan 5, 2pm performance

I didn’t think it was possible, but somehow the director of the latest Broadway revival of Cat On a Hot Tin Roof managed to reduce the oozing-with-sex Scarlett Johansson into a nagging, “Real Housewife of Atlanta.” 

I’m actually a ScarJo fan and Maggie seems like a perfect fit, but her performance here is…what’s the word? -- Brash?  Un-nuanced?  I mean, even with those big pouty lips and booty, other than her accent, there’s nothing remotely sexy or “Southern” about her characterization.  In fact (spoiler alert), if Brick is gay, he might actually be turned on by this steam-rolling Maggie.

Anyway, I think the play works better when Maggie uses her sexuality to manipulate her circumstances.  It makes her character more interesting.  And really, the play is called Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, not Badger on a Hot Tin Roof or Rabid Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.  As it stands, you wonder why Brick married her at all.  She seems like sort of a bitch.

Oh, to be Benjamin Walker’s towel.  It's amusing watching him try and nonchalantly “tuck” it around his privates anytime he sits down.  He seemed a bit under-energized in the first act but he grew on me as the play progressed.  It was a matinee, so I’ll throw him some slack.  Did I mention he looks good in a towel?

The director, Rob Ashford, is - surprise - gay!  No kidding - a de-sexualized Maggie, a shirtless Brick and an added “ghost of Skipper” character who Brick longingly stares at throughout the play.  It’s called “subtext” for a reason, folks.  Instead, we’re bludgeoned in the face with a pink sledgehammer.

For me, Ciaran Hinds and Debra Monk (Big Daddy and Big Mama, respectively) fare best in this revival, though Monk tends to lose her accent when she gets emotional.  The rest of the cast is adequate, but again, don’t seem the least bit “Old South.”  Having lived in Richmond, VA, which isn’t even considered the “Deep South,” I found not a whiff of recognition for any of these characters.  And trust me, I’ve known my fair share of manipulative, two-faced, Southern Belles/Bitches.

Sadly, I think this production is a missed opportunity.  On paper, the cast seems ideal, but I think the director has molded the performances in a way that doesn’t jibe with what’s on the page.  Oh well, it seems like Cat… gets revived every couple of years.  So I’m sure we’ll be getting the Selena Gomez-Justin Bieber production in 2015.