Porn, Pecs and the Fonz...The Performers

The Performers
Longacre Theatre
Nov 3, 2PM performance

Maybe I'm getting less critical in my old age, but I thoroughly enjoyed this campy, throwback - or perhaps homage is a better term - to those adult sitcoms of the seventies like Laugh-In and Three's Company.  Of course, it is the 2010s so there's way more skin and the audience barely blushes at the four-letter obscenities or various references to sex organs, but in the end (no pun intended), it's a fun and lighthearted romantic comedy.  But instead of the usual quirky housewife or floundering thirty-something, the main couple happen to be porn stars.  Why not?  Beats seeing Katherine Heigl in another mediocre attempt at resuscitating her career.

Does this look like serious drama to you?

Better yet, there's something for everyone: Cheyenne Jackson in a loincloth, voluptuous women showing off their cleavage, simulated cunnilingus and the Fonz (aka Henry Winkler) bragging about his huge dong.  What's not to love?

This is not Death of a Salesman, but doesn't pretend to be.  Anyone expecting anything other than a fluffy comedy need look no further than the show's ad.

Sadly, the show closed only after seven performances.  A shame, considering the very mixed crowd (gays, couples and seniors - no doubt enticed (tricked?) into buying tickets thinking they were getting to see "The Fonz" take a crack at Lear or Prospero) seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves.  Oh well, I'm glad I had the opportunity to see Mr. Winkler pelvic thrust the audience and say "donkey dick" on stage - well worth the price of admission.

Playing catch-up - Chaplin, Closer Than Ever and Forbidden Broadway

I  know I've been MIA for a while, but I thought I'd squeeze out some reviews before my decaying brain's memory cells reach capacity (which will likely be in a couple hours because I'm seeing Drood tonight and Scandalous tomorrow).  

Chaplin

Barrymore Theatre

Friday, Sep 28 @ 8pm

I’ve been putting off writing about Chaplin because, well, I wasn’t sure what to say.  And therein lies the problem with this show.  Is it good?  Not particularly.  Is it bad?  Not particularly.  It’s, well, mediocre (excepting the incredible performance of Rob McClure in the title role).

I do appreciate the authors’ attempt to write an original book musical with an original score.  God knows, we don’t need another jukebox musical based on the tunes of (insert name of forgotten pop group/icon here).

The score’s pleasant, if not particularly memorable with the exception of Jenn Colella’s second act solo and Chaplin’s love duet with Oona.  I do give composer Christopher Curtis props for writing an honest-to-goodness legit soprano role.  How refreshing to hear a pretty head voice instead of some whiny high belt.

I love’s me some Christiane Noll, but the score does her no favors, showcasing neither her belt nor her legit soprano.  Noll’s role is also underwritten as are most of the many characters in the show.  But I guess that is the pitfall of writing a biographical musical.  In trying to dramatize too many moments in the subject’s life, you end up not quite fully developing any of them.

There are some genuinely wonderful directorial moments, though - the sequence where Chaplin “creates” the look of his signature “little tramp” character, the chorus line of “little tramp”s creating a kick line with miniature handheld feet, the boxing match representing Chaplin’s many marriages and (spoiler alert!!!) the finale where the mostly black-and-white stage slowly becomes immersed in color.    

Unfortunately, the interesting parts don’t add up to a satisfying whole. 

Forbidden Broadway

47^th Street Theatre

Saturday, Sep 8 @ 8pm

It’s been three years since Forbidden Broadway closed.  Trish and I caught the closing addition in a half-empty theatre with a painfully Broadway illiterate crowd of mainly foreign tourists.  But Saturday’s sold out performance proves that absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder. 

With several years’ worth of Broadway’s hits and misses to sift through, creator/writer Gerard Alessandrini has picked the biggest Broadway stories and stars to lovingly lampoon.  For the most part, the new skits hit their marks as the laughter and groaning of the über-responsive, theatre-savvy crowd proved.

The most successful parodies were of more recent main stem productions - Once, Newsies and Evita (“Living Evita Loca”) - as well as TV’s recent attempt to completely distort the reality of Broadway via Smash (“Let Me Be Sub-par”).  Some old favorites are thrown in the mix as well with Disney getting the brunt of the pounding (with The Lion King and the “Circle of Mice” and the particularly clever Mary Poppins parody, “Feed the ‘Burbs.”).

