Showing posts with label Broadway. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Broadway. Show all posts

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Ghostly Follies

After years of listening to the extraordinary score of Stephen Sondheim’s “Follies” on various albums and PBS programs, I have finally seen a full production.  This production of “Follies” directed by Eric Schaeffer was presented earlier this year at Kennedy Center and is now running at the Marriott Marquis on Broadway. 

All that listening, and certain songs never seemed to fit.  Now at last I’ve seen the flow of the story, in the present, in the past, and in the actual “Follies” sections of the second act, and I get it.  
Mind you, that second act was theoretical the night I saw it.  On entering the theatre we were told that, despite the printed program proclaiming one fifteen-minute intermission, the play would run two hours and twenty minutes with no intermission.  Artistically this is a valid choice.  However, it does make concentration on the second half of the show more difficult for many people in the audience.  Producers will have to weigh their choices — if they continue the run without intermission, send a forewarning:  "At your pre-theatre dinner, eat light, drink less!" 
 The story — this old theatre, the Weismann, is being torn down to make way for a parking lot, its former showgirl stars are coming together for a reunion, and among them are Sally and Phyllis, who were wooed, bedded, and wedded, in various orders, by Buddy and Ben.  In the intervening thirty years, these couples, like the other former “Weismann Girls,” have had full lives, but reunions have been known to shatter the status quo.  What memories are accurate, which romanticized, who were they then, who are they now?  One might expect a different story from book writer James Goldman and Sondheim, and yet…. many a simple, if tangled, storyline of primary romance, secondary romance, and comedic romance have occasioned some great, great show tunes in the past.  The “Follies” score does not disappoint.

The show is a bit too long, but most of the performances are top notch.  The house is hung in a funereal manner and blends into the stage set by Derek McLane.  “Follies girls” from 30, 40, and 50 years before return in 1971, dressed to the nines (mostly) with their spouses (mostly).  The women, ranging in age from 49 to 79, make their entrances down a staircase wearing beauty pageant banners proclaiming the year of their reign:  1919, 1926, 1931, all the way into the early 1940s.  They are shadowed by their ghosts…. beautiful young women dressed as “Ziegfeld girls” (or in this case, “Weismann”) moving as they did in the past, accompanying the women’s entrances, songs, dances….The present day women are aging, but clearly some still dance, as evidenced in my favorite song-and-dance number, “Who’s That Woman” (which I think of as “Mirror, Mirror”) led by a joyously boisterous Terri White as Stella.

A stunning use of the ghost girls was “One More Kiss,” a very old-fashioned operetta number sung by Heidi (opera singer Rosalind Elias) and the ghost of the girl she was (Leah Horowitz) in an absolutely fabulous dress (one of many perfect outfits by costume designer Gregg Barnes).  It was a beautiful duet from another time, or two.

One of the most famous songs from the show, “Broadway Baby,” sung elsewhere by everyone from Betty Garrett to Elaine Stritch, is here sung by Jayne Houdyshell.  Ms. Houdyshell doesn’t quite have the pipes for it, but she’s got the acting chops, so it works.

Could I Leave You” is a show stopper in this show full of numbers that can bring down any house. I’ve heard it sung by men and by women, and Jan Maxwell wins. 

Jan Maxwell as Phyllis Rogers Stone owns this show.  It’s not just that she’s tall and sleek and has a fabulous dress.  She is a goddess, she sings, she dances, and her acting notes are perfection.  She has emotional responses to people, she’s relating to them while she’s singing and dancing.  And she’s having a helluva good time. 

Elaine Paige is just fabulous as Carlotta — having listened to her for years, I’m happy to finally see her in action.  She most certainly is “still here,” as she sells “I’m Still Here” with emotion, cynicism, and a still solid voice breaking through any limitations of time and space. 

