The Blue Flower

Jim Bauer and Ruth Bauer's musical The Blue Flower, currently in previews at Second Stage, has an awful lot going for it. Its sweeping, romantic plot covers both world wars, and its complex, interconnected themes explore the fine line between creativity and madness; the highs and lows of love, both romantic and brotherly; the hellishness and deeply unsettling beauty of war; the impact of world history on the national, the local, and the individual. Its book, like its very pretty score, is entirely original. It is not based on a movie, television show, comic strip, or golden oldies radio station.
This production of The Blue Flower makes ample use of projections and short films, which appear on a screen suspended within an interesting, multi-tiered, wooden set, on which the small, excellent cast and notably tight, swinging band perform. Chase Brock's choreography frequently twists the actors' bodies into surprising shapes, and the cast into cool vistas. The show is ably directed. What The Blue Flower lacks, however, is any sort of unifying thread that brings its ingredients--not to mention its enormous thematic ideas and concepts--together into anything approaching a satisfying whole.

The show places focus on Max, a German artist who speaks in his own, invented language that he calls Maxperanto. Max has left Europe--and everyone he loves, living and dead--for the United States during the onset of World War II. As the show begins, Max suffers a fatal heart attack, and the musical proper takes us back through his life--presumably as it flashes before his eyes during his dying moments--from the turn of the century through both wars, with emphasis on the first. Because Max has been working on a book of collages about his past, the show unfolds as a series of memories, which are presented through the use of movement, song, projections, and short films.

Yet The Blue Flower misses the mark. It can't seem to figure out if it's supposed to be serious or flip, which very quickly becomes very frustrating: A lengthy speech that Max gives--entirely in gibberish--about the murder-suicide of Rudolf, Crown Prince of Austria, and his mistress, is played, it seems, for broad laughs, while the death of a horse amidst a roadside bombing is treated, a bit later, as if it's the worst thing that has ever happened in the entire history of every war that has ever taken place on the planet. What should be funny is often glossed over; what might be truly touching or gently moving gets too bogged down in grandiose ideas to tangle with.

Horses, it seems, carry some sort of symbolic weight in the show, at least given the frequency with which they are mentioned, or shown on projections, but I was never able to catch why; conversely, curiously, the relevance of the blue flower that the musical is named for is given passing mention once. Throughout the show, things that should be justified are not: why is the score, pretty as it is, so steeped in American country and western music? Is it because Max delivers a lecture--in gibberish--in Texas? Speaking of gibberish, why is the need for a whole new language so important? Maxperanto is explained, near the end of the show, but not in any way that is relevatory, or even satisfying. So the use of the made-up language throughout the show becomes just one more gimmick that never finds true relevance.

I can't tell if this show has been workshopped to death, or if it never cohered to begin with, but there seem to be altogether too many ideas and not enough grasp of the source material. A show about Dadaism and Expressionism is a great idea, but not if the aesthetics of these movements fail utterly to translate effectively to the stage. Similarly, a show using film as a backdrop is a great idea--and has been used effectively in all sorts of other productions these days--but not if the projections merely alternate between showing images that don't quite mesh with the live action, and flashing lines of dialogue that the actors have just delivered. What might have added depth and deeper meaning to the show, then, becomes yet another distraction.

In such a mishmash of ideas, innovations, and techniques, the characters quickly get lost. They fall in love, drift apart, fight, forgive, wound and betray, but they remain stick figures throughout: they are Profound Artists, with the exception of one Profound Scientist, but we don't get the chance to draw close to any of them, nor to fully grasp why they all love one another as passionately as we are told they do. So when they die--and they all die, because we all die, eventually--it doesn't really matter. They were never anything but big ideas to begin with.

Question of the Week: What Are Your Spookiest Theater Memories?

When I was a kid, growing up in Pittsburgh, I saw what must've been one of the spookiest, most unsettling productions of Ibsen's Ghosts, ever, at Carnegie Mellon University. The audience sat upstage on bleachers facing the performers, who did the show downstage in front of a huge, empty auditorium. The floor of the stage was covered in dirt, which, by the end of the show, covered the actors, too. A life-sized dummy of each castmember was set at stage left, and at various times, actors would address the dummies instead of one another. As they became more unhinged, they became more expressive with one another's dummies than they were with one another. My stomach, which began to twist midway through the show, was in some of the most painful knots I can remember by the curtain call. Ghosts is a weird, creepy show as it is; this double weird, creepy production scared the bejesus out of me, and continues to haunt me every so often.

I don't think that it was until I saw Conor McPherson's Shining City, which ran on Broadway in 2006, that anything in the theater came close to scaring me as much as that CMU production of Ghosts did. But Shining City is not a scary play, per se. It just packs a terrifying, awesome punch at the end--one that that made me scream and my husband pee a little. I loved Shining City and its surprise ending, but Ghosts still takes the cake for me.

How about you? What is the scariest production, or moment, or scene, or character you've ever seen? What continues to haunt you after all these years of theatergoing? What tapped into your deepest, darkest fears? Happy Halloween, all. BOO!

The Gershwins' Porgy and Bess

When I first heard the commotion regarding the new Broadway adaptation of Porgy & Bess--directed by Diane Paulus, with a new book by Suzan-Lori Parks and musical adaptations by Deirdre Murray--my mind wandered to a discussion I remembered from my days as an undergraduate studying English Literature. In an Introduction to Literary Theory course, my professor spent a fair amount of time contemplating Kenneth Branagh's film adaptation of Frankenstein. Despite the insane amount of liberties he took with the text, Branagh felt compelled to title his film Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, seemingly out of respect for the author and her work. We spent several classes discussing whether Branagh was truly sincere in his choice of title and tribute, or if he was trying to pull one over on his audience and scholars alike. Having since seen the film, and recognizing the glaring, questionable changes Branagh made, I find myself siding with the latter camp.

Similarly, Paulus and company are calling their production The Gershwins' Porgy & Bess, although on paper what they're presenting seems to be anything but. The historical Porgy & Bess is a four-hour, sung through opera that features some of the greatest music in the American canon. Paulus' production is a streamlined adaptation that scales down the work's operatic orchestrations and heavily revises some of the characters. Aside from Audra McDonald, who has operatic training, and Phillip Boykin, a bass-baritone, the cast is comprised of musical theatre performers. Much has been made of dramatic changes Paulus and Parks have made, including the decision to have the crippled Porgy walk with a cane rather than his traditional goat cart. Musical adaptor Murray lowered the familiar high notes in "Summertime," claiming a rationale that the song is a lullaby and high notes would "wake the baby" (a live baby was actually used in the Boston production). Many claimed that Parks and Paulus had also decided to brighten up the play's downbeat ending, although reports from Boston suggest that this plan has been ditched.

