'Gore Vidal's The Best Man' Is a Fitting Tribute to Its Playwright

The candidates face off in 'Gore Vidal's The Best Man'

I am writing this review shortly after the lights of Broadway were dimmed in a salute to the late Gore Vidal—author, playwright, and raconteur—who passed away earlier this week at the age of 86. 

As it happens, I had a ticket to see the Broadway revival of Gore Vidal’s The Best Man the day after he died. The performance, under the able hand of director Michael Wilson, was dedicated to the playwright, and I am pleased to report that this production is a most fitting tribute to the Mr. Vidal’s memory and to his talent.  

Any play that is tied to a specific era will carry with it a bit of stale air, but the current cast, which includes several replacements since the show’s opening four months ago, burnishes every corner of this 1960 political melodrama so that it fairly gleams. 

The Best Man takes place during a presidential nominating convention, at a time when the selection of the party’s candidate was not the foregone conclusion it has become through the well-oiled primary election system. 

Enter the Schoenfeld Theatre, and it is as if you were a delegate to that convention.  As ushers wearing red, white, and blue beribboned straw hats lead you to your seat, you can see that the walls are festooned with bunting, placards, and posters, and there are television monitors suspended from the ceiling showing black-and-white images of the goings-on.

The audience can hear the sounds of speeches and of clapping and cheering that draw us in even before the play begins.  The convention takes place over three days, and at the start of each of the three acts, the sounds grow louder and more excited, helping us to feel the suspense of the battle among the three leading candidates.

The actual 1960 Democratic Convention—in which John Fitzgerald Kennedy emerged as the winner—is the first one that I can recall.  I was a young teenager at the time, and I remember being glued to the television, utterly fascinated with the entire process.  Vidal (who anointed himself a member of the Kennedy clan through a stepfather he had in common with Jacqueline Kennedy) clearly drew some of his plot elements from that convention, and it is the mix of history and an unfortunately prophetic vision of what the system has become in the years since then that continues to keep the play interesting. 

On the one hand, you have characters who bring to mind the charismatic Kennedy and the intellectual Adlai Stevenson, along with specific references to President Eisenhower, to his wife Mamie Eisenhower and even to Grace Coolidge, wife of President Calvin Coolidge.   These references, among others, remind us of the place and time the play inhabits.  But there is also a great deal of political gamesmanship, deal brokering, backstabbing, mudslinging, and dirty tricks, all of which will be very familiar even to those who are too young to recall the “good old days.”

The assumption we are handed is that the nomination will go to one of two candidates, the young, dashing, and ambitious Senator Joseph Cantwell (John Stamos) for whom the ends always justify the means, or the former Secretary of State William Russell (John Larroquette), a serious statesman who is a reluctant player in the game of politics. 

Each of the two bears a piece of information about the other that may be enough to break the stalemate.  Cantwell has learned of his opponent’s one-time bout with mental illness, and Russell has information that the Senator may have had a homosexual relationship while serving in the military.  The difference here is that Cantwell relishes his weapon and has already prepared copies of the medical report to distribute to the delegates, while Russell really wants nothing to do with raising potential destructive personal information. 

As the two circle one another, a third major player is on hand—former President Art Hockstader (magnificently portrayed by James Earl Jones), whose endorsement both candidates are seeking. Hockstader, presumably modeled on Harry Truman, is gravely ill, but he will not give up one moment of the spotlight he is enjoying as long as he withholds his endorsement, and his glee is palpable during his meetings with the two frontrunners, even after he can no longer manage to stand up. 

These three gentlemen are fascinating to watch.  John Stamos and John Larroquette embrace their roles nearly as gloriously as Mr. Jones.  But this is not a three-character play;  there are 22 characters, each of whom contributes mightily to keeping things jumping, forestalling any mustiness that might otherwise have crept in. 

Mr. Stamos only recently stepped into the part of Senator Cantwell (replacing Eric McCormack), and he has made it his own by supplying equal parts of boyish charm and Machiavellian underhandedness.  He is joined by three other newcomers:  Kristin Davis, replacing Kerry Butler and making an auspicious Broadway debut, as Cantwell’s ebullient wife; Cybill Shepherd, replacing Candice Bergen as Russell’s estranged wife and reluctant political partner; and Elizabeth Ashley as Sue-Ellen Gamadge, leader of the Women’s Division. 

Ms. Shepherd has quickly found her way into an underwritten part as a politico wife who gradually comes to embrace her public duties, and Ms. Davis and Ms. Ashley (who has the daunting privilege of following Angela Lansbury), absolutely shine in their respective roles.  Ms. Ashley, in particular, seems to have been born to play the role of the honey-toned yet razor-sharp piece of work that is Sue-Ellen Gamadge, who greets Cybill Shepherd’s character (who, after all, may wind up being First Lady) with these charming words:     

You…couldn’t…look…better!  I mean it!  
 I like the whole thing…especially the 
 naturally gray hair.

Even in the smaller roles, you get to see such talented actors as Mark Blum as Russell’s frustrated campaign manager, Dakin Matthews as a backslapping Southern senator, and the always-wonderful Jefferson Mays as the craven supplier of the gossip about Senator Cantwell’s alleged sexual misconduct. 

I’m not going to argue that The Best Man is the find of the century, but there is nothing also-ran about its Tony nomination for Best Revival of a Play (it lost to Death of a Salesman).  Smart directing by Michael Wilson and a top-notch company of actors makes it a sure-fire audience pleaser that I am happy to recommend without reservation.  

If you crave more of ProfMiller, check out the column, ProfMiller@The Theater, at BroadwayShowBiz.com.  Recent reviews include "How Deep Is The Ocean?," "Triassic Parq The Musical," and "Closer Than Ever." 

‘Black Milk’: From Russia with Loathing

Move over, Chekhov.  There’s another Russian playwright in town. 

His name is Vassily Sigarev, and, at the tender age of 35, he is raising a lot of ruckus in Europe (and picking up admirers like Tom Stoppard along the way) for his brutal plays about the brutality of life in post-Soviet Russia. 

If you have seen one or both of the well-received productions of Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya (the Sydney Theater Company’s version which just closed at City Center and the still-running and all-but-sold-out production at the Soho Rep), you may be interested in expanding your horizons by going to see Sigarev’s Black Milk, a nasty little taste of home-brewed vodka that is on display at the 13^th Street Theatre. 

