Tenors...

“The reason tenors sound so good is that they have resonance where most people have brains.”

- Anna Russell (below), comedianne

...Night Music or What is Michael Douglas hiding in his pants?

Okay. Finally, here are my thoughts on the new Broadway revival of A Little Night Music. Yes, I realize I had mentioned seeing this show about 2 months ago, but I’ve been busy dreaming up sexually suggestive choreography for The Wedding Singer that will surely offend more than a few blue hairs at those Sunday matinees. I will not consider myself successful until I have amassed at least half a dozen complaints. I’ll keep you posted.

As far as ...Night Music goes (I'm forcing myself to use the 2 word abbreviation rather than conceding to the current teen texting trend of single letters - ALNM? - NFW), it’s witty, melodic, intelligent, subtle and (GASP! - as in "a sharp intake of breath", not an acronym for anything) non-self-referential - basically the complete opposite of anything playing on Broadway at the moment. Well, accept maybe the revival of West Side Story that coincidentally also bears Sondheim’s name. Having never seen a staged production before, the sparse (according to the old school chatters at ATC) production values really didn’t bother me. Though a fuller orchestra might have helped give the impression of lush-ness many seemed to miss.

Thank God we finally have a singers’ show back on the boards. Can I get an “Amen,” people?! I’m sick of pseudo-pop/rock screeching, unhealthy belting (read: screaming) and itsy-bitsy voices cranked up to max levels. Granted, Zeta-Jones might not be considered a “singer,” but she doesn’t suffer from any of the above vocal sins currently well on display on various midtown stages. She also happens to have some great acting moments and is stunningly gorgeous on stage. Grandpa Douglas must have a huge penis. I’m just saying. CZJ’s “Send in the Clowns” alone is worth the price of admission. And of course, any chance to see Angela Lansbury is greatly welcomed. Though someone needs to tell the grand dame to tone down the dark eye shadow and eye liner, she looked positively corpse-like from our sixth row orchestra seats.

The real star of the show is Stephen Sondheim. He’s at his best here, delivering clever, character and situation specific lyrics to memorable, and for lack of a better word, beautiful melodies. You can call me a snob, but most scores landing on Broadway stages in recent years have been crap, lyrically.

Of course, this particular production of ...Night Music isn’t perfect. The Leibesleider Singers look ridiculous singing “Remember” considering they all appear to be in their 20s and 30s. And I miss the full orchestra and cut verse of “A Weekend in the Country.” But I’ll take a solid production of ...Night Music over recent mega-produced spectacles of mediocre material. You know who you are.

Come Fly Away (3/11) - let's compare thighs...

I don’t know if I’d call it a Broadway musical - more like a dance concert on steroids - but Trish and I caught Come Fly Away the other night - the new Twyla Tharp / Frank Sinatra collaboration. Can you collaborate with someone who’s been dead for over a decade? I guess it’s a mute point.

If you’re heading to the theatre thinking you’re in for a full-blown Frankie musical a la Jersey Boys, you will surely be disappointed. The show is a series of character-driven dances, each using a Sinatra classic. The shoestring plot revolves around three main couples. They all first meet at a club, then eventually strip down to bare chests and bras and finally all throw on formal wear for a rousing and inspirational “My Way.” No, it doesn’t really make much sense, but who cares? The athletic and often gravity-defying choreography was enough to hold my interest for two hours. Granted, a stronger, more fleshed-out plot would definitely provide a depth to the material that is currently lacking, but Tharp’s inventive lifts and always showy (in a good way) choreography are the selling points here.

More impressive is the cast of dancers, whose technique is filtered through solid, though mainly two dimensional, characterizations. I, of course, want to give a shout out to the “older” couple (my age! LOL), John Selya and Holley Farmer, whose dancing is marked by graceful restraint and efficiency. The “young” couple, Laura Mead and Charlie Neshyba-Hodges, dance with a combination of athleticism and power that is tempered by an endearing sense of humor. Not to mention that Neshyba-Hodges could give Cheyenne a run for his money in the hunky thighs category - I’m just saying. Karine Plantadit and Keith Roberts, as the “tumultuous” couple, imbued “That’s Life” with an animalistic sexuality that made the middle-aged woman next to me gasp in surprise (or maybe excitement?). The implied sexual tension between these two was far more interesting than the blatant humping taking place during much of the second act.

