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Spotlight Destination
Gypsy, South Pacific
Gypsy’s enduring appeal is thanks to Jule Styne’s stirring music, Stephen Sondheim’s witty lyrics and deft storytelling. It begins in the Twenties, as two young girls, June and Louise, are dragged from one vaudeville theater to the next. They are, after all, the family meal ticket. Rose, “a frontier woman without a frontier,” has dreams of fame and fortune, and believes daughter June can deliver the goods. Her attention to her is both slavish and comical. She literally kicks in doors to assure June will get interviews and billings. In her quest for success, Rose champions and cripples her children; the family saga is almost Shakespearean in its primal longing for attention and validation. The girls want maternal love, dependable Herbie (Boyd Gaines) longs to be Rose’s fourth husband, while Rose has one monomaniacal focus: the bright lights. Eventually, Louise (Laura Benanti) is forced to step in when June (Leigh Ann Larkin), balking at Rose’s control, abandons the act. Gradually, a shy, quiet girl transforms herself into a burlesque queen. Her initial dive into stripping — ala the “You’ve Gotta Get a Gimmick” number — is played to perfection by the three aging strippers: Alison Fraser, Lenora Nemetz and Marilyn Caskey. Benanti’s Louise morphs into Gypsy Rose Lee with real charm. So distinct was her wit and elegant striptease, that H.L. Mencken coined the term “ecdysiast” to describe her high-class act. (June went onto a respectable acting career as June Havoc.) As Gypsy’s star rises, Rose’s fades. And it’s at this consummately defining moment in “Rose’s Turn,” that Rose faces her demons. LuPone’s delivery is magnificent here and in the earlier show-stopper “Everything’s Coming Up Roses.” Happily for LuPone, the rest of her cast is first-rate. So are James Youmans’ sets and Martin Pakledinaz’ costumes. Together, they make Broadway magic. A second musical classic, South Pacific, hasn’t seen a revival on the Great White Way for 60 years. The current, near-perfect incarnation at Lincoln Center is as upbeat as Gypsy is dark. Rodgers and Hammerstein’s musical takes place on a South Pacific island during World War II. While South Pacific, staged in 1949, has a decidedly post-war optimism, it also makes a plea for racial tolerance. When nurse Nellie Forbush (Kelli O’Hara) falls for Emile de Becque (Paulo Szot), a French planter who has fathered two children by a native woman, she’s forced to confront her own prejudices. Similarly, when handsome Marine lieutenant Joe Cable (Matthew Morrison) falls for a Polynesian girl (Li Jun Li), he laments that he cannot bring her home. In the moving “You’ve Got to Be Carefully Taught,” Rodgers and Hammerstein address the issue of bigotry head-on, a daring move at the time. At heart, South Pacific is a glorious paean to romance. Can anyone hear the lush “Some Enchanted Evening” without being seduced by the promise of destiny? Kelli O’Hara and Paulo Szot have real chemistry, though her emotional ambivalence is beautifully rendered. Bartlett Sher’s direction is lively and sensitive, and the music sublime. And the exquisite lighting by Donald Holder makes us all long for Bali Ha’i. –Fern Siegel Sunday in the Park With George
Sondheim reflects his distinct style – pointillism – in his music, which brilliantly captures the passion, singularity and obsession of creation. The first act takes place from 1884 to 1886 and moves from an island in the Seine just outside Paris, where the masterpiece “A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grand Jatte” was painted, and Seurat’s studio. “Watch while I revise the world,” the young painter tells his mother. And we do—as enraptured by his vision as he is. On the heels of its London success, this new version of Sunday in the Park isn’t quite as grand or as sexy as the 1984 original, starring Bernadette Peters and Mandy Patinkin, but it’s still a must-see. The Sam Buntrock-directed revival, starring Daniel Evans as George and Jenna Russell as Dot, his mistress, is a stirring production. The musical is a meditation on looking and seeing. Seurat (like Sondheim) is accused of being too cerebral; both use art to connect to people. Ultimately, we’re drawn to the work, not the man. Which is why Act 1, widely acknowledged as the stronger segment, is so compelling. From the opening song “Sunday in the Park With George” sung by Dot, we witness the monomania of creation. As the painting comes to life, James Lapine, the show’s author, tackles every aspect of the art world—its genius and its hypocrisy. The music is beautiful, often woeful and wholly remarkable. When Dot sings “We Do Not Belong Together” to an oblivious George, it’s heartbreaking. By Act 2, which moves to 1984, George’s great-great grandson (Evans) is plying his trade, laser-generated chromolumes, with the help of his grandmother (Russell). Again, the art world is neatly zinged in “Putting It Together,” a deft piece of commentary. Sunday in the Park . . . celebrates Seurat’s originality and supplies a lyrical way to appraise a masterpiece—Seurat’s and Sondheim’s. Employing then-radical notions about color and optics, the neo-Impressionist used tiny precise brushstrokes of color, coupled with precise contours and geometric shapes, to create a new form. This production nicely uses animation to give the show a fresh look and inject bits of humor. Part history, part fiction, part commentary, it’s among Sondheim’s greatest musical triumphs. Conversely, Straight Up With a Twist, playing much farther downtown at the renovated Players Theatre in Greenwich Village, is a one-man comedy delight. Paul Stroli is a straight man with metrosexual sensibilities. In short, he knows as much about food, wine, art and fashion as many gay men. He’s heterosexual, though his Italian father and German mother assume otherwise. What’s a sensitive boy to do? Go artistic. Stroli dons seven different characters and spins adolescent angst into comic gold. His mother is unquestionably the best. Chain-smoking her Merits and sipping liberal doses of gin, she is a laugh riot – the one-liners come fast and furious. Stroli’s remembrance of things past is a reminder that, thankfully, there is a refuge for the misunderstood: the stage.
–Fern Siegel PHOTO: JOAN MARCUS 2008 The 39 StepsFor Hitchcock fans, The 39 Steps was an early
thriller – and introduced one of the director’s favorite themes: The
innocent man trapped by circumstance. In the hugely entertaining 1935
film, Robert Donat, wrongly accused of murder, races from London to
Scotland to stop an international spy ring – and clear his name. En
route, he meets an icy but pretty blonde. The twists and turns, the
droll humor, even the
In short, three of its four cast members play a dizzying array of parts. The 39 Steps is inventive and entertaining, but its cast would be greatly aided by eliminating the intermission, which stops the action cold. For all its craftsmanship – and there’s plenty to trumpet – The 39 Steps is lightweight fare. At least by Broadway standards. It would be better-suited to an extended run at a prominent off-Broadway theater. If you know the film well, and it’s a fair guess many theatergoers do, the added bonus is The 39 Steps’ homage to Hitchcock’s film canon. It cleverly pays verbal and visual homage to Vertigo, North by Northwest, The Birds, et. al. The sets and costumes are by Peter McKintosh and direction by Maria Aitken, both fans of modernism. They make the most of a few props. The use of doors and windows is a minimalist delight. Every cliché is sent up; every moment is mined for humor. That The 39 Steps works as a comedy whodunit is
thanks, in no small part, to the film’s ageless charm. As Richard Hannay,
the wronged man, Charles Edwards (the one cast member from England), is
perfect for his role as a Thirties goodhearted chap.