While I can understand why Stephen Sondheim found himself angry enough to write The New York Times an open letter airing his grievances about the proposed changes, I do believe that it is unfair to judge a work that you haven't seen. At the time Sondheim was writing, not a single performance had been given, and he (and many others) were responding to comments made by the creative team. I agree that much of what Paulus, Parks, Murray, and McDonald said was boneheaded, but I'm not going to offer an opinion on the adaptation until I've attended a performance. Does this production align exactly with what the Gershwins'--along with Dubose and Dorothy Heyward--envisioned for this American opera in 1935? Probably not, but that doesn't mean that it might not be a powerful piece of music theatre. In his rave review of the Boston tryout, The New Yorker's Hilton Als claims that the production's "great achievement is to cut through Heyward’s muddy folklore and to present us with something more profound." I cannot tell you if I agree with this yet, but I'm not willing to write something off until I've actually seen it. More in December.

Question of the Week—Porgy and Bess: How much revision is too much?

Composer Steven Sondheim really, really hates the idea of the new version of Porgy and Bess on Broadway (opening on January 12, 2012). In summary, he disagrees with the decision to dub it George Gershwins’ Porgy and Bess, the new happy ending, the more in-depth character backstory and an assortment of other things (see his piece in the New York Times at http://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/08/10/stephen-sondheim-takes-issue-with-plan-for-re vamped-porgy-and-bess/?scp=1&sq=stephen%20sondheim%20porgy&st=cse). But he’s not the only one who takes umbrage at the 1935 opera’s transformation into a commercial Broadway musical. Twenty-four pages of online commentary follow Sondheim’s letter, most agreeing with him to some extent.

So, the question becomes: Is director Diane Paulus and playwright Suzan-Lori Parks going too far with their reinterpretation? Sondheim thinks so, saying: “I can hear the outraged cries now about stifling creativity and discouraging directors who want to reinterpret plays and musicals in order to bring “fresh perspectives,” as they are wont to say, but there is a difference between reinterpretation and wholesale rewriting.”

To an extent I agree with him. Too much revision dilutes a work, and removes its original intent. And Paulus and Parks’ version offers a vastly changed work. Still, I cannot castigate them for trying. Isn’t that what artists should do? Shouldn’t they bravely venture into uncharted territory, even if many may feel the work is obscene, outlandish or self-indulgent? When I first heard about a Broadway version of The Who’s Tommy in 1993, I believed it was just another attempt to capitalize on a known entity despite its obvious inappropriateness for a stage musical. How wrong I was: sometimes what seems so miscalculated actually works. Another case in point: I love A Chorus Line, yet the 2006 revival felt lackluster and dated. When I saw the show, I wished that someone had really tinkered with it to make it more resonant and relevant.

So, what of Porgy and Bess? So many deviations from the original do feel unreasonable, like the essence of the show may be removed. I will go see it, but my expectations aren’t high. However, I am prepared to concede. Paulus and Parks may be lambasted for their efforts. Or the revivial could be brilliant. We will see.

A French Kiss From Lee Lessack

I discovered Lee Lessack at a performance in the late 90’s, upstairs at Eighty Eights, the best-of-its-generation New York piano bar that didn’t live to see the new millennium. I left enamored with his self-titled CD in hand. He is a master of the story-telling song, as evidenced in my favorite track from that disc, Jonathan Wesley Oliver, Jr. by Tom Brown. A few years later, I decided I wanted to sing the song; but the internet, not being what it is today, turned up no hits on sheet music. I was, however, able to track down a general e-mail address for Lee via his label’s (LML Music) website, a stranger begging for help. He not only sent me the music, he sent me his chart. Turned out, he was as genuine a person as he was an interpreter of song. 

Chanteur, a collection of songs from the French (and French Canadian) songbook, is his latest CD. His voice and style are perfectly suited for the simplicity and vulnerability the songs require. I particularly enjoyed his interpretation of Charles Aznavour’s She and Leonard Cohen’s Song of Bernadette. Consistent with his past generosity, Lee even agreed to answer a few of my annoying questions.

RS: Your base of operation is in California. What's the difference from the East Coast in terms of building and maintaining a career? What took you to California?

LL: I think it depends what area of the entertainment business you are focusing on. I migrated West on a whim and never left. I lived in NY for several years prior to moving to LA and I love NY but I much prefer the space and weather on this coast. I could navigate my career from either coast, as long as I'm close to a major airport.

What was your big break moment that allowed you to go from working in music/cabaret to a career in music?

I'm not sure that I had a big break LOL. I think what grounded my career is that I simultaneously founded the LML Music label.

You launched your own label. What drove that decision and what have been the challenges and benefits?

I started LML Music because I needed a label for my first album. I soon discovered that I had a pretty good head for business and got some great national distribution and press on that recording. Soon, other artists were asking me to release their CDs on LML Music. It's now been 17 years and we distribute over 100 vocalists. There have been challenges due to the economy and the explosion of the digital music world, but all in all it's been a great ride.

How does having your own label change how you approach music?

I think I have learned to produce recordings that are more marketable.

Do you see yourself as having a particular musical point of view? Is there a Lee Lessack type of song or a particular style you are drawn to?

I'm very drawn to lyrically driven music. I like to tell a story when I record.

Looking at your discography chronologically, has the progression been deliberate? If so, how?

I think after my first 2 recordings it has been quite deliberate. For instance, I felt for CD #3 that I wanted to do a LIVE recording and so I recorded my Johnny Mercer concert. My biggest production to date was "In Good Company" which I produced to celebrate the 10-year anniversary of LML Music and it features all newly recorded duets. I had the privilege of recording with some amazing artists such as Michael Feinstein, Maureen McGovern, Ann Hampton Callaway, Stephen Schwartz, Susan Werner etc. Half of the artists were names that I felt would help to elevate distribution and the other half were voices that I just felt needed to be heard. In the end the project was a very "full circle" endeavor. For my latest album, "Chanteur", I went back to square one and created a very simple (piano, guitar, bass and voice) sound. It's all about the lyrics and the journey.

A lot of your work has been in collaboration with other artists, why is that so prominent in your body of work?

Well aside from "In Good Company" I have 2 cast recordings. "An Enchanted Evening: The Music of Broadway" a concert that I perform with Joanne O'Brien and have been touring with since 1998, and "3 Men and a Baby...Grand: Salute The Rat Pack" another LIVE recording of a concert that features Brian Lane Green and Johnny Rodgers. I love working with other artists!

Your most recent collaboration is with the legendary, Amanda McBroom (Chansons d'Amour, an evening of songs from your CD, Chanteur, and her recent CD, Chanson). Tell me more about that: how did it come about, is it a full tour, and where can people see you together?