I’ve got to warn you, though, that this production is considerably overwrought and pretty much unrelenting in its foul-mouthed, rage-filled portrayal of the ugly side of life.  Chances are you are not going to enjoy it much, but you still might want to go just to get a sense of this rising star of a writer, whom Stoppard has likened to Dostoevsky and in whose work I saw more than a few hints of Chekhov himself, even if they are nearly lost under the heavy-handed direction of Michel Hausmann. 

Hausmann, who is a theatrical director in his native Venezuela, recently came to Sigarev’s work as a graduate student in directing at Columbia University.  This does have the feel of an exuberant student production, in which every outrageous moment is exploited to its fullest.  Unfortunately, the play’s not inconsiderable humor—and thus its balance—is virtually lost.

Black Milk centers its tale on a married couple, a pair of hustlers from the big city who have descended on a backwater town in the middle of nowhere in order to fleece the gullible locals by selling them electrical appliances (in this case toasters, a nod, perhaps, to the toaster thief in Sam Shepherd’s True West) that they neither need nor can afford.   The action takes place in a shabby train station, where the pair, Lyovchik and his very pregnant chain-smoking, vodka-swilling wife Poppet, are forced to wait for the rare passenger train to come along so they can escape back to “civilization.” 

In the right hands, Lyovchik and Poppet could be viewed as distorted, foul-mouthed versions of Didi and Gogo from Waiting for Godot.  But here, as directed by Mr. Hausmann and portrayed by Josh Marcantel and Liba Vaynberg, they start out as shrill and vicious and get increasingly so as the play progresses, save for an interlude during Act II in which Poppet decides she is “tired of being bitch” and wants to give up their world where it is “trendy to be hateful.”  (Not to worry though; with some ugly prodding from her husband, she gets over it.)

The comic moments, such as they exist, come from some of the other characters in the play:  the vodka brewing ticket agent (Anna Wilson); the town’s own homegrown hustler and rival vodka seller (Emily Ward); and a madman of a townie (John Brambery) who comes tearing after Lyovchik and Poppet with a shotgun, wearing only a flapping jacket that fails even remotely to cover up the fact that he is naked. 

That encounter, which everyone survives owing to the fact that the shotgun is loaded with blanks, is enough to send Poppet into labor. 

It is during the interlude, in which the kind-hearted if overbearing Auntie Pasha (Rachel Murdy) cares for Poppet through the birth and postpartum period, that Poppet “finds God” and decides she wants to stay—a suggestion that does not sit well with the scornful Lyovchik, who reminds his wife of the power he has over her (she is called “Poppet,” after all).   And so it’s back to the big city.  Good riddance!

So what to make of all of this unpleasantness?  I still say there is a lot of Chekhov to be found in Black Milk. There’s the clash that occurs when city dwellers and country folk come together, the tension between religion and atheism, and even the gun-toting madman—who, save for the gun toter’s state of undress, comes straight out of Uncle Vanya. 

Some of this is potentially quite funny, something the Sydney Theatre Company played up royally (perhaps overplayed to the point of slapstick; balance, please!) in its production of Uncle Vanya.  There is a line in that production, in which the nanny reacts to all the brouhaha:  “All that shooting and shouting.  It’s something for the stage.”  


Indeed it is, which is why I think Vassily Sigarev is on to something that is worth cultivating.  Meanwhile, Black Milk is the only production of his work in town, which alone makes it worth the visit.

If you crave more of ProfMiller, check out the column, ProfMiller@The Theater, at BroadwayShowBiz.com.  Recent reviews include "How Deep Is The Ocean?," "Triassic Parq The Musical," and "Closer Than Ever." 

‘Bullet for Adolf’: Snack Food for the Mind, But Great Fun

Bullet for Adolf, the new play by Woody Harrelson and Frankie Hyman, is a screwball buddy comedy in which the pair of novice playwrights have thrown everything but the kitchen sink into relating a tale from the heady days of their youth, when the two became friends while working as part of a construction crew in Houston in the summer of 1983  

Who knows the truth of it, but Harrelson, best known as a television and movie star, has said he had always wanted to find a way to tell the story of this time in his life.  One day, during an appearance on The Tonight Show, Harrelson mentioned Hyman’s name, and shortly thereafter the two reconnected.  The result is Bullet for Adolf, now in previews at the New World Stages following a run in Toronto last year. 

To be honest, there is not much that resembles a coherent plot, but if you can get past that, you are likely to find yourself caught up in in the steady stream of one-liners and gags, as well as in the performances by a well-tuned ensemble of actors, all but two of whom are new to the New York production.

Mr. Harrelson has maintained a personal hand in the play, which he directs with a rapid-fire pacing aimed at keeping the audience constantly entertained. He keeps the action pumping with upbeat dance music of the era (Billy Joel, Elton John, Donna Summer), video images (shots of President Reagan and iconic TV shows like M*A*S*H and, of course, Cheers), homages to Sammy Davis, Jr. and Judy Garland, plus a couple of filmed sequences, including a very funny one that takes place in the backseat of a police car.    

The plot, such as it is, involves the theft of a luger that allegedly had been used in an unsuccessful effort to assassinate Hitler.  But that’s really only a gimmick to give the play some sort of purpose—what Alfred Hitchcock used to call a “MacGuffin,” the thing that is being pursued by everyone but which really serves the purpose of setting the action in motion. 

What Bullet for Adolf really is about is the relationships among a group of friends. To begin with, there are Zach (Brandon Coffey) and Clint (David Coomber), for whom the summer in Houston serves as a stopping off point to earn some money towards a planned acting career in New York. 

Coffey, as Zach, is the slacker’s slacker, seemingly serving as stand-in for Harrelson, while Coomber’s Clint is a deliciously neurotic extrovert.  Coomber embraces the role with manic intensity, running around like a headless chicken, often clad only in his underpants.  He and Coffey, who originated these roles, play off each other like Abbott and Costello, with great comic timing.

The pair is joined by Frankie (Tyler Jacob Rollinson, presumably the surrogate for Frankie Hyman), a street-wise transplant from New York’s Harlem, who finds himself a tad lost in the culture of life in Houston. 