The real stars are Jennifer Ferrin, who plays several
different women so well it’s hard to believe it’s the same actress, and
Arnie Burton and Cliff Saunders, who don endless roles with lightning
speed and agility. The 39
Steps, for all its
ingenuity, is a theatrical trifle. But it is a reminder that sometimes,
less is more.
–Fern Siegel
PHOTO: JOAN MARCUS 2008
New Jerusalem
Now playing at
Classic Stage Company, New
Jerusalem is a riveting work by David Ives that posits the political
and religious realities of 17th-century Jews, the mind-set of
genius and the horrors of state censorship. Today, Spinoza is championed
as one of the greatest philosophers of all time – laying the groundwork
for the 18th-century Enlightenment and modern biblical
criticism. His opus, Ethics,
is a philosophical staple. While there are no
records of the kherem
(excommunication), Ive’s fictionalized account of the actual event is
fascinating and heartbreaking. The dialogue is crisp and stunning in its
breadth of ideas. New Jerusalem
makes philosophy sexy, thanks to taut writing and direction and the
performances of Jeremy Strong as the engaging Spinoza, Richard Easton
as Rabbi Mortiera, Fyvush Finkel, a synagogue board member, and David
Garrison as the Dutch inquisitor. Secondary roles by Jenn Harris, as his
angry sister, and Natalia Payne as Clara, a Christian girl he loves,
round out the splendid cast. Spinoza’s erudition,
both for logic and Jewish studies, make him the pride of his Portuguese
Jewish community. But the realities of his existence – as a free thinker
and as a devoted Jew – are called into question. As Spinoza is put on
trial, it’s clear his brethren are loath to act. Once the debate
ratchets up – and alternate explanations for God and nature are
discussed – we’re treated to a lively treatise on the nature of
existence and the real issue that haunted the Dutch: free speech. Whether Spinoza is secular or devout, atheist or believer, is still a debate. Several recent bios attempt to mine the life of a quiet man whose most famous works were published posthumously. New Jerusalem tackles complex themes with dramatic flair, assuring its audience a thoughtful and provocative experience. –Fern Siegel |
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The Dining Room |
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The original production, which starred William H. Macy and was nominated for a Pulitzer, mines such repression for humor. The dialogue is efficient, and the actors so credible, one feels as though they have stumbled into a domestic gathering. Each scenario peels away at the assumed calm of a moneyed existence – at a child’s birthday party, two parents discuss their doomed affair. A teenage boy asks his grandfather, who doesn’t approve of a liberal boarding school, to pay for one. A soon-to-be divorced daughter begs her father – in vain – to let her and her children move in. A servant gives notice, and a matron suddenly realizes her value. Resentments, repressed anger, emotional blackmails are all front-and-center. What makes The Dining Room so compelling is that it rings true. The club, the china, the endless cocktails are paraded on stage as part of a larger anthropological point: While this social-economic segment is small, its cultural impact – then and now -- is great. At the same time, the play underscores a changing approach to family and roots that all will recognize. Gurney has an ear for psychic suffering that’s physically contained by the demands of decorum. There is a real poignancy here – and he strips away the layers of defensiveness to reveal it. The play is aided by a solid ensemble – Anne McDonough, Timothy McCracken, Dan Daily, Claire Lautier, Samantha Soule and Mark J. Sullivan – who work like a well-oiled machine. They don’t miss a beat. Dana Williams’ sets are lovely, and Jonathan Silverstein’s direction hits the mark. They’ve done Gurney proud. –Fern Siegel PHOTO; THERESA SQUIRE
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Grease |
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The goal of the current revival is to attract a younger demo to Broadway with a production that’s tried-and-true. The songs, thanks to a successful John Travolta-Olivia Newton John movie, command a legion of fans, while the plot line – the antics of 1950s teens – is squeaky clean. Even the sex, like the rumbles, is safe. This second revival, now at the Brooks Atkinson Theatre, is a $10 million musical that features two winners from the NBC reality show Grease: You're the One That I Want. Max Crumm and Laura Osnes, as Danny and Sandy, are the weakest links in the ensemble. Despite decent voices, he mistakes a twisted sneer for attitude, moving in a jerky style that should have made director/choreographer Kathleen Marshall cringe. Osnes genuinely tries, but she lacks the perky sex appeal that was once a John specialty. The costumes might hit the right note, but the musical is ill-served by cheap-looking sets and banal staging. However, many in the audience didn’t care, since the supporting cast, particularly Rizzo (Jenny Powers), Kenickie (Matthew Saldivar) and Vince Fontaine (Jeb Brown), deliver the goods. In the end, it’s all about the music. The perennial favorites, such as "Summer Nights," "Look at Me, I'm Sandra Dee" and "We Go Together” from the original Jim Jacobs-Warren Casey score, don’t disappoint, while “Born to Hand Jive” sent the audience into a paroxysm of hand gymnastics. More interesting is the idea of re-launching a 1950s soft sell again. Grease posits a time when boys fell in love with hot rods, and girls were segregated into two camps: good and bad. The boys are equally tribal: jocks, nerds and toughs. Set at Rydell High, the musical is punctuated with pop-culture nostalgia – Elvis clones, poodle skirts, leather jackets and white Ts – but is ultimately a white-bread celebration of teen angst. Some of the emotional travails are probably felt by teens today – broken hearts, jealousy, social acceptance concerns – just text-messaged for faster response. Here, the girls – Rizzo, a Marilyn Monroe imitator and a beauty-school wannabe – are matched up with boys who run the gamut from goofy to rebel. The various twists and turns of teen love, led by Danny and Sandy’s tortuous miscommunications – is simply a backdrop to the melodic score, which grabs those who were born decades after the Fifties. Yet Grease, another movie musical, is devoid of the social commentary that infuses Hairspray or Chicago. This is Fifties-lite, which makes its pleasures fun, but finite. Unlike West Side Story, a real 1950s work, which used teens to tell a compelling story of culture clashes, forbidden love and urban decay, Grease revels in its predictable safety. There are no surprises here – only that the producers choose to revive it. If you really want to see Grease, rent the movie. –Fern Siegel PHOTO: JOAN MARCUS |
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Williamsburg! The Musical |
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As social commentary, it
hits its mark. As musical theater, it’s lively and fun.
Now playing at the Village Theatre, Williamsburg! The Musical launches the first theatrical salvo in the war against gentrification. Part of this year’s Fringe Festival, the show introduces performers and writers worth watching. Plus, it skewers fashionistas, developers and hipsters. In short, Williamsburg! is the musical equivalent of a cultural smackdown. The neighborhood in question – Williamsburg – has been a decades-long haven for Hasidic Jews and the multicultural working-class. But as rents skyrocketed in the last 10 years, the city’s young and hopeful looked elsewhere -- just across the East River, one subway stop from Manhattan. What was once a bonanza of cheap housing, albeit with some drug and crime problems, is now a hip, expensive neighborhood of Starbucks, galleries and trendy shops, summed up as: “You have to pay a lot of cash to look like trash.” No surprise here: Longtime residents are under siege.
