Merrily We Roll Along, And Along, And Along--But Are We There Yet?

Cast of Encores! Production of 'Merrily We Roll Along.' Photo by Joan Marcus

Cast of Encores! Production of 'Merrily We Roll Along.' Photo by Joan Marcus  

Merrily We Roll Along holds a special place in the hearts of many a Stephen Sondheim fan. In most cases, my own included, this emotional connection is tied to the original Broadway cast recording, particularly since productions have been few and far between ever since its unfortunate 16-performance run back in 1981.

Now it’s back, at least for a few performances (ending on Sunday), kicking off the new season of the Encores! series at the newly (and beautifully) refurbished City Center. 

The production has a lot going for it, including solid performances by the hastily-prepared cast and the musicianship of the orchestra—under Rob Berman’s sure hand—playing Jonathan Tunick’s reworked orchestrations (reworked, since some songs have been excised and others added since 1981). 

No matter what one might think of the show itself,  Merrily We Roll Along still has its share of “hummable-mummable” songs, including Old Friends, Not A Day Goes By, and that wonderful ode to youthful optimism, Our Time. 

Rather than go into the strengths and weaknesses of the Encores! production, however,  I’d like to jump into the debate that has stalked Merrily We Roll Along since its inception.   That is, what went wrong, and have years of tinkering fixed it?

The problems with the original production, which I did not see, have frequently been attributed to the youthfulness and relative inexperience of the cast, needing to play characters who start out as middle aged and go back in time 20 years as the play progresses.  That is the conceit of the show—a backward look at a life of compromises and digressions from the idealism of youth, underscored by a betrayal of marriage and the loss of deeply-rooted friendships. 

I don’t pretend to know how to make it work, but it does seem to me that Merrily We Roll Along takes a huge risk by running its story backwards (as did the not-terribly-successful 1934 Kaufmann and Hart play on which it is based). 

That’s because you’ve got to show a moment of regret at the start, and then ask the audience to hold that thought as you build an emotionally resonating history, so that the viewer will ultimately agree that this has, indeed, been a life worthy of regret. 

You could go the way of Ebenezer Scrooge, I suppose.  However, rather than Dickens, I would suggest that the world of opera—not unheard of in a conversation about Sondheim’s oeuvre—for other models.  

Give us, for example, the beginning of Faust at the front end, and the beginning of La Bohème at the other.   

Unfortunately, instead of Faust—filled with regret near the end of his life—we  have Frankin Shepherd, a man in his 40s, a successful movie producer, whose “crime” is that he veered from a path as a successful writer of musicals in order to pursue other interests. Hardly the stuff of grand tragedy.

And at the other end, we have what we are told is a binding friendship among Frank, Charley, and Mary, and a great love between Frank and Beth. 

But unlike the brilliantly-depicted camaraderie in La Bohème, the relationship among the triumvirate in Merrily We Roll Along is never convincingly significant.  Yes, Sondheim has given us the songs Opening Doors and Our Time to suggest such a deep friendship, but these are generational rather than personal anthems, and we are asked to believe their unbreakable bond is forged in a moment on the roof.  Love at first sight may have worked for West Side Story, but it doesn’t work for Merrily We Roll Along. 

The same could be said for Frank and Beth’s great love.  A marriage that ends in divorce is unfortunate, but it is rather too common among Frank’s set to be considered a tragic turn of events.  Actually, Frank’s estrangement from his son might be worth pursuing, but it is barely mentioned.

So we have it.  The world has presumably lost a successful composer of musicals, and even if we choose to believe Charley’s contention that “no one does it better,” Frank’s choice of a direction for his life is his to make.  Yet, we see precious little regret coming from him—only from Charley, his former writing partner, and from Mary, who has spent her life mooning over Frank.  It’s a shame, I guess, but it fails to fulfill the promise of the show’s premise. 

And so we have it.  I, for one, will go back to listening to the original cast recording and envisioning a different production of Merrily We Roll Along than the one we have actually been given.


Feel free to tell your friends about this blog, and to share your own theater stories by posting a comment.

'Assistance': What Won't We Do to Inch Up the Ladder of Success?

Virginia Kull and Michael Esper.  Photo by Joan Marcus



Imagine what it would be like if your boss were truly the megalomaniac you think he is.

That is Daniel, the never-seen but always-present world class monster who rules his universe with an iron fist in Assistance, Leslye Headland’s sharply sardonic and scarily funny take on life in the fast lane, being given a near-flawless production at Playwrights Horizons under the keen eye of director Trip Cullman.

Lord knows how Daniel—who has all of the charm of Violet Weston in August:  Osage County and the self-absorption of Miranda Priestly in The Devil Wears Prada—became so successful at whatever it is he does (we’re never told, but a guess would be that he is a major player in the entertainment industry).  He apparently cannot tie his own shoelaces without the help of an endless parade of personal assistants whom he badgers, goads, humiliates, and tosses away like so many used tissues.

Assistance takes place in Daniel’s headquarters office, where a steady stream of ambitious wannabes play musical chairs among the three desks, tied to their computers and telephones like so many air traffic controllers at the world’s busiest airport.   