All three work under the watchful eye of Jurgen (Nick Wyman), master mason, Hitler admirer, and owner of the stolen gun.   They are joined at various points in the proceedings by Dwight (a very quirky Lee Osorio), who calls himself “Dago-Czech” and considers his whiteness to be a mere inconvenient mismatch with his inner [N-word].   The men have their counterparts in Jackie (Shamika Cotton), who is gradually won over by Frankie’s not-inconsiderable charms; her friend Shareeta (Marsha Stephanie Blake), whom Zach is most attracted to; and Batina, Jergen’s 18-year-old daughter who used to be Zach’s girlfriend but who is now interested in Clint. 

As you might surmise, the play finds its humor among topics that are not exactly politically-correct or appropriate for family audiences.  Among the subjects of jokes are race, sexual orientation, gender, Nazis, pedophiles, and placentas, and all of the gags and jokes are fueled by beer, pot, and endless teasing.

In the hands of another playwright (e. g. David Adjmi, whose play 3C has been deemed off-putting by many viewers for its deliberately offensive jokes), Bullet for Adolf might have taken a dark turn, indeed.  Yet it is not within Harrelson and Hyman to treat any of their characters with anything but affection, and while they set up some potentially serious moments, these quickly dissipate. 

Call it snack food for the mind if you wish, but all told, Bullet for Adolf is a romp, offering up zany characters, a great ensemble cast, and Mr. Harrelson’s whomp ‘em stomp ‘em directing.  In short, the perfect mid-summer’s fare!

If you crave more of ProfMiller, check out the column, ProfMiller@The Theater, at BroadwayShowBiz.com.  Recent reviews include "Triassic Parq The Musical," "Closer Than Ever," and "An Ideal Husband."  

A Sublime Production of 'The Most Happy Fella'

Imagine going into the attic and finding a box of old photos you haven’t looked at in many years.  You open it, and even though everything inside is familiar, this time you see them through different eyes and recognize them for the treasures they always were. 

That’s how it felt for me the other day as I sat, watched, and fell in love with the Dicapo Opera Theatre’s exquisite production of Frank Loesser’s The Most Happy Fella.

I was only nine years old when The Most Happy Fella opened on Broadway in 1956, the same year, by the way, as My Fair Lady, Bells Are Ringing, Candide, and Li'l Abner.    Some time would pass before I would see any of these on stage, but the music from the original cast albums quickly became part of the background sounds that surrounded me from the radio, the television, and the phonograph in the living room. 

For a pre-teen, even one who enjoyed listening to show tunes, The Most Happy Fella boiled down to a couple of catchy songs:  “Big D” and “Standing On The Corner.”  And over the years, I came to think of Frank Loesser essentially as the composer of two popular hit shows—Guys and Dolls and How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying. 

Then, last year, I was fortunate enough to see the Encores! production of Where’s Charley?, Loesser’s first full-length musical, and found it to be an absolute treat from start to end.  This was followed by the recent revival of How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying. 

And now we have The Most Happy Fella, performed by a talented and blessedly unamplified cast (helmed by the glorious baritone Michael Corvino in the title role), backed by a 33-piece orchestra, and presented in a cozy, comfortable, attractive 200-seat theater in the basement of St. Jean Baptiste Church rather north and east of Broadway. 

Who knew?  (Well, I suppose a lot of people knew, but I wasn’t one of them!)

Let me tell you, tears welled up in my eyes through much of the performance—not due to the story The Most Happy Fella relates (though a sweet and touching story it is), but in response to wave after wave of the beautiful music that Loesser composed for this masterwork—not just Broadway rousers, but solos, duets, trios, quartets, and choral work (“Song of a Summer Night” is every bit as moving as Stephen Sondheim’s “Sunday” or Leonard Bernstein’s “Make Our Garden Grow.”) There’s not a dud in the bunch. 

So, is The Most Happy Fella a musical or is it an opera?   No one has ever given a definitive answer to that question, and there is no way I am going to try to resolve it.  Let’s just say that there are elements of both, with straight-out show tunes and music that would fit in just fine in an “official” opera by Puccini, including the delightful Italian language numbers such as “Abbondanza,” performed by a winning trio of chefs, Paolo Buffagni, Brian Carter, and Neil Darling.

Of course, it’s not easy to find singers who can deliver both styles.  What director Michael Capasso has done is to make sure that each cast member is allowed to play to her or his strengths. 

The principal roles of Tony, Rosabella, Joe, and Marie are given over to strong operatic performers:  Mr. Corvino (magnificent as Tony); Molly Mustonen as his “mail order bride,” whom he dubs Rosabella; Peter Kendall Clark as the foreman Joe whom Rosabella significantly mistakes for Tony; and Lisa Chavez, in the thankless role of Marie, Tony’s sister and the thwarter of all things good. 

The director also has found two terrific musical comedy personalities in Lauren Hoffmeier (somewhat reminiscent, I thought, of Patti LuPone in style and mannerisms) as Rosabella’s waitress friend Cleo (“Ooh!  My Feet”), and Brance Cornelius, a real charmer as Cleo’s happy-go-lucky beau Herman (“I Like Everybody”). Their numbers together, especially “Big D,” are crowd pleasing showstoppers.

The on-stage orchestra, under the baton of Pacien Mazzagatti, does a fine job of backing the singers without ever drowning out the voices, and the choreography by Francine Harman and set design by John Farrell are just right for the relatively small performance space.  

If you are at all interested in seeing this production, you’ve got to shake a leg, as it closes on July 8. 

Meanwhile, mark your calendars for next May 16-19, when the company is performing Robert Wright and George Forrest’s Kismet.  I intend to be there!

If you can't get enough of ProfMiller, check out his column, ProfMiller@The Theater, at BroadwayShowBiz.com.  Recent reviews include "Triassic Parq The Musical" and "Closer Than Ever."  

'3C': The Characters May Seem Familiar, But...

Cast of '3C.'  Photo by Walter McBride

By any chance, are you a fan of Bizarro World, DC Comics’ twisted version of the Superman universe?

If so, you may be able to relate to the very bizarre world inhabited by the characters in 3C, a scary new comedy by David Adjmi, currently on view at the Rattlestick Playwrights Theater. 

