Blessed Unrest's A Christmas Carol

The cast of Blessed Unrest's A Christmas Carol. 

Photo by Alan Roche 

‘Tis the season when perennial favorites, such as A Christmas Carol, come to visit. Just as Scrooge’s three spirits seek to alter the miser’s view of Christmas, Blessed Unrest hopes to leave their own imprint on the Charles Dickens’ classic—one that matches the author’s original intent: to examine an uneven socioeconomic system, which only benefits the wealthy. The nonprofit theatre company only partly succeeds with this light-hearted, but often heavy-handed production.

The show begins with a lovely enchantment—the six actors who will play 37 characters in the 95 minute running time gambol in bare feet as a disco light mimics snowfall and a Dickensian village comes to life: Tiny Tim (Jessi Blue Gormezano) limps across, toes twisted uncomfortably; a couple steals a kiss on tiptoe; and Ebenezer Scrooge (Damen Scranton) stomps sourly into his workplace. All infuriated twitch and baleful glare when discussing topics such as Christmas and charity, this Scrooge softens whenever his dead sister is mentioned. Scranton infuses this underlying sorrow into his version, making the  miser more sympathetic and relatable than other portrayals. Unfortunately, the remainder of the cast is uneven, with the men faring better than the women, who often use off-putting and inconsistent accents.

The creative team’s artistic choices make the production both whimsical and puzzling (Director-Choreographer: Jessica Burr and Production Stage Manager: Jamie Van Dyke).  Making Scrooge climb five flights of stairs—complete with a Bill Irwin-like ascension—allows for delightful laughter at the miser’s expense. The actors also engage in a fascinating choreography of costume changes with lace collars and vests appearing from underneath stacked doors and one woman nonchalantly tying another’s sash in a corner. However, the breakout Lady GaGa dancing session is more anachronistic than humorous, and putting Jacob Marley (Joshua Wynter) on stilts works better as an idea—it intensifies the horror of walking the earth without rest—but the actor sweats so from the exertion you want to dab him off with a towel.  

A Christmas Carol runs through December 22 at The Interart Theatre (500 W. 52nd Street in New York City). Tickets are $18. For more information: http://www.BlessedUnrest.org.

Beautiful

Beautiful, the Carole King biomusical, is stuffed with one incredible song after another. The result is an entertaining and enjoyable evening. Would it be too much to wish it were also good?

Jeb Brown, Jake Epstein, Jessie Mueller,
Jarrod Spector, Anika Larsen
Photo: Joan Marcus

The usual problem with biomusicals is that most people's lives don't provide a satisfying dramatic arc; however, Carole King's life does. The show starts with King (the superb Jessie Mueller) triumphantly performing at Carnegie Hall. We then go into a flashback, of course, and over the next two and a half hours or so, we see King grow from a preternaturally gifted 16-year-old to a harried and still preternaturally gifted mother and wife to an independent and, yes, preternaturally gifted singer-songwriter. The potential drama occurs in her challenging relationship with her writing partner and husband, Gerry Goffin (Jake Epstein), whose demons destroy their marriage and take a bite out of his sanity as well. Unfortunately, Douglas McGrath's disappointing book fails to capitalize on these dramatic opportunities and instead gives us thinly drawn characters and undeveloped relationships. Beautiful aims to be musical comedy rather than musical drama.

The show's humor comes in two flavors. The first is setup, setup, lame punchline; setup, setup, lame punchline; and so on. Most of the punchlines rely on the audience's knowledge of the songs, and they are obvious from a mile away. With your eyes closed. And ear plugs in.

The other flavor of humor, people bantering with one another, is much more successful. The relationship between King's good friends Cynthia Weil and Barry Mann (whose musical output is almost as impressive as King's) includes much warm teasing that is genuinely funny. It helps a great deal that Jarrod Spector is playing Mann and the amazing Anika Larsen is playing Weil. (Larsen shares Eve Arden's ease, presence, and comfort with a laugh line. And if you don't know Eve Arden's work, let me assure you that that is a serious compliment.)

