Anchor's Aweigh

Summer in the city is officially here. The boys are back in town! Yup, it’s Fleet Week in NYC and you know what that means. Cute young things in tight, white uniforms whip-lashing to check out “all them tall buildings” in Times Square (for best effect, try reading that last sentence again but with a southern or western accent where the quotes are). I’m thinking of it as a warm-up for Pineda Conservatory’s upcoming production of On The Town and an excuse to do some in depth character “research” - wink, wink. Who doesn’t like a man in uniform? Am I right ladies? Gimme’ a holla! Whoah, excuse me, I totally ghetto-ed out there for a second. Anyway, I love this time of year because the skyscraper-lined streets haven’t yet turned into asphalt ovens and everyone is just plain giddy that winter is finally over. And did I mention the sailors?

I must have a late dose of Spring fever as well, because this morning I realized I completely forgot to go to a rehearsal last Wednesday night. And it wasn’t just some random rehearsal, it was our final run-through of The Magic Flute before next week’s tech. Oops. Oh well, sometimes sh*t happens. I must really be out of it, because I’ve never just plain forget about a rehearsal. Yes, I’ve been known to bull-sh*t some lame last minute excuse in the past (haven’t we all?) but I honestly just forgot. Early onset of senility? Whatev’s. Only four days to tech week.

Obsessed!

I’m so obsessed with The Biggest Loser. I don’t know if it’s because I was a former fatty or if I just love the drama of it all (or perhaps both?). I mean, each week at least one contestant has a mental breakdown. How can you not love that? What’s really sick is that I always watch while I’m sitting on my fat ass and stuffing my face. As the contestants are throwing up on the treadmill or having heart palpitations from over-exertion, I’m chowing down on - gasp - carbs! Yum. Unfortunately, this week’s finale was sort of lame. I’m a sucker for cheesiness. I love when the contestants karate chop through the life-sized posters of their former fat selves to show of their new, svelte figures. That’s drama, people! But this year, only the finalists got the poster treatment. Lame-oh! I mean, there’s nothing exciting or dramatic about having the contestants just walk out on stage waving. Where’s the theatricality, the bombast, the drama!?!? Obviously a straight person directed the finale. Oh well, I guess I should just be happy for them.

And while we’re on the subject, let me just say that reality shows are one of my all-time favorite, secret (well, maybe not so secret) vices. I’m obsessed with them. There, I’ve said it. Yes, I’ve lived in shame and denial for too long, so I’m officially outing myself. Let me be clear, I don’t go slumming around with those trashy dating shows like Rock of Love or The Bachelor. I go for the more rugged type myself. My latest obsession is The Alaska Experiment on Discovery. The show follows a group of people varying in age and background, dropped off in the wilds of Alaska with limited equipment and no food. They’re given a map and a compass and are asked to trek out of the tundra and back to civilization. Along they way the group needs to learn how to start fire, hunt and scavenge for food, build shelter and generally survive in the wilderness. What makes this show different from most others is that there is no “winner” and no prize for finishing. These freaks (and I use the term with love and emulation) actually volunteered to be stranded in the wilderness for…wait for it, wait for it…the experience! They just want to see if they can do it. What the hell? I’m so jealous. I mean, it’s not like their homeless or jobless and have nothing better to do. Within the group there’s a lawyer, a bus driver, a cop, a gay horse trainer (the trainer’s gay, not the horse), a housing director, a personal trainer a wilderness outfitter and a landlord. Are these people independently wealthy? Do their bosses not care? I wish I could just take a month off and volunteer to be stranded in the Alaskan wilderness.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not belittling these people’s achievements. Alaska ain’t exactly Club Med (well, unless you see it by cruise ship like I did). In most episodes, the group goes days with little more than a mouse drumstick for nourishment. Literally. I’m not kidding. It’s certainly eye-opening to watch seemingly level-headed professionals digress into verbal sparring over sharing a couple ounces of mouse meat or comment on the delicious merits of porcupine paw stew.

Anyway, the group is now down to five from the original nine. Last week, the big, burly Jersey cop went home because the group couldn’t catch enough food (i.e. calories) to keep his muscular frame functioning. You see, each person carries a GPS device. At any time, a team member may push a button that instantly sends a rescue helicopter to their location. I can’t wait to see who drops next! I’m already excited about the premier of what is sure to become another globe-trotting favorite, Expedition Africa on the History Channel. Well, at least until the next season of The Amazing Race starts up.