These bright, young, self-assured success seekers are like those knights lined up in the fairy tales, where the prize of the princess’s hand in marriage and half the kingdom is up for grabs to the one who can solve the riddle or slay the dragon.  Never mind that the road leading up to the castle is strewn with dead bodies; each is convinced he or she has what it takes to win it all.

It’s hard to know why they stay, what with the low wages, long hours, and constant abuse, but working for Daniel seems to be a great step up the career ladder for the young and ambitious—if conflicted—staffers.   As one of them puts it:  “I hate it here, and I don’t want to leave!”

The play opens with Nick (Michael Esper) and Vince (Lucas Near-Verbrugghe) taking phone calls and trading banter like computer wonk buddies at one of those Silicon Valley enclaves.  Vince is delighted to have won his exit pass, a move “across the hall” to some sort of managerial position away from the direct clutches of Daniel.  Nick’s goal, says Vince, should be the same as his was, to find someone who can do the first assistant’s job better than you, so that you will be transferred out.

So Vince moves out, Nick moves up, and in comes Nora (Virginia Kull), whose own personal goal is to be so successful that one day she can take Daniel’s place. 

Nick and Nora form a survival/romantic bond of sorts, and they are joined by three others as the play progresses: Heather (Sue Jean Kim), whose raison d'être is making her parents proud of her; Justin (Bobby Steggert), who lives to make excuses for Daniel’s heinous behavior and hopes he will someday actually please the boss; and Jenny (Amy Rosoff), a cool-as-a-cucumber multi-tasker whom nothing seems to faze. 

There is no through plot in a conventional sense, but there is an inevitable arc to the action, as each character either finds or is pushed through an exit.  And there are few qualms about shoving any of the others under the bus in order to hang on for one more day.   

The vibe is hyperkinetic as things are set spinning out of control.  We can imagine the characters living on triple-shot espressos, energy drinks, and alertness drugs as they work unceasingly to make sure the Great One’s needs are met, no matter the sacrifice.

The dialog throughout is sharp and clever, and presented with rapid-fire flair by a very talented cast indeed.  Mr. Esper, in particular, is magnetic as the always hopeful Nick, expecting at any moment to follow his buddy Vince to that wonderful land “across the hall.”  But all of the others have their moment in the spotlight, and Ms. Rosoff takes it on home at the end with a most magnificent breakdown, for which she and the director must share the credit with the set designer David Korins and choreographer (yes, I said choreographer) Jeffry Denman. 

I have long admired Playwright Horizon’s commitment to nurturing and providing a showcase for new or relatively new playwrights. Assistance joins the winner’s circle with such recent gems as Bathsheba Doran’s Kin, Annie Baker’s Circle Mirror Transformation, and Adam Bock’s A Small Fire.    

Playwright’s Horizons is offering discount tickets on orders placed by February 21:

Use the code HELPMEBLOG
$40 (reg. $70) for all performances through Feb. 19

$50 (reg. $70) for all other performances Feb 21-Mar 11

Online  http://goo.gl/ZY7ks
Call Ticket Central at (212) 279-4200 Noon to 8PM daily
In Person: Ticket Central Box Office, 416 W. 42nd Street between 9^th & 10^th Avenues

30&Under Party February 16 following the performance
All non-member tickets $25.  Use code PARTY.  Proof of age required at door.
Order at http://goo.gl/DpR5m


Feel free to tell your friends about this blog, and to share your own theater stories by posting a comment.

Seeking the Soul of 'Wit'

Cynthia Nixon stars in 'Wit'

See that woman dressed in a thin hospital gown, head shaved and covered with a baseball cap?  She is Vivian Bearing, whose surname ironically describes the dual nature of her current status. 

On the one hand, she has the regal bearing of a highly regarded scholar at the height of her career, admired by those in her academic circle and held in fear and trembling by the students in her metaphysical poetry class. This is an image she has cultivated for herself, one that she has lived with most satisfyingly for many years. 

Now, however, another meaning of her name has come into play, referencing the fact that Professor Bearing is bearing up under a terrible regimen of experimental chemotherapy, in the minuscule chance that it might beat back stage four ovarian cancer.  She has no choice; as she reminds the audience, “there is no stage five.”

This is the conceit of Wit, the Pulitzer Prize-winning play by Margaret Edson, now in revival at the Manhattan Theatre Club at the Samuel J. Friedman Theatre.  Whatever plans we may have for ourselves, life has a way of following its own course; however many layers of self-protective armor we wrap ourselves in, life has a way of stripping things down to the basics. 

At the play’s start, Vivian (Cynthia Nixon) puts on a brave front, using sarcasm and badinage to deal—or to avoid dealing—with her situation. She realizes, she says, that this is a matter of life and death, but “I know all about life and death” as a specialist in the metaphysical poetry of John [Death Be Not Proud] Donne. 

