Requiem for Smash: Did It Have to Be That Bad?

Smash has had its supporters and detractors, but even its supporters never defended its quality. "Guilty pleasure," they said. "The show you love to hate." And it's not like there hasn't been bad TV before. And it's not like there haven't been unconvincing theatre-behind-the-scenes depictions before. But after two seasons, I just keep thinking: did it have to be that bad?

Of course not! Smash was written and scored and directed and performed by some deeply talented people--and some not-so-talented people too, of course, but there were certainly enough of the former to create a good show. Even mediocre would have been welcome. So what went wrong?

Marc Shaiman wrote

A lot of smart, talented (and in some cases, smart AND talented!) people were brought together to create a television show. Probably too many people. Yes, "too many chefs" is the most succinct way to say what went wrong. But there was not a single soul working on the show who didn't want it to be great. Everyone just had a different idea of what that was.

Matilda

Joan Marcus

This past theater season has been a real roller coaster for me, reception-wise. I saw Kinky Boots begrudgingly, and in a monumentally horrible mood, and seriously out for blood, and I ended up having a terrific time and even getting weepy despite myself. I saw Annie right after the hurricane, hoping that the show would comfort me by bringing back pleasant childhood memories of the original production...and I left  feeling as emotionally numb as I was when I went in. I had pretty low expectations for Macbeth and got a lot more out of it than I thought I would. I had no idea what to expect with Pippin and was absolutely, totally, completely gobsmacked. Same goes for The Other Place: I went with no idea about it at all, and felt like I needed to be scraped up off the floor and sent home in an emotional doggie-bag at the curtain call.

Then there's Matilda, which I fell completely prey to the hype of, and have been eagerly awaiting since I snagged good, reasonably cheap (for Broadway, anyway) tickets last fall. I should've known better than to have gotten so excited, because there's no way my expectations could have possibly been met. Which is not to say I was bitterly disappointed--I wasn't, not consistently, and certainly not bitterly. Matilda is an exceptionally good adaptation of an exceptionally good children's book. I just wish it had been a little more emotionally loaded.

Then again, I don't think that's entirely fair of me, considering the source. As a book, Matilda is, like many Roald Dahl books, strange, dark, and weirdly creative, but about as warm and fuzzy as a frozen head of lettuce. Matilda Wormwood is an exceptionally bright little girl whose tacky, stupid, dishonest parents dislike and neglect her. When Matilda shows up at school--a brutal, scary, gray place called Crunchem Hall, the motto of which is "Children are Maggots"--her meek but dedicated teacher, Jenny Honey, quickly recognizes her brilliance. Miss Honey visits the vile headmistress, Miss Trunchbull, and also Matilda's smugly dimwitted parents, whom she tries to convince of Matilda's intellectual gifts, but they are all too stupid, dishonest, and self-involved to believe Miss Honey, or to care. As the book progresses, Matilda defies her parents whenever she can, bests the evil headmistress, bonds with Miss Honey, and eventually goes to live with her, as happily ever after as anyone can ever be in a Dahl book.

Macbeth

Experimental approaches to well-known plays can sometimes pay off in enormous ways. The National Theatre of Scotland's production of Macbeth, currently at the Barrymore, made me think of a whole bunch of productions that have, at some point or another, thrilled me with their wonderful weirdness. There was the production of Ibsen's Ghosts that I saw as a kid at Carnegie-Mellon University, which scared the shit out of me, and which featured life-sized voodoo dolls, a stage filled with dirt, and a huge, creepy, empty auditorium. There was the Mabou Mines production of Ibsen's A Doll's House, cast with men under four feet tall and statuesque blonde women (one of whom got totally naked at the end, and turned out to be bald). There was The Donkey Show, Diane Paulus's hilarious 1970s take on A Midsummer Night's Dream, set in an abandoned dance club in the very westernmost reaches of Chelsea. There was John Doyle's Company, which highlighted Bobby's isolation by having every character but him play their own musical instruments. I recognize that some of you might've hated some of these productions, and it's fine with me if you did, but they all totally bent my brain in really good ways.