I've been friends with Amanda for several years. She approached me to distribute her Jacques Brel CD, "Chanson" which I was thrilled to do. When I recorded "Chanteur" I sent a copy to an arts presenter in Austin and he asked if Amanda and I would team up for an evening. That was the beginning of "Chansons d'amour". We just play the Ford Amphitheatre here in LA, which was just a magical night. I'm not sure what the future holds but it's always a pleasure to share the stage with Amanda.

What will you be working on next?

Catching up on sleep! I've got several concerts with Linda Purl and 3 Men plus taking Chanteur on the road.

You have a growing wealth of artists recording on your label (available at lmlmusic.com), including such well-known artists as Lea Salonga, David Durnham, and Lee Lessack and Amanda McBroom. Can you tell me about a couple of artists with whom we may not be as familiar that we should check out?

Susan Egan has a new CD coming out next month called "The Secret of Happiness" and it's really gorgeous. I also distribute the entire Nancy LaMott catalogue for Midder Music, which I'm very proud of. Nancy was one of the greatest song interpreters of our time and she passed away much too soon.

I couldn’t agree more about Nancy LaMott, pure, delightful, brutal honesty in her interpretation of song with a voice that was always lyrical, beautiful, and moving. She was a master of the cabaret form, and a phenomenally gifted singer. Everyone should own the full catalog of Nancy’s performances. Listen to My Heart is a great option for getting started, if you having been living under a rock and have never heard Nancy’s music. Thanks,

Question of the Week: What's the Deal with the Fall Season?

Is it the fall season, or is it just me? Truly--and I don't mean to be overly dramatic about this, even though arguably this is exactly the place for it--I can't figure out why this season feels so lackluster, and why I can't connect with anything out there. Granted, as evidenced (I hope) in my post from a few weeks back, Follies was well worth the price of admission. And also granted, the season is still relatively young. But last week, I planned to grab some tickets and see a show at the spur of the moment, and and for the first time in, like, forever, I just couldn't muster up the energy to see anything.

So I ask: is this me, or is there something up with this season? Is there in fact too much of the same old shit out there? Is it that all the real drama, down on Wall Street and across the country, is sucking the energy out of the theater at the moment? Are my own admittedly middlebrow, mainstream tendencies causing me to miss out on something fabulous in some small park, abandoned warehouse, or blackbox theater in the further reaches of our huge city? Hae I just tired of the same old gimmicks, the same old family dramas, the same old revivals, even the same old attempts to be avant garde? What am I missing? What must I see? Or are you as down on the season as I am? Please, weigh in!

Michael Holland's Putting a Spell on Broadway: An Interview

Several years ago, a friend insisted I had to see Gashole. I actually misread his e-mail invitation as Gash Ole. Turns out, it was not a Mexican drag act. I was too sick to go to the theatre, sneezing and coughing almost non-stop, spraying more toxic air than a beauty-pageant hairdresser. Sitting in the second row, the performers should have had Haz-Mat suits, and I should have stayed home. I’m glad I didn’t. Gashole (aka Michael Holland and Karen Mack) should be regulated by the FDA—they were good medicine. I became an instant fan and make it a point to catch Hole-O-Matic a few times a year. The premise of the Hole experience involves a fish bowl, harmonious wit, witty harmonies, and several dozen songs you don’t know all the words to (and neither do they) filleted, K-tel style, and reassembled into 2-minute comedic plays. Each mash-up is a complete journey. The mad genius behind each musical Frankenstein is Michael Holland, who commands the keys, the guitar strings, and the snark with equal finesse. But Michael is only a partial Gashole. He has now orchestrated his way into the Broadway revival of Godspell at Circle in the Square. Michael is more than the man behind other people’s music, though. He premiered an original musical, Hurricane, at the NYMT festival in 2009 and has released multiple CDs of original music. And there’s so much more to be heard from Michael Holland.
RS: How many years have you been doing Gashole (Hole-O-Matic)? Tell me about the history of that collaboration with Karen Mack?
MH: Unbelievably, Gashole has been terrorizing audiences for ten years now! The short version is that Karen and I were booked to perform at an arts festival in the legendary showbiz mecca of Indiana. They wanted an hour-long set of about a dozen hits from the 70’s – but we were only able to narrow it down to 34, so we just did bits of those, all mushed together. I had recently moved back to the city from Provincetown, where I’d had a group called Comfortable Shoes… a group, it should be mentioned, that I did not name. Anyway, I’d already been experimenting with the phenomenon of mashups with that project – ‘5^th Dementia” is one medley that comes to mind – so I just took the idea a little further for the 70’s gig. The show was a blast, so when we got home we decided to do it at Don’t Tell Mama. Luckily, Sidney Myer, who books the room, decided to let us, and we decided to call it Gashole, for reasons that elude us in retrospect. We planned to run it for three weeks and be done with it, but it proved popular and kept getting extended, so many times that we had to come up with new versions. So we had an 80’s sequel, Ice Gasholes, the seasonally-themed Gashole: Summer Wind (think about it), and our holiday edition, Gasholy Night, among many others. The latest incarnation, Hole-O-Matic, draws on our last decade of mayhem, where the audience designs the show by picking cards from a 130-plus-card Rolodex of mashups, solos and the occasional original tune, and throwing them into a big bowl to be picked at random after we finally show up. It’s all very glamorous.
The two of you have a rapport that is intimate, intuitive, and you seem to entertain one another as much as the audience. Do you think Gas Hole will be an ongoing part of your career regardless of what else happens, and how do you see your collaboration evolving?
Define “career.” We certainly never expected it to last this long, but as long as people keep turning up, who are we to deny them their twisted tastes? From our perspective, the show never gets stale, since it’s different every time, and we’re able to add new material whenever we feel like it, which is fairly often. Besides, the same kinds of things still make us laugh, and we like the same parts of mostly the same songs, so why stop? We’ve been able to develop a loyal if demented following here in New York, but we’ve also had incredible experiences performing in Europe, the Caribbean, and St Paul, Minnesota. Now that’s an itinerary.
You also do solo work. Talk about your solo work and CDs.
I started out on the singer/songwriter track, and was able to release four self-produced CDs on a couple of small labels, from 1993-2003. Most are out of print at the moment, though a couple, Darkness Falls (1999) and Beach Toys Won’t Save You (2003) are available on iTunes and the like. I also arranged and produced Comfortable Shoes’ Happy Joy, not to mention Karen’s disc, Take That. I’ve got enough material in the vaults for another ten albums at least, but lately my fortunes appear to lie elsewhere. I love making the things, and the whole studio process, but I’m not as crazy about the watching-them-trickle-out-of-my-apartment part. Maybe some day I’ll do another, but nothing’s planned for the immediate future….
What was the process of writing Hurricane (your original musical) and getting it produced like?
I got the idea in 2004, while another show I had written music and lyrics for was playing at the New York Fringe Festival. I grew up in Southern New England, and had heard stories about the Great Hurricane of 1938 from relatives all my life. Basically what happened was that a huge hurricane hit the coast of Rhode Island completely unannounced – there was one kid at what was then called the National Weather Bureau who saw it coming, but no one would listen to him. I knew the story, but had never considered musicalizing it till then. As soon as I thought of it, I tried to put it out of my mind as impossible, but the idea kept waking me up in the middle of the night, literally for months, until I caved in and decided to try solving it. Karen had produced the Fringe show, and so with her help, we did a few readings, went through a handful of directors, and eventually wound up with a sold-out NYMF production in 2009.
What is happening with that project?
Well, we made a lot of noise at the festival. A cast of 30 can do that, as well as word that you kill the kids onstage! I mean, come on – 5,6,7,8! So right now I’m in talks with a producing team, trying to map out what’s next. I can’t talk about it much more than that, but stay tuned.
What other original works are you currently working on?
After Godspell opens, I’m supposed to write music and lyrics for a new show, if we can work out the details, but it looks like it’s happening. I’m also writing a new show called Lady, with Eric Bernat, who collaborated with me on the book of Hurricane.
How did your involvement with Godspell come about?
Stephen Schwartz has been a friend for years, and a great supporter of my work. One day I got an email from him, saying something to the effect of “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve submitted your name as a possible orchestrator for the Broadway revival of Godspell.” I mean, the nerve, right? So I had to submit a couple of spec arrangements to the team, and I eventually got the gig.
The show is now in previews. Is your work basically done or are changes being made?
The bulk of it is done, but little tweaks have been happening as all the elements come together. Of course, it’s probable that audience reaction will dictate changes as well, which could mean anything from minor adjustments to full-scale upheaval. But that’s what the preview process is for, and it’s all pretty exciting. The cast is incredible, and they sing their faces off.
With your work in Gashole, you get to play with the best 30 seconds of a song. With Godspell you have to deal with the entire score. What’s that like?
I just take the best 30 seconds of each song, and then repeat 6 times. Actually, these particular songs are as much a part of my musical vocabulary as any of the pop in Gashole. The Godspell cast album was a very important one in my formative years. The main difference between this job and the ‘Hole is that I now have ten voices to play with instead of two, and a whole band of amazing musicians to flesh things out. And I don’t have to be the boss: the musical director is Charlie Alterman, who is brilliant and hilarious – it’s all pretty deluxe. And I have managed to include at least one Gashole-style mashup to the proceedings!...
So, what’s next for you and where can people see you?
Godspell opens at Circle in the Square on November 7, so you can see me there! Gashole will be back up and running shortly thereafter at Don’t Tell Mama (scene of the crime), so check your local listings. Also, I’m hoping in 2012 to put together at least one evening of some of my talented friends singing my songs somewhere; that’s in the planning stages as we speak. And of course, be on the lookout for Hurricane and Lady news… michaelholland.com has been under construction since 2002 – sounds like my motto – but it may actually get born now that I have a real, big-boy job!