Of course the show is largely about the wonderful, wonderful songs, one right after another. Take Good Care of my Baby. Will You Love Me Tomorrow. Up on the Roof. On Broadway. You've Lost That Loving Feeling. Pleasant Valley Sunday. We Gotta Get out of This Place. (You Make Me Feel Like) a Natural Woman. Treat after treat after treat. And each and every one is well-sung.

Director Marc Bruni, Music Supervisor and Arranger Jason Howland, and Orchestrator/Arranger Steve Sidwell, along with the performers, have found a sweet spot where the songs are not slavish recreations of the hit versions but also are not overly changed. Instead, the songs are just different enough to make them distinct and new while retaining the flavor of the period and the originals. It's a nice job.

The Pigeoning

The Pigeoning is 70 minutes of pure delight. This brilliant piece of puppet theatre is the story of Frank, an office worker who cannot function unless everything on his desk is aligned perfectly (I relate). When a pigeon starts tapping on his office window, Frank begins a hilarious descent into paranoia. And, no, hilarious paranoia is not an oxymoron in this cartoon-like yet heartfelt and even touching kaleidoscope of creativity, where a tattered umbrella can simultaneously be funny and menacing, with a bit of social commentary thrown in.

Frank
Photo: Richard Termine

Frank is brought to life by a team of black-clad puppeteers who work with the collaborative grace of the best of dancers. Moments when you forget the puppeteers are there and moments when you are mesmerized by them are equally beautiful. Frank's wide-eyed expression somehow manages to be quizzical, annoyed, heartbroken, angry, and amazed in turn. (I could not help but compare his performance to Carrie Underwood's in the TV version of The Sound of Music. She has been criticized by many people as being "wooden," but Frank shows that ostensibly inanimate materials can morph into vivid emotional life in the right hands. Underwood could learn something from him!)

The Pigeoning was created and directed by Robin Frohardt, who also designed the puppets, props, and set with Jesse "Roadkill" Wilson. The show features live music composed and performed by Freddi Price and lighting design by Heather Sparling.  The puppeteers are Daniel Burnam, Lillie Jayne, Nick Lehane, Rowan Magee, and Andy Manjuck. Clearly, puppet theatre takes a village, and this village is populated by amazingly talented people.

The Pigeoning runs at HERE through December 22nd. Do yourself a favor and go.

(second row center, press ticket)

The Sound of Music....LIVE!

Hi, all. It's been a very long semester and I've seen very little theater, and I've missed blogging a bunch. I plan to rectify that starting....now:

Last night, along with, um, everyone, I got to watch the live broadcast of The Sound of Music, starring Carrie Underwood and a lot of other people. It wasn't great--just ask the entire population of the planet, which was busily hate-tweeting the broadcast at about forty million tweets per nanosecond. Then again, there were some sublime moments: Laura Benanti making dramatic entrances or exits; Carrie Underwood dropping her wooden facade as an actor to snuggle into her happy place as a singer; that shrieking Nazi who kept wandering in and out and giving orders to everyone near the end. And regardless of what you thought of the show as a whole, I think we have, all of us, to a musical-theater-loving (wo)man, concluded that we can now all die happily having heard a habit-draped Audra McDonald sing this to a clearly moved Carrie Underwood:

The Sound of Music (TV Review)

Kudos to Craig Zadan and Neil Meron for producing a live TV version of The Sound of Music. There's something incomparably sparkling, vivid, and delightful about live performances.

In the actual event, however, this Sound of Music was notably sparkle-free, absent, and kind of dreary.