Because of the sharply written parody in the above, weaker skits come off as particularly mediocre (Porgy and Bess, a lame Annie sketch and a plodding Into The Woods skit that pales in comparison to the prior edition’s ”Into the Words” parody).  But the hits far outshine the misses and Forbidden Broadway is a welcome relief from recent, bland main stem offerings. 

It’s probably a good thing that Broadway has Forbidden Broadway around to give it an elbow in the ribs as well as a much-needed reality check.

Closer Than Ever

York Theatre

Sunday, Oct 7 @ 2:30pm

Maltby and Shire’s score is intelligent, witty and lyrically astute - adjectives not easily applied to most shows written in the last five years or so.  Unfortunately, it’s also firmly ensconced in the feel-good 80s vibe in which it was written.  In the shadow 9/11, the gay marriage debate and the recent recession, much of what may have been deemed risqué in 1989 (the date of the original off-Broadway production) seems downright quaint today.

The four-person cast is mostly solid, though the direction is perfunctory and not particularly imaginative.  Anika Larson and James Moye are most successful at overcoming the directorial weaknesses. 

The show is at its best in its comedic observations of life and love, with Larson’s “Miss Byrd” a standout.  When the musical strays into darker emotional territory, I think the material sometimes tries too hard to say too much. 

On a side note, I can’t believe Anika Larson is old enough to believably play middle-aged.  It seems just yesterday I was cheering on her mechanical bull-riding high school lesbian character in Zanna Don’t.  I’m so old! 

I know I should keep on topic and stick to reviewing the show, but I have to rant about the cast photos hanging outside the theatre.  With all the advances in digital technology and every out of work actor now a “professional” headshot photographer, there’s no excuse for a bad headshot.  I won’t name any names, but one actor’s blurry photo, obviously taken at least 10 years ago, in no way resembles how the actor currently looks.  I could’ve taken a better photo with my iPhone.  There’s just no excuse.  Rant over.

Magnolia wilts but the south rises again on our living room table

I hate to speak ill of the Queen (Queen Latifah, that is), but last night’s African-American remake of Steel Magnolias was sort of a hot mess.  To quote my friend, Jenn Love, this remake translates “about as well as a white Soul Train.”

Like most woman and gay men (yes, a stereotype, but oh, so true) across the country, I tuned in to Lifetime last night for some sassy southern charm and a good cry.  It turns out my southern-themed dinner was way more satisfying and than this tepid, made-for-TV version.  But let’s start with the highlight of the evening, my dinner. 

After an intense afternoon at the theatre yesterday afternoon, Trish and I decided to lighten our spirits with some retail therapy in Union Square, stopping at Burlington Coat Factory for some completely un-necessary purchases before heading to Whole Foods. 

A southern spread that would make Paula Deen proud.

Using the movie as inspiration, I decided to try my hand at some slow-roasted pulled pork.  Since Trish’s friend, Billy (a tried and true southerner), was planning to join us, I opted for a Carolina-style, vinegar-based roast.  I created my own spicy dry rub and marinated our two-and-a-half pound slab of pork butt overnight.  The next morning, I got up early to throw that mother in the oven where I let it slow roast for eight hours.  By the time I pulled the slab from the oven, it had developed a thick, smoky crust and juicy pink center.  Yum. 

For sides, we went full out Paul Dean mode - fresh squeezed mint lemonade, biscuits with maple butter spread, green beans sautéed in butter and brown sugar and three-cheese mac n’ cheese with a salt and pepper potato chip crust.  Billy supplied a sweet “happy ending” to our food orgy with red velvet cupcakes from Billy’s Bakery.  (Sigh) If only the movie was as equally satisfying.    

Of course, you can’t serve up a southern supper without the proper table setting.  I mean, WWMD (What would Martha do)?  So Trish and I made sure to round out our new mason jar mugs (purchased on our Burlington trip the other day) with appropriately gaudy flowered tablecloth, fresh flowers, windowpane glass pitcher with water glasses and white dinnerware (all purchased that same afternoon from the amazing Bargain Stop).  Can I get an “Amen, girl” from the congregation please?

As for the movie, well, I'm giving these wonderful women a pass this time and just content myself with re-watching The Help and Last Holiday.