DVR and the Biggest Loser

DVR is both a blessing and a curse. Yes, I’m grateful to get rid of my dusty old shoe box filled with scratchy unlabeled VHS tapes, but now I’m faced with a new dilemma - too many choices. I mean, the option to record two shows at the same time? That’s just crazy talk. And seriously, unless you’re a pathetic loser, there isn’t enough time in the day to watch all those shows. Trish and I have resorted to “marathon nights” where we stay up until 2AM watching four or five episodes of one show (which, I guess, makes us pathetic losers?). Of course, that puts us further behind since we have to record the shows we’re missing while we’re trying to catch up. Life was so much easier when there were only thirteen channels and no cable. Do teenagers today even know what rabbit ears are?

Now I never watch anything on the night it actually airs. So on the rare occasion that I’m watching something live, it takes me two or three frustrating attempts trying to fast forward through the commercials before I realize, “Oh, I’m actually watching the show live.” Why is my life so difficult? (Please note tone of sarcasm) Anyway, a couple of days ago I was trying to catch up on some random shows that have been on the DVR queue forever. I don’t know if it was that particular combination of shows or if it was just that time of the month for me, but I could not stop crying. Yes, I audibly wept through The Biggest Loser, Grey’s Anatomy and Michael J. Fox’s TV special about optimism. Now that I think about it, I pretty much asked for it. I mean, first, an injured, overweight dad forces himself to complete a marathon even though he looks like he’s going to die because he wants to prove something to his overweight teenage son. Then a commitment-phobe holds an impromptu wedding for his dying girlfriend. And lastly, everyone’s favorite Back to the Future star discusses how he still manages to stay optimistic and positive though slowly losing his motor functions to a debilitating disease. Yikes! There’s nothing like a light evening of entertainment at home, right? And as Trish often says, I do have quite a large vagina. Come to think of it, who needs a therapist? I got to work through my weight issues (I’m in mourning for the loss of my 32” waist), commitment/dating issues (single for almost five years now) and mortality issues (preparing for the big four-oh next year) all in one four-hour mega-session on the couch. Granted, it was my living room couch and not the therapist’s couch. The only thing that would have made the evening more perfect? A pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey and a Papa John’s pizza. A girl can dream.

Waiting for Godot (2/23)

It’s taken awhile, but I’m finally getting around to talking about Godot (which I guess I’ve been mispronouncing for the last half century or so - according to this production GOD-oh). Oddly, this is the first time I’ve seen the play staged. It’s weird, because it’s always talked about so academically that you sort of forget it’s supposed to be entertainment. Well, I guess some would argue that it’s not. While some snooty types - you know who you are - spout meaningless crap they regurgitate from their college lit classes to make them feel better about themselves. But intellectual mumbo jumbo aside, I found Godot funnier than I remembered and also surprisingly frustrating (in a good way) in that you’re constantly left expecting something to happen even though you know damn well Godot is never gonna’ show up. It’s also a play you definitely need to actively watch, meaning it’s no Legally Blond or Little Mermaid where you can sort of let all the frothiness wash over you and you’ll still get the gist of it.

For a play where “nothing happens”, there sure is a lot of talking. I honestly left wondering how Lane and Irwin managed to memorize the whole damn thing. Lane still pushes his usual shtick, but in measured doses. He’s either chosen to repress his “sarcastic New York Jew” gene (yes, I know that will offend some of you, but come on, you knew exactly what I meant when you read it) or the director’s holding some nasty lewd-Lane internet pics (eww) over his head. It gives me hope that Lane’s more than a one-trick pony - granted it’s a very entertaining pony. Naturally, Irwin’s physicality was extraordinary but I sometimes found his line readings odd, leaving some strange pauses in the middle of lines - nothing too bothersome - maybe a character choice? I realized Goodman was a large man, but my, he’s huge! But his imposing physical stature lent itself to the blustery, self-importance of his character. John Glover is, well, scary as hell and looks like an extra from the Night of the Living Dead. Though silent for most of his performance, his nuanced physical portrayal spoke volumes.