Carrie Underwood was in over her head much of the time. She spoke every line in the same monotone, whether talking about God, love, lightning, or Nazis. Her comic timing was nonexistent; potentially funny moments just slipped by, totally wasted. Her singing was fine, but far from thrilling. As the evening wore on, she did occasionally show a spark of personality or actual acting. She may have some potential, but probably not more than your above-average high-school Maria. (And are we really supposed to believe that someone would choose this Maria over Laura Benanti's Elsa?) It seems likely, however, that Underwood's fame was one of the reasons that this production was green-lighted, so good for her for trying.

The acting in general was not impressive. Stephen Moyer was beyond wooden as the Captain, Christian Borle pushed too much as Max, and Laura Benanti, while lovely as always, never quite inhabited her character.

Audra MacDonald was in gorgeous voice as the Reverend Mother (though I didn't love her acting), and it was fun to see Jessica Molasky and Christiane Noll as two other nuns. (Is it rude to point out that any of them would have been a million times better than Carrie Underwood as Maria, even though decades too old for the role?) The kids were reasonably good but not distinctive, and Michael Campayno as Rolf came across as a 27-going-on-28 child molester.

I enjoyed the music; I enjoyed that the singing was live; I enjoyed the use of multiple stages so that they could open a door and walk into a totally new location. I enjoyed that this production existed, so I watched the whole damned thing.

I watch little commercial television, so I rarely have to deal with commercials, for which I am quite grateful. The commercial breaks were annoying and frequent, eliminating any chance the show had of gaining momentum and audience involvement. And the incessant hawking of the sing-along CD was downright funny, since it was a reminder that while the singing was live, the music wasn't. They should have been honest and said, "Sing along to the same exact track used by Carrie Underwood!"

Romeo and Juliet

I’m always late to the party—so it is predictable for me to see a show days before it's closing. But Romeo and Juliet, which ends on Sunday, deserves an audience. The first Broadway revival of Shakespeare’s tragedy in 36 years features Orlando Bloom (of The Lord of the Rings and Pirates of the Caribbean fame) and Condola Rashad (Tony nominations for A Trip to Bountiful and Stick Fly) as the star-crossed lovers. While the costumes and scenery often mimic a modern-day West Side Story theme—with Romeo and his cohorts clad in ripped dungarees and high-tops, and Roman heads as part of the graffiti scrawled on cement walls—the classic words continue to haunt in a edited version that lasts two hours and 20 minutes.

Rashad sparkles as Juliet and aptly depicts the luminescence of the young in love, while Bloom underlines Romeo’s idealistic romanticism with the very real awkwardness and uncertainty first meetings and the initial flickers of love face. Rashad is especially enchanting and plays Juliet not as a simple girl but one who is frank and honest—and full of courage in the pursuit of something of her own. The casting of an African American Juliet with a Caucasian Romeo helps explain the animosity between the families, but doesn’t register as part of their romance. Supporting characters offer spirited turns—with Christian Camargo infusing Mercutio with the badassnes of Johnny Rotten and Justin Guarini (who survived his American Idol notoriety) a well-mannered but boring Paris, the epitome of a parent’s idea of the perfect fiancé.

David Leveaux’s production is full of rich details—the release of a bird, like an uneasy premonition, that flies out over an abandoned beach, where chairs lie discarded on their sides; a dispirited Romeo who recklessly drives his motorcycle on the stage; a lavish masked bacchanal of fire and spirited dancing where Romeo and Juliet catch each other’s eye with half-smiles. Despite a second act that seems to yield into tragedy too quickly, this Romeo and Juliet is parting too soon.

One Night

Charles Fuller's drama One Night, the story of a veteran suffering from PTSD, presents the audience with a bizarrely conflicted experience. The inarguable horrors of rape, war, and institutionalized sexism, combined with Fuller's event-heavy, overwrought writing, leave the audience feeling devastated while trying to stifle giggles. Less definitely would have been more. With fewer plot points and themes, less acting, and a simpler, streamlined approach, One Night might have given us its heart and caring without becoming a satire of itself.

(sixth row, press ticket)

Hello! My name is...

