Review of "Promises, Promises"

Promises, Promises was the first musical to make an indelible impression upon me. I don’t really remember much from the 1971 national touring production I saw in Washington, D.C. except I thought the Burt Bacarach/Hal David score was captivating and the lead was a young Tony Roberts. That’s it. However, my memory of that evening has continued to be been strong over all these subsequent years. Interestingly, for a show that was a big Broadway hit, playing over 1,200 performances, the musical has been rarely mounted. A surprisingly lackluster 1993 Goodspeed Opera House production was the most recent. So, when a Broadway revival, featuring Sean Hayes and Kristen Chenowith, was announced for this season I was truly excited. Maybe this time my expectations and fond memories would be rewarded.

The plot, taken from the Billy Wilder movie, “The Apartment,” centers on the topsy turvy life of a lowly office clerk, Chuck Baxter, played by Sean Hayes, as he pines for co-worker Fran Kubleik, Kristen Chenowith, while dreaming of climbing the corporate ladder. One asset he has—a one bedroom apartment that all the office bigwigs covet in order to carry out their weekly affairs.

While this latest incarnation of Promises, Promises is not overly satisfying, the production does have much to offer. First, and foremost, is Kristen Chenowith, as the forthright, yet vulnerable waitress/hostess, Fran Kubelik. Chenowith is always a joy to behold in her too infrequent stage appearances. While not always coming across as the young, defenseless girl trying to find love in the big city, she does exude enough vulnerability to make you believe in her character. And what a voice!

Tony Goldwyn is sickly sweet as Personnel Director, J.D. Sheldrake who preys upon the young, innocent females of Consolidated Life Insurance. He’s a conniving charlatan that would make the men of television’s “Mad Men” proud.

The score, the only theatrical output by the team of Burt Bacharach and Hal David, is bouncy and tuneful—just what you’d expect from the hit-making team. There are so many outstanding songs, which include the title track, “Our Little Secret,” “Where Can You Take a Girl?” “A Young Pretty Girl Like You,” and “I’ll Never Fall in Love Again.” The show’s producers, looking to enhance Chenowith’s role have added the Bacharach/David hit “I Say a Little Prayer” and “A House is Not a Home” to her repertoire. It’s a shame the two never wrote another show.

So, what about Sean Hayes? At first, I wasn’t too enamored with his performance as the slightly nebbish Chuck Baxter. I wanted more Tony Roberts or Jerry Orbach, who originated the role in the 1968 Broadway production. What we get on stage is a more heterosexual version of his Jack McFarland role on the television sitcom, “Will and Grace.” He’s a goofy sad sack of a character. It wasn’t until midway through Act I, when I admitted to myself that this is what the creative team wanted in the role, that I settled in to enjoy Haye’s antics on stage. Not a great singer, but someone with solid comic credentials.

My main problem with the show was, surprisingly, its lack of vitality. The liveliness was there during the overture as dancers slinked and shimmied to the music, but then all but disappeared until the rousing Act I ending, “Turkey Lurkey Time.” Sure, there flourishes here and there, but Choreographer Rob Ashford, as opposed to Director, Rob Ashford, could have done so much more. Likewise, I wasn’t impressed with Scenic Designer, Scott Pask’s more minimalist sets. Over the years I have been critical of sets that overpower a production, but here I thought more would have been better.

Director/Choreographer Ashford could have ratcheted up the tempo more in Act I, but does a much more admirable job in Act II, which is more melancholy in tone.

Promises, Promises, maybe more a period piece, but with some rousing performances and sparkling score, worth seeing.

Review of "American Idiot"

Loud, raucous, full of kinetic energy, yet somewhat unsatisfying, is the new musical, American Idiot, by the punk rock group, Green Day, from their album of the same name. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed this high octane tale of suburban alienation performed by a young, dynamic, and talented cast. I qualify my enthusiasm simply because of the lack of any narrative thread that makes the storyline slightly difficult to follow. Green Day enthusiasts—and there were plenty in the packed audience—would belittle such criticism since they know the album backward and forward. But with the non-stop anthems coming in an explosion of sight and sound, deciphering the lyrics, which would help with understanding the frenetic plot, became a losing proposition.