To begin with, there is something definitely familiar about the characters, and even the set strikes a bell.  Let’s see…hmm…

Oh, right.  Connie (Anna Chlumsky), the one wearing the baby doll nightie, looks kind of like Chrissy.  And Linda (Hannah Cabell) sort of reminds me of Janet.  And Brad (Jake Silbermann) resembles Jack.  Terry (Eddie Cahill) is Larry; Mr. Wicker (Bill Buell) is Mr. Roper; and Mrs. Wicker (Kate Buddeke) is Mrs. Roper.

I get it.  3C is short for "Three’s Company," the lightweight but long-lived comedy that ran on ABC TV back in the late 1970s and early ‘80s.

So what has Mr. Adjmi done with his source material to make it his own—apart from changing the characters’ names? 

Mostly, he has turned it into a creepy comedy about a group of deeply disturbed inhabitants of a Santa Monica apartment complex, who say things like “I love when I match the furniture; it gives me a sense of belonging” and “I’ve never been to Vietnam.  Was it nice?”

In the right context, these could be funny lines, but here all of the jokes are either deliberately designed to fall flat or take on darker shades of meaning.  Instead of the kind of silliness that drew audiences to "Three’s Company," 3C gives us psychological basket cases edging toward annihilation as they teeter through life. 

Connie sleeps around in a never-ending search for affectionate acceptance.  Linda flies into paranoid rages.  Terry is a disco womanizer.  Mr. Wicker is a sleazeball homophobe and sexual predator.  Mrs. Wicker is a spaced-out bundle of assorted anxieties. 

All have their moments in the spotlight, but the central character is Brad, a recent Vietnam War vet and a cooking school student.  Like Jack Tripper in "Three’s Company," Brad pretends to be gay in order to be acceptable to the landlords as a potential roommate for Connie and Linda. 

The thing is, Brad really is gay and is trying to survive in a 1970s world that is decidedly unfriendly. His parents have suggested that he kill himself; Mr. Wicker regales him with jokes regarding the questionable hygiene of unprotected anal sex; and Brad’s one sincere effort to come out is met with incredulous laughter from everyone.  Even Linda, who, when she’s not ranting, comes off as relatively sympathetic, is more prepared to believe that people are having nasal intercourse than that anyone she knows could actually be gay.

As Sartre wrote in No Exit:  “Hell is other people.” 

Veteran stage actors Bill Buell and Kate Buddeke as Mr. and Mrs. Wicker bring an experienced professional quality to their performances, and the rest of the cast does fine with roles that are essentially caricatures from an alternative cartoon world.

Director Jackson Gay keeps things moving at a steady clip along an unsteady path, and John McDermott’s stage design eerily captures the set of "Three’s Company." The disco-era music is giddily choreographed by Deney Terrio, whose claim to fame is having taught John Travolta how to move in the film Saturday Night Fever. 

There is no doubt that David Adjmi, the playwright, is a smart and clever writer.  He is the recipient of a number of awards, including a Guggenheim Fellowship, and his previous plays, Elective Affinities and Stunning, drew a lot of excited buzz.  It will be interesting to see where his mind will take him next, though I would love to see him create characters who are more human and less reflections of his cleverness.

Feel free to tell your friends about this blog, and to share your own theater stories by posting a comment.  And if you can't get enough of ProfMiller, check out his column, ProfMiller@The Theater, at BroadwayShowBiz.com.

A Rousing Courtroom Drama at 59E59

Guy Burnet and Chad Kimball as attorney and client.
Photo by Carol Rosegg

Rule #1 when attending a historically-based play written by Dan Gordon:  Never expect historical accuracy.

Gordon received some flack a few years back when it was revealed that his play Irena’s Vow, a melodramatic docudrama more-or-less based on the true story of a Polish woman who protected and saved the lives of a dozen Jews during the Holocaust, contained some fabrications.

This was three years ago.  Now Gordon has returned with Murder In The First, a melodramatic docudrama more-or-less based on the true story of an inmate at Alcatraz on trial for murdering another prisoner.  And, yes, it contains fabrications. 

Murder in the First, a production of The Directors Company on view through July 1 at the 59E59 theater complex, is the second version of the story to be penned by Mr. Gordon.  The first was a screenplay for a 1995 movie by the same title that starred Kevin Bacon, Christian Slater, and Gary Oldman.  You can see the screenwriter’s mind at work as the scenes alternate among the side-by-side sets:  a prison cell, a courtroom, and a law office. 

What Mr. Gordon has given us is an old-fashioned thumping courtroom drama, in which a young attorney is defending his client, Willie Moore (an excellent performance by Chad Kimball), against a first-degree murder charge for slitting the throat of a fellow inmate with a sharpened spoon, in front of 300 eyewitnesses no less.   

The attorney, Henry (well-played by British actor Guy Burnet, making his U. S. theater debut), decides the only way he can win his case it to turn the tables and essentially put Alcatraz itself on trial.  The prison and its warden are as much to blame, he says, for placing the previously non-violent Moore into a “psychological coma” through a three-year regimen of solitary confinement, starvation, and torture that ended just prior to the murder.

The plot unfolds in predictable ways as Henry takes on “the system,” defying all efforts by his boss, his girlfriend, his brother, the FBI, and some hired thugs to silence him.  Like I said…melodrama. 

Still, Gordon knows how to write scenes that can get your adrenaline pumping and stir up your sense of righteous indignation.  Chad Kimball breathes authenticity into the character of Willie, a victim of endless cruelty who wants little more from life than to have a friend he can talk to, and it is not hard to sympathize with him.  As Henry, Guy Burnett brings the quality of a young James Stewart voicing the common man’s call for justice.

Other standouts in the cast of 15 are Robert Hogan as the warden, Thomas Ryan as the fair-minded judge, and Joseph Adams as a syndicated radio reporter/personality who latches onto the story in order to build up his listening audience.  

I’ve also got to tip my hat to the set design by Mark Nayden, who makes wonderful use of the very small performance space; there is a sense of solidity to each of the contiguous sets that in other hands would have been merely suggested.   Director Michael Parva also smartly uses the balcony and some of the seats in the audience in order to add extra dimensionality and a sense of here-and-now immediacy to the proceedings. 

I do need to advise that the story that unfolds before us is, indeed, far removed from what took place during the actual 1941 case.  The truth is rather more complicated, if less satisfying from a dramatic perspective.   If you care to look it up, the character played by Mr. Kimball was actually named Henry (or Henri) Young. All I'll say here is, you don't always get to pick your ideal "poster child" for the cause you are promulgating.  