Follies

I think Liz stole my best lines in her review of Follies last week—my damn procrastination foils me again! Seriously, though, my colleague and I share much of the same impression of the show. The grapevine told us that the newest incarnation (recently extended until January 22nd) couldn’t touch its predecessors. Yet, both of us, as first-time Follies goers, immediately understood the musical’s long-lasting appeal.

Yes, some of the staging needs re-thinking. The wrinkled gray sheets that drape the inside of the Marquis Theater, with their staples and safety pins, seem more reminiscent of a high school theatrical group set rather than a device that invokes a decrepit theater on the brink of destruction. As Liz mentioned, the odd showgirl fluttering and posing in the shadows of an already dimmed stage like lingering specters of a long-gone age never enhances the narrative and seems like forced symbolism. Despite these things, the poignancy of Sondheim’s story about a reunion of show people still soars. The soon-to-be dismantled theater they once performed in serves as an appropriate backdrop as the characters remember their past and reveal the imperfect present.

Most of the storytelling surrounds the relationships of two showgirls Sally (performed with endearing fragility by Bernadette Peters) and Phyllis (a tough-as-nails yet vulnerable Jan Maxwell) and the beaus who court them, Buddy (Danny Burstein) and Ben (Ron Raines). In flashback sequences—shown in a split-screen like effect with the past interrupting the present action—we see their younger selves first portrayed with vibrancy and hope, and later amid the conflicts, which will haunt their future circumstances. This discord infiltrates the show as characters visit and reminisce, lies are uttered and exposed, and the unhappy pine for their youth. The other showgirls also offer the audience bits of their past and what they became, interweaving their stories through the central plot. In this huge cast, some impress more than others. Jayne Houdy Shell (Hattie) knocks out the perennial favorite “Broadway Baby” with a youngster’s gusto despite the eyeglasses that hang from a chain around her neck. Another classic number, “I’m Still Here,” though, suffers in a lackluster rendition by Elaine Paige, arranged with little movement or passion, which probably says more about the staging than the singer. Frankly, much of the song staging needs recalibration—too much relies on a singer standing stage center, moving stiffly side to side as if on a conveyer belt. Other numbers feel too long, such as the second-act “Folly” section, which could benefit from tightening.

Ultimately, the show still compels. Sondheim never shies from showing the despair of unmet desires or the tight-lipped seething of unfulfilled lovers—and, despite the characters’ flaws, all engage and fascinate. Every song reveals insight; I haven’t seen a musical in a long time containing so many layers (Well, maybe Next to Normal). There are no throwaway or spectacle pieces here, shoehorned in just to add glitter or glory. Every big moment offers purpose. To echo Liz’s sentiment: in a world where theater, at least on Broadway, relies on happily-ever-after revivals or familiar tested storylines transported from film and books, this show offers more authenticity and originality in revival than the first-run material currently out there.
(Purchased ticket, orchestra seat)

Lemon Sky

As I traveled to the Clurman Theatre to see the Keen Company's revival of Lanford Wilson's Lemon Sky, I took a mental tour through other Wilson plays I've seen: Hot L Baltimore, Balm in Gilead, Fifth of July, The Rimers of Eldritch, Talley's Folly, Book of Days. And it struck me just how strong a playwright Wilson is, how compassionate and insightful. I was delighted to be on my way to a Wilson play I had never seen before.

Keith Nobbs, Kevin Kilner
Photo: Richard Termine

Unfortunately, I found Lemon Sky to be weak and flat. The autobiographical tale of the six months that Wilson lived with his father when he was 17, it relies far too much on telling and far too little on showing. Wilson's stand-in, Alan, narrates the story in great swaths of not-that-interesting monologue. The other characters occasionally address the audience as well, mostly in asides. Sometimes two characters address the audience together, as though they are reminiscing to us.