Is this, basically, a generational issue? I would answer in the affirmative. An apt comparison is The Who’s "Tommy," the seminal rock opera that, in 1993, was turned into a Broadway musical. As a teenager in the early 1970’s I knew every song from the album as well as the idiosyncratic storyline. I had no problem following the flow of that show. I knew "Tommy" inside and out so when Pete Townsend and company transformed "Tommy" the LP into Tommy the Broadway extravaganza I knew what to expect and, more importantly, had no difficulty understanding the unconventional plot, which also had little narrative structure. For American Idiot I had no grounding in the source material so while I was captivated by the production the enthrallment was more tempered.

Still, the basic premise is straightforward. Three friends, set out to take on the big city, have their paths irrevocably altered. Tunny, who’s pregnant girlfriend causes him to stay behind, spirals down into disillusionment and apathy; Will, seduced by the lure of glory, enlists in the armed services with tragic consequences; while Johnny becomes seduced by the debauchery and self-indulgence in the unnamed metropolis.

Even with the minimal storyline, the production is riveting with an outstanding cast that never shifts from high gear. How they have the energy and zeal to perform two shows on matinee day is beyond me. There are many first-rate performances in American Idiot, led by John Gallagher, Jr., as Johnny. A Tony winner for Spring Awakening, in American Idiot he seems to have unleashed all his pent-up angst from that show as he extricates himself from the boredom of his suburban detachment to a more noxious, drug infested life in the city.

Tony Vincent, as the downtown, androgynous drug pusher, St. Jimmy, is evil incarnated. I don’t remember the last time I have seen such a repulsive, scary monster strut along a Broadway stage. He was that good.

Director Michael Mayer, along with Green Day front man, Billie Joe Armstrong, deserve praise for crafting a living, breathing musical from one of the most influential and critically-acclaimed albums in recent memory. Mayer keeps the large-scale production pulsating, while adding some creative flourishes such as an artfully crafted high-flying dream sequence. Mayer integrates the creative team’s vision into a throbbing, dynamic piece of musical theater. Kudos to scenic designer, Christine Jones; lighting designer, Kevin Adams; sound, Brian Ronon; and, especially, video/projection designer, Darrel Maloney. They take the vision of American Idiot and have it unfold, not just on-the-ground, but up, down, and above the St. James Theater stage.

American Idiot, slightly flawed, but a powerful force kicking and screaming its way on The Great White Way.

Review of "The Addams Family"

I really wanted to like The Addams Family. Really, I did. The promise of a big, splashy Broadway musical with a great cast and solid creative team credentials was tantalizing. Unfortunately, The Addams Family is a lifeless, dare I say, bore. The show starts off well enough with an inoffensive, mildly amusing production number, “When You’re an Addams,” but then it’s all downhill from there. Two reasons. First, the two stars, Nathan Lane and Bebe Neuwirth, are given no material to work with. Second, the musical’s book, by Marshall Brickman and Rick Elice, Tony Award winners for Jersey Boys, is disjointed and flat with one lame joke followed by another.

The plot centers around the Addams’ daughter, Wednesday, and her desire to marry a gee-shucks boy from America’s heartland. To impress his visiting family the Addams are ordered to act normally by the love-struck girl. Interestingly, when these words were uttered I immediately thought of another show with this premise, a musical called La Cage Aux Folles which, coincidentally, just opened on Broadway in a scaled down revival. Also, who was in the Americanized movie version of the original French farce? Nathan Lane, one of the stars of The Addams Family. But, I digress. As I stated, the story is ineffective and feeble with none of the creepy pleasures we've come to expect from this macabre family. The writers couldn’t have come up with a better premise? Worse, the attempts at humor are so off-the-mark. I simply cannot remember a musical, in recent memory, where the deficiencies in the book are so evident.

What compounds the problem is the lack of substance for the two stars of the show. A musical featuring Nathan Lane and Bebe Neuwirth should be an event to cherish. Both are seasoned, Tony winning actors that, in the past, have brandished a swagger and style that have kept audiences enormously entertained. But here, playing the roles of Morticia and Gomez Addams, Neuwirth and Lane are saddled with very little to do. I was waiting for Nathan Lane to let loose with his character, to have fun, and meld his musical comedy and vaudevillian sensibilities into another memorable portrayal as he has done so well in such productions as A Funny Thing on the Way to the Forum and The Producers. In The Addams Family, practically nothing. It was like watching someone in a strait jacket unsuccessfully trying to break free.