Enduring eight months of debilitating chemotherapy turns out to be rather more physical than metaphysical, however, and Vivian is forced to relinquish all vestiges of her own pride for the sake of survival.  And the woman who has always considered herself to be fiercely independent is now dependent on others—the condescending doctors (Michael Countryman and Greg Keller) who see her as little more than a means for collecting research data, and the nurse (Carra Patterson), who singularly shows her a degree of compassion. 

Through flashbacks, we get to see bits of Vivian’s life-before-cancer:  as a young child encouraged by her father to use and cherish her intellect; as a less-than-stellar student gaining her first knowledge of Donne from her mentor (Suzanne Bertish, perfect in a role that gives her the play’s most touching moment); and as a demanding professor giving her own students a hard time.

Ms. Edson, the playwright, who has determinedly remained in her career as an elementary school teacher, drew upon previous experience working in the cancer and AIDS unit of a research hospital and her own education as a literature major to create this powerful opus.  


Wit is not without its flaws—there is a confrontational scene regarding a “do not resuscitate” order that seems unnecessarily shoehorned in for dramatic effect, and the flashbacks don’t always add to our understanding of Vivian—yet the story itself is one that can and does resonate with audiences.  Death, after all, makes no exceptions.  We just hope for a more benign final journey than the one Vivian has to face.    

 

For Ms. Nixon and director Lynne Meadow, both of whom are breast cancer survivors, this first-time Broadway mounting of Wit seems to be a labor of love for a play they believe most strongly in. But everything does depend upon the actress playing the central role.


The New York Times Magazine this week published a profile of Ms. Nixon that describes her as “eager to please.”  I felt that eagerness in her performance and found it a bit off-putting.  It seems to me that  Vivian should arrive wrapped in more self-assuredness, even arrogance, especially in the first half before the illness has rubbed away the façade. 

Whether you find Ms. Nixon to be compelling or underpowered will need to be your personal response. For myself, I prefer Emma Thompson’s portrayal in the Mike Nichols filmed version and highly recommend it as an alternative.


Feel free to tell your friends about this blog, and to share your own theater stories by posting a comment.

Angry, Angrier, Angriest

Matthew Rhys looks back in anger

Well, if nothing else, they got the “angry” part right.

That, unfortunately, is the best that can be said for the rage-infused revival of John Osborne’s groundbreaking play, Look Back In Anger, now on view at the Roundabout’s Laura Pels Theater. 

Look Back In Anger, a sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued portrait of the lost generation of post-World War II 20-something Brits, has always had a mixed reputation.  Ever since its London premiere in 1956, it has been both reviled and revered, but, having seen two very different productions in the past couple of years, I believe there are depths to be found within this seemingly endless rant of a play that are waiting to be corralled by the right director and the right actors.

In this case, the director is Sam Gold, who in recent years has shown himself to be a wunderkind (Circle Mirror Transformation, The Aliens, Seminar) and who is now—for better or for worse, it remains to be seen which—a Roundabout Associate Artist.  Look Back in Anger, however, seems to have eluded his grasp.

Here, Gold has opted to rev up the audience with a pre-show recorded jazz concert (Dizzy Gillespie?), which, depending on your predilection for such things, is either highly entertaining (I enjoyed it) or migraine-inducing (as a theater-going colleague called it). 

The connection to the play is peripheral.  Osborne’s “angry young man” Jimmy Porter (Matthew Rhys, who is Welsh and at least sounds authentically British) had, at one time, performed with a jazz band.  During the course of the play, he pulls out his trumpet from time to time and bleats some dissonant riffs, seemingly for the sole purpose of annoying those around him.  If he could play like the recorded jazz musicians, he would have a brilliant future indeed (but then he might lose his hallmark frustrated edginess.)

The play itself opens with a long period of silence, as Jimmy and his friend Cliff  (the ubiquitous Adam Driver, for whom Roundabout and various efforts at British accents have defined his work through several recent productions) are reading the Sunday papers, while Jimmy’s wife Alison (the unfortunately shrill Sarah Goldberg)—dressed in a bra, slip, and open house robe—is doing the ironing. 

This opening, set in a squalid room that defines the narrow boundaries of Jimmy and Alison’s flat and of their lives, is rather Pinteresque in its snapshot of skewed domesticity and its discomfiting air of foreboding.  Alas, however, the silence is soon broken, and Jimmy spends much of the rest of the play spewing forth a steady stream of invective aimed at Alison and her upper class family, Cliff, the landlady, the government, the church, the world in general, and, upon occasion, himself.

Unfortunately, that’s pretty much the play as it is being presented on the stage of the Laura Pels. 

But it needn’t be that way.   The play raises some intriguing issues that beg to be explored.  If Pinter shows up in the opening scene, there are also pieces of August Strindberg, Tennessee Williams, and Edward Albee to be found.

Borrowing from Strindberg, imagine if Miss Julie had married her footman.  What would their lives be like?  That’s Alison and Jimmy, locked forever in some fatal love-hate attraction that is beyond easy understanding. 

