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. 

Elling and more starf*cking

Poor Elling.  Less than a week after opening it’s posted a closing notice.  That’s really quite sad.  I’m surprised they didn’t just keep the thing running for another couple of weeks to at least allow Tony voters see it.  No performances = no chance for Tony voters to view = no Tony nominations = no way to market it for licensing.  The producers have basically guaranteed no one will ever produce this play again.

Granted, it’s no Death of a Salesman, but it’s an entertaining, escapist new comedy (although based on a movie, but hell, nothing new there).  I’m also surprised that it wasn’t able to eek out even a few weeks on Broadway given star casting.  Denis O’Hare, Brendan Fraser and Jennifer Coolidge are recognizable Hollywood names.  If that combined threesome can’t sell tickets, it doesn’t bode well for the future of new plays on Broadway.  I guess I should’ve seen the writing on the wall given Trish and I were able to score opening night tickets on TDF!  I know, how sad is it they couldn’t sell the place out for opening night?  There were actually empty seats in the back of the mezzanine. 

The play itself has its charms.  Though I think O’Hare and Fraser were over-selling a bit.  The quirkiness of the characters might have been more interesting if not always played for easy laughs.  In this case, subtlety was definitely not a directorial choice.  They might have had something here had the producers chosen a smaller, Off-Broadway house and if the director chose to downplay the “cute crazy people” aspect and instead emphasize the difficulties that come with unwillingly being thrown into a “sane” world.  Regardless, by the second act I was won over by the obvious chemistry between the two leads and by the deliciously funny Coolidge as a smoking, drinking pregnant neighbor.  Translated from a Norwegian source, perhaps some of the quirky fun of the original text has been lost in translation. 

The best part of the evening though was audience watching.  Given the cast’s star wattage, Hollywood types dotted the opening night audience.  I spotted TR Knight, George Takei, Victor Garber, Fisher Stevens and Brian D’Arcy James.  Andy Karl and a jewel-bedecked Orfeh were a few rows in front of us.  Apparently, Sam Rockwell, Angela Lansbury, Rachel Dratch, Vincent Pastore, Blair Brown, Paul Wesley and Jamie-Lynn Sigler were all there as well, but I didn’t happen to see them. 

Seeing double

My preparation-H weekend continued at Gatz (yes, the nearly seven-hour dramatized reading of the entire novel, The Great Gatsby - but more on that later) on Saturday with twin Steve sightings.  Stephen Sondheim sat two rows in front of me cozying up to some preppie college twink.  They exited after the second intermission for what I can only imagine to be some private “tutoring.”  I didn’t spot Steve #2 until the first intermission.  But Mr. Martin looked dapper in an all black suit and his now-trademark black fedora.  Incidentally, Mr. Martin stayed the whole seven hours.

As for the show, it was long - really long.  Not that I wasn’t impressed by the clever way the cast integrated the text and story into the office setting.  But seven hours of concentrated attention (and sitting on the most uncomfortable stacking chairs imaginable) is a lot to ask of any theatre fan; even the black, skinny-jeaned hipster audiences that the Public Theatre seems to attract more than a Park Slope poetry slam.  At about hour six and a half I was mentally going over my Thanksgiving dinner shopping list while Jay Gatsby went belly-up in his pool.

The marathon production did elicit some emotional highs and several striking visual moments, namely the first party scene and the Plaza hotel scene.  Though obviously prop hell for the cast, the ingenious use of everyday objects coupled with strategic costuming and intelligent lighting created the illusion of luxury out of a musty old office. The actors’ onstage transformations from office workers to roaring twenties socialites is fully realized and seamless.  But Scott Sheperd (as narrator, Nick) is the the solid foundation upon which this production stands.  He has a natural charm and endearing quality.  He's the kind of guy you could actually hang out with for seven hours shooting the shit and having a drink.  How is it even possible he has a speaking voice by the end of the evening?  Seriously? 

Because the ensemble is so strong, a couple of the supporting players stand out as merely adequate.  Susie Sokol is an adept physical actress, but when she opens her mouth as Jordan, she shows all the emotional depth of a computerized GPS voice navigator.  I don’t know if she’s bored or was having an off day, but her stiff narration stood out, and not in a good way.

I also had some problems with the abrupt tonal changes.  One moment we are immersed in a naturalistic, literal acting style and the next, the actors are hamming it up like some Charles Busch campfest.  Though this schizo style seemed intentional, it often just took me out of the moment and seemed an attempt to milk cheap laughs from the audience. 

If you’ve got seven hours, $150 and time to see the chiropractor the next day, go for Gatz.  Except you’ll have to wait until the revival since the rest of the run is already sold out.  Or just turn off your computer, iPad, cell phone, TV, Wii or Xbox and actually read something!