A bright spot in the darkly twisting trajectory of ‘Sunset Boulevard’, the role of amiable Artie Green is played by Preston Truman Boyd, who makes his Hunk of the Day debut in this post. He joins his onstage pal Joe Gillis (Michael Xavier) in this week’s build-up to my return to a favorite show. Boyd brings levity and warmth to the musical, especially the rousing Act One closer ‘This Time Next Year’ and his website illustrates an impressive theatrical roster.
A pleasantly oft-forgotten footnote in the saga of my 1996 crush is its connection to ‘Sunset Boulevard’. I won’t rehash everything that went on in those embarrassing days of the mid-to-late nineties, when every date held the promise of a life together, and every guy who was unfortunate enough to cross my path was subject to obsession. It’s all there in the Madonna Timelines for ‘I Want You’ and ‘You’ll See’ and ‘You Must Love Me’. Hell, repercussions were still being felt in ‘Don’t Cry For Me Argen-freakin-tina’. My track record of romantic tumbles and fumbles speaks for itself, but in the last stages of my crush during the waning days of 1996, there is a story in the parting gift I gave to the hapless gentleman who had struck my fancy at the time.
In one of our early conversations, he’d indicated that he loved Broadway musicals – the bigger and more blockbuster the better. (He’d so extolled the virtues of a performance of ‘Miss Saigon’ that I dragged my parents to it. The same went for ‘The Who’s Tommy’ – and neither impressed me all that much.) When it became clear that he wanted nothing to do with me romantically, I made a last-ditch effort to maintain at least a shred of friendship, and gifted him the double-CD soundtrack to ‘Sunset Boulevard’, which was still playing on Broadway. I didn’t exactly feel like I was Norma Desmond to his Joe Gillis, but comparisons and costumes will be made and we’ll leave it at that.
On one of my last days at Brandeis University (by the grace of God I was graduating early and wouldn’t need to endure another semester of shame) I stopped by the mailroom to send out the package. I was too shy to give it to him in person. As I walked out a corner entrance of Usdan, I ran into him. Knowing what I’d just done, and that he would receive a ridiculous double-CD in a day or two, I felt even more flustered and foolish. We made some awkward small-talk and then I quickly left. Yet instead of leaving things alone, I went back to my place and ordered two front-row tickets to ‘Sunset Boulevard’, which was then starring Elaine Paige. How could he say no to front-row tickets to a big Broadway show? (Don’t judge me.) The logistics of meeting up in New York City could be worked out in the future, but I was certain he would go.
A few days later the tickets arrived. I’d finished out my time at college and was living in Boston, and though we exchanged a letter or two (and I’d put him on my official mailing list) we didn’t really have any contact. I wasn’t quite ready to call and ask him to the show, though that was my vague plan. What’s the worst that could happen? (A question I’d asked and then received answer after disastrous answer, time and time again.) For whatever reason, I let weeks pass without getting in touch with him. I was still mailing him the postcards and letters and all those silly things I sent out to my friends at the time, but he had gone silent, and I had gotten the message.
On a solo trip to Savannah a few weeks later, I was beginning the long trek North again when I pulled over for some breakfast and a USA Today. In the Life section was a small blurb about ‘Sunset Boulevard’: it was closing a few days before the date for which I had front-row tickets. The final crushing blow to whatever vain fantasy I had, I sat at the wheel of my car, stunned and on the verge of tears. It was small consolation that he would not know about this sad final play for his affection. We would not see each other for the next five years, after which Suzie and I ran into him at Madonna’s Drowned World Tour in Boston. Since then, and mostly through the ease of social media, we’ve reconnected and forged a friendship. Those who make a mark on us in the flush of youth seem to have greater pull and power than those we meet later on. It’s the essence of youth to lend import to such things.
When ‘Sunset Boulevard’ was announced to be returning to Broadway, he joked that we should see it together. I called his bluff and said I was game if he was, and next week we’ll convene at the Palace Theater, in the front row, for Glenn Close’s turn as Norma Desmond, two decades later.
Not only will this mark a reunion with Ms. Close (whom I had the great fortune of seeing near the end of her original run) but a reunion with the guy who unwittingly played such a formative part of my college experience. In the years since our ill-fated ‘Sunset’ non-date, we’ve each gotten married, purchased homes, and he and his husband had a son. We’re worlds beyond 1996, but we’ve stayed in touch and have forged one of the most unique friendships I’ve been able to maintain. It’s not quite as if we’ve never said good-bye, because I bid adieu to my youth a while back, but we’ve found new ways to dream.