Alison is Jimmy’s equal in many ways, but her tactics are her own, and she definitely is not afraid of his bluster.  For the most part, she gets in her digs by choosing not to react to his baiting, by being openly sexual with Cliff, and by cultivating friendships with people she knows that Jimmy despises. There is also in the play a scene that has been deleted for this production, a reunion between Alison and her father that is very telling about the world she has left behind.  This is an important moment, because it unexpectedly shows her father to be a kind and sympathetic character and adds another layer of complexity to the unfolding events.  Yet it has been sacrificed, either to spare the expense of hiring another actor or in service of the vexing and constant battle.  

Then there is Tennessee Williams.  A passing remark is made about Marlon Brando, and, indeed, Jimmy does have a lot in common with Stanley Kowalksi, the brutish character Brando so indelibly brought to life in A Streetcar Named Desire.  Like Stanley famously yelling for his Stella, there is a core of pain underlying Jimmy’s anger, a pain that—if brought out though directorial and acting choices—would humanize Jimmy and give the audience someone they could actually care about. 

There is also Jimmy’s puzzling relationship with Cliff, another important key to understanding Jimmy that could be explored more deeply.  The production I saw back in 2010 by The Seeing Place at A.T.A. Sargent Theater played up this aspect and made the triangle a most interesting one.  In this production, however, Cliff seems to lack personality and serves solely as the mediator between Jimmy and Alison.

Later, the delicate balance they have all maintained is threatened with the arrival on the scene of Alison’s friend Helena (a solid performance by Charlotte Parry).   Major upheaval ensues, yet in this production Jimmy seems pretty much unaffected, unable or unwilling to move out of the role he has assigned to himself.  In the end, a temporary truce comes into play (à la Albee's George and Martha at the end of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?), but we cannot leave the theater imagining it will last for long. 

In the final analysis, I found this production of Look Back In Anger to be disappointing.   Jimmy, our jazz trumpeter, is purely a Johnny One-Note, and Osborne’s significant portrait of a sadly lost soul is itself lost on us. 

 

Feel free to tell your friends about this blog, and to share your own theater stories by posting a comment.

'Lysistrata Jones': She Likes Basketball. How About That!

Patti Murin as Lysistrata Jones

Sometimes, while settling into your seat prior to the start of a performance, it’s fun to eavesdrop (and pretty much impossible to avoid, in any case) on the conversations around you.

Take today for instance.  While awaiting the matinee curtain of the bouncy, cute musical Lysistrata Jones (at the Walter Kerr Theatre), I heard this great conversation behind me:

Theatergoer A:  I don’t really know what this is about.  Do you?

Theatergoer B:  Something about basketball…and sex.

Theatergoer A:  Well, I can handle one or the other, but I’m not sure about both.

I think Theatergoer A handled it just fine, at least based on the intermission conversation.

And what’s not to like?  Lysistrata Jones is a charming romp of a show, with book by  Douglas Carter Beane and performed by a talented cast of 12 and an equally talented band, visible on a catwalk above the stage and actively involved in the proceedings.

You might call Lysistrata Jones a labor of love by Mr. Bean’s circle of friends and his life partner, composer and lyricist Lewis Flinn. The pair collaborated on Mr. Beane’s very funny The Little Dog Laughed; the show is directed by Dan Knechtges, who choreographed the musical Xanadu, with book by DCB; and the band performs under the baton of Brad Simmons, who worked on Mr. and Mrs. Fitch, written by Guess Who.    

It should come as no surprise that Lysistrata Jones (the title role is played in lively 'Legally Blonde' style by Patti Murin) is inspired by the Greek comedy, Lysistrata, by Aristophanes.


As in the original, our heroine persuades her girlfriends to withhold sex from their boyfriends in order to get them to do something they want.  In this case, it is not anything quite so dramatic as putting an end to war; instead, what the girls want is for the boys to actually try to win a basketball game—something the team at their very laid-back college has never done.  (“No more givin’ it up ‘til you give up givin’ it up” go the lyrics to one of the catchier numbers). 

The shenanigans are overseen by a formidable Liz Mikel as the goddess-like Hetaira (the hetairai were courtesans in Ancient Greece, and this Hetaira is a madam at a brothel), who makes sure everything stays on track until lessons are learned and all is well in the world.  

You could argue, and I would not disagree, that perhaps a Broadway theater is not the best home (size-wise or ticket-price-wise) for this bit of cotton candy, which made the trip uptown from its former home at the probably more appropriate Judson Memorial Church Gymnasium at Washington Square South.


Indeed, despite some very positive reviews, notably by Ben Brantley in The New York Times, Lysistrata Jones is set to close on Sunday.  However, it is almost certain to become a fixture at college and community theaters around the country, and could very well show up for a longer stay at an Off-Broadway house like the New World Stages, where it would be right at home alongside other former Broadway shows like Avenue Q, Million Dollar Quartet, and Rent. 

Feel free to tell your friends about this blog, and to share your own theater stories by posting a comment.

Stick Fly: The Little Play That Could

A Confrontational Moment in 'Stick Fly'

It’s New Year’s Eve, and I would like to end 2011 by championing a play that shouldn’t need championing, save for the fact that some of the professional critics have decided it is not Broadway-worthy.  A little snobbery, perhaps? 