Still, if you are a fan of courtroom dramas, and understand that “truth” is a relative term in the theater, head on over to 59E59 and Murder In The First, where you are in for a rousing good time.

Feel free to tell your friends about this blog, and to share your own theater stories by posting a comment.  And if you can't get enough of ProfMiller, check out his column, ProfMiller@The Theater, at BroadwayShowBiz.com.

The 2012 Tonys and the Business Side of Broadway

It’s all Irving Berlins’ fault.

Berlin penned the quintessential tribute to the theater world when he wrote “There’s no business like SHOW business” for Annie Get Your Gun—emphasizing, as he did, the creative and artistic side of the industry. 

It’s a rousing tune, an ode to all of those wonderful theater folks who wouldn’t trade even a moment of their onstage lives for a sack of gold. 

Yet perhaps what Berlin should have written is, “There’s no BUSINESS like show BUSINESS,” with an emphasis that would be more appropriate to the economics of Broadway. 

This was, after all, the year of the official opening of Spider-Man:  Turn Off The Dark, with its $75 million tab; the year of premium ticket prices closing in on $500 (The Book of Mormon); and the two-character, 90-minute Venus in Fur happily selling regular tickets at $176.50 a pop in order to cash in on Nina Arianda’s Tony Award. 

I don’t mean to harp on these examples, and, frankly, I’m not sure I begrudge any of this.  There are, after all, bills to be paid, and the money has to come from somewhere.  To quote Stephen Sondheim from Merrily We Roll Along:

                        Did I say money?

     No, I like money a lot

     I mean it’s better than not

What I want to talk about is the 2012 Tony Awards Show, which, in my view, crossed the line separating entertainment (or even entertainment with an eye toward attracting audiences to Broadway theater) from unadulterated commercialism.

As entertainment, it began promisingly enough, with host Neil Patrick Harris singing the charming opening number (written by David Javerbaum and David Schlesinger):

                        If life were more like theater,

                        Life wouldn’t suck so much

What ardent theatergoer could fail to embrace that sentiment?

After that, though, the commercialism became more and more obvious, and ate up an awful lot of air time that could have been used to highlight the nominees. 

Most egregious was the nearly four-minute infomercial for Royal Caribbean, featuring Harvey Fierstein in the embarrassing role of pitchman. That bit of mammonism was more off-putting than Audra McDonald’s rape joke or the oddity of featuring a number from Evita, and giving its star and title character half a line to sing (all the better to feature Ricky Martin). 

There were other questionable moments that could be viewed as being tied more to money than to art.  For instance, was it really necessary to feature a song from The Book of Mormon, last year’s big winner and a show that is still fighting back the crowds happy to plunk down $954 for a pair of premium tickets?   

And was the show officially titled The Gershwins’ Porgy and Bess truly the best revival of a musical, or did the potential for touring and future licensing fees influence the decision to select it over the now-closed and too-expensive-to-tour production of Follies? 

But, really, these are quibbles next to allowing Royal Caribbean, a major sponsor of the show, to promote their at-sea production of Hairspray as part of the evening’s entertainment. Couldn’t they have been given a commercial slot instead? 

I’m still rolling my eyes…but what do I know?

In any event, theater is not just about Broadway.  There are dozens of wonderful not-for-profit Off-Broadway and Off Off-Broadway companies that do an amazing job of presenting top-notch, professional plays and musicals on a shoestring budget and offering them at very affordable prices to audiences for revivals and original works by some of the best and brightest playwrights around. 

One of these companies is Playwrights Horizons, where its latest production, Gina Gionfriddo’s Rapture, Blister, Burn is drawing very positive reviews and word-of-mouth.  (I reviewed it on May 27 in this blog, if you are interested.)

Playwrights Horizons is in the midst of a fund-raising venture, which you can support without laying out a dime by “LIKING” them on Facebook by June 30.  Ten thousand “likes” will earn them a donation of $10,000—chump change within the moneyed world of Broadway, but a healthy infusion of cash in the not-for-profit world.  

To sweeten the deal, while you are taking the time to “LIKE” them,  you can enter to win a $250 gift certificate from The Apple Store. Why not do it now?  Here’s the link:  http://www.facebook.com/PlaywrightsHorizons.

Feel free to tell your friends about this blog, and to share your own theater stories by posting a comment.  And if you can't get enough of ProfMiller, check out his column, ProfMiller@The Theater, at BroadwayShowBiz.com.

And the Envelope, Please. Announcing the 2012 ProfMiller Kudos Awards

As the theater community’s annual awards season edges towards next week’s Tonys, it is time to announce our own ProfMiller Kudos Awards for Outstanding Theatrical Achievement, 2011-2012.

In accordance with the selection criteria, the results are solely a reflection of my personal biases and judgments, underpinned by a half century of experience as a member of the audience. 

These awards encompass Broadway, Off Broadway, and Off-Off Broadway productions and do not take into consideration length of run, size or location of theater, or any life-after-New York touring potential.  Eliminated from consideration were any of the four Tony-nominated plays, since all of them (Clybourne Park, Other Desert Cities, Peter and the Starcatcher, and Venus in Fur) arrived on Broadway this season following successful runs Off Broadway last year; Other Desert Cities received the Kudos Award for Best Play in 2011. 

And so, without further ado, the envelope, please.

Special Awards

A Special Kudos Directing Award goes to the fabulous and indefatigable Estelle Parsons, currently delighting audiences in the musical Nice Work If You Can Get It.  This award is not in recognition of her acting, however, but for her inspired directing of Kurt Weill’s Johnny Johnson in a staged reading for the ReGroup Theatre Company.  Held last December at the 47^th Street Theatre, the production-on-a-shoestring was a winner from start to finish.  I attended out of curiosity, simply because I had never seen this rarely-performed anti-war musical. I expected mildew. Instead, it turned out to be highly engaging, entertaining, and one of the more pleasant surprises of the season.  Kudos to all involved!