Of course, having now shown her penchant and success with character-driven dance begs the question - when will Ms. Tharp be asked to choreograph a book musical (a la Fosse, Robbins or De Mille)? Or maybe she has been asked and has simply declined? If the latter, what a waste, considering the mostly meaningless, albeit showy, choreography we’ve been seeing on Broadway stages as of late.



Best gams on Broadway? Cheyenne (top, reigning champion) or Charlie Neshyba-Hodges (newly of Come Fly Away). Let the games begin!

Rehearsals and Auditions

It’s been a crazy month so far with rehearsals and meetings in full swing for The Wedding Singer and auditions for Meet Me in St. Louis stacked on top of it all. I’ve mostly only praise for my great Wedding Singer cast - no complaints from me as far as talent. Honestly, the cast is as talented - in some cases, more talented - than many “professional” companies I’ve worked with. My only real point of contention is rehearsal attendance. I know, it’s community theatre and people have lives and blah, blah, blah. Um, hello? I have a life, too. A very full one, thank you very much, and my tired ass is at every friggin’ rehearsal. I’m sure I have the biggest commute of anyone - two boroughs, two states and two rivers! My Tuesday evening commute to the theatre and back to Queens is longer than the actual rehearsal! Sorry, I don’t mean to yell. I guess I just have to accept rotating absences as par for the course. It’s how community theatre works and I just have to get used to it (insert long sigh here). But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Rant over.

Even though The Wedding Singer process is turning into one long game of “guess-who’s-coming-to-rehearsal?”, the show itself is really starting to shape up. I mean, I can only guess the opening number will look spectacular, as I’ve never actually seen it performed with the full cast at any given run (I know, I’m such a bitch). That said, it will be a great show. I mean, an 80’s period musical is inherently funny - parachute pants, the “Roger Rabbit,” mullets (see pic above) and jelly shoes? How can it not be hilarious?

As far as Meet Me in St. Louis auditions, it’s going to be a crap shoot. Unlike other years where there have been some obvious front-runners, this year’s group looks to be on equal footing. Granted, we’ve only auditioned half the group and callbacks are always full of (good and bad) surprises. Thankfully, MMISL is not a dance heavy show. And by the looks of our dance callbacks, that is a very good thing. For you mothers that read this blog, don’t get your panties all up in a twist. There are some excellent dancers amongst this year’s high schoolers. All I’m saying is that a full company dream ballet with this group would not be pretty.

Loooonnnngggg overdue...

I actually started writing this entry about 2 weeks ago. So I'm over a month behind! Instead of quickly jotting down my Little Night Music thoughts, I decided to post what I had on Hair. More to follow soon:

Wow, I’ve been seriously shirking my blogging duties lately. I hadn’t realized three (!!) weeks had passed since my last Broadway outing, a double header of Hair and A Little Night Music, and even longer since my last post. I guess I’ve just been busy with the start of Wedding Singer rehearsals and summer (yes, summer) auditions for Pineda Conservatory. Is it really that time again?

Hair was a major disappointment. Maybe I was suffering from heightened expectations, but I just didn’t love it (and I wanted to). I’ve always found parts of the score fun, but as a whole I don’t think it’s dramatically that interesting (the show, not the topic). The first act is littered with throw-away songs that don’t do much except create atmosphere - which is totally legitimate, except you don’t need five of them. The best stuff is the more emotionally substantial material (duh), the songs / scenes dealing with generational conflict, the war, relationships. For me, a 90-minute, one act version cutting most of the first act would be dramatically and emotionally more satisfying than the current two act format. I’m almost embarrassed to admit that I got bored with the audience interaction shtick after about 20 minutes, though I did find Will Swenson to be enormously charming. How the overly preened and squeaky clean Ace Young will ever fill those grungy shoe-less feet is beyond me. But hey, you never know.

I do give props to the cast for giving a ridiculously energetic performance in a less-than-full house (I got fifth row center tickets the day of the show). Swenson also deftly handled annoying latecomers with sarcasm and light-hearted chiding. Don’t even get me started on the chatty audience members sitting around us. I know, it’s Hair, but come on. Ever hear of whispering? In spite of audience nuisance, the cast does succeed in capturing the communal feel and ensemble inherent in the material. I’ll even go as far as to say that the staging of the last 20 minutes is worth the Broadway ticket price.