Red Dog Howls

Red Dog Howls
New York Theatre Workshop
Saturday, Oct 6 @ 3pm

Do you enjoy your genocide with a heaping side of cannibalism and marital strife?  Well then, work up that appetite and reserve your tickets to Red Dog Howls now.  This 90-minute intermission-less play starts innocently enough with the burning of some mysterious letters but closes with a shocking scene that will leave you devastated - unless, of course, you’re a heartless, soulless shell of a human being.  I don’t want to spoil the ending, but long after the houselights came up, many audience members were still glued to their seats in stunned silence (including Trish and I - minus the silence, of course). 

Intense doesn’t even begin to describe what is revealed and enacted on the intimate stage at NYTW (birthplace of Rent and Once).  Through a series of revelations, the main character finds out he’s ethnically Armenian, though raised Greek.  Soon he discovers that his Armenian grandmother, whom he believed dead, is alive and living in Washington Heights.  Through daily visits, he learns about his new culture but also some terrible truths about his past along with tragic details of the Armenian genocide.

I know, sounds like a real downer, right?  Well, it is.  But there’s much humor in the interplay between grandson and grandmother.  Yes, we’ve seen the crotchety-old-lady-teaches-young-whippersnapper-a-thing-or-two dynamic a million times before, but the astounding Kathleen Chalfant is able to steer us clear of maudlin stereotype.   

The other cast members, Alfredo Narciso (half-Filipino, shout out!) and Florencia Lozano have a natural rapport and are believable as a couple dealing with the stresses of a wife's pregnancy in the face of her husband’s identity crisis.

The script does have some moments that veer uncomfortably close to trite sentimentality, but the incredible cast is able to overcome most of the script's weaknesses.

Bring tissues.

And don't forget to stop by Bond Street Chocolates just a few doors down from the theatre.  Go for the milk chocolate bar with caramelized almonds and sea salt - obscenely delish. 

Groping Grandpa (Sequal to Nasty Nana)

It seems I’m a love magnet to the geriatric set.  Once again, I found myself the center of some unseemly and unwanted attention at the opera house the other night.  I was set for a lovely evening with Anna Netrebko and dreamy barihunk, Mariusz Kwiecień, in the Met’s new production of Donizetti’s L’Elisir d’Amore, when the silver-haired “gentlemen” sitting next to me started making the moves. 

At first, I thought the tingling on my thigh was just my excitement over Mariusz's first entrance.  But soon I realized it was the back of my neighbors hand trying to inconspicuously brush up against my leg.  At first, I thought maybe he was just spreading out to get more comfortable.  But every time I moved my leg away, his hand somehow managed to find it’s way past the arm rest and against my thigh.  Ew, right?    

At least in the case of Nasty Nana, grandma shamelessly made her move in broad daylight and in full view of everyone in the store.  We could all later laugh and marvel at granny’s audacity and utter lack of social decorum and at the same time give her props for going out and grabbing (literally) what she wanted.  But groping someone in a darkened theatre - unless it’s “that” kind of a theatre, of course - is just a step too far…even for me. 

And before you ask, no, I did not give grandpa any weird signals.  In fact, he got to his seat just as the houselights dimmed for the overture so we didn’t even make eye contact.  I think he finally got the hint, though, after I shifted my entire body to the left side of my seat, leaving a gap between our shared armrest and my leg large enough for an anorexic model to fall through. 

Thankfully, I was able to avoid an awkward post-grope moment.  Just as the orchestra cut-off the final chord of the finale and before the ovation started, grandpa skedaddled from his seat and out the door faster than you can say “sexual harassment suit.”  I’m sure he was embarrassed enough for the both of us. 

So what did I think of the opera?  Well, that’s hard to say.  I was somewhat preoccupied trying to ignore the advances of my horny neighbor and mentally escaping to my "happy place."  I will say that Matthew Polenzani’s rendition of the second act aria “Una furtive lagrima” was captivating - at least captivating enough to pull gramp’s focus away from my leg and to the stage for at least a few minutes. 

The physical production was lovely if adequate.  A badly designed false proscenium blocked most of the action upstage and cut-off much of the set from anyone not sitting in the orchestra.  I guess that’s the Met’s way of saying “fuck you” to us cheapskates up in the nosebleeds. 