When ‘American Psycho’ was musicalized on Broadway and Patrick Bateman (Benjamin Walker) strutted his stuff with bulky walkman and tight white briefs, the blood and brutality of 80’s excess found questionable expression and audiences weren’t quite ready to take such a literal walk through a serial killer’s bloody mind. Soon after its opening, it shuttered. Though mixed, reviews indicated a daring take on the musical form.
In similar gory fashion, ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ finds a thrilling updated form in a reworked take written by Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa and currently slashing its way through the Creative License production at the Albany Barn. Aaron Holbritter and Casey Polomaine have taken the classic tale and brought it into the now-retro world of the 80’s – a perfect match for the darker source material. Ian LaChance gives the title role its proper trajectory, starting out somewhat vacantly then growing increasingly tortured and manic as the evening wears on. Steve Maggio, Lucy Miller, Nick Bosanko and Isaac Newberry round out the main cast, but this murderous story insures that not all of their characters survive. Holbritter plays up the thriller aspect to great effect – this is not the Victorian novel of manners you might remember.
Fabled folklore has traditionally dismissed ‘Dorian Gray’ as an effete dandification of vanity and self-obsession, and Oscar Wilde’s reputation only lent credence to such a reading. That’s always been unfortunate, because as much as I love a good dandy story this goes far deeper than that. The frightening storyline, dealing with the things we give up and sacrifice for youth, beauty, and self-love, is a killer treatise on today’s culture as much as it was when it originated. Recast in those heady ‘American Psycho’ days, this ‘Dorian Gray’ moves out of its binding period set, thus freeing it to make broader implications of obsession, and the way we murder our own identities in service of the perfect selfie.
{‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ is playing at the Albany Barn through April 1. Tickets may be purchased here.}
The year was 1995. Vague shadows of palm trees played behind the emblematic street sign. Shades of the sunset glowed richly – ambers and salmons burnt through with mottled rust. Emblazoned on the curtain in the Minskoff Theatre was the title of one of the hottest tickets in town: SUNSET BLVD.
Glenn Close was nearing the end of her opening run as Norma Desmond, for which she won a Tony Award, and somehow I’d managed to score seats for my Mom and me. We were in the very last row, but even in a theater as expansive as the Minskoff, I knew Ms. Close would put on a show.
We were not disappointed. In fact, it remains one of the most transfixing and mesmerizing moments I’ve ever had the luck to witness on Broadway. Close was phenomenal – ferocious and fierce, tender and touching, all manic and magic and tragic at once. She brought a brittle humanity to a woman whose circumstances were unmatched by most of us, yet we understood her plight and her pain, and her insatiable need for love and adoration. Norma Desmond would never be easy to like – the truly great ones never are – they are too complex and polarizing, they demand too much and try too hard. For those very reasons they are the ones who are remembered.
For her part, Ms. Close brought a definitive reading to a character it seemed impossible for anyone other than the original Gloria Swanson herself to play. Two decades later, all talk is that she’s making the role just as powerful and impactful as that first time, with layers of depth and experience adding nuance and sparkle to her performance. Critics are raving, audiences are packing in (Hillary Clinton and Steven Spielberg are two of the latest to stop by), and everything’s as if we never said good-bye.
I think back to the first time my Mom and I saw the show, in the last row of the Minskoff Theatre. It was a matinee, and the light of day was shut out for a couple of hours of pure theatrical magic. As the overture began, and the dark tones of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s lush score rang out, we sat on the verge of something epic. As Ms. Close descended that serpentine staircase to frenzied applause, the magic that was in the making revealed itself in stunning form. We sat rapt for the entire show, wholly enchanted by the spectacle and the performance unfurling before us, and when it was over I realized that Norma would be haunting my life for some time thereafter. That’s the power of an actress like Ms. Close.
I’d have the fortune to see a number of other Normas inhabit the house on the boulevard (most notably, and enjoyably, Betty Buckley – who should definitely be courted to return to the role if at all possible), but I never forgot the first time I saw Glenn Close give her amazing bravura performance. In two weeks, and from the front row, I’ll get to return to that infamous address to witness the wonder of her doing it all over again.
Betty Buckley has always held a special place in my heart, and as her career has progressed she’s maintained that place with every role she’s taken. When I was a little kid, one of my favorite television shows was ‘Eight is Enough’. I wasn’t even old enough to talk that much, and all I could do was fuss and point at the TV, screaming “Nicholas” until my parents finally figured out I was talking about ‘Eight is Enough’. (Which I knew solely by the name of their youngest character.) Ms. Buckley was Abby Bradford, the mother figure of the show, and after every episode I went to bed comforted by her displays of patience and love. She tucked me in at night just as I was starting to become aware of the world (or enough aware to know that the kid’s name was Nicholas). That role as America’s Mother stuck with her, despite a theatrical prowess that went largely unnoticed by my small upstate New York upbringing. It wasn’t until she clawed her way through the role of Grizabella in Andrew Lloyd Webber’s ‘Cats’ that the world became aware of her incredible voice and command of stage.