This structure is not the problem per se. Many compelling plays use a combination of addressing the audience and scenes, but Lemon Sky is (1) not compelling and (2) so short of interactions that Alan takes time to assure us, "There'll be a scene. Those who are confused will say thank God, something to watch, maybe everyone will stop flying around." But the show isn't confusing; it's boring. My main thought during intermission was, "I wonder if this ever turns into a play." (It doesn't.)

(possible spoilers below)

Another problem with Lemon Sky is the plot, such as it is. Is anyone surprised that Alan is probably gay? Is anyone surprised that his father probably made a pass at one of the teenage girls to whom he and his wife are foster parents? Does it matter that the other girl dies in a car accident? Is anyone surprised that the father turns out not to be charming or loving?

Most importantly: Does anyone care about the characters? I certainly didn't.

This is not all Wilson's fault. Jonathan Silverstein's direction is lackluster, and the performers are mostly ineffectual. Keith Nobbs as Alan lacks the charm and/or intensity to carry the audience through his travails. Kevin Kilner as the father has dynamic moments but his performance is ultimately one note. Kellie Overbey as the father's second wife barely registers. Amie Tedesco and Alyssa May Gold bring little to the table as the teen foster children. Zachary Mackiewicz as the younger of Alan's step-brothers is more interested in the audience than the play; he actually stared a few times at a man in the first row. Only Logan Riley Bruner as the older of Alan's step-brothers comes across as a three-dimensional person worth caring about.

(Press ticket, 2nd row on the aisle)

A Career in the Theatre: A Profile of Tom Dudzick

Tom Dudzick may be the most successful playwright whose work you've never seen. His first play, Greetings, opened off-Broadway in 1994 during a blizzard. Even though Clive Barnes called the play, "a comic jewel," the blizzard won. The play has become a Christmas staple in regional theatres, and his subsequent plays (including the Over the Tavern triology, Hail Mary, and Don't Talk to the Actors) have had long and frequent runs across the country. Dudzick went global in 2009 when Over the Tavern was adaped for a production in Ireland (called Over the Pub). His backstage comedy Don't Talk to the Actors is currently running in Bucharest, Romania. Many of his plays are set in his hometown of Buffalo, New York and feature characters inspired by relatives or locals from his youth. His latest work, Miracle on South Division Street, has been mounted in readings and a production in upstate New York. It could be your next opportunity to discover Tom Dudzick, who is hoping for an off-Broadway production of that play in the near future.

Seeing the sublimely hysterical production of King of the Moon at the Majestic Theater in West Springfield, Massachusetts, I became an instant fan. So, when the Showshowdown gan started talking about people to watch, I thought of Tom and took the opportunity to ask him a few questions, so you could be introduced to the man in advance of being introduced to his work. 

RS: What has been the difference for you between pursuing a career in the theatre and really making a living in the theatre? 

TD: The pursuit of a career in the theatre was filled with angst, worry, sweat, non-stop writing, meditation with creative visualization and the constant striving to “make it!” Don’t get me wrong, I loved the entire trip. Now that I’ve “made it,” I’m more relaxed and I can channel most of my creative energies into just the writing, because I’ve now made the connections, I have a network of producers who will read what I send them. So much energy in the beginning went into making it over that hump.

The fact that I’m a success with the regional theatres tells me something about myself – these are my people! I think I will have a play in New York (and it will probably be “Miracle on South Division Street”) but the people in that play, and all my plays, are so middle-America. Just regular uncomplicated people trying to make a living and eke out some happiness. And it’s so exciting when I stop and think that, on any given day, one of my plays is going on somewhere in the country. It’s a real kick for me. 

When did the transition start to happen for you, and how did it change your approach to writing? 

The transition from struggling to making it started with “Greetings!” The right person showed up at the right reading (a sit-down reading of “Greetings! with open scripts”) and said, “I’d like to produce your play at my theatre.” That was Greg Houston at the George Street Playhouse in New Jersey. That led to off-Broadway. And that started the whole ball rolling. I don’t know that it changed my approach to writing. But it gave me confidence and encouragement to continue. Back then I was still trying to figure out who I was and what I wanted to say. Which I’m still doing, come to think of it. 

What is your theatrical point of view, and how has it changed over time? 

My theatrical point of view is – tell a compelling story, clearly. It’s really that simple. Make sure the audience knows quickly who they should care about, what are the stakes, who wants what and why, and who doesn’t want him to have it, and what happens if he doesn’t get it. And make sure the hero’s quest is “playworthy,” as they say. It should be worth the trouble of getting all these people up on stage to tell the story, worth an audience paying $45 to come see it. How has it changed over time? It hasn’t. That will always be my rule – get their attention quickly and be clear. 

What are the influences that have shaped your point of view most? 

Watching TV since I was old enough to sit in front of it influenced me. Watching old movies and then eventually seeing plays. Then reading lots and lots of plays. Writing plays coincided with me being in plays – because I wrote plays to appear in. So I became very mindful of what makes people laugh, because I was experiencing it directly. That “being mindful” part is very important. I paid attention and used what worked. Then I just fell into a natural niche. I started emulating the playwrights who impressed and entertained me. Plus I read a million “how to write a play” books, which I still get out and refer to each time I start a new project. 

Your plays are often about family, faith, and mysticism. Is that coincidental? Just common context? Or intentional? If intentional, what's the larger message? 

My plays are about family because it’s what I know best. I can write about it with some authority. And the mysticism you mention – that’s another biggie with me. I love the idea that there is more to life than what we experience with our five senses. And the stage is a fun, exciting place to develop that idea. I can make the “magic” happen in real time, right before our eyes. Everyone loves to spook people out by telling them a ghost story. It’s the same kind of thing with me and the plays. Do I have a larger message? I guess that message would be, “I think there is more to life than what we’ve been led to believe, and I offer you this two-hour glimpse of how I see things. Do with it what you will.” 

What are the theatrical trends that drive you crazy? 

Things within the art form itself don’t really drive me crazy. It’s the show “business” that does it. The idea that we must have a STAR in the play or the audience won’t come, is an example. I don’t see that one going away soon, I’m afraid. Theatrical trends? I used to dislike this trend of 90 minute plays with no intermission. Because it was different. Now I’m writing 90 minute plays with no intermission. Because it still works. I don’t know how the theatres put up with it, though. Aren’t they losing a lot of candy and booze sales during intermission? 

What is your next project? Where could people see your work next? 