I’ve always been indifferent in regards to Netrebko, but in this production she was able to lighten up her usually dark soprano and surprised me with some well-floated top notes and mostly clean runs (though she splatted a couple of high notes towards the end of the second act).  She also genuinely seemed to be enjoying herself and was surprisingly funny.

As I mentioned before, Polenzani was the surprise of the night.  He’s always solid, but last night he nearly stopped the show (and my molester’s advances) with his “Una furtiva…”

Mariusz looked great, but his voice seemed a tad small for the house.

The chorus, as usual, sounded wonderful but was hampered by unimaginative staging. 

I’m sure the production will tape well, though, and I’m sure it will look and sound wonderful in the HD broadcasts.  

L'Elisir D'Amore

Met Opera House - Lincoln Center

Monday, Oct 1 @ 7:30pm 

Another summer...

I was at Duane Reade the other night picking up batteries and baby wipes (don’t ask), and was mortified by the sight of a “Happy Holidays” banner hanging on the side of a corner newsstand.  Happy Holidays?  I’ve only just recently accepted the fact that it’s the end of avocado season.  I’m not yet mentally ready to commit to the holidays.  It’s just too soon.

So in a fond farewell to daisy dukes and farmer tans, I’d like to run down the highlights of the “Summer of 42” (that would be the 42^nd summer of my life, not the classic flick).

July Fourth Weekend in Orlando - Yes, it was hot.  Very hot.  And I don’t mean sexy hot.  I mean underarm-sweat-ring, thigh-chafing-ly hot.  But the opportunity to visit Harry Potter’s Wizarding World made it all worth it.  More…

Summer Conservatory - As always, camp was exhausting.  But seriously, who can resist teenagers slutting it up on stage all in the name of art?  Not I!  More…

The Reugsegger’s take Manhattan - Our Ohio cousins made their first family trip eastward to take a bite of the Big Apple.  I’m sure they had fab time.  Unfortunately, we were stuck at camp in Jersey for most of their visit.  This afforded them the opportunity to enjoy the luxurious accommodations at Chez Pineda Astoria (aka my apartment) sans Fausto and Trish.  Oh well, it’s just an excuse to start planning their next trip.

Raiders of the Lost Ark in Bryant Park - The annual Bryant Park Summer Film Festival - Harrison Ford, red wine and farting neighbors all al fresco in the middle of the greatest city on the planet.  Who could ask for anything more?

Josh, Trish and I mingling with the masses in Bryant Park.  The infamous farter is laying directly behind us just out of site, though his stench hangs heavy in the evening air.  Nasty!

Foxwoods Labor Day Weekend - For our last hurrah of the summer, Trish and I planned a weekend of gambling and general debauchery at Foxwoods Casino Resort in Connecticut.  Sure, we headed home in the red, but not before busting a gut at the all-you-can-eat prime rib brunch at David Burke Prime Steakhouse.  I’m still working off that extra plate of fried chicken and waffles.

Who would have thought you could find an authentic Chinese bakery smack dab in the middle of a Indian-run casino in the heart of New England?  Above, Trish marvels wide-eyed at the fluffy, monster-sized ensaimada we picked up as a souvenir.

Terracotta Warriors Exhibit at the Times Square Discovery Center - Did you know that the ancient Chinese were kinky freaks?  Yup, aside from life-sized statues of warriors, some Chinese royalty made sure to pack their favorite sex toys with them for use in the after life.  I shit you not.

Two of the many artifacts on display from the ancient tombs.

Ancient dildos.  No, really.

   So long summer of 2012 and hello Christmas shopping season!

My new best worst

Ghost the Musical

Lunt-Fontanne Theatre

Saturday, August 18 @ 2pm

I’m going to take the leap and say that Ghost the Musical is now at the top of my list of worst show I’ve seen on Broadway.  Keep in mind that I started seeing shows back in the late 80s and I’ve seen historic clunkers like Dance of the Vampires, Nick & Nora and Dracula, so I know from whence I speak.  The main difference between Ghost and these past clunkers is that the clunkers at least seemed to aspire to some higher level of theatrical quality.  Dracula also had the added bonus of Kelli O'Hara's bare breasts, but I digress.  The producers of Ghost seem to have given up and decided that if they sprinkled enough glitz on top of the tepid score and uninspired book, no one would notice. 

I in no way mean to bash the hardworking and talented cast.  I have the utmost respect for them.  Despite the yawner of a score, they give fully realized and committed performances that heighten the material to a far higher level than it deserves.  