Photo: Joan Marcus

Met's double header

No, not those Mets, silly. Did you not notice the possessive apostrophe? We’re talking the Met Opera. Unless, of course, Audra takes up baseball - in which case, “Play ball, bitches!”

Over the last two weeks, Trish and I revisited two operatic war-horses, Carmen (photo courtesy of NY Times) and Turandot (photo courtesy of Met Opera). One re-emerged as a sleek and sexy Fatal Attraction-esque thriller, the other laid bloated and unwieldy as a beached whale. Yes, the story of the gypsy seductress is the most recognizable in all operatic literature and the famous “Toreador Song”, played as background music to commercials and cartoons, may very well border on self-caricature. But watch out Justin Timberlake, director Richard Eyre is bringing sexy back…to the Met stage no less! Hollah! Elina Garanca, my newest obsession (sorry Diana Damrau), gives us a Carmen whose bite is as nasty as her bark and she ain’t afraid to shake her money maker, either. Using a hyper-realism that just skirts cliché, Eyre’s Carmen is gritty, harsh and violent. Garanca is fearless and exudes a primitive sensuality you rarely see on the Met stage. The Act IV confrontation between Jose and Carmen was thrilling. Knowing full well the final written outcome, Garanca’s viper of a Carmen left me wondering if she might perhaps subdue Jose and actually get away. Alagna’s Jose was a hair shy of crazy - in a good way. “The more you love someone, the more you want to kill them” indeed! I could feel the bruises forming on Garanca’s elbows and forearms as she took repeated throws to the floor.

Granted, the production wasn’t perfect. The third act “love” pas de deux seemed superfluous. Yes, I know they were going for symmetry given the first act “seduction” pas, but it just seemed cheesy. Alagna, though generally vocally consistent (if a bit whiny at times), had quite a big vocal squawk in the third act that left Trish’s knee with the indent of my gripping hand. I’m also not quite convinced about the final tableau. I assume the bull is symbolic. Bull fighting as a metaphor for Jose’s final “conquest” of Carmen? Hmmm. It seems a bit too literal - though it does provide a visually stunning curtain closer. But these are minor quibbles. I only hope that in future re-stagings, they Met is able to capture the intensity and gritty realism of Alagna and Garanca (as well as Garanca’s hefty set of maracas - olé)!

If Garanca’s Carmen is a high-priced DC call girl, Zeffirelli's classic Turandot production is its sagging-breasted, worn out older sister. Yes, the set is ridiculously ornate and on the surface, beautiful. But after about ten minutes, the sparkles and gold dust stop distracting you and you realize just how much cover stick the old girl’s using to hide all the mileage. This revival wallows in opera cliché - meaningless and meandering stage direction and either over the top gesticulating or park-and-bark non-“acting”. I’m sure at one time the production was fresh and exciting, but now it’s just stale and overblown. When the set gets more applause than any of the performers, you’re in deep doo-doo.

And the singing? Yikes. The tenor, Frank Porretta, possesses a pleasant enough timbre, but is barely audible over the orchestra. So of course, what better way to amplify his less than ample endowment than by directing him to sing directly upstage, backside to the audience. Grazia Doronzio’s Liu, a pretty wisp of a thing, had volume but lacked emotional connection to anyone on the stage. I’d have gotten more interest and engagement listening to a good recording. In Doronzio’s defense, she seemed to warm up both vocally and emotionally around Liu’s death scene; but alas, I started caring just barely in time for the knife to slice through her gullet. The evening’s vocal saving grace lay in Lise Lindstrom’s Turandot. Her ice queen had the presence and vocal timbre to slice through orchestra and chorus. If not pretty, her voice had a steely edge that worked nicely for the character. Unfortunately, she obliterated anyone who happened to wander into the line of fire, including the poor tenor. Sensing this, Porretta valiantly and foolishly tried to match Lindstrom’s wall of sound. I could almost see the pressure building up in his head and waited for the blood-spurting explosion. Instead, we only got a few wobbles and near cracks in his upper register. Predictably, “Nessun Dorma” received applause almost before Porretta had cut-off the final note. Will I ever get to hear a thrilling performance of the aria in context? - seems highly unlikely.

