Category Archives: Broadway

Rapturously romantic robots, incongruously finding a way to fall in love despite supposedly lacking such emotions, is the simple premise of ‘Maybe Happy Ending’ – and somehow it’s precisely what the world needs right now. A modern-day treatise on romance in a technologically-overwhelming world, where safety is found only in one’s own room, but the quest for finding somewhere we might belong forces us to depart our comfort zones, it’s a musical adventure unlike anything else on Broadway right now.

Directed by Michael Arden, with a book, music and lyrics by Will Aronson and Hue Park, ‘Maybe Happy Ending’ manages to be as light and wistful as it is haunting and touching. Lead performances by Darren Criss and Helen J. Shen ground the work in glorious voices and winsome longing – while Marcus Choi provides the stark emotional reality of the piece. Weaving his way through the standards sung by Gil Brentley, Dez Duron gives slick crooning a lovesick tenor. Together, they speak to a generation raised on cel phones and living their lives through screens, communicating through truncated words in a text, this same generation unable to connect in the most basic ways, trying to figure out how to not be alone. 

‘Maybe Happy Ending’ illuminates the larger question of how much of love is real and how much is merely an act of going through romantic motions, with its interchangeable ideas of Paris or New York cliches. Such things are trite and cliche for all the truth in them. The inexplicable pull of love, and how to convey and create that for the journey they are making, becomes an exercise in figuring out what love might be – and by the end they seem to have come close to figuring out the mystery, at one point wondering why humans put themselves through it. 

Studied and precise, Criss and Chen capture the inherent robotic nature of the situation, while managing to break through the ominous possibilities and limits of an AI world by approximating the love pattern of humans. The essential longing of finding somewhere we might belong is expressed profoundly throughout the evening, and while robots may not fall entirely in love, this show manages to illuminate what happens when humans do – and it’s not something that can be defined or scientifically reproduced. 

At turns rapturously romantic, with a couple of winsome waltzes, some breezy breaks with jazzy inflections, and a standard or two, ‘Maybe Happy Ending’ is very much an old-fashioned romance framed by a fantastically-futuristic setting and atmosphere. Rather than being cold or removed from the human experience, it exemplifies the basic construction of love, thanks to the charming performances of Criss, and particularly Shen, who absolutely shines in a role that runs the gamut from uproariously hilarious to stoically poignant. 

Near the end, the title song puts forth its greatest and most comforting notion – that none of life is ever worth regretting, none of it is ever a waste – it all matters in the moment, and when it was good it is the goodness that runs on, in a perpetual loop, that one can dip into whenever they need comfort, a place where they belong.

“Even now I cannot help feeling that it is a mistake to think that the passion one feels in creation is ever really shown in the work one creates. Art is always more abstract than we fancy. Form and colour tells us of form and colour ~ that is all. It often seems to me that art conceals the artist far more completely than it ever reveals him.” ~ Oscar Wilde, ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’

Ever since seeing my very first Broadway production helmed by a star (Sandy Duncan flying around the Lunt-Fontanne in ‘Peter Pan’ way back when I was a child) I have never declared an actor’s performance to be the best or most impressive I’ve ever seen, because there was simply too much space for someone else to thrill and enthrall me more. I consider myself extremely lucky and privileged to have seen the following, all of whom have made lasting impressions:

Glenn Close in the original Broadway production of ‘Sunset Boulevard.’

Zoe Caldwell in ‘Master Class‘. 

Billy Porter in ‘Kinky Boots’. 

Janet McTeer in ‘A Doll’s House’. 

Neil Patrick Harris in ‘Hedwig and the Angry Inch’. 

Kristin Chenoweth and Idina Menzel in ‘Wicked‘. 

Christine Ebersole in ‘Grey Gardens’.

Bebe Neuwirth and Ann Reinking in ‘Chicago’. 

Mercedes Ruehl in ‘Lost in Yonkers’. 

Stockard Channing in ‘Six Degrees of Separation’. 