Spring and Swine

Ah! Flip-flops and shorts, buds on the trees and the first surgical mask sighting of the season. Spring is here! On my way to work this morning, a lady dashed off the subway looking like she was prepped for an appendectomy on the platform. Is this all really necessary? I mean, aren’t flu germs microscopic anyway? What’s a flimsy piece of paper over your face gonna’ protect you from when your packed into a subway car like a Cuban life raft and God-knows-what is smeared all over the poles and seats. It’s really surprising there’s no subway flu strain. I’ll bet you a case of Purell that the pen where swine flu originated is probably cleaner than any seat on the N train. Then again, as New Yorkers we’ve probably developed subway immunity anyway. City heat? Well, that’s a different story. After 15 years living in the city, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the oppressive heat of reflected asphalt and stale, hot city air. Don’t get me wrong, I was grateful for the warm weather this weekend, but 90 degrees in April? Swine flu, oppressive spring heat, no sign of Phantom ever closing - can the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse be far behind?

Wow, I’m certainly feisty today, aren’t I? Well, I must be going through show withdrawal. I mean, I haven’t been in a theatre in almost one week! And that’s after a marathon three Broadway shows in three consecutive nights last week (Blithe Spirit Tuesday, 9 to 5 Wednesday, Waiting for Godot Thursday). By Friday, I’ll have spent a record six nights in a row at home. Can a move to the suburbs be far behind? I admit it has been nice going home each night this week and just undress and lounge in my underwear watching TV and eating leftover Easter candy (resist your gag reflex bitches, it even disgusts me a little). I never imagined that a nine-to-five job would elicit such laziness out of me. When I was a poor, starving actor, I’d manage to cram in three auditions, the gym, dinner, drinks and a movie on a daily basis. Now I get home and literally sit on my ass until bedtime . Maybe I’ll force myself to squeeze into my old gym shorts and sneakers and try to remember what it was like to sweat. Stay tuned for updates!

9 to 5 (2/22)

Let me start by saying that I love me some Dolly. But 9 to 5: The Musical last night was a hot mess; a thoroughly entertaining and undeniably fun hot mess, but a hot mess nonetheless. It all started with a bang at around 8:10 when we heard the following announcement, “Ladies and Gentleman, Miss Dolly Parton.” The crowd just about rose to its feet and peed with joy in unison. Dolly stepped into the auditorium from a side door joking that the producers wouldn’t let her on stage for fear she’d never leave. Apparently she’s been in NYC for the last few weeks working on the show but tonight was the first time the producers had allowed her to address the audience in person. In her cute drawl she perkily read from the back of her hand, “Happy Administrative Professionals’ Day, or as they used to say in the old day’s, ‘Happy Secretary’s Day’.” No doubt her greeting was addressed specifically to me, having been lavished with praise and gift cards earlier that day at my office job.

Anyway, some of my fave performers and artistic folk are doing some questionable work here. Andy Blankenbuehler, whose choreography I loved for In the Heights, has crammed every moment with busy, unnecessary movement. It’s all strangely jerky and period inappropriate (was hip-hop around in the 70’s?) and makes the stage look messy and unfocused, especially on the horrendously ugly and overdesigned set. Are all those moving columns really necessary? Is there a point to all the tacky projections of moving arrows and clocks? The “less is more” philosophy would have gone a long way here. The only time the projections actually worked in heightening the stage business was during the pot-induced fantasy sequences - natch. Otherwise, they just seemed fussy and distracting. Perhaps the designer is purposely trying to distract us from the incredibly un-theatrical, and at times (sorry, Dolly) boring, score? Granted, the title song is ridiculously catchy and fun, but it’s also probably the strongest in the show and sets us up for high expectations. Unfortunately, the rest of the score doesn’t quite live up.

The cast is working really, really hard trying to sell a score full of musical duds. Lyrics (sorry again, Dolly) are mostly banal and general. The first act finale is almost laughable. For what seems like twenty versus, the gals sing about how after they get rid of their boss they’ll “shine like the sun.” Really?!? Sadly, most every song languishes on this level of sophistication except for maybe "Backwoods Barbie" and "Let Love Grow". Happily, these two songs are more what I expect from Dolly - straight-forward, no-nonsense and honest. It makes me wonder if maybe in an attempt to cash in, the producers rushed the show too quickly to stage, forcing Dolly to churn out less than optimum songs in order to “fill out” the score. I’ll give Dolly the benefit of the doubt here.

Allison Janney is da’ bomb, but she can just barely hold a tune. Her vocals didn’t bother me as much as they did Trish, but it’s almost cruel having her sing side-by-side with power divas Stephanie J. Block and Megan Hilty. Marc Kudisch was…well… Marc Kudisch. We’ve seen him play this character many times before and he does it extremely well. I’d just like to see him do something different or seen a new face tackle the role. Block and Hilty are both solid singing actresses, although I can’t tell if Hilty is purposely imitating Dolly, or if that’s just how it’s coming off. She’s definitely got some cutlets stuffed under her blouse, unless she’s recently gotten some major plastic surgery.