My next play is called “Miracle on South Division Street” and I’m hoping for an off-Broadway production soon. It’s a comedy based on a local legend in my old neighborhood in Buffalo. When I was a kid there was this barber who claimed that the Blessed Mother appeared to him. He built a shrine and had a life-size statue of Mary put inside and the whole thing stood next to his barber shop. It was a mini-Lourdes, except the Catholic Church never sanctioned the “miracle.” But the ironic thing is, my old neighborhood is pretty much in ruins now. The church has been torn down. The barber shop is gone – but the shrine is still there! The denizens of the neighborhood keep it in repair. And that’s what my play is about, this family who holds on to this old family “miracle” legend. 

You've had works commissioned. How is the process/approach different for you when you are writing a commissioned piece versus an idea of your own? 

A commission is lovely and extremely encouraging. Someone is paying you to write a play. But with it comes the pressure of having to perform. There’s the time pressure, there’s the idea that it had better be as good as they expect. But I’d never turn one down because of that. “Yes” is always the more interesting answer. 

You are possibly the most disciplined writer I have ever met. Can you talk a little about the balance of discipline, talent, luck, and whatever else you think is key to creating a career in the theatre? 

If I did 100 push-ups every morning, then I would accept the “disciplined” compliment. But as far as writing goes it doesn’t apply because I love to write. I don’t have to force myself into a schedule or any of that. I just wake up in the morning and I want to do it. So I’m very fortunate in that way. Now, you asked about discipline, talent and luck. I don’t believe in luck, so we can cross that one out. To me luck implies “random-ness,” and I don’t believe the Universe does anything in a random fashion. But that’s another discussion. For me, discipline comes into play when I market my work. Because it’s not as much fun as writing. Compiling lists of theatres, submitting, updating, cross-checking, keeping in touch with Artistic Directors, all that good stuff. What motivates me there is common sense, i.e. theatres aren’t going to come to me; I have to reach out to them.

If I Had A Time Machine ..

.. I'd probably be fired from my day job because I'd constantly be seeing shows that were before my time. Whoops, I guess that's not really an answer, though.

Oddly enough, I think one of the first shows I'd see would be CATS, mostly because I've never understood the fascination with it. I just don't get it, and I'd like to.

Actually, I'd love to see the original cast of Phantom of the Opera. It was the first show I ever saw, when I was eight. I don't know who the leads were, but I do know that I adore the original cast album, and I'd love to see it in all its original glory.

I wish I had seen Spring Awakening. My sister and my best friend, two people whose theater opinion I trust very much, each saw it multiple times and loved it. I actually met Jonathan Groff outside the revival of Promises, Promises (about halfway through his "Glee" run). He was so, so nice, and so willing to chat; I wish I had seen the show so I would have had a little more to talk about with him. There are tons of classic shows I wish I could have seen, that were just around before my time or before I was really into theater. I'd love to see A Chorus Line or The Producers. Any incarnation of HAIR, since I missed it again this summer. Every five minutes I think of another show to add to the list!

Shows I Wish I Could See? Continuing the Conversation.

I never understand the fascination with Ethel Mermen. Her brassy voice on recordings never really impresses me and, yet, she is one of Broadway's most treasured icons(I know. I know. It's heresy, right?). So I'd like to see anything with her in it, but especially Gypsy since she, herself, considered it her best performance. I'd also love to see Carol Channing in Hello, Dolly! She's another actress that never appealed to me. I would love to explore the allure of these two more and I can't think of a better way than to revisit those shows.

I love the story of Peter Pan so imagine the fun of seeing a triple feature of Mary Martin, Sandy Duncan and Cathy Rigby in the title role. I'd start with the 1954 original version, see Sandy from 1979 and then watch one of the 90s versions with Cathy Rigby.

Follies

Add Follies to my list of shows that I wish I'd seen in their original productions.

Mind you, I very much enjoyed the revival, which is currently running at the enormous Marquis theater. It made me realize why, exactly, so many people rave about Follies, and flock to multiple revivals of it. I've never seen a production of the show, you see--I have a much closer relationship with Sweeney Todd and with Company. But now, having seen Follies, I totally get it: this is one hell of an important, layered, well-constructed, compelling musical.

It is also possibly, in some respects, an unworkable one, especially nowadays, and that is where this production suffers. How to contrast a dilapidated, sad, musty present with a glorious, dazzling, jaw-dropping past, without breaking the bank on scenery, costumes, and a cast of thousands? The original production suffered under the weight of its own expenses; this one doesn't even try on that front, and it's all too clear: the set never stops looking cheap, even when it's clearly trying to dazzle. That said, the cast is good to excellent. (Although Elaine Paige, saddled with "I'm Still Here"--perhaps the most anticipated song in the show--chokes the number out most unsatisfyingly. I was disappointed, but then again, oddly, still somehow moved.) While I did not see the DC production, the four central cast-members seem to have found their stride, and then some--Peters was in fine voice and seems to have found the weight of overwhelming defeat and sorrow that embodies her character; Ron Raines was appropriately imposing and flawed; and Jane Maxwell and Danny Burstein were, to me, revelations. Their younger counterparts, all, were good, too.

Yet the staging was occasionally notably weird--Sandra, with whom I saw the show, and who will surely go to greater length about this in her review on this blog, was particularly bothered by the prevalence of what she called "the Zombie chorus girls"--the ghosts of the past--walking trancelike through the proceedings, waving their arms in graceful, gently swaying, ultimately tiresome arcs, like so many bored trees. And some of the numbers seemed somehow devoid of real grace--interesting, but hardly thrilling.

The aforementioned issues that I had with this production, however, in no way negate the pleasure I had in getting to know the musical itself. The score--one of the most challenging, eclectic and surprising scores, ever--gives us a neat history of the Broadway musical, and jerks back and forth between old forms and new, increasingly weird varations on them. The past, in this musical, constantly teases and competes with, and ultimately collapses into the present; the music never, not even for a second, forgets how to reflect that. In Sondheim's socre, there are direct references to the old masters who helped shape Broadway during its so-called golden age, and who helped shape Sondheim in his youth: there's a Leonard Bernstein quote here, a nod to Rodgers and Hammerstein there. Here's the entire history of American stage music; here's something completely new.

Characters sing diffuse, unformed fragments of songs that they later deliver in full as their memories flood back and overwhelm them; characters tell us how they've been for all these years in song, alternately by being heartbreakingly straightforward and by lying, even more heartbreakingly, through their teeth. I have never connected so strongly to characters who reveal themselves almost entirely through song and dance, but by the end of the show I felt not only that I had gotten to know them, but that I wanted--desperately--to know what was going to happen to them. Probably nothing all that different, or all that good, alas, but the characters became real to me nonetheless, and I was sad for them.