When the only song worth remembering is pre-existing and connects with the audience only because of its association with the movie (lyrically it does absolutely nothing to enlighten or move the story along), you’ve got a problem.   When the 11 o’clock number stops the show’s momentum cold, is given to a secondary character and is staged like a bad cruise ship number, you’ve got a problem.  When the most entertaining character trades on sassy-black-girl stereotypes (though successfully pulled off by the wonderful Da’Vine Joy Randolph), you’ve got a problem.  When the best part of the show is the set, you’ve got a problem. 

I can actually understand the hype about the sets.  There were some dazzling effects (particularly the subway scenes), but there were some duds as well.  The led light walls didn’t really work for me because the lights didn’t provide for sharp, focused images.  To me, it looked like the play was taking place in a video game from the 80s.  I half-expected a Pac-Man to chomp across the stage - which would actually have been more interesting than the frenetic, generalized cityscapes that we got instead. 

Oh, and we don’t need to see the arching, naked asses of the leads projected five stories high on the front scrim.  Watching the gorgeous couple simulate sex on a chaise lounge downstage center was more than provocative enough for me, thank you very much. 

The larger-than-life ass effect was totally unnecessary and was my laugh-out-loud moment #1.  My laugh-out-loud moment #2?  And I mean that literally.  Me, Trish and several people around us laughed out loud, was the borderline offensive Mr. Bojangles character (that wasn’t the character’s name, but I don’t have my Playbill in front of me) who strutted around singing a ridiculous, faux gospel-inflected ditty in full jazz-hands mode.  Let me just add that the character is an old black man dressed in an all white suit and bowler hat.  Why not just get him down on one knee and have him belt out “Mammy”? 

And what’s up with the “doubling” of the dancing ensemble with projected silhouettes of dancers mimicking the same moves?  It just looks silly (and cheap) and exaggerates the lack of choreographic and directorial creativity.  Busy ≠ interesting.  Take, for example, how a single performer on a bare stage singing “Rose’s Turn” can keep an audience completely enthralled while a stage full of flashing lights and booty shaking here elicited yawns and watch-checking.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against movie adaptations or rock scores.  I’m against bad movie adaptations and bad rock scores.  Unfortunately, Ghost manages to strike out on both accounts. 

I actually think there’s the kernel of a good show here.  Take away the distracting light walls, the choreography and 90% of the score (keep the ubiquitous “Unchained Melody” from the movie) and perform the piece as a straight play.  Then I think you might actually have something.

I need a vacation from my vacation (part trois)

Click here for part une
Click here for part deux

Week Three (July 30):
It’s Monday and I’m still churning out slutty choreography for Legally Blonde with a detour into High School Musical-land to tweak some student choreography.  With HSM opening in just three days, we simultaneously rehearse and start run-throughs so that the multiple casts can get at least one full dress rehearsal before the first Wednesday matinee. 

Though exhausted, we stay late tonight because Val has her first HSM orchestra rehearsal.  As the strains of faux, quasi-musical theatre pop echo through the empty theatre, I put finishing touches on the set and wonder why we didn’t choose a less strenuous career path, like marathon running or Olympic gymnastics.  Speaking of the Olympics, we ended up missing almost all of the coverage.  Oh well, there’s always 2016.

(July 31) Tuesday night is my first orchestra rehearsal for Legally Blonde.  I’ve barely had enough time to shower let alone study the conductor’s score, so I’m basically winging it.  Hopefully, I won’t come off as a complete moron in front of the mostly professional orchestra.  The rest of the Pineda clan stays late with me to continue their never-ending work on costumes, lights and sets all to the soothing tones of the "Bend and Snap." 

(Aug 1) Wednesday afternoon is the first performance of HSM.  With the theatre in use, I take the rest of the campers down the road to the Elk’s Club and continue rehearsing Legally Blonde.  Unfortunately, a huge chunk of the dancing ensemble is also in HSM.  With all the missing people, ensemble clean-up and detail work is pointless.  Instead, I spend most of the time choreographing the first act finale, which I’ve let go to the last minute in the hopes of being “divinely inspired.” No such luck.  Once again, I’ll just have to wing it since we open in three days.