It’s called Stick Fly, and for the past five years, it has had successful runs at theaters in Chicago, Los Angeles, Washington, D. C., Boston.   Along the way, it has garnered a number of awards for seasoned playwright Lydia R. Diamond, including a L. A. Critics Circle Award last year.

It is now on view at the Cort Theater, and a better crowd-pleaser I have not seen in a long time.  It is a family drama that, like real-life family dramas, is both serious to those experiencing it and very funny to those on the outside looking in (i. e. the audience). 

Stick Fly tells the story of an upper middle class African American family, the LeVays, who get together for a summer getaway weekend at their home in Martha’s Vineyard

The characters include two sons, Kent (nicknamed “Spoon”), and Harold (aka “Flip”), each of whom has brought a girlfriend home to meet the parents.  Spoon’s girlfriend, to whom he has recently become engaged, is Taylor; Flip’s is Kimber.  Rounding out the cast of characters are Joe, the patriarch of the LeVay clan, and Cheryl, daughter of the family’s housekeeper, who is holding down the fort for her ill mother for the weekend.

Amidst games of Trivial Pursuit and Parcheesi, intellectual debates, and the social fuel of mojitos and pot, the playwright sets things up like a snake of dominoes, then lets them fall where they will. 

And fall they do.  Yet this is no August:  Osage County.  The quarrels and disappointments are far less melodramatic and soap opera-ish than that totally over-the-top encounter group of a play.   It’s more in line with one of A. R. Gurney’s tales about the foibles of America’s WASPs, both sharp and comic.

With Stick Fly, the triggers are issues of race, social class, and gender.  Kimber is herself a WASP (though Flip absurdly tries to pass her off as “Italian”), and her presence stirs up some passion in Taylor, who has spent her life trying to get her mostly white peers to understand that race still matters.  Taylor and Cheryl, though both well educated, were raised in middle middle class homes, and they feel an awkwardness of not quite fitting into the LeVays’ social milieu.  To add to the mix of problems, both Cheryl and Spoon have issues with Joe LeVay.

All of the “little murders” unfold over the course of the evening, though rarely does anything feel too coincidental for words or outside of the realm of the dramas that every family goes through.  There are a couple of meltdowns, but these are fairly well contained, and the clan survives the weekend without any major collapses.  They will all live to fight another day, and will undoubtedly do so when they get together for major holidays and events—just like the rest of us. 

This is a real strength of Stick Fly.  It never loses touch with reality, and it is clear that the playwright is fond of each of her flawed characters.  As much as I admired August:  Osage County, for example, the real feeling at the end of that play was one of relief.  With Stick Fly, we leave the theater feeling like we had had a really enjoyable time among the LeVays, and that even snarky Joe had his moments. 

There is a lot of honesty contained within the arguments that go on under the roof, and the issues that are raised ring true.   While some of the discussions about race and class and gender may seem collegiate, they are exactly the kinds of conversations that take place among engaged, intelligent college students and seem all the more real for coming out of the mouths of the young people in the play. 

The playwright has also planted some intriguing ideas about exploitation.  Much, for example, is made of the fact that this was the first black family to have a home in Martha’s Vineyard, thanks to a gift of land that was made to an ancestor, a sea captain whose exact line of work is never discussed.  It’s not difficult to imagine that this free black sea captain had been in the business of transporting slaves. 

It is also interesting to observe Cheryl’s interactions with the family.  Even though she has been a part of the family on some level her entire life (she is at least a decade younger than Spoon and Flip), she is still a black servant in a black household, and, as we learn, she and her mother have been exploited in other ways as well. 

Finally, although Spoon and Flip are the scions of the family, it is the women—Taylor, Kimber, and, especially Cheryl—who are most interesting to watch.  Despite their differences, the form an unexpected bond of real sisterhood which is certain to grow through the years.

The play is well directed by Kenny Leon, with a smart cutaway set by David Gallo and great summer duds by Reggie Ray.  One of its producers is singer-songwriter Alicia Keys, who has provided incidental music for the show.

The ensemble of players give solid performances and work well together:  Dule Hill as the sensitive Spoon; Mekhi Phifer as the more worldly older brother Flip; Rosie Benton as the rebellious Kimber; Tracie Thoms as the insecure Taylor; and Ruben Santiago-Hudson as the crass but occasionally charming Joe. 

But the play’s real kudos go to Condola Rashad, who shines as Cheryl.  Ms. Rashad (yes, she is Phylicia Rashad’s daughter) has excellent comic timing and serious acting chops (she was splendid in Lynn Nottage’s Pulitzer Prize-winning play, Ruined, a couple of years back).  And speaking of Lynn Nottage, that is a playwright I also thought of while watching Stick Fly, especially the humor that she wove through By The Way, Meet Vera Stark. 