The structure of the musical drives home its many interrelated themes. Follies is all about death --the death of the road not traveled, the death of potential and of opportunity, the death of love and of marriage, the death of the past, the inevitable death of the present. The musical frames this with a structure modeled after entertainment forms that, by 1971 were, if not completely dead, then actively, rapidly dying: burlesque, operetta, vaudeville and, of course, the Ziegfeldian extravaganza. These forms were so enormously important once, to our country when it was younger, and they're all...just....gone.

This revival, too, strikes me as the inadvertent lament for a Broadway that has, as well, died. I know, I know, if we had a dime for every time someone announced that Broadway was dead, we'd all be as rich as Benjamin Stone. But I was struck by the fact that this musical is rooted in the past in more ways than one: it's very much an early 1970s musical in a lot of ways. Not only is it about crushing disappointment, in keeping with that downer of a decade, but it's also experimental, and hallucinogenic, and weird, and sad, and both emotionally and intellectually challenging. It's also risky as hell, and entirely original, and it was first launched at enormous expense. On Broadway. Which, nowadays, revives, revives, revives, or puts its biggest money on shows that have functional scores and that were once movies or tv shows, or...well, you get my drift: Follies is dead. Long live the Follies.

Traces versus Zarkana

There’s something in the water in Montreal. They pump out body-defying acrobatics wrapped in tongue-in-cheek excess like a virus. Despite the shared core, two Canadian exports leaped into town, and they couldn’t be more different. Traces, at the Union Square Theatre, makes Zarkana, at Radio City Music Hall, look like Cirque du So What?

Zarkana is like a bad online date. The poster is attractive, but what meets you at the door is bloated, obnoxious, and several inches short of promise. There’s a lot of heavy breathing, but I just sat there wishing they’d finish already so I could go home.

Traces is a cigarette short of a seal-the-deal first date. It is intimate, sexy, breathtaking, and sweaty. And the hotties on the poster actually showed up. There wasn’t enough body fat on the stage to cook up a 2 piece and a biscuit.

Traces isn’t an evening of never-before-seen tricks. As a matter of fact, there is very little that’s unexpected. What makes the show special is that each performer participates in every act. Many body circus acts show up for 10 minutes, flip physics the bird, and disappear into the wings. The seven artists in Traces weave in and out of the spotlight for 90 minutes, mastering multiple acrobatic styles (poles, chairs, skateboards, tumbling, and jumping) and multiple artistic styles (everyone plays the piano, several sing, and all display comedic charm).

The second, special treat of the evening is that you get to meet the people behind the tricks. They introduce themselves, give you peeks at their individual personalities, and we even get to see baby pictures. That may sound a bit saccharine, but Traces is a full-octane adult beverage. The whole affair gets a little loud occasionally, but it is completely appropriate and expected.

Finally, the show delivers on its promise. The performers execute 100% of the tricks planned. That is not to say they get it right the first time, every time; but you get to see every trick, no cheats. Zarkana, with all its gaudy excesses and endless, overproduced caterwauling, was a disappointment start to finish. At the Union Square Theater, there wasn’t a Trace of disappointment.

If I Had a Time Machine, What Shows Would I See?

Where do I start? Okay, here's where I start:

The record-breaking performance of A Chorus Line. This review/description by Frank Rich will tell you why. I get goosebumps just reading about it.

Laurette Taylor in The Glass Menagerie. Because when I was in my teens, I'd always ask older people what was the best performance they'd ever seen. And all but one said, "Laurette Taylor in The Glass Menagerie."

Sarah Bernhardt as Hamlet. Because the one person who didn't say "Laurette Taylor in The Glass Menagerie" said "Sarah Bernhardt as Hamlet." I was 19; he was in his 90s; I felt connected to history.

Ethel Merman in Gypsy. Because, uh, it's Ethel Merman in Gypsy!

The original Follies. Could it possibly live up to the hype?

Arcadia at Lincoln Center with the original cast.  Because I love Arcadia.

Arcadia in London with the original cast. Because I love Arcadia.

A Streetcar Named Desire in London with Rachel Weisz. Because I'm sure she was wonderful.

Penny Arcade with James Cagney and Joan Blondell in 1930. Because they're James Cagney and Joan Blondell.

Fred and Adele Astaire in anything! Was she really the better dancer?

Bill Bojangles Robinson in anything! Was he really the better dancer?

Edwin Booth as Hamlet. Would he seem hammy or wonderful or both?

Christine Sarry in Rodeo. Okay, it's ballet, not theatre, but I'd still love to go.


And then there are the shows I would see again (and again!):

Colleen Dewhurst in Moon for the Misbegotten. Because if I had to pick one single best performance I've ever seen, this would be it.

Cloud Nine, first with the original cast and then when Michael Jeter was in it. I saw this show three times and would gladly see it once a year for the rest of my life.

A Little Night Music with the original cast. Another show I would gladly see once a year for the rest of my life (if not more often).

A Streetcar Named Desire with Rosemary Harris. Because she broke my heart.

Happy End with Meryl Streep and Christopher Lloyd. Because it was so much fun.


And I could go on and on and on.

(Do you suppose the time machine would have a TKTS booth?)

Shows I Wish I'd Seen

There are so many shows I wish I'd seen, either because I missed brilliant performances by actors I admire (thus, just last season, The Merchant of Venice) or shows I've been told I would have adored (thus, from many years ago, A Delicate Balance). As a historian, I wish like hell, all the time, that I had had the chance to see just about every musical that I have researched, reconstructed, and written about, but that ran before I was born, or before I was old enough to see them: every single rock musical to run in New York before, say, the late 80s; every adult musical to open in New York through the 1970s.

But really, on a personal level, the show I most regret not having had the chance to see was Carrie, which remains so near and dear to so many who got the chance to see it. By all accounts, Carrie was an absolute trainwreck that nevertheless had some moments of absolute brilliance; if you don't believe me, please read Ken Mandelbaum's wonderful description of the show in the intro to his aptly titled 1991 book Not Since Carrie: 40 Years of Broadway Musical Flops. I've sat through many a disastrous production in the past few decades of regular theatergoing (for example, see my review of the first incarnation of Spider-Man on this very blog), but something tells me that Carrie still remains the megaflop that has yet to be beat.

Someone I know who saw Carrie once made a quip about it that I will always remember, and that remains one of my favorite theater stories of all time. She said that she saw the show in previews, and that it was, indeed, truly, astoundingly, wonderfully awful. "Really?" I asked. "So, when the curtain call came, was the cast booed off the stage?" "Oh, no," my friend replied, with a beatific smile and a glaze in her eyes that still haunts me. "The show got a standing ovation the night I saw it. It was JUST THAT BAD."

Seriously, how could anything top that?

Question: If You Had a Time Machine, What Show(s) Would You See?

Some of the Show Showdowners, myself included, are going to answer this question. We'd love to hear your answers too. Just click on "comments" below. Thanks!