Originating the role that culminated with an electrifying rendition of Lloyd Webber’s most famous song (‘Memory’) cemented her status as Broadway royalty, and despite turns on television and film it has been on the stage where she has most moved me. Even shrouded in feline fur and heavy make-up, Buckley managed to emit the shredded-soul of a cat, both wounded and fierce, stealing the show every night. A decade later, she wore a different kind of glamour in one of the modern-day marathons of musical theater roles: Norma Desmond.
Following in the footsteps of Glenn Close is no mean feat, but Buckley’s soaring voice and drastically different take on that tragic yet noble figure of ‘Sunset Boulevard’ imbued the production with new life – glorious life too, as her vocal instrument performed death-defying acts nightly in the Minskoff Theatre. I remember watching her studied take on the role, transfixed by the manners in which she managed to be beguiling, brittle, and brilliant in a single scene. She brought audiences to their feet with her stunning interpretation of ‘As If We Never Said Goodbye’ – the way she held onto ‘home’ in the climactic declaration of “I’ve come home at last!” sent shivers down my spine. Her voice was spellbinding, reaching the furthest rafters of that immense theatre, and when she brought it delicately down to a wounded coo, it was even more transfixing. I’d always admired and marveled at Norma Desmond on stage, but Ms. Buckley made me love her a little more as well.
While her portrayal of Ms. Desmond ignited my fan status, it was the musical wizardry of her albums, where her divine voice was barely contained by the recordings, that completely captivated me. Hers was a talent that could never be fettered or bound by traditional artistic means – she demanded more, and she delivered. Her criminally-short EP of ‘Sunset Boulevard’ selections (available at the Minskoff) only left us wanting more, and her stripped-down and spare ‘With One Look’ CD was an essay in how to deliver a story through a few piano chords and a richly nuanced voice. That album got me through a couple of trying semesters at Brandeis, when I’d go to bed practically in tears, but I listened to the hymn-like ‘My Love and I’ and things were made achingly but bearably beautiful. When pain becomes art, and longing finds form in music, there is healing. On her jazz-inflected ‘Much More’ she embraced her playful side, while giving such standards as ‘The Man That Got Away’ and ‘Come Rain or Come Shine’ magically transformative touches. The exquisite collection that is ‘Heart to Heart’ with Kenny Werner offers delicate renderings of ‘Just the Way You Look Tonight’, ‘I Am A Town’, and ‘Danny Boy’. Taken together, they are a glorious map of an artist’s journey.
I had third-row tickets to see her joyous appearance in ‘Triumph of Love’ but it closed a few weeks prior; thankfully she’s on the cast recording of the woefully under-appreciated show. It just goes to prove that Ms. Buckley doesn’t play it safe – she challenges herself and her audience with material that’s not guaranteed. It’s the mark of a true artist who finds supreme joy in her craft.
Her live recordings, particularly ‘The London Concert’ and ‘An Evening at Carnegie Hall’, almost manage to capture the enchantment that she holds over an audience, and much of her powerhouse voice, but to truly get the full experience of her magic, you need to see her as well. She manages to make each song a story, where every note paints a different shade to a fully-fleshed out work of art. See any of her renditions of ‘Meadowlark’ as evidence of such brilliance.
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Those wonderfully expressive hands that so framed her face in Norma Desmond’s ‘With One Look’, tell another story in her most recent role, the sympathetic doctor in M. Night Shyamalan’s film ‘Split’. Buckley is the emotional heart and psychological brain of the movie, giving weight and pathos when needed, as well as lighter touches in an otherwise sinister landscape. The way she brings her fingers to her forehead says more in a single touching gesture than any amount of words could convey. As tears fill her eyes, she once again reminds me how she’s managed to connect in the most human way to all of her roles, and, as a result, to her audience. That memory will never fade.
‘Sunset Boulevard’ is returning to Broadway this spring, with the same magnificent woman who originated the role of Norma Desmond in its American inception: Glenn Close. Twenty years ago, my Mom and I sat in the last row of the Minskoff Theatre and watched Ms. Close bring the mansion down in splendid fashion, and now we are set to return to the house on Sunset in the next year. (I’ve been holding off on posting anything, as the tickets were a surprise Christmas gift. We shall pair them with ‘War Paint’ on our annual Broadway trip in the spring.)