Hello, gentle readers,

My name is Aya, and I am honored to be joining Show Showdown as a contributor/reviewer.  Thought I would write a few introductory words...

Who am I? (24601)  I am a recently minted Ph.D. candidate in Musicology at the Graduate Center, CUNY, and hoping to successfully navigate the edges of the black hole called the dissertation within three years or so.  My main area of research involves musics created by participatory science fiction fans.  My secondary research area is musical theatre.  Strangely enough, these two areas have a surprising amount of overlap.

I have always been a huge musical nerd.  Often, I break out into song and dance in public places, to the chagrin of my friends.  You remember when Facebook used to have that bumper sticker app?  I think I received the "I wish life were a musical" sticker eight different times from FB friends who did not know each other.

For a long time though, I did not know that musical theatre studies was a legit area of research inquiry until I took a grad seminar on the rock musical by my now mentor and Show Showdown writer Liz Wollman.  It opened up a whole new world.  I'm particularly fascinated by how musicals function as vehicles for the performance of personal identity.  My main work-in-progress is an article on Bill T. Jones' FELA!; I'm also interested in recent new media musicals like Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, Smash, and Nashville.  (Sorry, Glee jumped the shark for me midway through season three.)

While I mainly channel my nerdy energy into academic pursuits, I am lucky enough to live, work, and hang out with several people who are involved in the theatre industry.  My two roommates - one of whom is a professional stage manager and the other an actress, general manager, and producer - keep my head from getting too inflated with academic pondering.  I also volunteer with a community theatre on Roosevelt Island and have had the opportunity to work with some crazily talented teens and children, some of whom are currently starring in film, Broadway, off-Broadway, and web serial productions.

I am so looking forward to writing for you all.  Bonus points if you caught all my musical references...Till next time!

The Jacksonian

After Beth Henley's interminable and unpleasant new play, The Jacksonian, finally ended, an audience member turned to me and said, "What was that?"

Excellent question.

The story of a divorcing couple, a neglected child, a lonely waitress, and a bartender with a past brushing up against one another at the titular rundown motel, The Jacksonian fails to evoke sympathy, laughs, or interest. Robert Falls' direction doesn't help; he has led his superb cast (Ed Harris! Amy Madigan! Bill Pullman! Glenne Headly!) to puzzling, unconvincing, awkward performances. The supposedly humorous parts are embarrassing; the supposedly poignant parts are embarrassing; the whole thing is embarrassing.

Ben Brantley gave the show a good review, which baffles me. I was far from alone in disliking the show the night I saw it. The applause was perfunctory, and the after-show mood was glum. Perhaps Brantley saw a much better performance? It's hard to imagine.

(aisle, fifth row, press ticket)

Frances Tannehill, 90, Broadway Actress

Frances Tannehill, actress and lifelong Manhattan resident, died after a brief illness in Upper Manhattan on August 5th.

Known for her stunning looks in addition to her talents as a dramatic and comedic actress, Ms. Tannehill started her Broadway career at the age of eight in the play “Purity,” produced by Lee Shubert and starring Florence Reed. She attended Professional Children’s School in Manhattan, which enabled her to keep up with her studies as she worked on Broadway and toured nationally.

In 1938, Ms. Tannehill was cast in Cole Porter’s musical “Leave it to Me”, starring Mary Martin, Sophie Tucker and Gene Kelly in his first Broadway show. In 1940, she appeared on Broadway in “Keep off the Grass.” Although short-lived, the musical was choreographed by George Balanchine and starred Jimmy Durante, Ray Bolger, Jane Froman and Jackie Gleason. Jerome Robbins and José Limon were featured dancers. Ms. Tannehill joined the Broadway cast of “Othello” starring Paul Robeson, Uta Hagen and José Ferrer, in 1943 for the last six months of the run.