From all that, you may get the impression that I hated the show. But in actuality I quite enjoyed myself. The book scenes were terrific - fast-paced and funny. Sadly, the score wasn’t. The show literally screeched to a dead halt anytime someone started singing. I’m a total musical queen, but I couldn’t wait for the songs to be over so that we could get to the book scenes. Not exactly what you look for in a musical. But the audience loved it. Especially the militant lesbian sitting next to Trish who screamed (literally), “Get him!” at the point where the Dolly character went after her boss in one scene. And it was also nice to see such a varied audience in a Broadway theatre. I guess everyone enjoys big tits and big hair.

Is there a doctor in the house?

OK, I don’t want to make light of someone’s misfortune, but it was sort of amusing when ten minutes into the second act of Blithe Spirit last night someone in the audience actually blurted out those words. I mean, I sincerely hope the person is well, but this was a first for me in a Broadway theatre. It took the actors a few moments to realize that the commotion in the audience wasn’t just a wayward text-er or cell phone, but someone from the audience actually asking for medical attention. What made it even more surreal was hearing Jayne Atkinson proceed to ask the audience the same question from stage. It was like being in some bizarre hidden camera show. And then we all had to sit in uncomfortable silence as we listened to the afflicted audience member’s companion make the 911 call, “The Shubert theatre. No, Shubert. Shu - bert.” Awkward.

Anyway, how can you not love Angela Lansbury? Watching her dance around the stage like your drunk old aunt at a gypsy wedding reception is worth the ticket price. The play itself seems almost quaint compared to the full on raunchiness we’re now accustomed to on TV and movies. But it’s refreshing (or maybe surprising?) to realize that at one time adult comedies were written without overt sexual references, nudity or profanity.

Rupert Everett and Atkinson make an unlikely couple with his pulled back face - hardly noticeable from the balcony - and her matronly demeanor. But they do a wonderful job of getting on each others nerves. I’m still undecided on Ebersole’s performance, mainly because our viewing angle (from the upper reaches of the Shubert balcony - love you Chris, but damn, those seats were up there) made it often difficult to see facial expression. She did some odd vocal inflections, but I feel like they may have worked had we been able to see them in tandem with her physical characterization. I think the amplification up in the nosebleeds was a bit mushy as well, leading to some minor intelligibility issues. Susan Louise O'Connor made the most of her small role and contributed some great physical bits.

Trish, Chris and I topped off the evening with my fave after dinner snack, pickled beats at Junior’s. Yum. But I have say, those Junior’s waiters are freaking me out. They’re just a little too friendly. Makes you wonder what nastiness their slipping into your cheesecake without you knowing. Oh, and over a rather ordinary slice of Junior’s red velvet cheesecake I discovered that Chris Grimm was born the same year I saw my first Broadway show, Les Miserables, 1988. Holy botox! So here’s a big f*ck you to Chris - I’m an old fart who could have been your teenage dad.

Holy understudies!

Trish and I were slightly shocked walking into the Palace Theatre last night to see the cast board list BOTH Tony AND Maria out of that evening’s performance. Luckily, both standbys were on rather than understudies, so at least the rest of the cast was intact. I’m sure Trish would have stormed the box office demanding a refund had her Equity boyfriend, Curtis Holbrook, been out as well. We couldn’t help but laugh, considering I purchased the tickets on a whim four hours before the performance. Supposedly sold out for the rest of the week, I checked online to see if there were any newly released tickets. Sure enough, two center, first row, front mezzanine seats materialized. Crediting good birthday karma (Happy 39th Birthday to me!), I snatched them up certain this was God’s personal gift to me. I guess this was his way of telling me that nothing good in life comes that easy.