It is a fitting moment for a ‘Sunset’ post, as I usually put up a ‘Perfect Year’ homage for New Year’s Eve. That scene remains my favorite in the musical version, for reasons already explained here. Yes, it’s the scene that keeps on giving, and I’ll always be touched by it. Even as my cynicism grows, and fewer and fewer people seem to get it, my heart still believes in that moment, in the moment of hopeful, wistful love. My head now knows better, but my heart still doesn’t. And I will never be sorry for that folly.
 Now more than ever some of us are seeking escape and laughter from the dismal state of affairs the world has devolved into of late. Thanks to the current production of “Parallel Lives – The Kathy and Mo Show†at the Albany Barn, that release, along with buckets of laughter, is available for two nights only, starting tomorrow, November 18, 2016.
Actresses Emer Geraghty and Carissa LoPresti-Weiss bring an entire cast of characters to life in this comedic work written by a pair of the funniest ladies around: Kathy Najimy and Mo Gaffney. Under the deft direction of local luminary Aaron Holbritter, this promises to be a fantastically funny night at a time when most of us need a good laugh.
“Parallel Lives: The Kathy and Mo Show”
November 18 & 19 – 7:30 PM at the Albany Barn
56 Second Street – Albany, NY
I’m a bit late arriving at the ‘Sleep No More’ party, but since they stay up a little later, it worked out. For years, friends have been nudging me to see this ‘show’ – which is less a traditional piece of theater and more of a completely immersive experience – a chance to travel into a different time and universe, one that is spun of spooky, nightmarish, and at times gorgeous stuff. I finally took the plunge and my friend Chris joined me for a few enchanting, and deliciously disturbing, hours of sinister mayhem and intriguing debauchery at The McKittrick Hotel.
All six floors are decked out in stunning detail and elaborate design. Such layered intricacies make this production a thing of wonder, and from the moment you enter the Manderley Bar and receive your playing card and mask, the world you thought you knew disappears into the future as you are plunged into a timeless past.
There are no words, only images and emotions conveyed in dance and visual drama, fleeting and ephemeral, and though style is highly-favored and impeccably-produced over substance, the cumulative effect is one of magic and sorcery that takes you into other realms. You are given two and a half hours to peruse the sprawling space, and you’re welcome, and encouraged, to follow any of the performers as they travel briskly through the rooms enacting various scenes to the loose MacBeth narrative. As such, you never quite get to see everything that goes on, which explains the repeat visits; there is always something new to see and explore.
Though you will often be in groups, there is an overriding sense of compelling isolation as you act as voyeur and part-participant throughout the evening. Everyone has to take their own journey, and no one experiences the same thing. That’s a challenge for anyone accustomed to sharing in the theatrical voyage safely beside a partner. For others, like Chris and myself, it’s the perfect adventure with the promise of meeting up after it’s all over.
Stomping its high heels through Rehoboth Beach in fabulous fashion, and leaving a trail of glitter and feathers in its glorious wake, Priscilla Queen of the Desert: The Musical is the perfect piece of theatrical summer fare, one that manages to both entertain and enlighten with its musical pastiche of pop songs and some pristinely-crafted performances. Â As put on by the Clear Space Theatre Company in Rehoboth Beach, it’s a thrilling component of that company’s trifecta this season (which also includes ‘Chicago’ and ‘Shrek’).
The source movie from 1994 is a piece of gay history, and the musical is rightly reverential. Anyone who loved the movie is certain to love the musical (and if you’re looking for a dose of the original motion picture soundtrack, show up early to soak it all in). Essentially a road trip movie (one of the most difficult to transition into musical form), Priscilla somehow defies the odds and succeeds, largely due to its ingenious bus construct and the possibilities such construction affords. Far more than that, however, is the collection of impressive talent on hand to deliver the music and the message.
Awkwardly and endearingly leading the drag queen charge is Jeff Kringer as Tick/Mitzi. Bearing the burden of the centerpiece impetus of the whole show, he must maintain a steadfast steadiness, and still bring home the heart of the winding tale. He manages to do both in a role that Hugo Weaving made so indelible. A tough act to follow, but Mr. Kringer manages to do so with winning and earnest charm.
Bringing a fiery foil to the evening in a fiercely flamboyant turn as Felicia/Adam, Connor Cook struts some serious attitude and gives some lovely vocal prowess to a scene-stealing role. He also manages to suss out some subtle levels of depth and vulnerability to the character, even if seems to be all about those gams.