Alas, Bernadette Peters is not at the top of her game as Sally.  She’s overacting here and there, and her upper register was not serving her in the performance I saw.  Bernadette was too turned into herself, her Sally.  She telegraphed her frantic emotions from the moment Sally entered.  I was in the back of the house, how false must that have appeared to those in the front?  Then in her most important song, “Losing My Mind” in Sally’s Folly, she internalized too much.  She not only didn’t move left or right, she didn’t move us, either.

I’ve barely mentioned the men.  Well, while the women performed functions of plot, they were also fully fleshed out.  This is not just the actors, this is Sondheim and Goldman.  The men, on the other hand, could be traded in for other men in similar stories — the sincere second choice guy, the one you rely upon but don’t love; the ambitious insincere guy that women fall for blindly or with clear vision.  While Danny Burstein as Buddy Plummer (the sincere guy, Sally’s husband) and Ron Raines (the insincere guy, Phyllis’s husband Benjamin Stone) did their jobs more than adequately, still those guys are not memorable or distinct from characters in countless black-and-white movies seen in my (and probably Sondheim’s and Goldman’s!) youth. 

The section of the show I least understood aurally was delightful onstage, the outlandish Follies.  Throughout the play, the younger versions of Ben (Nick Verina), Sally (Lora Lee Gayer), Phyllis (Kirsten Scott), and Buddy (Christian Delcroix) had shown us what really happened in the past.  Finally they have their own folly, “You’re Gonna Love Tomorrow.”  As the “Folly of Youth,” it’s sweet and hopeful, leading in to the Follies of the same people thirty years later, which are neither. 

I particularly enjoyed Buddy’s Folly (“The God-Why-Don’t-You-Love-Me Blues”), which was much better than his earlier number (“The Right Girl,” which was one long note no matter how athletic the choreography), and Phyllis’ Folly, the quirky “The Story of Lucy and Jessie.  These numbers were significant to the characters’ problems, but neither self-indulgent nor maudlin.  On the other hand, Sally’s number was dull and Ben’s went on much too long. 

James Moore’s musical direction of the show is just marvelous, the music gorgeously grand and lush with a full orchestra in the pit.  It’s one of the traditions of Broadway musicals that should be revived more often.  Visually the show gave us the remains of old show business, including those gorgeous ghosts …. showgirls dressed in impossibly high headdresses, high heels and scanties, moved slowly along the catwalks, steep staircases, sometimes in tandem with the modern women, sometimes drawing attention from the center stage action.  This production is very well done, just not perfect.  But what is?  The play’s last moments were lovely — a lone “ghost” reaches toward the last living beings to leave the theatre, leaving us to wonder what happens to all those graceful ghosts when the parking lot paves over the theatre.

And then I start thinking of Joni Mitchell…..

~ Molly Matera, signing off to sing and dance to an old recording…..

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Lend Me a Tenor -- at the Music Box -- only until August 15th!

What is it with Justin Bartha? His bio in the Playbill for Lend Me a Tenor is dreadful, citing only films, not a hint of any stage experience or training, and there his name is above the title, sharing top billing with Tony Shalhoub and Anthony LaPaglia.

Who is this guy?

OK, one of the films cited was “The Hangover,” of which I have heard many great things and I really, really will get around to renting it. Still, the first 36 words of Bartha’s Playbill bio -- after saying this is his Broadway debut -- are about this movie. I was totally prepared to despise him and all of Broadway for succumbing to the Hollywood invasion.

Strike one on me.

Bartha was fabulous. Hilarious, a rubber-bodied everyman with multiple voices, he more than held his own with the Monk-free Shalhoub and had utterly delightful scenes with LaPaglia.

Lend Me a Tenor takes place in a hotel suite in Cleveland, Ohio, in 1934. Many a 1930s movie opened with the cast (a head or ¾ shot + character name + actor name) then ended with, “A good cast is worth repeating.” The cast of Lend Me a Tenor is worth lauding.

