On the 20th Century

Yup, I'm with Cameron on this one.

The Roundabout's revival of On the 20th Century, currently in previews, is delightful in its embrace of a whole mess of contradictions. The cast is having a loose, giggly, slapsticky good time, which doesn't mean that they aren't, to a one, professional as hell. The show itself is pretty dumb. But it's also so fast-paced, charming, and sharply staged that you won't bother to think about how many holes there are in the plot until well after you've left the theater.

And even then, seriously, who cares when there are four totally awesome tap-dancing porters who introduce and conclude the acts? Or when Mark Linn-Baker does a truly brilliant spit-take in the second act? Or when Andy Karl, late of Rocky fame, gets smashed repeatedly behind a door? Or when he uses Kristin Chenoweth as a human barbell? This show is comedy gold, people. COMEDY GOLD.

Peter Gallagher is still not back on stage, though when he is, I am sure he, too, will contribute to the overall madcap grooviness of this revival. Gallagher's understudy, James Moye, is not as chiseled or as glib as Gallagher can be, but he sounded terrific, and infused the role of Oscar Jaffe with a fine mix of clueless arrogance, melodrama and desperation. And as Letitia Primrose, Mary-Louise Wilson is a titch understated in act I, but then, as a result, the revelations about her character, revealed in a riveting extended ensemble number in act II, are that much more enjoyable.

Then, of course, there's Kristin Chenoweth, who is her own wonderful mess of contradictions: she's a teeny, tiny, classically beautiful woman with an absolute monster of a voice and seemingly no hangups about looking totally ridiculous when the role calls for it. As a result of her disarming goofiness, she comes across as warmer and less intimidating than some of her contemporaries; this quality is milked to great effect during a showstopper in act I, where she brings the house down just by looking out at it. Chenoweth's a great physical comedian with notably good timing, and in this case, she's working with a whole bunch of people for whom I might say the same.

On the 20th Century is hardly the deepest or most layered thing you'll see in your life--or even, probably, during the course of the day you see it. But the cast and company know that, and they don't give a rat's ass. They just want to have a good time while they're traveling on the train between Chicago and New York--and to get you to elicit a couple of genuine belly laughs as you sit back and watch them go. 

On the Twentieth Century

All aboard, ladies and gentlemen! The express train to musical theatre heaven is departing the station eight times a week. You can catch it at the American Airlines Theatre, where a sublime revival of On the Twentieth Century, the 1978 operetta by Cy Coleman, Betty Comden, and Adolph Green, is currently in previews. Dazzlingly designed, brilliantly choreographed, and featuring the peerless Kristin Chenoweth in a career-high performance, this shimmering production is sure to leave audiences tap-dancing their way up West 42nd Street when the curtain comes down.

Kristin Chenoweth performing "Veronique"
photo: Joan Marcus

As Lily Garland, the mousy young girl who is transformed--with the help of her former lover, theatre impresario Oscar Jaffe--into the greatest star of stage and screen, Chenoweth has found a role that is perfectly tailored to both her virtuosic vocal gifts and her razor-sharp comic timing. She lands every joke, ably filling shoes once worn by some of the greatest comic actresses of all time (Carole Lombard in the 1934 film, Madeline Kahn in the original Broadway production). Musically, she deploys her pristine soprano to thrilling effect, but she never lets her acrobatic vocal feats quash the comedy of Comden's airtight lyrics. She looks smashing in William Ivey Long's eye-popping gowns, radiating every inch of early Hollywood glamour. Never have I seen this fine actress so well-suited to a role.

At the performance I attended, both of Chenoweth's leading men--Peter Gallagher as Jaffe, and Andy Karl as her celluloid co-star and lover, Bruce Granit--were felled by illness. They were ably spelled by James Moye and Ben Crawford, respectively. If Moye lacks some imperiousness, he makes up for it with clarion singing and comfortable chemistry with Chenoweth. Crawford also sings beautifully, though he could use a few more performances to fully nail the physical comedy required by his role. The rest of the supporting cast--which includes dependable veterans Mary Louise Wilson, Mark-Linn Baker, and Michael McGrath--is largely superb.

This is Chenoweth's moment. There is so much to enjoy in this production, but surely nothing surpasses the instant-classic performance she's giving. It will be talked about for years.

[Fifth row mezzanine. Highly discounted ticket.]