All told, Stick Fly is a highly engaging and entertaining work, one that I hope will draw an audience through word-of-mouth.  I attended on a very stormy evening earlier this week, one that would have certainly kept me at home if I didn’t already have a ticket.  The rest of the rain-soaked audience, I imagine, felt the same way.  Yet I have seldom sat with theatergoers who were obviously having such an enjoyable time.  Lots of laughter, positive chatter during the intermission, and cheers at the end. 

Catch it while you can, and Happy New Year to all!

Feel free to tell your friends about this blog, and to share your own theater stories by posting a comment.

Look, I’m Eating My Hat: Revisiting 'Follies'

Follies' Magnificent Cast.  Photo by Joan Marcus

I don’t often return to see an existing production for a second time.  After all, life is short, and there’s a lot of theatergoing to do. 

Nevertheless, ever since I saw an early preview of Follies, I have had a hankering to see it again, wondering what changes might have taken place between then and now.  It is such a significant musical, and the opportunity to see a full-scale production with a full-scale orchestra in the pit is not likely to come around again for a long, long time. I simply could not get it out of my mind. 

In my blog review of the show back in early September, I noted that while I admired much about the production, I was less than thrilled with the performances of the two leading women.  Jan Maxwell as Phyllis seemed tentative and in over her head as a singer and dancer; Bernadette Peters as Sally seemed unsure of how best to approach her role and was—much to my surprise—over her head herself as a singer.  I also thought that the former Follies girls in attendance at the reunion--save for Susan Watson--were pretty much devoid of individuality or presence.

And yet, I could not stay away.

And now I say, WOW, WOW, and yet again WOW!!!

Any doubts I had were washed away in one sublime evening of near perfection. It’s as though everyone involved has come to realize that this is the experience of a lifetime, and they are finding inspiration from each other to continue to perfect their performances.

The women playing the former Follies girls have found personalities in every tiny bit they have been given to work with from the script, and each is a delight.  Solange (Mary Beth Peil), Stella (Terri White) and Carlotta (Elaine Paige) are more than just moment-in-the-spotlight performers; they have developed into real characters. Ms. Watson and Jayne Houdyshell continue to shine, as do the actors playing the young Ben (Nick Verina), young Buddy (Christian Delcroix), young Phyllis (Kirsten Scott), and especially Lora Lee Gayer as young Sally (so very Bernadette in appearance and manner). 

The leading men, Ron Raines as Ben and Danny Burstein as Buddy, remain terrific in their roles, but it is the two ladies at the center of things, Ms. Maxwell and Ms. Peters, who have spent the weeks since previews figuring out who they are and why they are there, and they are now giving absolutely stellar performances.  Their numbers during the Loveland portion of the show are nothing short of phenomenal.  I now cannot imagine anyone ever doing a better job of performing “The Story of Lucy and Jessie” (Ms. Maxwell) or “Losing My Mind” (Ms. Peters).   Indeed, the entire Loveland sequence is utter perfection.  Would that I could bottle it and take it out on a gloomy day!

With Follies set to close on January 22, do yourself a favor for the new year and go see it for yourself (or see it again).  You’ll not have another opportunity like this anytime soon.

Feel free to tell your friends about this blog, and to share your own theater stories by posting a comment.

A Brilliant 'Blood And Gifts': Spy Vs. Spy in the Cold War Era

Whenever you go a play that is based on actual history, you run the risk of feeling as though you were attending a lecture as much as a theatrical event.  For instance, while I enjoyed last season's The Scottsboro Boys—and even the more melodramatic Irena’s Vow from the year before--it has occurred to me that the ideal audience for these shows would be a high school history class studying the Jim Crow era or the Holocaust. 

Occasionally, however, the history lesson is contextualized within a truly compelling narrative aimed at the grownups in the audience.  One example that comes to mind takes me back to 2003 and the  terrific I Am My Own Wife, whose star, Jefferson Mays, is back and giving yet another outstanding performance in the play that is the subject of this review. 

That would be Blood and Gifts, J. T. Rogers’ intelligent and highly engaging work now on view at the Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater at Lincoln Center, about how we so foolishly got ourselves entangled in the quagmire that is Afghanistan. 

Rogers gives us the history lesson we need in order to understand what is going on, but he does so in a way that is neither simplistic nor overwhelmingly dense as, say, Tom Stoppard’s Coast of Utopia and Rock ‘n’ Roll.  And he wraps it around a cynical, sharp, and frequently darkly funny story of espionage during the 1980s Cold War era, one that will leave you shaking your head at the stupidity of nations, and perhaps wondering if we truly learned nothing from Vietnam.

If you are concerned that you have not followed the timeline leading up to our current entanglement in Afghanistan, you can pick up what you need to know by reading the six-paragraph insert (by dramaturg Anne Cattaneo) that comes with the program.  Alternatively, you can prepare by watching the 2007 movie Charlie Wilson’s War, starring Tom Hanks and Julia Roberts, that touches on some of the same events as Blood and Gifts.

The play opens in 1981 and  joins CIA agent James Warnock (Jeremy Davidson, John Wayne-like in his self-assurance) as he begins an assignment in Pakistan aimed at driving the Soviet Union out of neighboring (and officially off-limits) Afghanistan. 