Simultaneously grounding and elevating the work is the spellbinding performance of Christopher Peterson as Bernadette. In a role that veers from supreme pathos to gut-busting hilarity, Mr. Peterson lends it the sophisticated gravitas and skill to make the over-the-top character wholly relatable and touching. There is a dignity and nobility to Peterson’s expert work here as well, something that is essential to making the entire evening work.
The main trio shines thanks in large part to the ensemble of powerhouse performers, who turn this performance of Priscilla into a thing of exuberance, grace, excitement, and virtuosity. They even manage to fit in a spectacular aerialist bit that drops a breathtaking bit of Cirque de Soleil through the ceiling of the theater (courtesy of the lithe and limber Troy Lingelbach). Somehow it all works, and the patchwork of pop tunes eventually coalesces into a message of love and acceptance, of overcoming self-doubt, and of trusting in friendships new and old. That’s a story that never gets old, and it transcends the mesmerizing power of a man in a frock.
{Priscilla: Queen of the Desert runs through September 3, 2016 at the Circle Space Theatre.}
Stephen Sondheim’s ‘Into the Woods’ may be one of the most meaningful musicals in my life, so when a new production trundles along, I’m always interested in how it will be executed. I first saw a touring production right after it debuted on Broadway in the late 80’s. I was not much more than a kid then; it spoke to me on a superficial level, but even at that young age I knew there were darker themes and deeper meanings to this traipse through the forest.
As a typically-tortured angst-ridden teenager, I wore the cassette tape of the Broadway recording down to nothing, playing it over and over and intoning the wit and wisdom of Sondheim, each lyric revealing something more with every listen. My family felt distant at the time, not knowing how to come to terms with a gay son, and I had my own difficulty coming to terms with who I was too. Those themes were felt in the musical. I longed for the sad comfort of ‘No One Is Alone’ and wept bitterly at the warning (then unheeded) of ‘Children Will Listen.’ One day, I thought, the world would hear my cries.
A couple of decades later, the Broadway revival with Vanessa Williams found me at a different place in life, and in a post 9/11 world the ‘Giants in the Sky’ were very real, and very scary. Suzie and I saw the show in New York (she had been along the first time I’d seen it in the 80’s too) and as we veered into middle-age it seemed to mean a little more, and a little less. Though the movie version was adequate enough, there’s some sort of magic that occurs in a Sondheim musical that can only be conveyed on stage. That magic is evident in the Mac-Haydn Theatre’s production of ‘Into the Woods’ running through August 7. Grab your basket (I’m not afraid to ask it) and rush to get tickets to this production – it’s that good. Adhering faithfully to the original version (with the additional Witch and Rapunzel duet from the 2002 revival) the remarkable direction and choreography of John Saunders makes the most of the theater-in-the-round set-up, immersing characters and audience in the midst of a forest that can go from enchanting to terrifying in a few cunningly chromatic notes.
Anchored by the narrator, the intertwining of fairy tales turned on their head was relatively novel when the musical premiered almost thirty years ago, but it remains a vital reimagining of the stories we thought we knew. More profound re the broader metaphors Sondheim aimed for – and reached – particularly in today’s world, where giants still go to battle, children are still alone and abandoned, and adults are as lost as ever.
Though this is an ensemble piece, each cast member gets to shine – not always the case in such extensively plotted and populated stories. Every character is fully fleshed out, and no one is purely good or evil. A girl in a red riding hood (Bridget Elise Yingling, in a sardonically perky and perfect turn) packs a basket of sweets, but ends up expertly wielding a very sharp knife. A carnally lascivious wolf (Gabe Belyeu, all howling menace and hilarity) wears his desire on the outside with a studded codpiece before his bloody comeuppance. A pair of epaulet-framed semi-clueless princes (Pat Moran in unwavering arrogant excellence and Conor Robert Fallon giving classically handsome Disney face) are as dashing as they are comically dim-witted. A waif of the cinders (Amy Laviolette, in gorgeous lilting voice whether in rags or riches) transforms into a princess but hangs onto her heart. A Baker and his Wife (Paul Wyatt and Libby Bruno in convincing and conflicted form) ground the goings-on with their heart wrenching quest for a child. A narrator ties it all together (Jamie Grayson, doing double duty as the mysterious old man, and indelibly marking his stamp on each) before getting unceremoniously tossed from the proceedings in dramatic Act Two fashion. Finally, a witch (Julia Mosby in commanding, scene-stealing beauty-and-the-beast-in-one-fabuous-diva mode) does more than witches usually do in a much maligned but mostly misunderstood journey of her own.