The next special award is for the season’s Most Underappreciated Play, where the standout winner is In Masks Outrageous and Austere, Tennessee Williams’ final fully-realized play.  I admired it for its trippy comic sensibility, especially after the ponderousness of a number of the playwright’s other late works, and I found David Schweizer’s direction to be spot-on and perfectly attuned with the play. In Masks Outrageous and Austere reminded me of the surrealistic ventures undertaken by Edward Albee, John Guare, and Tony Kushner.  It must have been disappointing for those who were looking for the Williams of A Streetcar Named Desire or The Glass Menagerie, but it was one of my favorites of the season. 

Non-Musical Plays

In the category of Best Revival of a Play, I found nothing on Broadway to be nearly as compelling as The Merchant of Venice or The Normal Heart, which tied for last year’s Kudos Award.  But there were several strong contenders Off-Broadway, whence comes the winner, Edward Albee’s The Lady From Dubuque.  Director David Esbjornson and a powerhouse cast breathed new life into a play that has been dismissed for a very long time as a lesser work.  This emotionally-charged production showed there is nothing lesser about it. 

For Best New Play, the Kudos Award goes to J. T. Rogers’ Blood and Gifts, a remarkable and engrossing work about politics, counter-intelligence, and how we came to be mired in the war in Afghanistan. 

And for his masterful work in guiding the multiple intersecting elements of Blood and Gifts, Bartlett Sher wins the Kudos Award for Best Director of a Play. 

Non-Musical Acting

For Best Actress in a Play, a truly strong category this year, we have our first tie. Kudos Awards go to Tyne Daly for her incredibly rich portrayal of opera diva Maria Callas in the splendid revival of Terrence McNally’s Master Class; and to Tracie Bennett, for her breathtaking no-holds-barred performance of a drug-addled walking id known as Judy Garland in Peter Quilter’s bio-play, End of the Rainbow. 

For Best Featured Actress in a Play, another category with strong competition, we have another tie.  A Kudos Award goes to Condola Rashad, whose comic timing and powerful presence was the centerpiece of Lydia R. Diamond’s family drama, Stick Fly.  She shares the honors with Linda Edmond, whose portrayal of Linda Loman in the revival of Arthur Miller’s Death Of A Salesman offered not a hand-wringing observer of her husband’s downfall, but a determined and strong-willed partner doing battle to keep her family together and functioning against all odds.   

Likewise, we have a tie for Best Actor in a Play. The first winner is Jefferson Mays, an actor of great depth and complexity, who takes home a Kudos Award for his performance as a burned-out British diplomat in Blood and Gifts.  The second recipient is Frank Langella, who gave a mesmerizing performance as the ice-hearted, manipulative businessman in the revival of Terence Rattigan’s Man and Boy. 

For Best Featured Actor in a Play, the winner of the Kudos Award is John Glover as Willy’s brother Ben in Death of a Salesman.  Glover, as he appears in his brother’s addled imagination, is the perfect stand-in for Willy’s wishes, hopes, and dreams, the man who walked into the jungle at the age of 17 and came out a millionaire at 21. 

Musicals

Hands down, the Best Revival of a Musical was James Goldman and Stephen Sondheim’s Follies. With its glorious cast and full-sized orchestra, we are not likely to see as rich a production of this magnum opus for a very long time indeed.

Follies also provides us with Best Acting Awards for Jan Maxwell as the embittered Phyllis, and for Ron Raines, as the superficial and self-centered Ben.

The Kudos Award for Best Featured Actor in a Musical goes to Tom Hewitt, as the conflicted Pontius Pilate in the revival of Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber’s rock musical Jesus Christ Superstar.

And, finally, for Best New Musical, the Kudos Award goes to Once, the gentle, soulful romance (Enda Walsh, playwright, with music and lyrics by Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová) that has been given a first-rate production, abetted in no small part by the on-stage musicians who are the glue that holds it all together.    

For their work on Once, Kudos Awards also go to John Tiffany for Best Director of a Musical, and to Steven Hoggett for Best Choreography. 

And that, folks, is a wrap. Cue the music and call it a night!

Feel free to tell your friends about this blog, and to share your own theater stories by posting a comment.  And if you can't get enough of ProfMiller, check out his column, ProfMiller@The Theater, at BroadwayShowBiz.com.

‘Rapture, Blister, Burn’: The Creator of 'Becky Shaw' Is Back With a Splendid New Play

Virginia Kull, Beth Dixon, and Amy Brenneman in "Rapture, Blister, Burn"
Photo by Carol Rosegg

Playwright Gina Gionfriddo, who a couple of years back gave us the sharply comic Becky Shaw (a Pulitzer Prize finalist), is back with Rapture, Blister, Burn, an equally smart and funny new play that pits feminist theory against the complicated reality of human relationships, and where Betty Friedan and Phyllis Schlafly both emerge as worthy role models.

As she did with Becky Shaw, Gionfriddo proves herself to be a great weaver of a complex tapestry, in which the obvious and predictable become less and less so as the play moves along, while still leading us to a most satisfying ending.

If you are not quite sure who Betty Friedan and Phyllis Schlafly are, or if you need to brush up on First-Wave, Second-Wave, and Third-Wave Feminist Theory, no worries!  Cathy, a renowned author and professor of women’s studies, is on hand to elucidate.    

Cathy has taken a leave of absence from her prestigious job and apartment in New York City to return to her family home somewhere in suburban New England, ostensibly to care for her mother, Alice, who has suffered a mild heart attack. 

Once we meet Alice, however, and see how peppy, independent, and full of life she is, we begin to wonder whether Cathy might be seeking something else entirely.  Could it be Don, the man she was once in love with and whom she lost to her college roommate Gwen? 

Of course, that is all in the past.  Gwen and Don have been married for 15 years and have two sons.  Gwen is a stay-at-home mom, while Don is a dean at the local college.  Very settled.   

Or not.

Don has secured Cathy a teaching job at his college starting in the fall, but she will also teach a feminist seminar during the summer term.  She only has two students, Gwen and Avery, Gwen and Don’s former babysitter.  They will hold their weekly meetings at Alice’s home. 

Granted, this is a writer’s setup, but what a great setup it is, since it allows for three generations of women to come together to consider the impact of feminism of the lives of U. S. women over the years.   Alice is in her 60s, Cathy and Gwen in their 40s, and Avery in her 20s.  Their discussions, which take up a large portion of Act I, are most enlightening in showing how quickly perceptions have changed over a short span of time. 