Arias With a Twist

Photo: Steven Menendez

The four musicians are elegant and graceful. The bass player is cool and contained. The piano and drum players banter with the singer. The trumpet player may be her lover.

The four musicians are puppets, just a few of the dozens of magical Basil Twist creations playing, floating, threatening, dancing, slithering, and screwing their way through Arias With a Twist (developed by Twist and Joey Arias). Twist's puppets include aliens, Busby Berkley showgirls, hyper-well-hung devils, an octopus, and versions of Joey Arias ranging from minute to gigantic. Twist also designed the scenery, giving us a jungle, hell, outer space, and the New York City Skyline, each a cornucopia of detailed delights. You could examine the jungle backdrop for an hour and not see everything. In Arias With a Twist, the sets and puppets--and puppeteers Lindsay Abromaitis-Smith, Chris DeVille, Kirsten Kammermeyer, Matt Leabo, Jamie Moore, and Amanda Villalobos--rate five gold lamé stars.

The sole non-puppet performer, Joey Arias, sings like Billy Holiday and does physical humor like the "demented diva" he is famous for being. His faux tap dancing is great fun. I found him cold, however, and often unengaging (however, I'm not his target audience).

A bigger problem I had with the show is that too much of the humor is the same tired and predictable sex jokes that drag queens have been beating to death for decades. Granted, the audience, mostly gay men, loved the humor. They started whooping and cheering and howling before the jokes were even told, which makes sense--in many ways, the show is a huge in-joke gay party. But I'm not a gay man, and I am disappointed that Twist and Arias did not use their prodigious imaginations to come up with writing more original than the usual bitchy humor and penis and penetration jokes. (I'm also not clear why the sound had to be eardrum-destroyingly loud.)

I feel as though I saw two shows. One was tiresome. One I loved.

(press ticket, eighth row on the aisle)

Man and Boy

DISCLAIMER:Man and Boy is in previews and opens officially on October 9.

One of my favorite things about attending Roundabout theater productions is that I never have any idea what the shows are about, so I go in with no expectations or prejudices. Sometimes, as with last year's production of Brief Encounter, this works well, and I end up seeing a fantastic show that hits every emotional note perfectly and leaves me wishing I could see a show every night. Other times, it means that I end up sitting through a show that I have no interest in and can't connect to, and leaves me wishing I had known what it was about so I could avoid it.

Which brings me to last night. Terence Rattigan's play should have resonated, at least a little, since the cultural environment is similar to our own; it's the story of a father and son, meeting for the first time in five years on the eve of a global financial collapse. The father, Gregor Antonescu (Frank Langella), is being hounded by the press. He seeks refuge in his son Basil's (Adam Driver) Greenwich Village apartment. Heated words are exchanged, secrets are revealed, and lives are forever changed.

The problem with this play lies not in the individual performances, but in the source material. The first act drags on and on, with no real direction or any hint of the urgency of the situation. It ends with a series of misunderstandings that might be played for laughs in a different show, but here just makes everyone uncomfortable. The repercussions of these misunderstandings are promptly forgotten in the second act, leaving the viewer wondering why they were brought up at all.

The second act is no better. Emotional bombs are dropped left and right, but the emotional climax feels unearned. By the final scene, I didn't care whether or not Basil and his father made amends. I did wonder where his girlfriend had gone, though; she disappears sometime in the first act and is never mentioned again.

The small cast does the best they can with dreary material. Frank Langella bounces between genteel world financier and kindly if clueless father so smoothly that I believed Basil's deep angst at how to deal with him. Similarly, Driver's Basil was so shaken by his father's reappearance that I wanted to give him a hug. Still, this entire story could have been told in one 90-minute act instead of two acts and over two hours. Unless the show is considerably streamlined in the three weeks between now and the official open, this is probably a show you can skip.

Tape

Photo credit: Sal Cacciato Caption: Don DiPaolo and Therese Plaehn


It seems we never leave high school. In the revival of Stephen Belber’s Tape, the indelible mark of former school days permeates the adult perimeters of its character’s lives—a sentiment established from the onset by scenic designer Laura Jellinek’s placement of a string of lockers and gym wall markings that surround the main set. Although, the action strays into that area just once, this second set serves as a physical reminder of the past’s lasting resonance.

Tape depicts the story of two best friends, Vince (Don DiPaolo) and Jon (Neil Holland) and their reunion in a Motel 6 room when the latter’s movie is showcased at the Lansing, Michigan, film festival. Vince, a good-natured 28-year-old dope dealer and volunteer fire fighter, greets his more-successful buddy warmly, but secretly plans a confrontation involving his former girlfriend (Therese Plaehn as Amy). As the two fall into a patter of one upmanship—a verbal volleyball that soon becomes terse and heated-Jon’s modern-day rationalizations of himself are re-examined.

Besides a drama of John Knowles-like themes, Belber showcases the vagaries of perception and how humans manipulate images, often abdicating responsibility for their actions. All three characters offer false versions of themselves, from Vince putting stray cheetos on his dresser to create an unkempt look, to Amy’s tightly contained, professionally suited assistant D.A. dress. All construct a version of what they want others to see. The truth depends on the storyteller.

DiPaolo (The Seagull with Curan Rep) imbues Vince with a humanity that makes his character seem vulnerable and appealing despite glaring flaws. His presence anchors the sometimes slow unfolding of this revenge-laced intrique. The play, which premiered at the 2000 Humana Festival of New American Plays, remains relevant and offers a provocative look at how who we are and what we did in the past infiltrates our future. Sam Helfrich, who directed Belber’s Transparency of Val, helms this limited run (through Sept. 24) at the June Havoc Theatre in the Abingdon Theater Arts Complex.


(press ticket, general seating)

The Off Broadway Musical

While I am always happy to see original, innovative musicals succeed Off Broadway, I’ve been a lot less happy in the past few seasons to see how such shows fare once they’ve been moved to Broadway. For a long time, now, Off Broadway has been a formidable presence on the scene (Hair, anyone? A Chorus Line? Rent?), but lately, I’ve been concerned about the growing pressure being put on smaller shows to strike it big on Broadway. Last year, two shows that did well Off Broadway, only to fail to click with Broadway audiences, were the weird and wonderful Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson and the misunderstood Scottsboro Boys; the sublime Passing Strange suffered a similar fate a few seasons back.

Whether these shows actually belonged on Broadway is certainly a matter of debate, but I like the fact that smaller-scale producers keep on trying with smaller-scale, innovative productions. If Off Broadway stops exerting pressure on Broadway, then Broadway will be a far less interesting place for it. So I am rooting for the tiny Lysistrata Jones not only to make it uptown, but to do so with at least some of its wild and wonderful Judson spirit intact. If it does, it’ll be one more small step for Off Broadway, and one more giant step for the future of the original musical.