At the age of 19, appearing in a Broadway revival of “Counsellor-at-Law “starring Paul Muni, Ms. Tannehill met her future husband, actor Alexander Clark. They were married in 1945 and spenttheir honeymoon in France and Germany on a six-month tour with the USO. The play was “The Night of January 16th” by Ayn Rand; it was a courtroom drama that used the GIs as jurors.  The company was the first to play for the U.S. troops in Berlin after VE Day. The couple remained married for fifty years until Alec Clark’s death in 1995.

  In the early 1950’s, Alexander Clark and Frances Tannehill went on a year-long national tour of “Call Me Madam” starring Elaine Stritch. On a tour stop in Washington, D.C., Ms. Tannehill, as Frances Clark, testified in Congress with Oscar Hammerstein II and Howard Lindsay to help pass a bill making it legal for child actors under the age of 14, but not below age 7,  to perform in Washington as they did elsewhere in the nation. The bill was signed by President Truman in 1952.  

Other national tours included “Ladies in Retirement” with Dame Flora Robson, and “The Philadelphia Story” with Sarah Churchill. Ms. Tannehill also performed featured and supporting roles with Helen Hayes, Dorothy Loudon, Jessica Tandy, Cyril Ritchard, Lillian Gish and Michael Redgrave. Television and radio performances included episodes on The Alcoa Hour, Philco Goodyear Television Playhouse, Kraft Theatre and Theatre Guild on the Air.
 

Ms. Tannehill was the third generation performer from an American theatrical family dating back to the 1850’s. Her father, Frank Tannehill Jr. was an actor, playwright and lyricist. Her grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. Frank Tannehill, worked in theatres throughout the U.S. in plays ranging from drama to farce.  In 1857, they were part of the ensemble company at the Arch Street Theatre in Philadelphia. John Wilkes Booth, using the pseudonym J.B. Wilkes, joined the company that year.

Nicole Clark, Helen Hayes,
Frances Tannehill

Ms. Tannehill created and performed one-woman shows for the past 20 years recounting her own theatrical experiences and those of other notable people in the arts. From 1995 until her death, she was President of Twelfth Night Club, Inc. which is the oldest extant club for women of the theatre in the U.S.

She will be remembered with love and admiration for her bright mind, her vibrant charm, her beautiful voice, and her wonderful recollections about the theatre that shaped her life.

Frances Tannehill is survived by her daughter Nicole Clark, of Manhattan.

Memorial contributions may be made to The Actor’s Fund.

Disaster!

Bottom line: If you love to laugh and have silly fun; if you enjoy being entertained by top-notch performers with excellent timing and beautiful voices; if you've even heard of such movies as The Poseidon Adventure and such songs as "Alone Again, Naturally," you have to go see Seth Rudetsky and Jack Plotnick's Disaster!

Jennifer Simard, Mary Testa
Photo: Jeremy Daniel

In my review of an earlier incarnation of Disaster! I wrote,

The premise is simple: Disaster! is a musical spoof of disaster films, using songs from the 1970s. It features a lot of the jokes you might predict, but with twists that make them funnier, plus jokes and situations and visuals that are surprising and wonderful. Under Denis Jones's insanely creative direction, the small space bursts with action and fun and inspired silliness. And the helicopter rescue is a delight.

Impressively, the songs aren't shoehorned in. As a matter of fact, one or two are weaved in so well that they seem written for the show. As just one example, Donna Summer's "Hot Stuff" becomes an effective opening number with a surprising range of interpretations.

Some things have changed in this new production. The director is now Plotnick (though the choreography is still by Denis Jones), and Rudetsky is the only performer remaining from the earlier cast. But more important is what stayed the same: Disaster! is still surprising and wonderful; it's still insanely creative; it still has an amazingly talented, energetic, somewhat insane cast, including Mary Testa, Matt Farcher, Haven Burton, and Jennifer Simard.

