Review of "In The Heights"

“In the Heights,” last season’s critical and commercial Off-Broadway hit, has now transferred to Broadway where its vibrancy and pulsating rhythms ignite the Richard Rodgers Theatre. The show, with touches of joy and sorrow, focuses on the changing lives that affect a small street corner in the Washington Heights area of New York City. Lin-Manuel Miranda, the star as well as composer, serves as ringmaster/narrator from his small bodega (a tiny grocery store) in the neighborhood around 181st and Broadway. There, he dispenses coffee and advice while also pursuing the love of his life. But his story is just one of many artfully woven together by librettist Quiara Alegria Hudes. The flow of the musical has an organic earthiness to it, where the action has an intuitive ebb and flow.

The choreography by Andy Blankenbuehler exemplifies this point. Where most Broadway musicals telegraph the big production number, the dances of “In The Heights” evolve naturally within the plot lines. They are street smart and dynamic, giving the audience a feel for the latino culture on Manhattan’s northern boundary.

The cast is uniformily superb and while all deserve praise and mention, the real standouts include Lin-Manuel Miranda as Usnavi (Think U.S. Navy. The joke is explained in the show), Mandy Gonzalez as Nina, the one who’s brains and drive allowed her to escape her past; Robin De Jesus, a buddy, partner and comic foil all wrapped up in one; and Olga Merediz as the old sage of the block, Abuela. Even more noteworthy are the raw emotions these actors and actresses are able to generate. For most musicals my connection with the performers is usually muted. In “In The Heights” I deeply cared what would happen to the character’s lives, which further drew me into their world.

The score by Lin-Manual Miranda is exhilarating and of the moment. Combining salsa, latin rhythms and rap, Miranda successfully manages to introduce to the Broadway masses the music and sounds heard throughout Washington Heights. What’s more, was the delivery of each song. The ballads are heartfelt and the uptempo numbers seethe with urgency.

Keeping all the swirling components of the show working like clockwork is Director Thomas Kail. In less assured hands, the musical could become conventional or prosaic. But Kail, expertly collaborating with his other creative partners, makes “In The Heights” anything but pedestrian.

“In The Heights,” a show that gives this Broadway season something to rave about.

Review of "November"

Tired of presidential politics? Sick of all those political ads? Annoying pollsters and intrusive phone calls? Can’t wait for the Super Tuesday primaries to be over? The frenzied tonic of an answer is located at the Ethel Barrymore Theater in David Mamet’s new comedy, “November.” This is not the dour Mamet of “American Buffalo” or “Glengarry Glen Ross,” but a more puckish playwright out to skewer presidential politics and, not too subtly, the current occupant of the oval office.

Starring Nathan Lane as a buffoon of a Commander-in-Chief, “November” zeroes in on the Almighty Dollar and its role in presidential elections and beyond. The premise of the show is simple. Lane’s character, President Charles Smith, is despised by just about everyone in the United States, which is putting a damper on his reelection bid. This has negatively affected his fund-raising ability for a last minute TV blitz as well as his attempts to raise money for a much-desired Presidential Library. The solution? Fleece the turkey lobby, seeking the ceremonial pardon of the Thanksgiving bird, in exchange for millions in donations. Add in complications and sermonizing on same sex marriage and you have the ingredients for a mostly comical and entertaining time in the theater.

In typical Mamet fashion the dialogue is fast and furious and the expletives are numerous. The superb cast, headed by Lane, Dylan Baker and Laurie Metcalf, are more then up to the challenge of taking Mamet’s sometimes absurdist and manic notions and delivering an intoxicating mixture of laughs and jabs.

The focus is on Lane, the bigoted, racist, xenophobic and homophobic President of the United States (I don’t think I left out any other phobias). He’s overwrought, slightly demented, and somewhat intellectually challenged. Lane plays the role to perfection. Buried beneath all the President’s faults and blemishes is a heart, not quite of gold, but a heart nonetheless. Lane is a master of the slow burn, or the arched eyebrow to make a point. He has an accomplished foil in Dylan Baker as Archer Brown, Chief of Staff. Baker is droll, straight-faced and a more calming compliment to Lane’s often caustic character. Laurie Metcalfe, the harried, principled and overwhelmed presidential speechwriter is more than a match for Lane’s bullying President.

Joe Mantello directs with a tight rein, yet gives his actors plenty of room to maneuver, a necessity with the likes of Nathan Lane prowling the stage.