Up until this moment I have safely steered clear of declaring any of these performances the ‘best thing’ I have ever seen in my lifetime, because there was always room for more. That room has astoundingly disappeared with the performance Sarah Snook is giving right now in ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ at the Music Box Theatre, and there is a very good chance I will never again in my lifetime witness such an extraordinary feat of raw, concise, visceral, gorgeous, and breathtaking human expression. 

Snook plays 26 wholly distinctive characters, centering on the titular Dorian Gray, painter Basil Hallward, and society dandy Lord Henry Wotton – and there is never a doubt as to which one is on stage at any given time, given how adroitly and masterfully she imbues shading and personality to each. Vocally, physically, and with split-second timing, she never misses a beat, and the sheer precision of each line, and the emotional abandon she at turns captures, is the stuff of pure genius. I have never seen anything so mesmerizing and astonishing, and every single moment is rooted in the human experience. 

The main characters are established early on, via camera angles and a few simple accessories – a cigarette for Lord Henry, a paintbrush for Basil, a foppish wig of ringlets for Dorian and a simple knowing wink for The Narrator. Snook does not actually require any sort of accoutrement whatsoever, so strikingly does she convey the mannerisms, voices and tenor of each character. That she does it so spectacularly is the clever lynchpin of one of the main tenets of the production: that we are multitudes, and rarely one singular person at any given moment. 

Kip Williams is writer and director, and in ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ he has revolutionized the way technology and live theater can meet to create a work that manages to be both heartbreakingly intimate and breathtakingly infinite. It cannot be conveyed or fully described with words – it simply must be seen and felt and experienced. In the shape-shifting trickster-like hands of Snook, Williams has found a worthy embodiment of the multi-faceted jewel-like grandiosity that Wilde’s indelible creations demand; it’s a testament to their exquisite execution that this is quite likely the first version of ‘Dorian Gray’ that is successfully gorgeous, and compelling, in every way. 

Williams explains his approach to the piece in the Playbill: “While I was inspired to conceive a work that would embrace a range of contemporary technologies that might, amongst other things, reflect our modern obsession with youth, beauty and the individual, I also wanted to root the play in the most ancient and analogue of theatre traditions: a single storyteller coming to an audience directly to recount a story. This led to the creation of the present day character known as The Narrator, a conduit between present and past, who in the conjuring of the story becomes subsumed by its eponymous character, Dorian Gray. This ancient story telling form called for the play to be written with a singular narratorial voice, which led to the task of largely seeking to maintain Wilde’s linguistic style, tone and rhythm throughout my writing, despite the many departures from the original text.”

It’s a testament to Wilde’s work (which was a formative influence on my younger self), and his understanding of the darker and more vain aspects of humanity, that this translates so well into the modern, selfie-obsessed filter-addicted social media world of today. In one of the most brilliant flashes of the play, Snook’s cel phone captures and filters her face showing how we are all pulling a reverse Dorian Gray in the way we constantly present our social media with our most perfect selves, while reality is our hidden portrait. 

Weaving a modern sensibility into Wilde’s words is dangerously difficult, as proven by the number of stilted attempts at adapting ‘Dorian Gray’ over the years, but through ingenious use of cameras and videos (the camera operators create their own modern-day dance of documentation), as well as impossibly-choreographed precision between Snook and her pre-recorded bits, it’s not far-fetched to predict that the technological mechanics of this play will be a revolutionary touchstone for the future of theater. Despite this cutting edge aspect of the work, and the very real and resonant connection the work makes with this precise moment in time, the guttural punch of Snook’s spellbinding performance is grounded in the search for self, the uncomfortable and simultaneously-addicting pull of the mirror, and the multitude of fractured pieces with which we try to put ourselves together. 