And because the group is so intimate, the conversations, fueled in part by the martinis that Alice mixes and serves each week, quickly move from the intellectual to the personal. 

Gwen, who is a recovering alcoholic, is sick of her slacker pot-smoking, beer-guzzling, porn-addicted husband (a “charming devil” he calls himself; you decide) and wishes she could have the kind of free and productive life she envisions Cathy as having.  For her part, Cathy, faced even fleetingly with the thought of her mother’s mortality, feels she has missed out on the stability and comfort of a husband and children. 

You may be able to guess at some of the plot twists—but not all of them.  Gionfriddo has a way of keeping you off balance by making sure her characters are reliably unpredictable, and she reminds us that in the war between mind and heart, the winning side is never a sure bet.  

So raise a glass to Alice and to Betty Friedan and, yes, even to Phyllis Schlafly, as well as to Gina Gionfriddo for giving us this splendid new play.

And kudos to director Peter DuBois and the entire ensemble cast:  Kellie Overbey as Gwen, Amy Brenneman as Cathy, Lee Tergesen as the hapless Don, Virginia Kull as Avery, and especially Beth Dixon as Alice, the kind of mother any woman (or man) would want to have, about whom Cathy understands that no one will ever love her more.

DISCOUNT TICKETS TO RAPTURE, BLISTER, BURN for BLOG READERS:

Regular run:  May 18-June 24
Tues 7, Wed-Fri at 8, Sat at 2:30 & 8, Sun at 2:30 & 7:30
Additional Monday evening perf June 11 at 7

Order by June 5 and use the code RBBLOG [note two B’s]
$40 (reg. $70) for all performances May 18-27
$50 (reg. $70) for all other performances May 29-June 24

Online:
https://www.ticketcentral.com/Online/default.asp?doWork::WScontent::loadArticle=Load&BOparam::WScontent::loadArticle::article_id=10613999-17A1-44C0-9B55-02D6C3534E5E&sessionlanguage=

Or Call Ticket Central at (212) 279-4200 Noon to 8 PM daily
Or Go to Ticket Central Box Office, 416 W. 42nd Street.


Feel free to tell your friends about this blog, and to share your own theater stories by posting a comment.  And if you can't get enough of ProfMiller, check out his column, ProfMiller@The Theater, at BroadwayShowBiz.com.

'Title and Deed': Attention Must Be Paid

Conor Lovett stars in "Title and Deed."
Photo by Ross Costigan

Beckett is dead.  Long live Beckett.

That is one of the first thoughts that crossed my mind while watching Title and Deed, the new theater piece by Will Eno being performed at the Signature Theatre’s intimate Alice Griffin Jewel Box with sweet, soulful quirkiness by Irish actor Conor Lovett.

Imagine a new version of Waiting for Godot, with Didi wandering alone, separated from his Gogo (or vice versa), perhaps for all of eternity.  A sad image, yet one that Mr. Lovett most thoroughly embodies, even when coming out with some deliciously funny lines about home, family, love, life, and death. 

I don’t know whether it was the space or the acting, but in more than a half century of theater-going, I have never had such a strong feeling of being so personally addressed by the person on stage. 

It’s not that I felt like the song performed most famously by Roberta Flack—Killing Me Softly.  Mr. Lovett was not “strumming my pain with his fingers” or “singing my life with his words.”  But he looked his audience directly in the eye as he spoke, so that I felt more like a passenger on an airplane, buttonholed by a loquacious seatmate for the entire flight.  Being on the receiving end, you have the choice of zoning out or paying close attention. 

I recommend the latter, but I have to say that view was not universally shared with the audience at the performance I attended.  I have never been so acutely aware of ambient audience noise, which felt terribly intrusive.  Someone’s hearing aid kept squealing feedback; someone in the first row blew his nose loudly; someone behind me started snoring. 

Mr. Lovett took it all in, his eyes darting from miscreant to miscreant, with a silent reprimand.   For my part, I scrunched into my seat and stayed as still as possible, trying to muffle even the sound of my pen taking notes on my program.

Needless to say, Title and Deed is not for everyone.  It is a 70-minute monologue that is as much about the inner workings of the writer’s mind as it is about the teller of the tale.  One of the first things Mr. Lovett says is, “don’t hate me, if you wouldn’t mind.”  That’s a writer’s plaint if there ever was one. 

The story doesn’t so much unfold as shake out, bit by bit, non sequitur followed by tangential thought, always with a plea for our indulgence.  “We should thank our stars for the listeners of the world,” says Mr. Lovett.  Hint. Hint.      

The character Mr. Lovett portrays, called—rather preciously—“Man,” is a lost soul, a wanderer far from a home that, as we gradually learn, provided him with little comfort or joy.  “My parents taught me the difference between right and…left,” he says by way of explanation.  Later, in a rare moment of strong emotion, he slaps his leg angrily and repeatedly with a stick he has been carrying, a self-imposed flashback. 

And so it goes.  We learn that Man has come to our place, unsure of how to answer the question posed by the Customs and Immigration clerk:  “Business or pleasure?”  We learn about his time with Lauren, with whom he split (“I went my separate ways”), and with Lisa, with whom he would have wanted a longer relationship. 


More than anything, we are left, in the end, with a tale of loneliness.  It is no wonder that Man has latched onto us for the 70 minutes he has been given to do so—or that he struggles at times to find his voice.  We may feel a captive audience, but for Man, we are a momentary oasis in a lifetime of solitary wandering that will recommence as soon as we depart.

And when it is over, if you have been paying attention, you will leave the theater with a sense of admiration for both the writer and the performer, as well as for Judy Hegarty Lovett, who has directed her husband with a deft hand.  It is also possible you may not feel you have gotten your money’s worth, for this is no play but rather a haunting experience, communion with a ghost.  

Go home and be appreciative.


Feel free to tell your friends about this blog, and to share your own theater stories by posting a comment.  And if you can't get enough of ProfMiller, check out his column, ProfMiller@The Theater, at BroadwayShowBiz.com.

'Harvey': A Little Pooka Magic Lights Up The Stage'

There is a singular magical moment in Harvey, the comedy-fantasy play by Mary Chase now in revival at the Roundabout Theatre Company’s Studio 54. 