The climax of “November” is, unfortunately, not a satisfying conclusion. Still, “November” is funny and timely. In political parlance think of it as in between a Florida and Ohio primary, just not a California blockbuster.

Review of "Is He Dead?"

“Is He Dead?,” the Mark Twain comedy recently unearthed by scholars, now on Broadway, will have a great afterlife in summer stock and community theater. The show provides a fistful of laughs, has a silly, yet gratifying plotline, plum roles for actors and actresses, and the chance for the star to play in drag. What more could middle American want?

This is not to detract for what we see on the Lyceum stage, but an acknowledgement that “Is He Dead?” is more a humorous bauble rather than a side-splitting pearl.

The show’s setup revolves around the fact that the paintings of dead artists bring in more money than live ones. Building on this premise sets Twain’s action in motion, mostly to entertaining effect. “Is He Dead?” is not a Neil Simon gag-a-minute laugh fest, but a more cheerful, clownish affair. What makes the production a success is a top notch cast and tight, yet playful, direction by Michael Blakemore.

The performers are led by a slimmed down Norbert Leo Butz as Jean-Francois Millet, France’s greatest painter, when dead. Butz is gregarious, looney, and self-indulgent—ingredients that add up to a near riotous spectacle. John McMartin’s Papa Leroux, near death in Act I, transforms to a lecherous old goat in Act II to comic perfection. Michael McGrath is more understated than in some of his better roles, but his Agememnon sets in motion the play’s premise and presides over the action like a seasoned ringleader. Jenn Gambatese as Millet’s love interest, Marie, is vulnerable and endearing; and Byron Jennings, a cross between Flash Gordon’s Ming the Merciless and a moustached Wild West villain, plays art dealer, Bastien Andre, with just the right amount of slimy ooze. Special kudos, however, go to David Pittu. Playing multiple cameo roles, one more hilarious than the next, Pittu energizes the proceedings without halting the action. Without his talented turn “Is He Dead?” would not be half as funny. The rest of the cast contributes soundly making “Is He Dead?” a satisfying production.

Review of "The Little Mermaid"

Disney’s stage musicals of its animated movie classics have succeeded because of their creative and imaginative theatricality along with a spoonful of Disney magic. Think of Ann Hould-Ward’s whimsical costumes in “Beauty and the Beast” or the Beast’s spellbinding transformation at the conclusion of that long running show. Or Julie Taymor’s inspired reengineering of “The Lion King” along with her ingenious and breakthrough use of puppertry.

Disappointingly, Disney’s lastest Broadway entry, “The Little Mermaid,” lacks the ingredients so integral to these past successes. The bold, fluid vision that is a Disney hallmark is distressingly lacking. The “Under the Sea” production number is a perfect example. What should be a joyous, raucous, costumed extravaganza is an insipid, watery mess. Tatiana Noginova’s costumes are an embarrassment to the Disney legacy and the energy level would put hermit crab, Sebastian, to sleep. And what are those totem pole-like structures suppose to represent? Flowering underwater trees? Blossoming sea anemones?

The musical’s climatic battle scene with the sea witch is, no pun intended, a Mickey Mouse and lackluster whimper instead of a thundering finale.

So, is “The Little Mermaid” the disaster some have opined? No, in fact young children and tweens might find the production wholly satisfying. While the aforementioned “Under the Sea” number sinks, the tender “Kiss the Girl,” with its understated approach, demonstrates what could have been.

Yet, unlike “Beauty and the Beast” and “The Lion King,” which had entertainment value for grown-ups, “The Little Mermaid” is purely a young person experience.

The musical handles the underwater locale with a certain amount of illusionary success. The impression of gliding through the ocean depths is accomplished using heelys, wheels attached to the web-wear of the mer-people and other assorted undersea characters. But suspension of belief and flickers of stage trickery go only so far. Act I has its moments; Act II seemed like an eternity.

Francesca Zambello’s direction seems scattered, sometimes inspiring, all too often colorless and drab. The same can be said of Stephen Mear’s choreography.

The score, with new material by composer Alan Menken and lyricist Glenn Slater, is underwhelming except for the handful of memorable songs from the movie.

The cast is uniformly fine. Newcomer Sierra Bogges as Ariel, is pretty, pert, and has a lovely singing voice. Eddie Korbich brings much needed comic relief to the show as Scuttle the seagull; Sean Palmer, is flavorless and bland, yet pleasingly sufficient as Prince Eric; and Tituss Burgess has a grand time scurrying across the Lunt-Fontaine stage as the manic Sebastian. However, all others pale aside Sherie Rene Scott as Ursula the eight armed sea witch. Scott is truly menacing in the Disney villain tradition. She seems to relish her role, giving an over-the-top performance. If there is no other reason to pluck down your money for “The Little Mermaid” Sherie Rene Scott is grand justification.