Enter Williamsburg! Amina Snatch (co-creator Nicola Barber) is a Prada-bag realtor obsessed with buying buildings and luring trust-fund babies to the neighborhood. To do so, she has to eliminate current residents, like the Polish landlady (played with relish by Terry Palasz) and a host of 20somethings who embody every hip New York stereotype. That the musical can send up the green movement and liberal excesses while slamming greedy developers is to its credit. An added bonus is the love story – a Hasidic man, Shlomo (a pitch-perfect Evan Shyer) and Piper (Allison Guinn) fall for each other. Their friendship is sweet, and, though they live in radically different worlds, he provides a warmth and stability her friends lack. She, in turn, enjoys a freedom he envies. And both are threatened by Snatch and her diabolical plan to take over Williamsburg and create an army of hipster zombies. All this and a clever pop-rock score by Kurt Gellersted and Brooke Fox, too. Whether it’s “Shlomo’s Lament,” which chronicles his desire to see the outside world, or the “One Stop (to Excitement),” a paean to Manhattan, or “Million Dollar Crackhouse,” a terrific send-up of the real-estate market’s inherent corruption, the music and lyrics hit the right note. Yes, the musical is still raw in parts, but it’s got a stronger, more enjoyable score and better choreography than, say, Spring Awakening, and the cast, half non-Equity, is uniformly sound. Don’t miss it. – Fern Siegel Photo credit: Jonathan Grey |
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The Second Tosca |
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Playwright Tom Rowan is clearly familiar with it and a devotee of its types. The Second Tosca opens in the green room with Lisa (Rachel de Benedet), the understudy to visiting diva Gloria (Vivian Reed). Lisa is on the threshold of big-time success; Gloria is a 50something legend – but her time is drawing to a close. They are joined by Lisa’s fiancé, a gifted but emotionally distant Aaron (Mark Light-Orr), her bitchy, parasitic manager/brother Stephen (Carrington Vilmont), Darcy (Melissa Picarello), Gloria’s assistant, and Nathaniel (Jeremy Beck), a Juilliard student so obsessed with Lisa’s performances, he’s written an exquisite score just for her. All pretty stock stuff, with a catch. There is a third Tosca, Angelina Rinucci (Eve Gigliotti), a gorgeous-sounding soprano who sings snippets of Verdi and Puccini arias and haunts the opera house. She died during a 1958 performance – but is visible to Gloria and Lisa. At first, she unnerves them. Later, she expounds on her theory of Tosca – and as the three singers debate Tosca’s vices and virtues, Rowan underscores his larger point: Art is eternal. That’s why he’s chosen this particular Puccini opera to celebrate. Rowan utilizes its plot line to explore the dichotomy between art and humanity, artifice and passion. He reveals the backstage lives of opera’s retinue and the demands of the profession. By turns touching and comic, his taut ensemble exposes the human desires and demons that drive success. It’s not always pretty, but almost always entertaining. That said, The Second Tosca could lose 20 minutes. Trim some of the excess, keep the terrific cast (Reed, Beck and Orr are pitch-perfect) and move it to a larger venue. The direction, set design and lighting hit the right note. Rowan manages to infuse stock characters with a few surprises, while reminding his audience just how compelling opera can be. –Fern Siegel Photo: Eve Gigliotti and Rachel de Benedet in "Second Tosca" CREDIT:: Neilson Barnard |
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War Torn: The Accomplices, Journey’s End |
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Bergson, an Eastern European Jew, saw firsthand, the destruction and mass murder of his people. He comes to the U.S to rally both the Jewish community and politicians. He stages public protests, takes out newspaper ads, anything that will raise awareness of the impending genocide. It’s Bergson who rallies celebrities to his cause – enlisting Kurt Weill, Frank Sinatra, Dorothy Parker and Ben Hecht. His goal – secure much-needed exit visas for Jews awaiting deportation. What he finds is a country wrapped in denial and disinterest. Incredibly, American Jewish leaders, fearful of inciting persecution on their own shores and acutely aware of the anti-Semitic leadings of both Secretary of State Brekenridge Long (Robert Hogan) and President Roosevel (Jon DeVries), are loath to help him. With rare exceptions, many influential Jews, including Rabbi Stephen Wise (David Marguiles) preferred to plead quietly, rather than publicly. And always, to no avail. Incredibly, pre-Pearl Harbor, the U.S. clamped down on any anti-Nazi activity. FDR is so casual about his anti-Semitism, it’s stunning to remember he was a god to the Jews. Similarly, his cousin (Catherine Curtin) uses her society post to lecture church groups and women’s clubs against letting them find refuge here. Visas were not issued. Concentration camps were not bombed. As “The Accomplices” makes clear, had the White House acted, many Jews could have been saved. Finally, with millions dead, Bergson convinced FDR to create the War Refugee Board in 1944, saving 200,000. Hitler was able to commit genocide, Bergson concludes, because not a single powerful world leader – either American or British – tried to stop him. And that indifference, he muses later, explains why genocide has been so easy to reproduce in the 20th century. The Accomplices is blessed with a solid, heartbreaking script, tight direction and a talented ensemble cast. It uncovers ugly truths about the Roosevelt era and revisits a time when Father Coughlin spewed his hatred to 30 million listeners weekly. A morality play, The Accomplices should be required viewing. It indicts the culpable – and no one emerges unscathed. The horror of war is also the subject of Journey’s End. The cruelty, waste, carnage and stupidity is terrifying. World War 1, the “war to end all wars,” illustrates that theme on a massive scale. The revival of this staggering 1928 drama, now at the Belasco Theater, is noting short of astounding. Staged in the British trenches near St. Quentin, France, in 1918, Journey’s End has no memorable lines, no great monologues. But its quiet tale of dignity and hope is haunting. It records 48 hours in the life of a British platoon. The men are recognizable types – schoolboy, dashing officer, avuncular schoolteacher, shell-shocked soldier, goodhearted working-class chap. Together, they face the unimaginable, buoyed only by their own internal resources and stiff-upper-lip fortitude. The play, inspired by a true story of
friendship and survival, is a stark reminder that political blunders cost
lives. Each moment is filled with fear and fatigue. The simple acts of
kindness are unbearably moving. For author R.C. Sherriff, the work is a
tribute to those who fought. For us, it underlines the nightmare and
futility of battle. Actors Hugh Dancy Boyd Gaines, Stark Sands, John Ahlin,
Justin Blanchard and Jefferson Mays have saluted that lost generation with
pitch-perfect performances. Long after you leave the theater, Journey’s
End will haunt you. –Fern Siegel
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Curtains |