In Bebe Neuwirth you want to see her dance. She’s a dancer—remember her performances in Sweet Charity and Chicago—but in The Addams Family there is literally zippo, zilch, zero—you get my drift--until her “Tango de Amor” just before the closing curtain. Yes, the end of the show. Not the beginning. Not the middle. The end. Who’s to blame? Well, Sergio Trujillo is the choreographer of record.

I also felt sorry for theater veterans Terrence Mann and Carolee Carmello as the parents of Wednesday’s affection, Mr. and Mrs. Beineke. They have been so marvelous throughout their careers it is too bad they have to be weighed down with such bland and insipid roles. They deserve better.

The score by Andrew Lippa is lackluster at best, providing no opportunity for any of the actors to shine.

The directing/design team of Phelim McDermott and Julian Crouch score no real points on the directing side, but big points on the design end. But, this is just another nail in the coffin when the look and feel of the sets are one of the most memorable aspects of the production.

Is there any redeeming value to The Addams Family? Kevin Chamberlain as Uncle Fester and Jackie Hoffman as Grandma are highly entertaining and bring a slightly off-kilter slant to their characters. That’s about it.

The Addams Family, dead on arrival, now at the Lunt-Fontanne Theatre.

Review of "Lend Me a Tenor"

Funny. Very funny. That’s the best way to describe the revival of Ken Ludwig’s 1989 farce, Lend Me a Tenor. Featuring an A-List cast, the comedy incorporates many of the characteristics of classic farce—improbable situations, mistaken identities and a hefty dollop of physical zaniness.

Tony Shalhoub plays Saunders, the General Manager of the Cleveland Opera, who has hired Italian tenor, Tito Merelli, portrayed by Anthony LaPaglia, for a high-priced fundraising event. Of course, soon the best laid plans begin to go awry, which sets the madcap plot into motion. Shalhoub, as the high-strung and bombastic impresario, Saunders, is a pure joy. His slow burns, over-the-top histrionics, and comedic timing are priceless. LaPaglia plays more the straight man in the show, but his portrayal of the bloated, pompous, and overly sexed, “Il Stupendo,” is exuberant and flamboyant. His ying to Shalhoub’s yang is integral to the production’s success. The other “name” actor is Justin Bartha, making his Broadway debut and better known as Nicholas Cage’s sidekick in the National Treasure movies as well as the sunburned groom-to-be in last year’s smash, The Hangover. Here, as Max, playing a slightly wimpish assistant to the overbearing Saunders, Bartha comes off a bit too wooden, not appearing as comfortable as the theater veterans that populate the show. Still, his Max is endearing and, in the end, a winning performance.

The rest of the cast--Mary Catherine Garrison, as Max's starry-eyed girlfriend, hopelessly pining for a romantic tryst with Merelli; Jennifer Laura Thompson, as a flirtatious diva; Brooke Adams, as a daft chairwoman of the Opera Guild; and Jay Klaitz, as a pushy and overbearing bellhop--are equally as good. The standout is Jan Maxwell, as Merelli’s long-suffering wife. Not only does she get to overly emote and wail away at her two timing husband, but she also has the opportunity for some physical theatrics.

Stanley Tucci, making his Broadway directorial debut, keeps the action lively and allows his cast to broadly attack their roles. He has a fine sense of the comedic craft and demonstrates this deft ability throughout this side-splitting production.

One added delight is the show’s setting. The Music Box Theater is a small, intimate house perfectly suited for two hours of rollicking fun.

Lend Me a Tenor, a pure delight and welcome addition to the New York stage.

Chicago Theater Boozers

Last week I attended one of the last performances of the Chicago production of Million Dollar Quartet—a show about the December 1956 jam session at Sun Records with Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins and Jerry Lee Lewis--before its transfer to Broadway. I wasn’t taken with the production, mainly for its lack of dramatic tension. In essence, just another juke box musical without a compelling storyline. Some great music performed by a very talented cast of actor/musicians, but I thought only Sean Sullivan was on target as the man in black himself, Johnny Cash. Of course, with my track record of predicting successful musicals I’m sure Million Dollar Quartert will be a smash hit when it opens next month.