A few hours later we’re back at the theatre where Val is politely kicking the stragglers from the HSM audience out of the lobby.  Thus begins our first dress rehearsal of Legally Blonde.  Everyone’s exhausted.  This is our fourth show to open in a week and the kids are wandering the stage like zombies.  With the addition of props and set pieces, the cast seems to have forgotten all their blocking. 

Undeterred, at 5:30 we push the student zombies out the door, order Chinese food and get the theatre ready for the evening performance of HSM.  I’m not really involved, so thankfully I can just veg out in the lobby during the show.  Mercifully, the junior version of HSM is much shorter than the full licensed version so we are able to get everyone out, lock up the theatre and get home just before midnight.  In the last two weeks, we have rarely spent less than 14 hours a day at the CDC.  Ah, the glamorous life!

(Aug 2) Seven hours later and we're back at the theatre.  Today is basically a repeat of yesterday's hellacious schedule except we stay late after the evening performance to change over to the Legally Blonde set.  What does “change over” consist of?  Oh, just repainting the HSM flats, side stages and benches, striking the un-needed HSM set pieces, hanging set pieces from the fly rail, re-setting the pit and cleaning and re-setting the dressing rooms with a new set of costumes.  Sound “fun” yet? 

For tonight's change over it’s all-hands-on-deck, including ma and pa Sieracki (Val’s parents) who are visiting from Florida.  Apparently, they’ve also been staying at Juan and Val’s house this week, though the only evidence of this has been the whiff of breakfast I smell on the way out the door in the morning as we head to camp.  We finally get a chance to catch up with them at the theatre over the roar of power tools and the smell of wet paint.  Sexy.  Tonight we skip the HSM closing night cast party because by the time we call it quits, the party has long since finished. 

(Aug 3) We drag our asses into the theatre early on Friday morning.  We are all running on just a couple hours of sleep and late night McDonald’s drive-thru.  We have one day to complete the change over we started the previous night as well as squeeze in two full dress run-throughs, one with full orchestra (the first and only time the cast will get to rehearse with the orchestra before we open tomorrow afternoon). 

With a cast full of mostly first-time summer conservatory students, the sense of anxiety and panic is palpable.  These kids are used to months of rehearsals at their high schools, not our three-week crash-and-burn schedule.  Juan and I lie through sincere smiles and assure the young cast that everything will be fine. Don’t get me wrong, by Sunday the show will be up and running like clockwork, but what happens at the first performance Saturday afternoon is anybody’s guess. 

Surprisingly, we are able to get through two full run-throughs without any major hiccups.  Some years, the first performance is the first time we actually run the show non-stop.  So we’re in great shape; though we still won’t know exactly how the show will sound since our bass player wasn’t able to make the final dress and our drummer wasn’t able to get to the rehearsal until halfway through the first act.  No matter, it’s still one of the smoothest final dress rehearsals we’ve had for a summer show. 

We don’t stay late tonight.  It's "fuck-it Friday" - if there’s a costume not quite right or a set piece unfinished at this point, that’s how it will stay for the run - fuck-it!

(Aug 4) We have a larger-than-usual audience for the first Saturday matinee, mainly because the show is so popular with the MTV crowd.  There are a few minor music cue problems and some ragged scene changes, but all-in-all, it’s a great first run and the audience is loving it.  Surprisingly, we get no audience backlash from the overt sexuality, language or gay references.  I guess between Jerseylicious and The Jersey Shore, some rump-shaking and cursing seems pretty de rigueur for north Jersey.

The positive buzz on facebook started at intermission so we anticipate a full house tonight.  I’m still not sold on the choreography for the first act finale - you know, the number I threw together literally two days ago.  But I’ll take a closer look at it tonight.  If you’ve worked with us before, you know not to get too comfortable with any blocking or choreography.  Juan and I are notorious for making full-scale changes even after a show’s opened (and sometimes even during intermission).  My infamous unfinished choreography of the last 32-bars of a dance number up until the half-hour call of the first performance has now become stuff of Pineda legend.

Because nearly every role is double cast, no two performances have the same exact set of leads.  I know that’s not the norm for high school productions, but it’s great experience for student actors and keeps them on their toes.  It also means the evening performance could still be a train wreck even if the afternoon runs smoothly.  With that in mind, we order take-out for dinner so we can stay at the theatre and prep for the evening show and new leads. 