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Here, in this show-within-a-show story, a cast of Broadway vets belt out their numbers with unabashed glee. It also stars David Hyde Pierce of “Frasier” fame, though the production’s strong suit is an able-bodied ensemble. Together, they manage a brilliant send-up of musicals and the detective genre. Act 1 opens on a scene from “Robbin Hood.” It’s 1959, and we’re in Boston, at an out-of-town tryout for a new musical. The scene, plagued by a terrible leading lady, is a gentle dig at “Oklahoma” – the dancers are trying to spell out Kansas. Happily, she dies as the cast takes its final bow. At that moment, “Curtains” shifts into high gear. The detective (David Hyde Pierce) sports a Boston accent, a nimble dance step and a love of all things theatrical. And it doesn’t get more theatrical than ballsy producer (Debra Monk), sassy director (Edward Hibbert), the musical writing team of Georgia (Karen Ziemba) and Aaron (Jason Danieley), and the ingénue (Jill Paice). They, in turn, have secrets and agendas of their own – and discovering what drives them is half the fun. Just waiting for Hibbert’s next campy crack or Monk’s well-placed zinger is worth the price of admission. After all, the show must go on – and a host of secondary performers, including Bambi (an amazingly agile Megan Sikora), keeps the pace lively. Sure, there’s a killer in the house, but why let reality interfere with a potential Broadway opening? Just watching the show evolve, as Sondheim once observed, “bit by bit, putting it together,” is thrilling. “Curtains” it’s an affectionate satire of the process – the “What Kind of Man?” number lampoons critics, while Monk’s “It’s a Business,” a producer’s mantra,” is a showstopper. The poignancy comes with the song “I Miss the Music,” a lovely, tender score that chronicles the magic of partnership; in short, why Kander needed Ebb. But it’s the crisp dialogue, the zany speed, the dance numbers and the unexpected plot twists that keep audiences glued to their seats. “Curtains” has Tony written all over it. Costume, direction, acting, choreography and lighting all deserve nominations. This is big, brassy entertainment, a joyous night in the theater. –Fern Siegel
PHOTO: JOAN MARCUS |
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Spring Awakening |
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Now playing at the Eugene O’Neill Theater, the rock musical, with a rousing score by Duncan Sheik, is based on the play by Frank Wedekind. The writer, best known for Pandora’s Box, a risqué work later turned into a silent film classic, saw most of his plays banned in his lifetime. The reason? They dared to address sexual freedom and the issue of pleasure and violence between the sexes. Here, in what can only be termed a morality play, silence equals death. In a repressive climate, three smart, sensitive teens will be undone by their sexual longings. Wendla (Lea Michele), the sweet girl with a dark side, and Melchior (Jonathan Groff), the radical modernist teen rebel, fall for each other. Their attraction is electric, but their sexual ignorance, particularly hers, is terrifying. They know about passion, not its consequences. Sadly, parents abrogate their responsibilities, whether through ignorance or abuse. Family is not a pretty word; while the community as a whole, save for one mother (Christine Estabrook), is harsh and unrelenting. Which is why Moritz (John Gallagher, Jr), the sweet class kook, is doomed. His Teutonic teachers can not abide failure. Clearly, Spring Awakening has been inspired by Rent—giving an older work a decidedly modern spin, while drawing younger audiences to Broadway. It’s both in-your-face and, on occasion, poignant. “The Bitch of Living” and “Totally Fucked” underscore a universal theme: In every generation, kids are tormented by cruel adults and fundamentalist beliefs. While the music is, on occasion, a distraction from the tale, the ensemble is solid and the story compelling. The three teen leads are fantastic. Of special note, Kevin Adams’ lighting is evocative, and the set design and direction, which has borrowed from Sweeney Todd’s expressionistic set and staging, is effective. Spring Awakening rocks. –Fern Siegel
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The Apple Tree |
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Each act stands alone, save for an overarching theme: temptation. Yes, it’s a broad arena, but the first, “The Diary of Adam and Eve,” is the most charming. Based on a Mark Twain story, Eve (Chenoweth) must convince an intellectually and emotionally challenged Adam (James), that there is more to life than pointing at newly discovered creatures. (Just ask the Snake, played to perfection by Kudisch.) Adam is happy in his lone bachelor existence—until she arrives. And from the moment she steps into his life, redecorates his hut and forces him into conversation, Adam is a new man. True, she drags him—kicking and sometimes screaming—into her milieu, but it’s a fruitful journey. Part 2, the well-known “The Lady or the Tiger” story, moves us to a semi-barbaric kingdom, where the king metes out a cruel kind of justice. When his daughter falls for a warrior, he violates royal decree. His punishment? He gets to pick a door—behind one is a beautiful maiden he can marry. Behind the other is a tiger waiting to devour him. The choice is terrible, and the maiden is a hated rival of the princess. The condemned man looks to his beloved for guidance—and she signals accordingly. The final act, “Passionella,” is a 1960s story by Jules Feiffer, a decades-long cartoonist for The Village Voice. Here, Ella, a poor chimney sweep, dreams of fame and fortune as a movie star. And, by a crazy stroke of magic, she gets a chance to realize her dreams. Suddenly, dirty little Ella morphs into a sexy Marilyn Monroe look-a-like, Passionella. But can she keep her secret? The Apple Tree’s principals are adept in each act and the set design, while spare, is effective. So are the costumes. Director Gary Griffin is working with pros—and it shows Make no mistake, though; this is Broadway lite. The Apple Tree may be a gentle parfait, but its cast keeps it tasty. –Fern Siegel
PHOTO: JOAN MARCUS |
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Murder Mystery Blues |
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Now playing at the 59 East 59 Theater, Murder Mystery Blues, set in the film-noir world of Forties Manhattan, features ace private-eye Lupowitz (Alex Haven), who caters to an unusual array of clients and is driven by philosophical imperatives. When he’s not pining for nightclub singer Flo (Mary Fahl), or trading wisecracks with his besotted secretary (Stephanie Dodd), the cynical sleuth solves zany intellectual cases. There’s Vassar girl Heather Buttkiss ( Andromeda Turre), who hires him to find Mr. Big, i.e. God. What ensures is a discussion of the “all-encompassing,” a nod to Hegel and Schopenhauer, and a terrific ending: God is found dead in the morgue, a victim of an existential impulse killing. This, of course, is vintage Allen, marrying humor to intellectual discourse. Throw in a rabbi, a priest, the Mafia and brainy banter, and you understand why Allen is the master of mental farce. Two standouts: “The Whore of Mensa,” in which an electrician, desperate for cultural discussion, visits an intellectual brothel, then worries that he’s being blackmailed: “They’ve got me on tape discussing The Wasteland!” Also, “The Shallowest Man,” in which Mendel (Mike Murray) only sees a dying friend so he can flirt with the sexy nurse. First staged in London, where it was a big success, Murder Mystery Blues was moved to New York, housed in a lovely theater and staged against a backdrop of landmark city buildings juxtaposed in a semi-Cubist and beautifully lit way. To sum up: plot line: solid. Direction: solid. Actors: iffy. Save for Stephanie Dodd, who is a standout on the talent front, capable of acting and singing, the rest don’t click. Lupowitz, the core of the show, mumbles his lines—and can’t deliver the goods when it comes to zingers, which is, after all, Allen’s calling card. The cast tries, and Fahl’s turn as Flo is fun, but satire is not their forte. Murray’s interpretation of Mendel, moving his arms like a deranged 1960s Allen by way of Jackie Mason, is excruciating. Funny means turning a familiar mannerism on its head, not flailing aimlessly. Murder Mystery Blues is a smart, seductive idea, but in this production, both Woody and the audience deserve better. –Fern Siegel |
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Mary Poppins |