When this disparate group comes together in song and story, and the fairy tale forest reveals itself to be as dark and scary as the real world, the musical soars in brilliant Sondheim fashion. Wishes are granted, only to turn on their wisher in ways both unexpected and devastating. Children and parents alike are challenged and lost. Love is celebrated, betrayed, mended, and dissolved. It’s an evening fraught with enchantment and tension, fairy tale freedom and very human bonds, and brought to thrilling life with that unmistakable Mac-Haydn magic.
{‘Into the Woods’ is playing at the Mac-Haydn Theatre through August 7, 2016.)
Despite the ominous noises sounding from above and outside the surroundings of the bleak (if magnificent by New York standards) apartment of ‘The Humans,’ it’s the plaintive cries of laughter and tears from the people within that gives this play its most terrifying clamor. While it is very much a New York tale, ‘The Humans’ is also a tale for all humanity. Set at a Thanksgiving dinner, it’s an unflinchingly stark look at one family under the eroding influence of time. Each of them seeks purpose and meaning in his or her own, often-troubled, way – and it’s to playwright Stephen Karam’s credit that they barely get any resolution.
Tension mounts as secrets are revealed, but this isn’t a pot-boiler. Rather it’s a look at the crushing and devastating toll time takes on a family, and what strange, frightening and terrifying creatures we are behind the safety of our make-shift homes. As secrets are revealed, the post 9/11 world of New York City tries to rebuild itself amid the wreckage of time that will not be stilled. The subsequent healing of a family finds difficult fruition in their increasingly-tenuous ties to each other. An aging grandparent, lost to dementia, further shows the relentlessness of time, as does the physical deterioration of the matriarch and the ongoing sickness of a daughter. No one is getting any younger here. Worse than that, even the youngest characters have their unspoken issues, told in omissions and conversations hidden from view.
There is a refreshingly touching take on the overly-sentimentalized notion of marriage, positing the idea that it’s an institution that can be the foundation that keeps everything – even a family on the verge of falling apart – together. That echoes with its own death-like knell, and as with many things happening here it’s an idea that is as poisonous as it is hopeful.
Despite a late-hour revelation, the love among the family is tangible – they even go so far as to sing together at one point. This is ensemble acting at its best – each actor so attuned to their character they know each and every move inside and out. That ease with one another becomes paramount as outside forces – and possibly other-worldly events – threaten with every bump in the night.
Under the masterful direction of Joe Mantello, the play works so well due in no small part to the excellent ensemble. Together, they manage to craft the vibrant beating heart of a family, even in the most doleful of surroundings. Written with a brittle and brutal eloquence, ‘The Humans’ is a dark, modern take on how our own family life can sometimes feel like a foreign land. As evening descends, and a brief glimpse of what may or not be a supernatural being or a neighbor hurries past, it’s difficult to tell who is more scared – the humans on the inside or whatever’s on the outside peering in. As each room goes dark, it illuminates just how alien-like we sometimes seem from a distance, and how reassuringly human too.
Last year’s Tony Award for Best Musical went to ‘Fun Home’ and on our latest trip to Broadway we finally got around to seeing it. Well-worth the wait, and the accolades, this was one amazing work of art. Based on the graphic novel by Alison Bechdel, this is not your typical Broadway musical, but don’t let that deter you. I resisted for so long because I just didn’t see how a musical of a closet-case suicide could be enjoyable on any level. Then, when I realized that the ‘Fun Home’ of the title was a shortening of ‘funeral home’ I thought there was no way they could make this work. I was wrong.
Against all odds, ‘Fun Home’ finds the humanity and, indeed, the fun, in the troubled lives of those captured in the superficially idyllic, antique-laden environs of Maple Avenue. But to call this a feel-good musical is simply not possible. If it soars, it’s because it seers. If it flies, it’s because so many of the characters have their wings clipped. Yet somehow it remains defiantly buoyant. The very weighty themes, and the inevitable collapse and destruction of this happy home, conspire to weave a tapestry of the human condition and the evolving culture of gay acceptance – but that doesn’t mean the proceedings are ever without love. It’s just that sometimes the love is harder to detect and feel when you’re hiding from the truth.
That masked duality finds frenetic form in the father figure who is at the tragic heart of this story. In his Tony-winning turn as the closeted Dad whose daughter also turns out to be gay, Michael Cerveris conveys anguish, hope, and elation within minutes of each other, and it’s a performance that manages to be as sinister and menacing as it is morbid and soulless. Is he bitter, resentful, or secretly glad that his daughter would live in a better world than him? Is he secretly envious of the life she has an opportunity to lead? Or is he simply relieved that his children might have a chance of belonging and being true to themselves in ways that he could only ever imagine?