Before long, Warnock is working both with and against his espionage counterparts from the Soviet Union and Great Britain.  His task is a tricky one.  He needs to arm Afghan tribal freedom fighters against the Soviet army while maintaining “deniability” on behalf of the U. S. government, dancing around the KGB’s Dmitri Gromov (a funny, sardonic Michael Aronov) and keeping in tow his British MI6 ally, the burned-out Simon Craig (a brilliant performance by Mr. Mays).  


Meanwhile, their ostensible Pakistani host Colonel Afridi (Gabriel Ruiz), representing his own country’s intelligence agency, has other reasons for wanting to push the Soviets out of Afghanistan. 

The interplay is reminiscent of Antonio Prohias's Spy vs. Spy cartoons from Mad Magazine, or something from Graham Greene or John le Carré, yet the events are all too real, as we discover—contrary to the cliché— that the enemy of my enemy is not necessarily my friend. 

Meanwhile, on a trip back to the States, Agent Warnock is torn between struggling to save his marriage and fighting to convince Congress to provide additional military aid for the Afghan fighters.  It is in this part of the play, that deals with the political maneuvering, conniving, deal-making, and in-fighting back home, that you will recognize the connection with the movie Charlie Wilson’s War.

It’s all very theater-of-the-absurd, except that the stakes are high indeed, both for the people of Afghanistan (some two million died during the anti-Soviet conflict and the period of civil war that followed) and for the people of the United States, who find themselves scratching their heads over why are at war in Afghanistan.

No bones about it, Blood and Gifts is a top-notch play, flawlessly directed by Bartlett Sher, who has brought out the best from a uniformly strong cast.  May it find great success along the lines of last year’s wonderfully grownup play, Other Desert Cities, that also began at the Mitzi E. Newhouse and is now happily ensconced on Broadway. 

Feel free to tell your friends about this blog, and to share your own theater stories by posting a comment.

Chita Rivera Rules the Stage in Kander and Ebb's "The Visit"

Chita Rivera Dances the 'One-Legged Tango'

The mighty musical-writing team of John Kander and Fred Ebb made history once again this week when the long-running (15 years and counting) revival of Chicago at the Ambassador Theater stepped aside briefly for a special and spectacular performance of the pair’s The Visit, a show that has been long overdue for its turn in the bright lights of Broadway.    

Not only were there two Kander and Ebb musicals sharing the same stage, but the star of the evening was none other than the actress who had created the role of Velma Kelly (opposite Gwen Verdon’s Roxy Hart) in the original production of Chicago over 35 years ago. 

That star was—need I say?—the incomparable Chita Rivera, who, at 78, can still dominate a stage like none other and who repeatedly brought the house down at the singular event,  a fundraiser for The Actors Fund and the Vineyard Theatre. 

The Visit, based on the acid-dripping 1956 play of the same name by Friedrich Dürrenmatt, tells the story of  “the richest woman in the world,” Claire Zachanassian, who has returned to her now-impoverished hometown in post-war Germany seeking revenge on her one-time lover, Anton Schell, who years before drove her away and into a life of prostitution.  In an added twist, her plan involves bringing the townspeople to their knees as well, for they were complicit in her shabby treatment as the much-maligned daughter of a Jewish man and a Gypsy woman.

Ms. Rivera has played the role twice before, beginning with its first short-lived production at Chicago’s Goodman Theater, where it faced the unfortunate timing of opening just after the attacks of September 11, 2001—which rather put a damper on an audience’s desire for such a dark and stinging satire.  A later mounting, a short run at Arlington, Virginia’s Signature Theater in 2008, was very well received, however, and I am hoping very much that this week’s one-night event will serve as a precursor to a Broadway or Off-Broadway production.

Kander and Ebb offer up a musical mix of irony, satire, and interludes of romance in their two dozen numbers, supported by Terrence McNally’s adaptation of Dürrenmatt’s play and Ann Reinking’s choreography.  However, since the character of Claire has an artificial leg and walks with a cane (which Ms. Rivera tossed aside for her curtain call to demonstrate that she herself does not need it, thank you), there was not a lot of opportunity for her to dance and show off her ageless gams, save for a number appropriately titled "The One-Legged Tango," which she tackled with great élan.   

It would be remiss of me not to note that Ms. Rivera’s singing voice is rather on the raggy side these days, but she has so much showmanship in her that it hardly matters.  She took charge of that stage from the moment of her first appearance, and never let up for an instant.  Even though it has been more than three years since she last performed the role, she was completely off book for the benefit production (all right, almost completely; there was one tiny lapse in which she sidled over to take a peek at the script in one of the other performer’s hands, but she didn’t miss a beat in doing so).

This is not, of course, a one-woman show.  The rest of the cast was solid, starting with John Cullum, another Kander and Ebb alum, having starred in last year’s The Scottsboro Boys.  Cullum, three years Ms. Rivera’s senior, did need to keep his copy of the script open throughout, but he made a fine Anton Schell, a man who progresses from a desire to flee his fate to accepting it--or at least appreciating its ironic elements.