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Mary Poppins, the musical, now playing at the New Amsterdam Theatre, is a marvel of invention and ingenuity. Based on the novels of P.T. Travers, the current rendition of Mary Poppins is darker and more insightful than the Disney incarnation. The Australian-born Travers, who wrote the first of eight Poppins novels in 1934, set it in the Depression. Hollywood moved it to the Edwardian era, and there it stays—with a catch. The musical, an English import, is hugely entertaining, brilliantly staged and mythical. Like the archetypal hero, Mary (a pitch-perfect Ashley Brown) mysteriously appears from the outside to fix a dysfunctional family. The Banks household—father, mother and two naughty children, Jane and Michael (a noteworthy Matthew Gumley)—is unhappy. Rather than function as a loving unit, they each inhabit their own sad worlds. They need to be made whole—individually and collectively—and that is Mary’s genius. The book by Julian Fellowes, coupled with the original score and wonderful new songs by George Stiles and Anthony Drewe, delves into the nasty recesses of the English soul. Here, Bert the chimney sweep (a remarkable Gavin Lee), is the core. He neatly narrates the tale, underlining the difference between external appearances (feigned upper-class solidity) and internal anxiety (the Banks’ emotional lives). Indeed, Mary Poppins is a strong indictment of Edwardian child-rearing and the horrors of emotional repression. Before something can be fixed, we need to acknowledge it’s broken. Cue Mary, who enters from on high (the allusion is obvious) to restore order out of chaos. Equal parts discipline, gruff cheer and a refusal to submit to conventional wisdom, ensure her success. En route, however, she takes us, and the Banks family, on a whirlwind journey through London—both real and imagined. The sets are clever and extraordinary, the score a delight. Richard Eyre’s direction and Matthew Bourne’s choreography define entertainment; Mary Poppins is a site for the eyes and a salve for the heart. A thoughtful, joyous musical with top-of-the-line actors, effects and music, Mary Poppins is a triumph. –Fern Siegel PHOTO: JOAN MARCUS |
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Grey Gardens |
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The town was desperate to get rid of them, but the Beale women, devoted to artistic pursuits, betrayed by their families and locked in an obsessive relationship of narcissism and madness, proved indomitable. They may live in squalor, but their spirits soar. The musical, brilliantly directed by Michael Grief, stitches together a compelling storyline. It begins in 1941, Little Edie (Erin Davie), known as “Body Beautiful Beale,” is to announce her engagement to Joe Kennedy, Jr. (Matt Cavenaugh). Ironically, a young Jackie O. is in attendance. But Big Edie (Ebersole, who plays the mother in Act 1 and daughter, 32 years later in Act 2) engages in a sly bit of sabotage, while her father, the pompous Major Bouvier (John McMartin), grandfather to Jackie O, sounds their death knell. For all his pontification, “the hallmark of aristocracy is responsibility,” he proves nothing more than a punishing prig. Yet, Big Edie, whose passion is singing and whose narcissism is boundless, emerges as a broken, manipulating, yet strangely compelling figure. She wants only to sing, a passion her estranged husband despised. Desperate and lonely, she clings to her daughter, who is desperate for a life of her own. The music by Scott Frankel and lyrics by Micahel Korie superbly underscore this insidious world of class, obligation and obsession. Fast-forward to 1973. Big Edie, now portrayed by the remarkable Mary Louise Wilson, and Ebersole, as Little Edie, are locked in mortal combat. Yet, Little Edie, unlike her brothers, father or grandfather, who abandoned her mother without any alimony or means of support, stays true. That her loyalty—and personal frailties—cost her dearly is part of Grey Gardens’ poignancy. The real tragedy here is Little Edie. She is a spirit with such force and vitality, its criminal to keep it caged. When she steps out to sing “The Revolutionary Costume for Today,” a paean to individual style, and hers is singular to say the least, it’s a tour de force moment. Both women have clearly studied the documentary; each recreates, with almost eerie precision, the essence of her character. In pre-feminist times, women like the Beales were seen as dangerous elements. They simply did not possess the know-how to sustain themselves, though Little Edie is remarkably resilient in the face of her mother’s repeated insults. Theirs is a love/hate relationship almost Shakespearean in its power.
Grey Gardens
is a multilayered triumph, a remarkable production with an extraordinary
ensemble cast. Its subjects are riveting, and its themes of class,
madness, betrayal and hypocrisy are presented in an entertaining and
provocative way. The play stands as an indictment of the wealthy Bouviers,
who clearly abandoned the women to their fate. Happily, the Broadway
musical keeps them where they had always longed to be: front and center.
–Fern Siegel |
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25 Questions for a Jewish Mother
Now playing at the St. Luke’s Theatre, 25 Questions for a Jewish Mother, intertwines Gold’s own story with Jewish women she interviewed nationwide as part of a five-year project. What begins as a simple questionnaire blossoms into a moving chronicle of women’s lives. From secular to Orthodox, Holocaust survivors to a Chinese convert, 25 Questions explores the nature of belief and observance in the 21st century. The catch is—Gold, in a one-woman show, portrays each of the women she interviews. It’s a simple, but engaging format. She breaks from her hilarious standup routine at the mike, where we learn how she came out to her mother, the omnipresent Ruth Gold, her struggles with her girlfriend, and subsequent birth of her two sons: Henry and Ben. She then walks stage right, sits in a chair, and assumes the identity of the women she is interviewing. It’s a clever device. First, it allows us to meet the women as they are, with strength, fragility, passion and uncertainty intact. Second, it showcases Gold’s gift for accents, memory and moment. The women are exceedingly honest—and their stories are occasionally heartbreaking. The funniest bits, however, are the ongoing battles between Gold and her mother. Their relationship is loving, but fraught with anxiety. When the 8-year-old Judy is late coming home one day, she arrives to find the police in her kitchen—and her mother serving them rugelah. Ruth’s over-protectiveness is comic to us, but stifling to her daughter, who believes her real mother, Barbra Streisand, will one day rescue her from her middle-class New Jersey existence. It’s not until the grown-up Judy discovers the secret behind her mother’s fears that she understands what drives her—and in that moment, the open wound begins to heal. In truth, both Gold and her mother are natural narcissists. Each fights for center stage. That Gold can turn her tale into a successful play (and award-winning career) is to her credit. She’s has a gift for understanding the crazy ironies in daily life and her honesty is stunning. 25 Questions for a Jewish Mother is the like theatrical therapy. It’s filled with laugher and sadness, but this is one emotional ride, but you’ll be glad to take. –Fern Siegel PHOTO: CAROL ROSEGG |
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A Chorus Line |