His daughter Alison, seen at three stages, and equally mesmerizing in each, is the narrator looking back at the events of her family’s life and trying to make sense of it all. This is her story even more than it is her Dad’s, and as she pieces together the events of her childhood, it is with both anguish and acceptance as she begins to see the ways in which he was trapped.
Most moving is the way that art and beauty are used as balms and ways to forge and find forgiveness. Adult Alison talks in captions, befitting her illustrator dreams, trying to contain and align the past, making sense of memories, yearning to understand through retrospective observation and mindful re-creation. Our memories are not always ours alone; the mind blunts some areas while sharpening others, and sometimes that skews the truth.
That there is indeed fun to be found in this funeral home is rather a miracle in itself, and like the best moments in many of our lives, this fun is tempered with terrible tragedy and the changing times of our cultural history, when being yourself meant salvation for a daughter and death for a father. The way their story unfolds is difficult to watch, particularly if you know what’s coming, but it’s also affirming in its own way. Rather than preaching its message of tolerance and acceptance, it merely shows the opposite end of a time and era before it seemed possible. There is an incredible power in that, and the current cast more than ably translates that power into thrilling musical theater.
The very first time I saw Audra McDonald on stage was in the brilliant ‘Master Class’ with Zoe Caldwell. Back then, in the long-ago 90’s, she played a supporting role to an imperious diva – Maria Callas – yet she absolutely stole the show with a purity and grace and innocence that was both beguiling and beneficent. As written by Terrence McNally, it was Ms. Caldwell’s tour-de-force, but Ms. McDonald’s talent could not be ignored, and she won a Tony for the turn.
The next time I saw Audra McDonald was in the original run of ‘Ragtime‘ – for which she also won a Tony (which was quickly becoming a good habit). Her voice lifted that production, and as much as it was an ensemble piece, she managed to shine and hit the high notes that confirmed her break-out status.
Since then she’s won a few more Tony Awards, but I didn’t get the chance to see her again until HBO broadcast her stunning turn as Billie Holiday in a recording of ‘Lady Day at Emerson’s Bar & Grill’ – and what a revelation it was. As I was watching, I was struck by a certain full-circle moment wherein Ms. McDonald had taken the proper lead role that mirrors the monstre sacré to which she had to be subservient in her ‘Master Class’ role. In this production, it is McDonald who plays the diva, and she does it with the fiery exhibition and subtle devastation that makes a Broadway play strike to the very heart of the human spirit. When she slams down the piano cover or fills her own cocktail glass with ice and liquor, she completes the transformation into the iconic status she merely flirted with in ‘Master Class.’ It is a gratifying promise perfectly kept.
This is a mesmerizing performance, punctuated by the brilliant rendition of Ms. Holiday in which McDonald not only inhabits her voice and mannerisms, but takes it to a searing, desperate and doomed emotional level wherein fear and adulation and the ultimate craft of an artist’s brilliance collides with her subject’s iconography. It would be easy to emulate and imitate, but McDonald goes wondrously beyond such mimicry: she becomes Holiday in a way that resurrects her history, and offers both redemption and condemnation. There is truth in that, and courage, and an amazing show that’s as difficult to witness as it necessary for the soul.
By this point in human history the whole star-crossed-lovers thing can get kind of old. Yet the very reasons that make it so trite are those that make it so timelessly true. Leonard Bernstein, Arthur Laurents and Stephen Sondheim knew this when re-telling the classic Romeo and Juliet story. Set in the Bronx of the 1950’s it tells the tragic tale of Tony and Maria, who find themselves in love amid a world that only wants to keep them apart. As cultures clash, and society struggles to deal with the quickly-changing face of New York, rival gangs circle in a battle to the death.
While remaining faithful to the original is often frowned-upon in these days of revival fatigue, there’s something profoundly smart in holding onto the very essence of what makes a show good, and in this case giving the audience what they want. That’s going on now at the Mac-Haydn Theatre. (It’s reportedly the most requested musical that the Mac-Haydn produced this year, and is set to run for three weeks accordingly.)
This production hits the stage running, literally. Full-throttle, thrillingly-choreographed action opens the evening – an indication that the most powerful portions of the evening will be told through music and dance. As expertly directed by James Kinney (who keeps the inventive work of Jerome Robbins alive and kicking), movement plays as integral a role to the proceedings as music, though Bernstein’s genius may beg to differ. Moving, majestic and overtly romantic passages of balletic beauty are balanced and punctuated by jarring punches of dissonant chords and foot-stomping fights.