But the most entertaining part of the night at the 440 seat Apollo Theater was not the action on stage, but in the audience. Shortly after the intermission-less show began people started leaving their seats to head out, I assume, to the restrooms. This was not one or two bladder-challenged individuals, but a steady stream. I was perched up in the last row (only eight rows from the stage) overlooking the exit ramp to the lobby which gave me a bird’s eye view of the audience comings and goings. It’s not that these actions were distracting from the show (even though as the evening progressed I became less and less interested in the antics of Jerry Lee Lewis or the whining of Carl Perkins). It was more of a curio, an oddity I had never witnessed in a Broadway house two, three, or four times the size of the Apollo. Is there something in the Chicago water that causes this problem or is this standard audience etiquette in The Windy City theaters?

Or maybe it was due to the amount of alcohol consumption before and during the performance. Now, all theaters have their bar area(s) and people will have a pick-me-up before the curtain rises or, in the case of the Apollo’s 3/4 thrust stage, the lights goes up, but usually with restraint. However, the activity at the theater’s sole watering hole resembled last call at the neighborhood tavern. No wonder, show or no show, when nature called it was time to head to the bathrooms. A prime example was the four blonde bimbos seated just in front of me. I kid you not, this quartet of boozers were sucking down their Bud Lite’s, cackling and laughing like they were in the bleacher seats of nearby Wrigley Field. At one point the tall one on the end left and shortly returned with a six-pack. A six pack of beer! In the theater!! During the performance!!! I don’t know what shocked me the most—the sight of this chicly dressed patron climbing up the aisle, six pack in hand, or the audacity of the theater for selling Bud Lite during the production (couldn’t they at least go upscale with a local microbrew?). I sat there, alternately, transfixed by their antics and dumbfounded by their impudence. Shushing them towards the end of the musical—yes, I actually shushed and didn’t suffer any bodily harm in the process—tempered their gusto to the occasional smirking murmur.

As the show wound down—the actor Lance Lipinsky channeled Jerry Lee Lewis’ “Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On” for the finale--the juiced up quartet fled the theater. When the lights went up, the row in front of me was a minefield of empties. For a moment I didn’t know if I was leaving, as stated on the Apollo Theater’s website, (http://www.apollochicago.com/history.php) “a lush venue with a prestigious reputation, located in the heart of Chicago's fashionable Lincoln Park neighborhood,” or a venue for fashionable lushes!. Broadway, here we come!

Review of "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum" at Goodspeed Opera House

Two fun facts about Stephen Sondheim’s A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, receiving a lively and entertaining production at the Goodspeed Opera House. One, this was the first show with lyrics and music by Stephen Sondheim (he was only the lyricist for West Side Story and Gypsy). Two, even though the original production ran for just under 1,000 performances and garnered a number of Tony Awards, including Best Musical, Actor, and Director, Sondheim was not even nominated for Best Score. All these decades later—Forum was first produced in 1962—this omission seems even more absurd when you listen to a cast recording. What better opening number is there besides “Comedy Tonight?” How about the clowning daffiness of “Everybody Ought to Have a Maid?” These songs, plus “”Lovely,” “Free,” “I’m Calm,” and “Impossible,” in the hands of the comedic ensemble onstage at the Goodspeed make for a delightful and buoyant theatrical treat.

Forum is normally a tour de force for the actor playing the lead character, Pseudolus, the self-absorbed, ever-plotting slave. In fact, every actor who has played the role on Broadway--Zero Mostel, Phil Silvers and Nathan Lane—has won the Tony Award for Best Actor in a musical. Even Jason Alexander, who performed as Pseudolus in Jerome Robbins’ Broadway won the Best Actor Tony. Taking the reins of Pseudolus at Goodspeed is Adam Heller, who mugs with the best of them as he schemes and connives his way to freedom. While Heller is clearly at home with the burlesque nature of the show he doesn’t elevate his performance to where Pseudolus is the top banana. Instead he becomes part of the very fine ensemble of comedic talent that includes David Wohl as the hen-pecked Senex; John Scherer as head slave, Hysterium; and Ron Wisniski as Marcus Lycus, peddler of flesh. Does this set-up hurt the production? The answer is a resounding no. However, a more over-the-top performance by Heller would have enhanced the musical.