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The musical opens on a bare stage, save for the wall of mirrors. It’s a rehearsal hall and the director (Michael Beresse, an accomplished dancer in his own right—Kiss Me Kate) is casting for the chorus line. The stark setting is a perfect backdrop for the drama about to unfold: Only a handful of dancers will be selected; competition is brutal. Yet as we watch the casting process, the dancers are revealed as distinct personalities—each with a tale to tell. That’s the touching part. Here’s the low note—not all the dancers are equally accomplished. Three, however, Natalie Cortez, who sings “What I Did For Love,” Charlotte d’Amboise, who plays Cassie, the former star desperate for even a chorus job, and Jessica Lee Goldyn as Val, are standouts. Some, like Paul (Jason Tam), share a heartbreaking drag queen past; others, like 30-year-old Sheila, are ill served by poor casting. (Deidre Goodwin plays her like an angry Fly Girl, which detracts from her story.) Directed by Bob Avian, the original co-choreographer, this Chorus Line remains true to the vision of Michael Bennett, the musical’s famed choreographer/director. Bennett, who spent his life among gypsies, paid tribute to those who put everything on the line to pursue their passion. The musical honors true grit, but the unevenness of the performances renders our empathy finite. Still, the book by James Kirkwood and Nicholas Dante, coupled with music by Marvin Hamlisch and lyrics by Edward Kleban, is solid. This revival isn’t a showstopper, but it holds its own. –Fern Siegel |
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The Fantasticks |
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The story—boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl—is a simple one. Two fathers, wanting their children to meet, erect a wall between their properties. The children are forbid to socialize, so naturally they do—fulfilling their parents’ collective desires. But once the romantic youths realize the deception, they rebel. The boy (Santino Fontana) sets off for the wider world, the girl (Sara Jean Ford) stays home and gets hoodwinked by El Gallo (Burke Moses), a bandit, in a nod to the good-girls-like-bad-boys’ motif. Predictably, the lovers discover, as Dorothy once did, that there’s no place like home. “The Fantasticks,” which is also a send-up of musical contrivances, has a strong cast, including the fathers (Leo Burmester and Martin Vidnovic) and two creepy itinerant performers (Thomas Bruce and Robert R. Oliver). Everyone acts and sings well; this is a seasoned cast, save newcomer Ford, who has a lovely voice and a future on stage. This production, however, is strictly a suburban crowd-pleaser. It feels dated, not the performances, the show itself. The humor is more groaner, less wit; and the musical, which is a trifle, despite some witty lines and occasional lyrics, enjoys a longevity that is difficult to credit. In fact, the message seems terribly reactionary; the world is a terrible, violent place. If you want to be happy, stick with your first love. But if you want to stay friendly with the neighbors, keep the wall up. How it ran for four decades, beating out “Fiddler on the Roof” and “West Side Story,” is beyond me. Then again, a four-person play with minimal scene changes doesn’t require a large budget. Revivals are a tricky business. Some endure forever; others, like The Fantasticks, have passed their sell-by date. –Fern Siegel PHOTO: Joan Marcus |
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| The Drowsy Chaperone | |
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Our narrator, known only as Man in Chair (Bob Martin, who also wrote the musical’s book), is so besotted by musicals and musical history, it’s infectious. Now playing at the Marquis Theatre, The Drowsy Chaperone performs a dreamy sleight-of-hand. It’s like watching a theatrical revival peppered with comic narration—bits and pieces of stand-up that pay homage to the genre. Think of those TCM black-and-white movie musicals, ones by the Gershwins or Cole Porter, brought to life in glorious color. It may sound fantastical, but the plot—a leading lady (Sutton Foster) torn between career and love—coupled with a terrific subplot—a producer Feldzeig (Lenny Wolpe) who loses everything if she leaves—is vintage period.(I like the conceit of Zeigfeld spelled inside-out.) Throw in a drowsy chaperone (a divine Beth Leaval, who worships at the altar of inebriation and big gestures), Adolpho (Danny Burstein), the stereotypic Latin lover, and pretty-boy leading man (Troy Britton Johnson) and watch the magic. In the 1920s and ’30s, escapist stories were the lifeblood of musical theater. After all, who doesn’t want a break from the tedium or cruelty of everyday life? Added to the fabulous ensemble are 13 delightful songs that showcase the musical and lyrical dexterity of Lisa Lambert and Greg Morrison, both of whom capture the era and its sensibilities with remarkable glee. Plus, Casey Nicholaw’s direction is zippy, while the costumes and set design are inspiring and captivating. But what makes Drowsy Chaperone so touching is the quiet pathos of the narrator. He knows, as many musical lovers do, that art soothes a troubled spirit. Life is never as elegant or as easy as a big, brash musical. That’s why we embrace them. They lift us, however briefly, into another sphere, where love triumphs and joy is universal. Drowsy Chaperone is a meringue, light, fluffy and sweet. It’s one of the lesser immortals, but a welcomed addition to the canon. –Fern Siegel Photo by Joan Marcus |
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| A Jew Grows in |
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It’s billed as a musical comedy, but A Jew Grows
in Brooklyn, Jake Ehrenreich’s solo remembrance of a post-war
While
Flatbush, Red Apple stops and WEVD will resonate most for New Yorkers,
Ehrenreich’s show is divided into two distinct parts: postwar Like Billy Crystal’s one-man show 700 Sundays, or Lisa Kron’s Well, the monologist works best when transforming singular events into a larger human drama. Ehrenreich accomplishes this with ease and elan. An accomplished musician and entertainer (Barnum, Beatlemania), he recorded with Richie Havens and performed for President Clinton. His ease on stage is evident; Ehrenreich is a seductive performer. He marries nostalgia to genuine pathos. A Jew Grows in Brooklyn, a theatrical version of cinema verite, is a quiet triumph. –Fern Siegel PHOTO: Lisa Randall |
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| Jersey Boys | |
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“Jersey Boys” is, first and foremost, a showcase for their music. From “Sherry” to “Walk Like a Man,” the songs, dance steps and sleek suits defiantly capture an era and a mind-set. Frankie Valli (born Frankie Castelluccio) is a young Italian guy who, like his friends, sees two options in life: the Mob or singing. It is, after all, 1950s Newark, New Jersey, and “Jersey Boys” makes clear The Four Seasons never wholly escape their roots, personally or professionally. Their music speaks to working-class people. The intellectuals, Gaudio notes, listen to The Beatles. No matter. In 2005, the entire audience is riveted to the story, a rags-to-riches saga that could only happen in America. “Jersey Boys” examines the corruption of the music business and the personal toil success takes with unflinching honesty. At heart, “Jersey Boys” is a cautionary tale about friendship and fame. The music endures, but the price is high. Of course, the back story is what gives the production emotional texture. It’s the performances–and you’d swear John Lloyd Young, who plays Valli, is channeling him. Ditto for the other three Seasons: Christian Hoff as Tommy DeVito, Daniel Reichard as Gaudio and J. Robert Spencer as Nick Massi. If you missed the original act, these four do a superb job of recreating the sass and sizzle. Thanks to Sergio Trujillo’s choreography, which is dazzling, and Des McAnuff’s direction, which is pitch perfect, “Jersey Boys” sets the standard for tribute musicals. Like “Beatlemania,” it feels as if you're watching the real thing. Since we can’t, “Jersey Boys” is the next best thing. –Fern Siegel |
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Wicked
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"Wicked" is the story of the Wicked Witch of the West,
better known as the nasty crone who wants to do away with poor Dorothy.