The heart of the show belongs, for better or worse, to the leads – and many a ‘West Side Story’ has skidded off the tracks based on the castings of Tony or Maria. Luckily, Jarrett Jay Yoder and Mia Pinero are more than equipped at conveying the emotional core of their doomed love affair. Yoder’s voice is a veritable force-of-nature, and he’s at his most impressive when belting out emotion in a song, subtly drawing forth the raw ache of the heart in an arresting falsetto. Pinero matches his talent in delicacy and gorgeousness, and her transformation from winsome innocent to world-weary almost-widow is the evening’s most delicious, and rewarding, surprise.
The rest of the cast is far more than supporting, particularly the fiery performances of Veronica Fiaoni as Anita (absolutely stealing every scene she’s in) and the impassioned rendering by William Raff, bringing a palpable intensity to his Bernardo. In fact, it’s the intricate ensemble work and the way the cast works as a whole that fuels this ‘Story’ and sets it soaring. Witness the ‘Tonight’ Quintet – widely considered to be one of the greatest scenes in musical theater history. It’s a highlight of this production, with Kinney making the most of the Mac-Haydn’s in-the-round stage construction as a prelude to the Act I finale.
‘West Side Story’ is a reminder that love is never wasted, love is never lost, even if it’s just for a night. When two people come together like that, it’s not something that circumstance or cultural differences can ever truly kill. You may stop a heart from beating, but you can’t stop it from loving. Love will always endure.
{“West Side Story” runs until August 9, 2015. Call 518-392-9292 for information and reservations, or order on-line at www.machaydntheatre.org at any time. Featured photos by the Mac-Haydn staff.}
Who knew a group of singing nuns could be so hellishly entertaining? And who could have foretold that a movie like ‘Sister Act’, while filled with its own musical moments, could make such a deeply satisfying transition to the stage with an entirely new score? The Ogunquit Playhouse is putting on a new production of the Tony-nominated show and it’s nothing short of a revelatory religious experience.
Re-set in the late 1970’s, the music is a pastiche of soul, disco and gospel, written by the celebrated Alan Menken (who was largely responsible for putting Disney back on the musical map with ‘The Little Mermaid‘, ‘Beauty and the Beast’, and ‘Aladdin‘ – all of which have gone on to become Broadway shows.) The show itself takes a moment or two to build, but once Deloris is back in the habit and raising the roof with the rousing ‘Raise Your Voice’ every board and block of the Ogunquit Playhouse vibrates with sheer joy and show-biz salvation.
It turns out that soaring gospel anthems and Latin prayers form the perfect melodic structure for the injection of a disco beat. As built from the ground up by the Playhouse, this production boasts a winning cast, and the two leads are largely why it’s such a stunning success. Rashidra Scott gives a devilishly-good rafter-raising performance as Deloris, injecting the role made famous by Whoopi Goldberg with a dose of glamour and a wondrously-gifted vocal prowess. After understudying the role on Broadway, Ms. Scott brings exuberance and energy to her Ms. Cartier, and displays the absolute voice of an angel – a powerfully-throated angel who can bring the roof down with a growl from the base of her register to a full-fledged peel of her highest note, and everything in between is just as heavenly.
Her counterpart, the equally-divine Jennifer Allen as Mother Superior, reigns with an iron fist but a heaven-sent voice. Her Act Two number ‘Haven’t Got A Prayer’ delivers moments of comedic gold shot through with a self-doubting pathos. It gives her character the empathetic pull that drives the tension, and ultimate resolution, of the relationship between her and Deloris. Taking us along on the fascinating transformation of a woman toiling with inner-turmoil and her own faith, Ms. Allen has the less showy role, but as she jockeys for power and respect in different, and just as compelling, ways, she forms a sparkling foil for Deloris. They challenge each other, and turn out the better for it.
Having missed out on the original Broadway run (which starred the amazing Patina Miller, who went on to seduce audiences, and a Tony Award, in ‘Pippin’), I was pleasantly surprised to see that this musical went deeper than the film, highlighting the friendship and genuine bond between the women (particularly in the moving title song) as well as the internal fight within Deloris herself – in which her show business dreams battle with her angelic guardians.
By the end, Mother Superior echoes one of the first beliefs of Deloris: “All things being even, here’s what I believe in – Nothing matters more than love.†Hokey, perhaps, but truer than any religious dogma that was ever uttered. When you put it to music like this, and let it pour forth from the vocal instruments of such a talented cast, the results are transcendently spiritual. ‘Sister Act’ is one hell of a good show, and I’d wager the Big JC himself would be tapping his foot to it too.
{‘Sister Act’ runs until June 21, 2015 at the Ogunquit Playhouse.}
