Next Fall

Photo: Carol Rosegg

I wish we had more plays like Geoffrey Nauffts's flawed but solid Next Fall: thoughtful, well-developed, largely aware of and sympathetic to its characters' faults and strengths, well-directed (by Sheryl Kaller), and well-acted (particularly by Cotter Smith, who fully inhabits his character in a way the others don't achieve). The story of a gay couple, one a religious Christian who believes that gay sex is a sin, the other an atheist who cannot accept his lover's beliefs, Next Fall explores the meaning of love, faith, and family in a funny, touching, and heart-breaking manner. The show is a tad doctrinaire on second viewing and some of the characters could be more three-dimensional, but it is a solid B+ evening in the theatre. I do wish, however, that Next Fall had been able to have a successful run Off-Broadway, where it felt more at home: small cast, no stars, solid but not great writing. This is in no way an insult--I consider the withering away of for-profit Off-Broadway to be a tremendous loss to New York City.

Alan Cumming at Feinstein's

Ten Things I Learned at Alan Cumming's Cabaret Show at Feinstein's

1. "Taylor, The Latte Boy" (what, you don't know it?) works just as well sung by a man as by a woman. At least if the man is Alan Cumming.

2. He's not just a good actor. The star of stage (Cabaret), movies (X-Men United, GoldenEye) and TV (Tin Man, The Good Wife) is quite charming, engaging, and funny as just himself...

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Enron

Enron is a tale told by intelligent people, full of sound and fury, and signifying not as much as it should. A somewhat-interesting rehash of the rise and fall of the energy company Enron, the show fails to find an unusual or particularly insightful point of view, nor does it plumb the psychology of the people involved or say anything new about their hubris. What Enron does have is shtick: colored lights, chorus numbers, flashing video, and guys with dinosaur masks. The shtick is entertaining, although it does not disguise the thinness of the play itself. The cast strives valiantly, and successfully, to put on a good show; Norbert Leo Butz is particularly good as Jeffrey Skilling. Marin Mazzie is sinfully underutilized.

American Idiot

photo: Paul Kolnik

Green Day's niche and the secret to their cross-generational appeal is that their songs combine the brash anger of long-passe punk rock with insanely catchy pop melodies: their righteous anger is radio-ready enough for the bubble gum set to sing along with it. The distinction of their smash hit album American Idiot was in its timing: the band was raising a fist at knee-jerk post 9/11 patriotism just as mainstream youth were ready to brave a turn to the left. It's a huge disappointment then that the same-named musical based on the album doesn't honor this and lacks, except in the most generic way, political content. More like Movin' Out than Hair, but far less satisfying than either, the show amounts to a numbing 90 minute music video on stage. The cast is uniformly sensational, and the show's mix of performance and high-tech imagery brings to Broadway a brand of razzle-dazzle that concertgoers have been used to for decades. (The staging for "Wake Me Up When September Ends", in which the ensemble move while on their backs as if falling, reminded me of one of the dance ensemble pieces in David Bowie's Glass Spider tour, circa 1987). But since the story (of three buds - one who goes to war, one who stays home glued to the TV, and one who goes to the city and promptly gets hooked on heroin) is a well-worn cliche, and the show doesn't rally around any great theme besides "everything sucks", American Idiot succeeds only as spectacle.

The Aliens

Reviewed for Theatermania.

Lend Me a Tenor

photo: Joan Marcus

Stanley Tucci's uproarious new production of Ken Ludwig's 1989 farce manages to do the impossible: it turns a stuffy, mildly funny period piece into a laugh-a-minute romp. Credit the cast, which is top-to-bottom brilliant: it's hard to imagine how an ensemble who universally perfect was assembled in one production. Justin Bartha proves that his on-screen comedic skills translate perfectly onto the stage; his mealy-mouthed Max is a perfect nebbish, simultaneously lovable and embarrassing. Tony Shaloub's Saunders is an ulcer in a tux--as it should be--and Anthony Lapaglia turns the not particularly well-written role of star tenor Tito Merilli into a master class. The stage is owned, however, by the incomparable Jan Maxwell, who milks every laugh out of the minute role of Merilli's wife. It's hard to imagine a more hilarious ten minutes in New York than she and Lapaglia's glottal attack on each other. Highly recommended.