Seeing Disaster! a second time allowed me to examine the structure and writing more closely. This is a smart piece of silliness. Rudetsky and Plotnick set up the plot and characters with great economy, use the songs brilliantly, gracefully combine complete silliness with higher-level silliness, and, perhaps most importantly, know when to pull back. Every time it feels like the show is losing steam or going on too long, Rudetsky and Plotnick throw in a surprise or go in a different direction or come up with just the right mash-up of song, satire, and panache. And even when the show seems to be reaching too low, it isn't. (I wish I could give examples, but you really don't want me to spoil anything.)

It takes a certain meticulousness to make a show seem this crazed, this spontaneous, this gorgeously giddy. I tip my hat to everyone who worked on Disaster! and I urge you to go see it.

(row G, press ticket)

A Midsummer Night's Dream

Julie Taymor's new production of A Midsummer Night's Dream is full of wonders, yet it is not quite wonderful. Actually, there are two shows here. The first, the one by Taymor and her creative colleagues, is a glorious pageant, full of color and light, undulating shapes, magical appearances (and disappearances), fascinating costumes, and kaleidoscopic orgasms. This show offers a candy store's worth of eye candy, and proves once again--not that it needs proving--that Taymor has one of the most fecund imaginations around today, or possibly ever. This show is a thrilling treat. (The scenic designer is Es Devlin; the costume designer is Constance Hoffman; the lighting designer is Donald Holder; the sound designer is Matt Tierney; the projection designer is Sven Ortel; the choreographer is Brian Brooks. All contribute brilliantly.)

Tina Benko, David Harewood
Photo: Es Devlin

And then there's that other show, the one that Shakespeare wrote, the one that Taymor treats as an afterthought. It's the least interesting Midsummer I've ever seen. The cast is uneven and the book scenes are directed haphazardly. Of the four young lovers, only Mandi Masden as Helena provides a full performance with real emotion. It's easy to see why Taymor cast the others, since they are beautiful and look good in their underwear, but their performances lack dimension and emotion. In this show, it rarely feels like anything matters.

And sometimes the design elements get in the way. For example, when the Rude Mechanicals perform Pyramus and Thisbe, the excellent Max Casella is overwhelmed by his wig, makeup, and costume. It doesn't make sense that he seems more real as an ass than as a human. (I also wish that Taymor had used her prodigious imagination to come up with something better--and less annoying--than the gay and fat stereotypes among the Rude Mechanicals.)

Fun Home

Based on Alison Bechdel's brilliant graphic memoir, the equally brilliant musical Fun Home tells the story of Alison (depicted at three ages by three different performers); her father, a not-quite-closeted closet case; and her mother, a talented woman trying to make the best of a disappointing life.

Roberta Colindre, Alexandra Socha
Photo: Joan Marcus

The show is structured loosely around the memories of the adult Alison (Beth Malone), who is trying to comprehend her past and, in particular, her complicated father, with his charm, fits of anger, manic redecorating schemes, and frightening coldness. How is she supposed to process the fact that this cultured sensitive man, whom she loved deeply, seduced young--sometimes very young--males? On this level, the show is heartbreaking.

Fun Home is also the story of the writer as a young dyke, tracing Alison's coming of age, from her first butch stirrings to her first girlfriend. On this level, the show is sweet and funny.

Jeanine Tesori's music is as wonderful as Tesori's music always is: melodic, touching, beautiful, funny, revealing, and true to character. Lisa Kron's book and lyrics are excellent; she is equally comfortable with the vicissitudes of Alison's childhood and the clumsy joys of coming out. I would love to quote some of her lyrics here, but they would be spoiler-ish, and I don't want to hurt a second of this amazing show. The direction by Sam Gold is sensitive and smart. David Zinn's scenic and costume design are both apt and attractive.