“What an exquisite life you have had! You have drunk deeply of everything. You have crushed the grapes against your palate. Nothing has been hidden from you. And it has all been to you no more than the sound of music. It has not marred you. You are still the same… You are the type of what the age is searching for, and what it is afraid it has found. I am so glad that you have never done anything, never carved a statue, or painted a picture, or produced anything outside of yourself! Life has been your art. You have set yourself to music. Your days are your sonnets.” ~ Oscar Wilde, ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’

Full, unhappy disclosure (with spoilers ahead): I am one of those annoying F. Scott Fitzgerald purists who prefers their Gatsby writ large and wildly unbound within the immortal words and pages of the writer. That will always taint how I view any adaptation, and I acknowledge it now as a factual part of my enjoyment of the musical version currently playing at the Broadway Theatre. That said, I’ve always welcomed any and all versions of the work, ready and perhaps too willing to embrace whatever interpretation any number of creators have attempted to employ over the years, including an original Broadway musical, whose over-the-top format might have been the jolt of drama that the novel has demanded, and all-too-often damned. 

Starring Jeremy Jordan as Jay Gatsby and Eva Noblezada as Daisy Buchanan (understudy Kayla Pecchioni admirably performed in that tricky role on the evening I saw it), ‘The Great Gatsby’ arrives with much-ballyhooed hype and one of the most outwardly-lush productions of excess, which is one of its strong points. Mirroring the sparkling decadence of the novel, the atmosphere and backdrop is a striking combination of stage wizardry, employing a spectacular hybrid of set pieces and projections that work in seamless tandem to capture the epic scope and expanse of the novel. Capturing this superficial world is like capturing the green light – it looms forever elusive. 

This production seems to take more of its inspiration from the Bad Luhrmann movie version than the actual novel itself – something the modern-audience might be clamoring for, and my old, stodgy, stickler ways simply may not appreciate. As such it is at least two interpretations away from the source material, and it feels like that sacrifices some of the novel’s magic. 

As Gatsby, Jeremy Jordan brings down the rafters with his soaring voice, and certainly has the wit and beguile to justify assuming the mythical role, yet through either the direction or his full-on embrace of Gatsby’s more charming qualities, Jordan seems to project a knowing wink to the audience, who largely eat it up (judging by their rapturous reaction to his mere presence on stage). The problem is that Gatsby would never give a knowing wink to the world – only perhaps to Daisy, or possibly Nick – an important distinction that tends to plague any and every theatrical adaptation of the book due to its seeming impossibility of expression – it’s too small and quiet for something as demanding as a Broadway theater. And despite the fact that Jordan is given a couple of grandiose solos that are performed alone on stage, one never gets the feeling that this character is in any way lonely – another hallmark that Fitzgerald masterfully merely hinted at, and which ran deep into the dark heart of the novel.

By the time this Gatsby, decked out in his military uniform, steps into a choreographed production number that thrills the audience with Jordan tap-dancing his way into musical theater heaven, the mystery of the character has largely fallen by the wayside, while the magic of the performers and the tradition of Broadway pizazz steps up to center stage. If you’re willing to give in to that, and let go of the wish for something as beautifully dark and gorgeously hopeless as the book so thrillingly conveys, this Gatsby may be enough for you. The singular talent of powerhouse Jordan (who has been deserving of a worthy star vehicle since ‘Newsies’ and the pre-Broadway run of ‘Finding Neverland’) and a supremely adroit cast firing on all cylinders (stand-outs including Samantha Pauly as Jordan Baker and Eric Anderson as a bespectacled Wolfsheim) might be the modern-day Gatsby the world deserves. 

Visually, the evening is a sumptuous feast; musically, it provides a typical Broadway score, taking the necessary cues from its 1920’s inspiration, then adding in the requisite bombastic ballads and second act reprises. Taken as a whole, it’s almost enough to approximate the magic of Fitzgerald’s prose, but ‘almost’ and ‘approximate’ will never quite fully capture Gatsby’s glory. If you clamor for the ache and the dimmer underside that only the wondrous cadence of Fitzgerald’s marvelously ambiguous evocations could elicit, then you may find fault with the empty liberties being taken on stage, no matter how much they may dazzle.