The "Wizard of Oz" makes a stark contrast between good and
evil; "Wicked" is more nuanced. It neatly tackles the nature
vs. nurture argument and discovers that the witch (whose real name is
Elphaba) got a bad rap. "Are they born wicked or do they have
wicked thrust upon them?" the musical asks. In a world where spin
substitutes for truth, and propaganda doubles as principle,
"Wicked" is unabashedly on the side of the victim.
The witch as victim? You bet. Elphaba (Idina Menzel) is a victim
of circumstance. The eldest daughter of the governor of Munchkin Land,
she has the misfortune to be born green. Shunned by parents and her
peers, she relies on her sister, Nessarose (Michelle Federer), and the
kindess of strangers. Sent to a school to learn sorcery, Elphaba
discovers she has real talent (shades of "Harry Potter.")
Madame Morrible (Carole Shelley) takes young Elphaba under her wing,
much to the consternation of Glinda (Kristin Chenoweth), the perky,
popular blonde. Initially snippy, Glinda and Elphaba become friends -
and therein lies the first of several truths: Look beneath the surface.
In fact, one of the charms of "Wicked" is the bonding between
the women — a positive message about female friendship. And they stay
friends, even when a dashing young man (Norbert Leo Butz), "it’s
painlesss to be brainless" he croons, enters the picture.
But all is not happy in the land of Oz. The animals, which walk
and talk, are being persecuted. The Wizard of Oz (Joel Grey), who seems
so benign at first, has a scary agenda. It falls to Elphaba to oppose
him. And we all know what happens to dissidents who challenge the status
quo. Those who defend civil liberties are often painted as lunatics;
those who cheerfully oppress are cast as pillars of society. We
witnessed the wizard’s feet of clay in "The Wizard of Oz."
Here, his machinations and manipulations are pronounced; his smear
tactics worthy of J. Edgar Hoover.
Kudos to Winnie Holzman who wrote the book and Gregory Macguire,
author of the original novel, for mining such depth in a tale that
cannot be told enough. They are aided in their efforts by Eugene Lee’s
inspired, eye-popping sets, a clever blend of Victorian whimsy and
machinery, Susan Hilferty’s costumes, which are endlessly theatrical,
and Kenneth Posner’s exquisite lighting. Their craftsmanship
highlights the considerable talents of the cast: Chenoweth and Menzel
have genuine chemistry, each is exemplary in their roles; together, they
are magic. Butz never puts a foot wrong, Shelley’s vocal delivery
alone is a winner and Grey’s avuncular demeanor believes the evil
within. The one drawback — and it’s a biggie — is the music. The
talented Stephen Schwartz, who gave us "Pippin" and
"Godspell," has fashioned an unmemorable score. There
are a few fun songs, but they don’t gel as a whole. A shame, because
"Wicked" is a worthy production. If you’ve ever wondered how the Scarecrow, Tin Man and Cowardly Lion came to be, "Wicked" is a must. It revisits a classic, but adds context. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. There is no such thing as a random event. Often, the back story is the main event.
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Hairspray
In “Hairspray,” now playing at the Neil Simon Theatre, that notion is
taken literally. The musical, the handiwork of Marc Shaiman (music) and Scott
Wittman (lyrics), a gifted duo, takes place in 1962 Baltimore. Tracey Turnblad,
an overweight teen, just wants to dance on Corny Collins hit show, promote
racial equality and secure rights for fatties. Oh yeah, she’d like to date
heartthrob Link Larkin (a play-it-to-the-hilt Matthew Morrison) and trump Amber
Von Tussle (a perfect Laura Bell Bundy) her blonde nemesis, too. Tracey’s
agenda seems subversive to the status quo, but her mission is so basic, so
decent, you can’t help but love her. And her friends. And her parents. Tracey,
a divine Marissa Jaret Winokur, should do for offbeat kids what Elvis did for
the twist. And she’s aided by a cast any producer would envy – from Velma
Von Tussle (Linda Hart), resident white supremacist and talented comic actress,
to Seaweed (Corey Reynolds), Tracey’s first black friend, an amazing dancer
and ultra-cool guy.
Of course, integration and racial tolerance, forbidden love and the price
of fame are a heady brew. “Hairspray” wraps its celebratory thesis in a
’60s musical score that hits the right genre notes, aided by standout songs.
Social revolution, coupled with a rock ’n’ roll, rhythm-and-blues chaser,
goes down easy. And that’s the point. The book, by Mark O’Donnell and Thomas
Meehan plays it straight – and gets both the laughs and its message across.
“Hairspray” is good, clean fun without being campy, adorable without being
kitschy. Kerry
Butler, Laura Bell Bundy,
Marissa
Jaret
Winokur That’s why the deft touch counts, starting with David
Rockwell’s superbly evocative set, economical but playful. It’s the true
supporting player to a production that captures a polarized, yet explosive time
in American history. Racism was a fact of life – and the punishment for
challenging authority was severe, for blacks and whites alike. “Hairspray”
isn’t preachy; instead, it relies on the heartfelt Motormouth Maybelle (Mary
Bond Davis), the black version of Corny Collins, to tell it like it is. And
because the pacing is so sharp and Jack O’Brien’s direction so fluid, it
scores with audiences. “Hairspray” is a feel-good, stand-up-and-cheer musical
that touts a serious theme. Its fashions may be dated, its casual cruelties may
seem arcane, but bigotry and prejudice, of whatever sort, never go out of style.
And neither do ordinary heroes. Like Tracey’s parents, Edna, her agoraphobic
mom, played by Harvey Fierstein with tenderness and with his trademark panache.
Wilber, her jokester dad, Dick Latessa, a quiet marvel, and Penny (Kerry Butler)
dorky best friend and trailblazer and ideal counterpoint to Winokur.
“Hairspray” salutes simplicity and what used to be called good old American
values: hard work, fair play and common sense. Bravo.
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It is the role she was born to
play. Patti LuPone’s turn as Mama Rose in
Gypsy is the definitive
performance. It is raw, electric and musical theater at its best. And
that’s no small trick, given the demands of the part.
Gypsy, suggested by the
memoirs of famed stripper Gypsy Rose Lee, is an extraordinary tale of
drive, show biz and the ultimate stage mother. Now playing at the St.
James Theatre, the current revival dazzles. From the moment LuPone
marches onstage belting out Rose’s well-known charge — “sing out,
Louise!”— she’s got us.
Thanks
to an economical revival of Stephen Sondheim’s ravishing
handcuffs,
are vintage Hitchcock. In the Broadway incarnation, direct from the West
End, The 39 Steps is played for laughs, rather than dramatic
highpoints, though it adheres to the original script. In the current
rendition at the American Airlines Theater, the show is a salute to
inspired staging and wonderfully versatile actors.