I don’t want to seem ungrateful to those hard-working actors, but how can you not be slightly disappointed when not just one, but both lead actors are out of a show? And the lead couple, no less? I do give props to both Matthew Hydzik (on for Matt Cavanaugh’s Tony) and Haley Carlucci (on for Josefina Scaglione’s Maria) who were solid and for the most part confident in the roles. Both have strong acting chops and were vocally adequate, but were definitely missing some much needed chemistry. I can’t really blame them. How can you be “in the moment” when you’re probably thinking, “Is my next quick change on stage left or stage right?” There were a couple of “deer-in-headlight” moments - notably in the park-and-bark sections of "Tonight" and "One Hand, One Heart" - but these seemed to be a directorial choice. And I’m sure he was directed this way, but Hydzik seemed way too wide-eyed and “clean” to pass for a former rough-and-tumble gang member. I mean, my mom could probably beat the sh*t out of Tony as played last night by Hydzik. And I know it was lifted from the movie, but would a gang member, even a very stylish one, be caught wandering the barrio in a shiny purple suit? I mean, I own a red velvet sport jacket that’s less gay than that purple suit…which leads to may next minor quibble.

I know the thrilling Jerome Robbins choreography demands dancers of impeccable technique and virtuosity, but the buffed out Chelsea-boy type doesn’t necessarily convey rough and world weary. It wasn’t that these boys seemed necessarily pretty or clean cut, but as Trish pointed out, they seemed “soft” - like an all Upper East Side prep school gang - not very intimidating. I’d have to note Curtis Holbrook as an exception. Though it’s written into his character, Holbrook was most successful in portraying the pent up rage that could make an audience believe he’d resort to murder.

All the controversy of the added Spanish text and the translation of some of the song lyrics is much ado about nothing. Though at times the revisions did heighten the audience’s understanding of the cultural barriers intrinsic to the plot, they didn’t really prove revelatory in any way. They were harmless, but in the end, un-needed and maybe a bit gimmicky. As a regular opera attendee, I don’t agree that language necessarily adds cultural resonance to a work. If an opera composer was Italian, his opera was in Italian regardless of where it takes place or the ethnicity of the characters. I guess what I’m really saying is, “If it ain’t broke, don't fix it.”

Karen Olivo, having to distinguish herself from two iconic portrayals (by Chita and Rita), creates a more earthy and sexual Anita than her predecessors. People were complaining that her dancing was “lacking.” But as a full package, I think she’s pretty amazing. She’s so strong (and tall) that I was convinced she could easily whoop some of those pansy-ass Jets in the closing rape scene. And relevant to nothing, she's part Asian! (Puerto Rican, Dominican and Chinese - you better work, sister!)

But in the end, the incredible Bernstein score and the Robbins choreography elevated the show above all of my complaints. Is there any show written or produced in the last ten years that even comes close to it in quality and scope? I don’t think so. I guess with the continued commercialization of Broadway, the hope of seeing another West Side Story in our time seems kinda’ doubtful, but I’m still hoping.

On a side note - plenty of "celeb" sightings this evening: Camryn Mannheim eating dinner two tables down from us at the Edison, Cody Green walking down Broadway next to Trish and Aaron Tveit riding the N train after the show with us.

Who we didn't see last night in West Side Story, Josefina Scaglione and Matt Cavanaugh

The New Yorkiest

For those of you who’ve balked at my New Yorker status because I live in Astoria - never mind the fact that I lived all over the isle of Manhattan from 1993-2000 - Time Out New York has named our block (well, just around the block) one of the eight “New Yorkiest blocks" in NYC. In your face! Ha! Sorry, I got a little carried away there. Anyway, I’m not surprised that 6 of the 8 blocks chosen are in the boroughs, considering midtown Manhattan is slowly becoming one huge strip mall. I mean, even Madison Avenue in the Fifties is anchored by big-box retailers like Bad Bath and Beyond, the Container Store, the Gap and Banana Republic. And with the economy tanking, is a Fifth Avenue Walmart out of the realm of possibility? I shudder at the thought.

I’m not anti-franchise. Believe me, Target and even (dare I say it) a trip to Red Lobster can be quite entertaining in moderation (those biscuits, yum). But if we’re just going to end up like a huge suburban mall I might as well put my $1500/month rent towards a house in Jersey. I mean no disrespect to my Jersey brethren, but the point of putting up with the dirt, noise and shoebox-sized living quarters of Manhattan is the fact that outside your door is a plethora of unique and individual dining and shopping experiences you can’t find anywhere else in the world. Wow, that sounded so cheesy. But it’s true.

Really, how many places are left in this country where the local fish market, butcher, florist, fruit and vegetable market and bakery are all within a block? Here’s hoping that New York’s identity crisis will blow over soon and we’ll soon get our character back. Until then, I’m happy in Queens.

One of the many 24-hour fruit and veggie stands on our street

The New Yorkiest block in the city