Thank God for social networking and the internet because in just a few hours the good word has spread and tonight’s performance is sold out.  We actually end up turning people away at the door.  As excited cast members return from their dinner break, we give out acting notes and minor adjustments to blocking based on the afternoon performance. With a new slate of leads, we treat tonight's performance as a second "opening night" of sorts.

The new air conditioning is blasting, but the theatre still warms up thanks to a full house.  Again, except for some minor slip-ups, the show proceeds rather smoothly.  But I’m definitely still hating the first act finale.  I’ll have to go home and think about how I can correct that before tomorrow’s matinee.  We head home knowing the phones will be ringing off the hook with ticket requests.

(Aug 5)  The Sunday matinee is nearly sold out.  The kids are old pros by now and we know the show is in solid shape - except for my first act finale.  So at half hour I grab my dancer girls and completely re-choreograph the end of the act.  I'd been re-playing the moment in my head all morning and it finally dawned on me that as usual, I've over-choreographed it.  It's now time to simplify and streamline.  Behind the show curtain and with the sound of the audience filling the theatre, the girls nervously run-through the new steps which they'll perform full out, in context for the first time during the actual performance.  Yay, for live theatre! 

The closing night performance is standing room only.  Tonight is bittersweet for the kids.  They're stoked about their success but sad the summer's over.  I'm not.  By tomorrow I'll be back in the comfort of my cozy apartment, lounging in my underwear and catching up on a month's worth of DVR, blissfully content to be working only a paltry 9-hour day at the office.  But for now, I'm in the pit waving my arms like a fat, deranged, featherless turkey, trying to push the tempos in hopes of clipping at least a good  5 or 6 minutes from the performance.  Tonight after the final bows come all the speeches and flowers and I want to compensate for the inevitable lovefest to come.

Per usual, the closing night curtain call is followed by the cast singing our camp song.  As the opening refrain ends and the tempo changes, the kids from the other programs bum-rush the stage and join in.  And then as if on cue, the tears start rolling on stage.  The evening ends with heartfelt speeches, hugs and lots of flowers.  It's finally over.  Almost.

The kids are now hyped up on love and adrenaline.  They can't wait to get to the cast party.  With only thoughts of partying filling their teenaged minds, they leave a disgusting trail of used tissues, sweaty clothes and half eaten food in the dressing rooms for us to clean up - but not tonight.  Tonight we party. 

We arrive at the Sandoukis' household (our generous party hosts) just as a police cruiser pulls up - the true sign of a successful cast party.  A group of parents magically appear to greet law enforcement.  I'm too hungry to care and head straight to the hot buffet.

It's now well after midnight and I have to be at work bright and early the next day.  I can catch a nap at my computer.

Note to self: take the Monday after camp off next year.

Peter and the Starcatcher

Peter and the Starcatcher
Brook Atkinson Theatre
Friday, June 20 @ 8pm 

Having already checked out the other three Tony-nominated plays, Trish and I decided to close the loop and check out Peter and the Starcatcher before Trish’s Broadway crush, Christian Borle, jumped ship (pun intended) to start once again collecting his fat, "Smash" checks.  Yes, I’m jealous and bitter.

With all the hype surrounding the production, we were prepared to wet our pants in uncontrollable fits of hysterical laughter.  Maybe we expected too much.  Yes, the production was creative, clever, fun, imaginative and at times, extremely funny.  But I left with pants dry wondering if I had missed something.

I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy myself.  I had a great time and left smiling.  But I just didn’t connect to it the way it seems others have.  Maybe it was the wash of unspecified English accents coupled with the quick line delivery that muddled the opening set-up, or maybe some of the second act chase sequences that seemed to go on just that 30 seconds too long, maybe I was tired that night or maybe I’m just a bitter, jaded old theatre queen.  Who knows?

I do know that I adored the second act mermaid number and much of the creative use of the cast in place of complicated scenery and set changes.  Borle didn’t disappoint either, especially during the second act hand chopping scene.     

Is it possible to be too clever?  The creative moments came so quickly and right on top of each other that I found myself marveling at the staging and not paying attention to the plot or characters.  Perhaps too, the performances have "grown" and blur what may have at one time been more concise and clearly played moments.  Regardless, I just couldn't connect fully to these characters, though I wanted to badly.

Then again, I liked Leap of Faith, so what do I know?