The
setting: a synagogue in Amsterdam. The time: 1656. The issue: deciding
the fate of Baruch Spinoza. The moment is monumental – a brilliant,
radical philosopher who redefines the nature of God is pitted against
the Dutch establishment, whose vaunted
It
takes a talented playwright to neatly dissect the social and emotional
paralysis of WASP culture in America. A.R. Gurney’s The Dining Room
serves it up -- like an extra dry martini. Currently in revival at The
Clurman Theater on Theater Row, The Dining Room, written in 1982,
stands the test of time. Six actors, playing various roles, chronicle
family relations. The stories, all subtly interconnected, span a century,
yet take place in a single day. The bottom line: the formality of life in
upper-crust America, which clearly delineated between husband and wife,
child and adult, employer and servant, wreaked internal havoc. 
Grease
is the word … and the word is monetize. 
If
you like opera, The Second Tosca is a treat. Set at a regional
opera company, it details the high drama – emotional and artistic – that
ensues during a production of Puccini’s beloved Tosca. Then again,
it might more appropriately be titled “The Three Toscas,” since three
women portray three different interpretations of the legendary role. Now
playing at the 45th Street Theater, this is a love letter to the opera
world.
Sometimes,
a first play can be explosive. That’s the case with The Accomplices,
a searing indictment of America’s complicity in the Holocaust. Written by
former New York Times correspondent Bernard Weinraub, the play is
based on historic events. Now at the Acorn Theatre, The Accomplices
is as hard-hitting as it is compelling. The story of Peter Bergson (Daniel
Sauli), a Jewish activist who worked valiantly from 1940-’45 to rescuing
Europe’s Jews, is a shameful tale of American anti-Semitism, Jewish fear
and presidential indifference. The oft-touted idea that the U.S. shelters
the oppressed is sorely tested here. In Weintraub’s exhaustively
researched account, which just earned a Drama Desk nomination for
Outstanding Play, the country fails – miserably.
“Curtains,”
a valentine to Broadway musicals, pays homage to the business of show.
First, it’s Kander and Ebb’s final production, which explains the
love-letter aspect. Second, “Curtains,” now playing at the Hirschfeld, is
sassy and celebratory. It is, in essence, an affectionate look at a life
in the theater. For Kander and Ebb, who are best known for “Chicago” and
“Cabaret,” the premise is admittedly lightweight, but the execution is
pitch-perfect.
The
setting: a small, provincial town where sex is a dirty word, and puberty
is hell. Parents and teachers refuse to consider modern ideas. A
fundamentalist approach to religion reigns, while open discussion and
dissent are verboten. Sound like Bush’s America? Not. It’s Germany, 1890.
Repression, as we’ve learned in the past six years, isn’t defined by time,
which explains why Spring Awakening is so unnerving. And it’s sure
to spark attention.
It
takes charisma and stage presence to carry an entire show—and Kristin
Chenoweth has it in spades. Ably accompanied by Brian d’Arcy James and
Marc Kudisch, she and her talented colleagues deliver a light, but
entertaining musical that hasn’t been staged in 40 years. All don various
roles in three distinct one-acts. The revival of The Apple Tree,
now at Studio 54, comes courtesy of Jerry Bock and Sheldon Harnick, the
famed duo who gave us, among others classics, Fiddler on the Roof,
Fiorello and She Loves Me.
Satire
is an art—and Woody Allen is one of its best practitioners. To prove it,
he wrote eight short stories for The New Yorker that spoof the
1940s PI genre. Though 30 years old, the stories retain their humor and
punch. Which is why British director Janey Clarke decided to adapt and
recast these gems, like “The Whore of Mensa,” into a full-fledged musical.
That’s right, musical. She enlisted the talented Warren Wills to give
Allen’s hard-bitten gumshoe Kaiser Lupowitz, a literary stand-in for
Dashiell Hammett’s detective Sam Spade, a jazz-inflected edge.
If
you think you know Mary Poppins, think again. Disney made her
famous in the 1964 movie, and children—and adults everywhere—secretly wish
that they, too, could live, for even a few moments, at 17 Cherry Tree
Lane, London—at least, while the indomitable Poppins is in residence.
Mystical and magical, she is, again, happily in our midst. 
From
the moment she walks on the stage as “Little Edie” Beale in Grey
Gardens, Christine Ebersole is dazzling. Her performance will go down
in the annals of theater lore as legendary. Based on the 1975 Maysles
Bros. cult classic, Grey Gardens, at the Walter Kerr,
captures the reclusive mother-daughter Bouvier-Beales, aunt and cousin to
Jackie Kennedy Onassis. As film fans know, the former social aristocrats
were then living in squalor in their once-glorious 28-room mansion in East
Hampton. 
I
laughed. I cried. I thought Judy Gold, a stand-up comic who won two Emmys
for writing for The Rosie O’Donnell Show, had something to say. The big
surprise was that the comic who hosts HBO’s At the Multiplex With Judy
Gold is also a talented actress..jpg)
When
the curtain is raised at the Shoenfeld Theater, the audience is ready.
In its first revival since closing in 1990, A Chorus Line starts
strong, though it misses the occasional step. The dated references are
barely noticeable, since the larger story, putting your life on the line
for work, resonates. In fact, the show ran for 15 years because the
stories, alongside the production numbers, clicked. 
It’s
the longest-running show in theater history. Opening in 1960, The
Fantastiks ran for 42 years before closing four years ago. Staged
across the U.S., the likes of Robert Goulet, Liza Minnelli and Jerry
Orbach have trod its boards. Best known for the hauntingly beautiful
song “Try to Remember,” the musical is a strange concoction. Just
revived at the Snapple Theater Center, The Fantasticks, despite
its history, has not aged well. 
“You’ve
got to keep your eyeball on your highball,” explains the drowsy
chaperone in The Drowsy Chaperone. It’s sound advice in this
valentine to musical theater. True, the title sounds archaic. Then
again, the premise of the show—which is wonderful—is that a musical
theater nut welcomes us into his home to share his love for The
Drowsy Chaperone, a 1928 show that embodies all the zany, crazy,
romantic elements made famous in productions of the “Roaring Twenties.”
A
Jew Grows in Brooklyn is a monologue of self-reflection; it is also
a chronicle of American Jewish life in the 1960s and ’70s. His parents
arrive in 
It’s
a long journey from singing on the mean streets of New Jersey to the
Rock ’N’ Roll Hall of Fame, but Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons did
it. One of the most successful vocal groups of the 1960s, The Four
Seasons scored a series of smash hit singles between 1962 and 1967,
featuring the piercing falsetto voice of Frankie Valli). But the boys
weren’t a one-note wonder. During their 40-year career, the group sold
more than 100 million records. (Thanks to Bob Gaudio, one of the quartet
and the songwriting genius behind their success.) Now playing at the
August Wilson Theatre, “Jersey Boys” chronicles their story—and this
super-entertaining musical roller coaster doesn’t miss a beat. 
"Wicked"
is wicked cool. It is one of those big, bold Broadway shows that wraps a
provocative theme inside a visual treat. "Wicked," now playing
at the Gershwin Theatre, is a prequel to "The Wizard of Oz."
Inhabited by wizards and talking goats and magical spells, we’re not
in Kansas anymore. Ironically, Kansas is still with us. The conceit of
"Wicked" is that the fantasy world resembles our own - it’s
filled with love and kindness, as well as jealousy, oppression and
deceit. They just have better costumes. 
- 219 W. 49 St. 