Review of "Young Frankenstein"

The big question on Broadway this year—besides when will the stagehand strike be settled—concerns the new Mel Brooks musical, “Young Frankenstein.” Will it live up to all its pre-opening hype? Will it be the critical and commercial success of Brooks’ last outing on Broadway with “The Producers?” Disappointingly, the answer is no. Sure, the advance sales will keep the SRO sign posted for months and months. But the production falls flat in a number of significant ways with only a few glimmers of maniacal and creative genius.

So, what’s the problem? First, and foremost, is Roger Bart as Dr. Frederick Frankenstein. Bart, who has been outstanding in supporting roles on Broadway—“You’re A Good Man, Charlie Brown” and “The Producers”—lacks the comedic playfulness and repressed energy necessary to hold the show together. Instead of being the point person, in this highly talented ensemble of musical comedy veterans, Bart too often blends in with the pack, fading instead of shining. Secondly, the delivery of the best jokes and funniest scenes from the movie, which the show is based on, fall flat. Actually, flat may be kind. Most of the time there is a monumental thud. Again, I fault Bart for his bland intonation and total lack of comedic timing. Director Susan Stroman should also be blamed for allowing some of the most highly anticipated moments of the production to become mere throwaway lines.

Lastly, as I just stated, this has to be one of the most highly regarded musical comedy casts that has been assembled since…well, since “The Producers.” Each member has their moment—from Megan Mullaly’s beltings to Sutton Foster’s acrobatic schtick to Andrea Martin’s enigmatic Frau Blucher, but the flow and continuity of the production suffers while each actor, in a sense, takes their turn in the sun. In film, where a director can call for a close-up or two-shot, the actor’s on-screen presence can be totally controlled. In a big, Broadway musical the director and book writers do not have the luxury of homing in on a select few characters while the others simply stand around. Everyone on stage needs to be in the mix. Too often in “Young Frankenstein” it seems central cast members are just hanging about, almost loitering within the confines of Robin Wagner’s imposing sets.

So, is there anything positive to say about “Young Frankenstein?” Sure. This is not a Broadway bomb, far from it. Christopher Fitzgerald, as Igor, totally embodies the zaniness of his character, cavorting merrily about the Hilton Theater stage. Shuler Hensley is both menacing and hilarious as the monster. His big production number in “Puttin’ on the Ritz,” is the absolute highlight of the musical. If the inspired inventiveness and creativity of that scene was replicated throughout the show then “Young Frankenstein” would be elevated to comic brilliance.

As mentioned, Robin Wagner’s sets, especially Dr. Frankenstein’s vast laboratory, are outstanding. The rest of the creative team, from Peter Kaczorowski’s lighting designs to the sound design by Jonathan Deans to Marc Brickman’s special effects, also deserve kudos. Mel Brooks’ score has its moments, producing a titter here and there, but nothing to match the wit and acumen of “The Producers.” Likewise, Susan Stroman’s direction can be problematic; her choreography conventional and overall unsatisfying.

“Young Frankenstein,” entertaining and a pleasant diversion, but not the monster hit one had hoped for.

Review of the Broadway Musical, Xanadu

Xanadu, the first Broadway musical of the year, is…well, silly. Silly, daffy, and with a generous helping of camp, Xanadu seems like it would be more at home at the New York Fringe Festival or some Off-Broadway theatre in the Village. However, here it is, ensconced at the tiny Helen Hayes Theater providing a jolt of lovable lunacy for Broadway theatergoers.

Based on the 1980 movie flop of the same name, Xanadu tells the story of nine sisterly Greek muses (actually seven) who appear in Venice Beach, California to save and inspire the soul of a failed artist named Sonny. Led by the youngest of the group, Clio, who in her humanly form is now an Australian named Kira (remember the movie starred Australian Olivia Newton-John), the band of merry conspirators help Sonny fulfill his artistic vision by opening a roller disco. Yes, a roller disco. Remember, this is 1980. Throw in some evil shenanigans by two of the sisterly muses, the collusion of an aged real estate mogul and, of course, the forbidden love between Sonny and Kira, and you have the whole whacked out scenario.