That moment marks the point where Harvey ceases to be a whimsical bit of fluff about the kind-hearted eccentric Elwood P. Dowd, the moment when disbelief goes out the window and it becomes possible—even sensible—to believe in pookas.

It turns on a remark made by the chief of a psychiatric rest home, Dr. Chumley, who—as the surrogate for the skeptics among us—has come to realize there is more to our existence than science alone can explain.

“I've been spending my life among flyspecks,” he says, “while miracles have been leaning on lampposts at 18th and Fairfax.” 

It is at that point that we understand why Harvey had a run of 1,775 performances and walked off with the Pulitzer Prize for drama in 1945, the year the Pulitzer committee bypassed Tennessee Williams’ The Glass Menagerie. 

World War II had taken such a terrible toll; imagine having a friend who could stop time, so that—as Elwood explains it—“you can go anywhere you like — with anyone you like — and stay as long as you like. And when you get back, not one minute will have ticked by.” 

Think about your own life and tell me this is not a tempting thought to get lost in for a while. 

Even though it is the film version of Harvey, dating from five years later, that has stuck in the collective unconscious of all who have ever seen it, I have to say it is a real treat to see this charmer on stage. 

No, Jim Parsons is not Jimmy Stewart, but he does a fine job as the man who is quite content to have as his best friend someone he describes as most closely resembling a six-foot, three-and-a-half-inch tall rabbit, unfortunately invisible to pretty much everyone else.  It is Elwood's ability to apply his own gentle logic to every situation, his ability to charm everyone he meets, that makes him every bit as significant as his pal.  It is small wonder that Harvey has chosen to hang around with him.   

Elwood would be perfectly happy going through life meeting up with old friends and making new ones—with Harvey at his side—but for the obvious pain it has been bringing to his sister Veta (Jessica Hecht) and niece Myrtle (Tracee Chimo), who find the whole thing perplexing and socially embarrassing.

Reluctantly, Veta has decided that her brother—not to mention she and her daughter—would be better off if he were to be safely ensconced at Chumley’s Rest Home. The play unfolds with the clash of alternative realities, until all is set right at the end.

The production is aided in no small way by its slate of experienced and talented actors.  In addition to Parsons, Hecht, and Chimo, we have Charles Kimbrough as Dr. Chumley, and, in the role of his wife, the always-delightful Carol Kane.  Rounding out the cast are two other veterans, Angela Paton and Larry Bryggman, along with Holley Fain, Rich Sommer, Morgan Spector, and Peter Benson.  The fine set design is by David Rockwell, with costumes by Jane Greenwood, and the whole thing is kept moving at a steady clip by director Scott Ellis. 

If you have it within you to succumb to a little bit of pooka magic, then Harvey will leave you feeling very happy indeed.


Feel free to tell your friends about this blog, and to share your own theater stories by posting a comment.  And if you can't get enough of ProfMiller, check out his column, ProfMiller@The Theater, at BroadwayShowBiz.com.

'Medieval Play': Yuck, Blecch, Gross.

The nice young woman I was chatting with the other day during intermission at the Signature Theatre’s Irene Diamond Stage, where we were watching Kenneth Lonergan’s Medieval Play, called the work a “vomit draft.”

That colorful description, which is sometimes applied to rough, rough drafts of works-in-progress, is apt on a couple of levels. 

There is the obvious one, an expression of the not-ready-for-public-display nature of the work.  But it is also an appropriate description for the too-numerous-to-count references to every manner of the expulsion of effluvia the human body is capable of producing. 

It is hard to know what this accomplished playwright, who has won and been nominated for numerous awards (This Is Our Youth may be his best-known play), had in mind when he came up with this most unusual work.

Imagine, if you can, what the frat boys characters on display in the rock musical Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson would come up with if they were commissioned to write a play based on a dense, dry history textbook; let’s call it Medieval France and the Western Schism of the Catholic Church:  1376-1378.

That should give you some idea of what is in store for you if you decide to see Medieval Play—a truly baffling mix of history, politics, sex, religion, and table manners.

Before the play begins, we hear the sounds of battle.  The curtain parts, and we encounter two armor-clad knights resting on some rocks.  After a silence, one of them speaks:  “It’s certainly grim here in Medieval France.” 

And so begins the picaresque tale of two benighted knights, Sir Ralph (Josh Hamilton) and Sir Alfred (Tate Donovan), mercenaries eking out a living by fighting in the Hundred Years War.  Hey, it’s a job! (“I wonder how long it will last,” one of them wonders aloud.).

The dialog from beginning to end combines weighty exposition with low humor that continues to descend unrelentingly, slipping past Monty Python’s Spamalot and a lot of very bad Saturday Night Live sketches, before landing and staying squarely in the gutter. 

Ostensibly, the plot is about Sir Ralph’s desire to abjure raping and pillaging and to lead a better, purer, more chivalrous life, one that will lead him to God.  Fat chance.  At least not in the human muck and mire that pass for life in Medieval Europe. 

Amidst all of the unsavory goings-on (raping and pillaging are the least of it), there is one bit that could conceivably be viewed as a clever satire.  That is a banquet scene, in which the hostess (Halley Feiffer) reads aloud from a new book of etiquette, touching on appropriate manners regarding the discarding of bones, spitting at the table, what to do with one’s snot, and other bits of pleasantry.  This is potentially funny stuff, depending on one’s tolerance for gross-out humor, presumably based on an actual document from the time period.  

And if you do stick around for the second act (at the performance I saw, many in the audience chose not to return after intermission), you will find some tighter writing, and, surprisingly, you may even learn something you didn’t know about the historic battle over the papacy.

I’ll not discredit the actors, many of whom play several roles, from harlots to popes.  Messrs. Hamilton and Donavan, and Ms. Feiffer are joined by stalwart and brave colleagues:  C. J. Wilson, Kevin Geer, John Pankow, Anthony Arkin, and Heather Burns. 

I believe it is Mr. Lonergan, who serves as both playwright and as the playwright’s most indulgent director, who needs some time-out. 

Perhaps with a huge amount of editing, there is enough here to sustain a sharper, shorter play, but for now, “vomit draft” is the operant description. 


Feel free to tell your friends about this blog, and to share your own theater stories by posting a comment.  And if you can't get enough of ProfMiller, check out his column, ProfMiller@The Theater, at BroadwayShowBiz.com.