While the show’s focus is on the pair of long-ago lovers, within whom there still lives a spark of genuine mutual affection, the cast included 21 other uniformly strong performers, along with a small orchestra under the fine direction of Jon Kalbfleisch.  If you have seen the production of Chicago, the musicians used the same tiered space across the width of the stage. 


Musically, Messrs. Kander and Ebb have incorporated a wide range of styles, including singing parts for countertenors (relevant to the plot), and connections to Brecht and Weill and to their own enduring hit musical Cabaret.   

One of the great shames is that no recording of The Visit has been made to date, a mistake that I hope will be rectified.  There are many songs that stand out, even on first hearing, among which are a lovely little waltz, “You, You, You,” and the Act I curtain number, “Yellow Shoes.”   


While I took great pleasure in what was essentially a staged reading, I would love to see The Visit given a full-scale New York production, and soon enough so that Chita Rivera can remain its star! 

Feel free to tell your friends about this blog, and to share your own theater stories by posting a comment.

Back to the Good Old Days with "Maple and Vine"

Photo by Sara Krulwich/The New York Times

Do you love your life? 

Do you love your job?

If your answer to either or both of these questions is “not really,” then maybe you are up for joining a community whose members have all elected to eschew the hustle and bustle of life in the fast lane and relocate to a world that is permanently anchored to the year 1955.

That is the premise of Jordan Harrison’s satiric new play, Maple and Vine, now in previews at Playwrights Horizons. 

The unnamed community, located somewhere in the Midwest (or possibly, in The Twilight Zone) could be called "Pleasantville," "Stepford," or even "The Village," as Maple and Vine brings to mind all of these previously-depicted fictional locales, where folks are unencumbered by cell phones, Facebook, Twitter, and reality TV. 

In Act I, we meet a high-powered New York couple, Katha and Ryu, (she a publishing executive, he a plastic surgeon), who are seeking to escape the hamster cage that has become their lives.  Katha (well played by Marin Ireland) can no longer cope, having been pushed to the edge following the miscarriage of their long-desired child. Ryu (Peter Kim) wants nothing more than to be a supportive husband but is close to his own breaking point, torn as he is between the demands of his liposuction-seeking clientele and the desperate needs of his wife.

A promise of relief comes in the form of Dean (Trent Dawson), a pitchman for the "Society for Dynamic Obsolescence," the 1950s reenactment organization he represents.  This is no cult, he promises, but a way to escape the dehumanizing pressures of 21^st century life.  Try it for six months, he suggests.  See what you think.

So Katha (renamed “Kathy” by the community’s "Authenticity Committee") and Ryu take the plunge.  Soon she is spending her days under the tutelage of Dean’s wife Ellen (Jeanine Serralles), learning the difference between chopping vegetables and dicing them, and he is employed at a box factory, where the source of greatest pride is being able to assemble a box in 30 seconds, under the watchful eye of his friendly yet somewhat threatening supervisor, Roger (Pedro Pascal). 

As the rest of the play unfolds, we get glimpses into the parts of life in 1950s America that many of us would consider to be less desirable, with respect to social norms about race relations, sexual orientation, the role of women, and a rigid adherence to a strict set of rules for both overt and covert behavior. (For a reference guide, consult Peyton Place).

Certainly the buttoned-down '50s is a an apt target for satire, but Jordan Harrison, the playwright, gives us mostly episodic sit-com humor and not nearly enough of the kind of edgy bite that Maple and Vine needs in order to breathe new life into what already has been well-mined territory.  I can imagine, for example, what someone like Christopher Durang might have been able to do with the material. 


A great deal of editing, including slashing most of the first act set-up (as if you could provide enough exposition to establish what follows as anything other than a fantasy), and a greater attention to sharpening the details of Katha’s and Ryu’s new lives, might still result in a strong one-act with some real zing.  The same could be said of Anne Kauffman’s overly fussy direction.   "Less is more" is an adage that would fit in well with the play’s conceit of downsizing lives.  

Harrison does raise some interesting ideas that might benefit from deeper examination.  For instance, what would it really mean to be given the opportunity to reinvent yourself?  Can we truly leave our past behind, or will it always resurface to bite us in the rear?  These are potentially intriguing aspects of identity that are dealt with in a shallow way  in Maple and Vine, yet which could have given the play the focus that is currently lacking.
                          
                                *           *          *          *          *          *         

Playwright’s Horizons is continuing its policy of offering discounted tickets for the regular run through December 23.

Order by November 30 and use the code VINEGR
$40 (reg. $70) for all performances Nov. 19-27
$50 (reg. $70) for all other performances Nov. 29-Dec. 23

Online: www.TicketCentral.com.

Or call Ticket Central at (212) 279-4200 between noon and 8 p.m. daily, or purchase from the Ticket Central Box Office, 416 W. 42nd Street between 9^th & 10^th Avenues

Feel free to tell your friends about this blog, and to share your own theater stories by posting a comment.