Xanadu works, most of the time, due to its infectious joyfulness typified by the off-the-wall nuttiness in the opening number, “I’m Alive.” The show teeters on the verge of plunging down the abyss of excess but, through the strength of its nostalgic score and winning performances, rights itself time and time again.

The songs, especially for baby boomers like me, are a sheer delight. There is a generous helping of Electric Light Orchestra hits—“Evil Woman,” “Strange Magic,” and “All Over The World” along with soft rock standards by Olivia Newton-John such as “Magic,” “Have You Ever Been Mellow,” and the title song, “Xanadu.” They are delivered by an engaging cast headed by Kerry Butler as Kira. Butler, who came to prominence as the ditsy Penny Pingleton in the original cast of “Hairspray”, demonstrates her comic talents once again, as she sings and skates through Douglas Carter Beane’s stripped down and breezy book. Mary Testa and Jackie Hoffman, two theatrical veterans, are superb as the oft-kilter, maniacal muses plotting Kira’s demise. Cheyenne Jackson, who normally plays the creatively challenged artist, Sonny, was out of the show the night I went and Curtis Holbrook, his stand-in, was only serviceable at best. Tony Roberts, still pounding the boards, adds a bit of stability, just a bit, to the musical’s hijinks.

Director Christopher Ashley keeps the pulsating action flowing so effortlessly that the one and one-half hours of intermission less daftness breezily and carelessly flies by.

Xanadu, something out of the ordinary from your more traditional Broadway musical. Not necessarily a production for the unadventurous, but a satisfying dollop of sustained and entertaining silliness.

High Button Shoes at Goodspeed Opera House

Connecticut is home to a number of first rate theatrical companies. My favorite is the Goodspeed Opera House in East Haddam. Their mission is twofold. First, is the advancement of musical theatre, which was the impetus for their original stagings of Man of LaMancha, Shenandoah, and Annie before they headed to very lengthy runs on Broadway. Second, is “the preservation… of musical theatre.” Since 1963 Goodspeed has presented well-known and beloved musical productions as well as lesser known gems. Their second offering this year, High Button Shoes, falls into the latter category.

This rarely produced Jule Styne-Sammy Cahn show, originally directed by George Abbot (who co-wrote the book) and choreographed by Jerome Robbins, revolves around con man Harrison Floy and his sidekick, Mr. Pontdue as they repeatedly attempt to bamboozle the populace of New Brunswick, NJ. Throw in the Rutgers University Scarlet Knights football team, a love story, the Keystone Kops, and a happy ending and you have the basic ingredients for this immensely pleasurable show.

Stephen Bienske embodies the scheming, slippery, flim flam artist, Harrison Floy (portrayed in the 1947 production by Phil Silvers) with a sophisticated and refined contemptibility. While he plays the role with perfect aplomb, his characterization would be more believable (and enjoyable) if there was somewhat of a sleazier edge in his depiction of Floy—think Silvers or Robert Preston (a la The Music Man). But I’m nitpicking. High Button Shoes is probably one of the best cast musicals I have seen at Goodspeed in years. Every actor and actress fits their role beautifully. From the young lovers, ingénue Russell Arden Koplin as Miss Fran Beck; and Brian Hissong, as football star, Hubert Ogglethorpe; to the poignantly portrayed Mama and Papa Longstreet, played by Jennifer Allen and William Parry.

Director Greg Ganakas manages to keep the action moving along, especially in the somewhat slow-moving First Act, building towards the Second Act one-two opener, the cheery, “On A Sunday by The Sea,” and the wild and frenetic “Keystone Kop Ballet,” a merry romp in and around Atlantic City’s bath tents and boardwalk. Augmenting Ganakas’ work is choreographer Linda Goodrich, once again demonstrating how a seasoned professional can take such a small space—both on and off stage—and create sheer dancing magic. Two other members of the creative team worth noting are scenery designer Howard Chrisman Jones, for his varied and fully conceived depictions of life around the turn-of-the-century; and costume designer Gregory Gale for a slew of gorgeous and sumptuous outfits. Bravo.

The score by the aforementioned Styne and Cahn has a number of exceptional tunes including “Papa, Won’t You Dance With Me,” “Nobody Ever Died For Dear Old Rutgers,” and “I Still Get Jealous.” The latter song, sung by Jennifer Allen and William Parry is a simple, heart-warming number with a bit of the old soft shoe. The two theater veterans command the stage with no pyrotechnics or overstuffed orchestrations to clutter their style. A pure joy to behold.

High Button Shoes, the perfect respite for the last days of summer. Now through September 22nd at the Goodspeed Opera House.