The other performances worth noting are Mark Baker, as the creepily daft, Erronius; Nat Chandler as the pompous captain, Miles Gloriosus; Sam Pinkleton as the good-hearted, but naive, Hero; and Emily Thompson as the beautiful courtesan, Philia.

The plot of Forum, filled with mistaken identities, tomfoolery, and double entendres, is a first-class effort by Burt Shevelove and Larry Gelbart. Likewise, Stephen Sondheim’s score while lightweight to some degree, nonetheless provides a playful and melodic series of satisfying songs.

Director/choreographer Ted Pappas keeps the pace fast, frenzied, and farcical as he joyfully brings out the humor and silliness of the production.

The scenic design by James Noone, along with the costumes by Martha Bromelmeier, are colorful and carnival-like, setting a mirthful mood for the audience right from the start.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, an entertaining and comic diversion, now at the Goodspeed Opera House through November 29th.

Review of "Bye Bye Birdie"

If some television producer was smart they would sign Bill Irwin and Jake Evan Schwencke to a network show. Playing father and son in the uninspired revival of Bye Bye Birdie, the two, Bill Irwin as the befuddled father, Harry MacAfee; and Schwencke as his young, precocious son, Randolph, have what is lacking in the Roundabout Theatre’s production—chemistry. Their shared time on stage is fleeting, but provides a taste of the rebellious energy one would associate with a musical dealing with fan frenzied teenagers.

For those individuals that have never seen a high school or community theater production of Bye Bye Birdie, not to mention the movie version, the premise is loosely based on the hysterics that swirled around Elvis Presley’s military conscription. In the musical, teen heartthrob Conrad Birdie travels to Sweet Apple, Ohio to bestow one last kiss on a fan before he begins his military service.

John Stamos stars as Albert Peterson, Birdie’s cranky, milquetoast manager. Stamos does an adequate job shedding his normal macho image, but lacks the bounce in his step, that airy effervescence to help offset his bland take on the character. Gina Gershon, his long-suffering girlfriend Rose, is an appealing performer with a pleasing voice, but the interaction between the two protagonists is void of any feeling or emotion. Will they get together? Will love triumph? Will I care? No chemistry.

While the adult performers are the marquee attraction, Bye Bye Birdie is, for all intents and purposes, a paean to those teenage years where sexual exploration and rebellion are commonplace in the American household, toned down within 1950’s sensibilities. The teenage leads, Allie Trimm, as sweet-as-pie, Kim MacAfee, and her overwrought boyfriend, Hugo Peabody, played by Matt Doyle, are freshly scrubbed, likeable young actors, but bring too little of this disaffected sentiment to the stage. Chemistry? Nada.

Nolan Gerard Funk, as the recalcitrant rock ‘n roll rebel, Conrad Birdie, should exude a sexually-tinged magnetism, but comes across as a bored, sneering lout with no hypnotic allure whatsoever. Birdie, in some respects, is a manufactured star, kept under tight reins by his handlers, but Funk shows no charisma, just discontent and indifference.

The rest of the primarily young cast performs well, whether singing en masse or dancing through Robert Longbottom’s upbeat, but flavorless choreography. The teenage ensemble hit their marks with seasoned precision, but lack any sort of playful spontaneity. This is evident in the “The Telephone Hour,” the first big production number of the show. The actors seemed more absorbed with their corded props and moveable scenery then in the celebratory nature of the song. Chemistry? AWOL.

The musical begs for more of the comic antics and anarchistic flourishes Bill Irwin injects into the production, but director/choreographer Longbottom settles for competent and satisfactory as opposed to inspired and exhilarating.

One of the few pleasures of the musical is the score by Charles Strouse and Lee Adams which includes such gems as “Put On A Happy Face,” “Kids,” “One Last Kiss,” “A Lot of Living’ To Do,” and, my favorite, “Hymn For A Sunday Evening.”

So, from my critique you would think I would be dissuading people from heading to the Henry Miller Theater on West 43rd Street. For grizzled critics, like myself, and habitual theatergoers this would be true. But for younger audiences and families that attend Broadway shows infrequently, this production of Bye Bye Birdie will be captivating and entertaining with just the right amount of Broadway sizzle and sass.