Spring clean-up.

I know it's only January and if the past is any indication, we're still likely for a blizzard or two before the season's over. But for some reason I've recently been on an organizational and cleaning kick. Perhaps it's late onset OCD or too many episodes of Hoarders, but I decided to clean up my blog by condensing my reviews by year. So if you want to check out any old show reviews, just hit the link on the left sidebar and you'll be taken to a list of links to all my past reviews. Enjoy!

And speaking of clean-up...

Last night after emptying the contents of my closet, I decided that Thursday evening after a 9-hour day at the office and just prior to a three day Holiday weekend would be the perfect time to prep and paint. And I wasn't using any old water-based acrylic paint, I pulled out the big guns and decided to set down a coat of Kilz sealant/primer. F*ck those warnings about wearing gloves or making sure there's adequate ventilation. I'm a man, damn it!

Within 20 minutes I was high from noxious paint fumes and stumbling around like a Lohan. In my zeal to finally convert the tiny 4x4 closet into a home "office," I threw caution to the wind - or in my case, to the arctic breeze blowing through my apartment. For with my project well underway I could only press forward, open all the windows, plug in some fans and set them all on "exhaust." And yes, last night's temperature did drop below freezing. Sure, my poisoned lungs were now behaving like an 80-year-old lifelong smoker's and I couldn't walk a straight line, but toxic fumes are certainly great for knocking you out for a good night's sleep. And luckily, I even woke up this morning.

There was still a slightly sweet, chemical smell lingering in the air as I got ready fo work, but I'm sure I'll get used to it. Or die. Or development super-human powers! Not to mention the white paint freckles all over my hands and arms that boiling water and steal wool could not remove. If Kilz sticks to the wall as well as it does to my hand, it will all have been worth the effort.

Archive: Reviews fr 2009

The Understudy (OB)
Oleanna (Bway)
Ragtime (Bway)
Finian's Rainbow (Bway)
Imelda (OB)
Brighton Beach Memoirs (Bway)
Memphis (Bway)
Bye Bye Birdie (Bway)
Hamlet (Bway)
Tosca (Met)
Superior Donuts (Bway)
Tin Pan Alley Rag (OB)
The Toxic Avenger (OB)
Mamma Mia! (Bway)
Cirque de Soleil (Kooza)
August: Osage County (Bway)
Waiting for Godot (Bway)
9 to 5 (Bway)
Blithe Spirit (Bway)
West Side Story (Bway)
Happiness (OB)
Next To Normal (Bway)
33 Variations (Bway)
Mandy and Patti (NJPAC)
Impressionism (Bway)
Forbidden Broadway (OB)
August: Osage County (Bway)
Speed the Plow (Bway)
In the Heights (Bway)
Shrek (Bway)

Archive: Reviews fr 2008

Cirque de Soleil (Kooza)
Billy Elliot (Bway)
Roadshow (OB)
Hairspray (Bway)
White Christmas (Bway)
Pal Joey (Bway)
Rock Of Ages (OB)
What's That Smell (OB)
Salome (Met)
Don Giovanni (Met)
The Seagull (Bway)
Young Frankenstein (Bway)
13 (Bway)
Equus (Bway)
A Tale of Two Cities (Bway)
Desir (Spiegelworld)
[title of show] (Bway)
Little Shop (Papermill)
Kathy Griffin (NJPAC)
Legally Blond (Bway)
Honor (OOB)
Saved! (OB)
Good Boys and True (OB)
A Catered Affair (Bway)
Seth's B'way 101 (Actors' Fund)
Wicked (Bway)
BBTY 1954
Audra MacDonald (NJPAC)
Cry-Baby (Bway)
South Pacific (Bway)
Gypsy (Bway)
Peter Grimes (Met)
The Color Purple (Bway)
Sunday in the Park...(Bway)
Feeling Electric (OB)
Double Feature (NYCB)
Crimes of the Heart (OB)
Come Back, Little Sheba (Bway)
Cymbeline (Bway)
The Glorious Ones (OB)
War and Peace (Met)