Tony Shalhoub as Saunders, a would-be impresario of Cleveland opera, full of himself, a wannabe mogul. Shalhoub is suave, temperamental, physically loose and tough and funny.
Anthony LaPaglia as Tito Merelli, a world-renowned tenor, a nice Italian boy who loves wine, women, and song in any order. LaPaglia is warm, strong, and impervious to pain -- I mean that Aussie is tough -- and hilarious and sweet and winning.
Justin Bartha as Max, a wimpy assistant to the would-be impresario, stumbling over his dreams of operatic greatness and love. Bartha was the surprise for me, irrepressible energy, physical and vocal control, and fun fun fun. So Thirties, as he ought to be. His transformation from dweeb to sophisticated opera star and back was remarkable.
Mary Catherine Garrison as Maggie, the impresario’s daughter with a bird in hand in Max, while she yearns for a romantic “fling” with an Italian opera star who’d kissed her palm and made her faint. Garrison was charming, delirious sweetness.
Jennifer Laura Thompson as Diana, the Desdemona, a sultry seductress prepared to do anything to garner Merelli’s favor, using her favors to get him to do her a favor and get her out of Cleveland and on to New York. Thompson slinks around the stage in fabulous dresses or a towel, singing just the right lines. A strong, sexy, funny, and really likeable characterization.
Jan Maxwell as Maria, a traditional Italian wife. This was great casting, since one would be hard-pressed to find a woman who looked less like a long-suffering Italian wife than leggy, blonde, glamorous Jan Maxwell. The bitter wrangling between Tito and Maria is perfection.
Brooke Adams as Julia, that society lady in Thirties movies, who runs charitable events all over town, presides over committees, and is the driving force behind the Cleveland Opera. Initially present only over the phone, Adams makes a fabulous entrance in a glittering silver spangled gown and tiara. Many a woman might kill for that gown.
Jay Klaitz as the Bellhop. A damn good tenor himself, he pushes himself into the hotel suite where all the action occurs, and made me sure I knew where the play was going.

Strike two on me.

This is a wonderful cast, pitch perfect, energetic (on a Wednesday evening performance after an equally strenuous matinee). The prowess of these performers inspires, the elasticity of the actors’ bodies and voices is a joy. This is stagecraft.

Ken Ludwig’s script is sharp, speedy, sometimes breathless, always funny, terribly clever, and didn’t go where this skeptic expected it to go. Cheers.

Precise yet freeing direction by Stanley Tucci allowed this cast to fly -- this must have been fun and torture, to maintain immediacy along with the mathematical precision that farce requires. Cheers. Only one or two moments in the two-and-a-half hour play slowed down for me, and then a clever repetition would make the pause worthwhile.

The deceptively simple set by John Lee Beatty sets the stage for an American brand of PG-rated bedroom farce with five doors slamming away.

Martin Pakledinaz designed swinging cloaks and skirts and evening togs, perfect period costumes worn with aplomb by a grateful cast.

Paul Huntley designed perfect hair and wigs.

Kenneth Posner’s lighting design was simple then clever; Peter Hylenski’s sound design clear and inconspicuous as it ought to be.

This is Broadway. Lend Me a Tenor is well put together and more than the sum of its parts.

And I like the Music Box Theatre better than the Walter Kerr.


[Ridiculous note – from a character point of view, I should think Othello would be a baritone. Maybe even a bass baritone. Why is he a tenor? I know this doesn’t matter, I just don’t get it. No wonder I don’t like opera.]


[Grumpy note -- The only flaw of the evening was the audience. Yes, they laughed, they enjoyed the show (when certain people behind me and to my right weren’t talking). But when did people become incapable of spending 15 minutes without a backlit screen? From my seat in the first mezz, I watched a woman play a video game on her iPad during intermission. And the fellow next to me just could not live without reading his e-mail on his PDA during the play. Not during the intermission. During the PLAY. Some people should just stay home in their trailers.]

~ Molly Matera signing off, hoping everyone gets to enjoy this exciting evening before the play closes a week from Sunday.