Then again, new twists on old favorites can end up feeling gimmicky and pointless, and I've sat through plenty of those productions, too. I still can't figure out the production of Measure for Measure that I saw, also at CMU, which featured a cast of actors clothed in smeary, filthy tatters and wandering blankly through the audience as they delivered their lines in near monotones. A production of Tosca set during World War II was....Tosca with 1940s style suits and dresses. I understand what Baz Luhrmann has been trying to do since, like, he was born, but I've never really connected with his work nonetheless. Last year, I saw a college production of Pippin that re-imagined the title character as a soldier suffering from severe Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which was way, way more adorable than its overly committed cast of very young adults clearly intended it to be.

And then there's this production of Macbeth, which I'd place somewhere squarely in the middle. The gimmick: it is set in a mental institution, where Alan Cumming--a severely disturbed patient who has experienced (maybe caused?) something horribly traumatic that has resulted in a psychotic break--has been committed. A man and a woman in white coats observe him, and occasionally take part in his delusions, as he portrays every major character in the Shakespeare tragedy.

Macbeth

In his one-man Macbeth, the protean Alan Cumming orates, cries, hits his chest, yells, whispers, throws things, and tries to drown himself. What he doesn't do is define characters or tell a coherent story. Now and then you can catch chunks of Macbeth flying by, and Cumming does well by the famous bits: out, out damn spot; a poor player who struts and frets his hour upon the stage; Macduff was from his mother's womb untimely ripped; and so on. But when he's acting out a conversation among a variety of characters, good luck figuring out who's saying what to whom.The framing story is sort of interesting, but obscure; for no apparent reason, Macbeth has become the rantings of a man with blood on his hands (neck, torso, arms, etc). Overall, Cumming's performance is impressive, but in the way that running a marathon is impressive.

I'll grant you that it's a cheap shot, but this Macbeth is full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Full disclosure: most of the people in the audience jumped to their feet cheering when the show was over. 

(eighth row center, press ticket)

Nice Work If You Can Get It

I had no intention of seeing Nice Work If You Can Get It. I'm not a Matthew Broderick fan, and word-of-mouth made the show sound lame. Then nicely discounted tickets became available, and Jessie Mueller was cast, and I've always adored George Gershwin, and I figured, "What the hell. Even if the show stinks, I'll get to hear the music."

And damned if I didn't have a wonderful time. And damned if I didn't love Broderick's performance, weird voice and all!

Judy Kaye
Photo: Joan Marcus

The storyline is hardly worth summarizing--playboy meets girl bootlegger, playboy loses girl bootlegger, playboy gets girl bootlegger--but Joe DiPietro (the playbill says "Inspired by material by Guy Bolton and P.G. Wodehouse) has filled the script with delightfully silly jokes that are nailed by the fabulous cast. When an exchange about someone not being able to count to two is actually funny, you know you're in good hands.

And oh, what hands: Judy Kaye as an anti-alcohol crusader, Michael McGrath as a crook proud to be a good butler, and Chris Sullivan as a lunkhead with a sweet heart bring a divine sublimity to the proceedings. Kaye in particular gives a master class in perfectly calibrated insanity. Is there anyone like her? Fabulous voice, excellent acting, supreme likeability--I luv her.

The scenery by Derek McLane and costumes by Martin Pakledinaz are exactly what they should be, with style. In particular, the striped vice squad suits are a delight. And the orchestrations by Bill Elliot are wonderful--in his capable hands, even the scenes changes are a treat. The choreography by Kathleen Marshall isn't unique or outstanding--and I really wanted a tap number!--but it does what it needs to do, and her direction moves the show along at the perfect snappy pace.

If you too were dissuaded from giving Nice Work If You Can Get It a chance by the lackluster word-of-mouth and highly mixed reviews, and if you like shows that are sheer fun, get thee to the Imperial before the show closes on June 15th.

(4th row mezz; discount ticket)

The Girl I Left Behind Me

Jessica Walker has a pretty mezzo-soprano voice and a fascination with the male impersonators of the late 19th and early 20th century. With co-writer Neil Bartlett, she has turned these into a one-woman show in which she talks about these women and sings their songs. She looks good in tails and is earnest in her presentation. But she lacks the swagger and polish needed to do full justice to male impersonation, and while her singing is lovely, the patter is often awkward, and she isn't quite an actress. The person I saw the show with called it a "sung essay," and I can't do better than that.

Songs included Don't Put Your Foot on a Man When He's Down (great title!), Down by the Old Mill Stream, Why Did I Kiss That Girl?, Following in Father's Footsteps, Burlington Bertie From Bow, and After the Ball.

(press ticket; table seating)