The cast is nothing short of amazing, in particular Small Alison (the astounding Sydney Lucas) and Medium Alison (the staggeringly talented Alexandra Socha). Judy Kuhn invests the role of Alison's mother with quiet dignity and pain, and when she finally reveals herself through song, it's beautifully devastating. Michael Cerveris is hampered by a wig, glasses, and clothing that practically yell "child molester," and I think he is miscast in general. (In the workshop, Martin Moran brought so much more to the part in many ways, not least by being right for it.) Roberta Colindrez as Joan, Alison's first love, is exactly who she should be.

If you had told my 20-something self that in 2013 there would be a superb musical that included authentic lesbian characters having full, not-just-lesbian lives, I would have said, "I have to wait until 2013? Are you fucking kidding me?" But better late than never, and Fun Home would be a gift in any decade, in any century.

The whole idea of seeing yourself on stage is an interesting one. I have spent my life identifying with people of different sexes, races, ages, nationalities, and centuries. But to see people on stage who are genuinely like me is a rare thrill. And to see them in the best musical in years, a show that successfully mixes love and fear and disappointment and creepiness and reality, a show with a gorgeous score and excellent book and lyrics is well . . .  wow. Simply that: wow.

(first row; friend-of-a-member discounted ticket.)

Marie Antoinette

David Adjmi’s Marie Antoinette, directed by Rebecca Taichman, finds itself hip, snarky, insightful, and significant, but it's merely an olio of unoriginal ideas tossed together with a dash of attitude, a talking sheep, and cartoon characters. The main weakness of the play is Marie herself, who is presented variously as a victim but powerful, stupid but smart, and unloving yet loving--and whose evolution from two-dimensional mean girl to tragic figure is wholly unconvincing.  

Marin Ireland
Photo: Pavel Antonov

Just as Marie doesn't quite gel, neither does the play itself. There are some genuinely moving moments and some funny ones, but they don't add up. The play is by turns fey, overly dramatic, cutesy, and serious. When it tries at the end to elicit our sympathy, neither the play nor Marie has earned it.  

Perhaps Marie Antoinette is better understood as a riff than a play: "Here is what David Adjmi thinks about Marie Antoinette," it seems to say, "plus a few cheap jokes." (E.g., when someone tells Marie that she doesn't feed her children sweets, Marie answers, "O let them eat cake.")

Marin Ireland's fascinating portrayal of Marie does much to cover the play's weaknesses and maintain audience interest. She has a contemporary edge that makes her a seemingly odd choice for the role, but her determination, humor, and intelligence give life and occasional depth to each of the versions of Marie on display.

The stage at the Soho Rep is backed by a long white wall with the words Marie Antoinette, also in white, running its length. Perhaps this tabula rasa is an invitation to the audience to write its own version of Marie, which is ultimately all any of us can do.

(first row center; press ticket)

The Landing

The Landing, John Kander and Greg Pierce's musical triptych at the Vineyard, is theoretically about love, loss, betrayal, fantasy, and death. And yet it is not about much of anything, really; all three mini-musicals lack conflict, tension, suspense, and compelling characterizations.

In Andra, a friendless boy bonds with a carpenter renovating the kitchen. When something finally actually happens, it's a feeble bad-news moment that carries no weight because, really, who cares?

In The Brick, a woman falls in love with, yes, a brick. Granted, it's a charming brick, played by the wry and always appealing David Hyde Pierce in 1920's gangster regalia, but The Brick is silly and pointless.

The Landing, in which a gay male couple adopt what seems to be the perfect son, has potential, but its sloppiness and lack of focus water down the impact it might have.

The 90-minute evening has one redeeming feature: in the last 10 or 15 minutes, David Hyde Pierce gives us a level of emotion, meaning, and complexity that the rest of the show completely lacks.

John Kander's music is often lovely, and the four-person band does well by it. Greg Pierce's lyrics are better than his book writing, but that's not saying much. Julia Murney and Paul Anthony Stewart are okay, and Frankie Seratch is not quite okay. Only David Hyde Pierce rises about the overall mediocrity.

(sixth row center; tdf ticket)