Lipstick on a Pig

I'm glad, in a way, that Lipstick on a Pig doesn't try to actually put lipstick on its own piggish plot. That at least makes it a more honest failure. But this bedside drama of a fractured family trying to recoup itself in its final hours pulls so much that's formulaic and that has been done before that it's like watching a "worst of" compilation that someone thought might be a "greatest hits." Though the play starts off strong with some paternal ambiguity, it's not handled with enough subtlety to be a big revelation, and the play swerves instead into a botched surgery for its dramatic closure. It's odd that a play this clean still manages to stay so mired and muddled, but between the sluggish script from Linda Evans and the hands-off direction of David Epstein, there's really nothing to take pleasure in from this production.

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Xanadu

Adapted from the horrendously inept, cheesey-80's-ugly movie that nailed the coffin shut on the roller disco movie craze, Xanadu may be the gayest, campiest musical to ever open on Broadway. It's relentlessly spoofy fluff, "children's theatre for forty year old gay people" as one character says succinctly in the Douglas Carter Beane-authored book. The story is dopey: some muses spring from a chalk drawing to inspire our hero to realize his dream....of opening a fabulous rollerskate nightclub with tunes by ELO. But I have to say that the Broadway musical does what it sets out to do: it takes itself seriously not at all, a 90 minute party musical that you laugh out loud at with your friends before heading out for drinks. You teehee at the 80's references as you did at The Wedding Singer, you chuckle everytime leading lady Kerry Butler does a dead-on spoof of Olivia Newton John's breathy singing style, you simply give in to the disarming charm of seeing a Broadway musical that dares, absurdly, not to pretend to be anything more than ridiculous disposable camp. Theatregoers who can never remove their State Of The Musical Theatre hats are forewarned: you are sure to leave grumpy. I saw a very early preview - the finale needs to be bigger, Tony Roberts' first number brings the show to a dead halt (Roberts seems to have been asked to play it straight, but he sometimes uncomfortably seems to be the only ensemble member not in on a joke) and the choreography could capitalize more often on roller boogie nostalgia. Still, the mostly gay audience I saw it with was beside themselves with glee and all but swarmed the stage door afterward. Impossibly, ludicrously, this could be Broadway's surprise hit of the year.

The Chronological Secrets of Tim

The company may be Impetuous, but the production didn't have to be. Instead of watching three actors fling themselves around a nice, but underused set in a vain attempt at comedy, we could've focused on the more structured scenes of the past, the sexier, funnier, more entertaining moments. Furthermore, for a show so obsessed with time, it didn't have to move so slowly either: farce or not, there's no way a man sits on a ledge threatening to jump for two hours without cops--even the inept ones--breaking in. I mean, if there's time enough for both of his ex-girlfriends to show up and try (for some inexplicable reason) to stop him from jumping (between mercilessly mocking him, that is), surely there's at least one cop somewhere in New York City who can take action. Energy only takes you so far: if you're stuck in a hamster wheel, your show isn't going anywhere.

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The New 42 Follies

New Victory Gala Benefit

"I hate you and your ass face!", I imagined the director screaming over the phone to Barbra Walsh and Orfeh, two acts that backed out of this Monday night benefit at the last minute. I'm sure they had colorfully valid excuses and everything turned out fine as the remaining acts in this brisk 45 minute revue hosted by Sam Waterston kicked ass. Beth Leavel rocked it out with "As We Stumble Along", Marin Mazzie belted old school with "The Diva's Lament" and Josh Strickland finally made it onto the Hot Guy Alerts when he walked onto the stage and stood there and looked handsome while he sang. The surprise hit of the night was the last minute replacement Jeremy Smith performing "Caught" a thrilling modern dance from Parson's Dance Company that, with the use of carefully timed strobe-lighting, made it look like he was floating throughout the space. Fun!

Competing Narratives

photo: Ben Strothmann

There's a potentially provocative situation in this play, which links homophobia and racism by dramatizing a meeting between a gay man who could pass for straight and a black man who could pass for white. Unfortunately, because the plot is too full of conveniences and the dialogue too often lecture-like, the play doesn't deliver on the promise of its theme. It is, at least, well-performed: Sebastian La Cause is warm and charismatic but projects just enough caginess to convince that his character has a secret agenda; Matthew Boston is entirely believable as a once gay activist who's moved on to a quiet suburban life with his limp-wristed partner (played by Michael Vacarro, who helps to add some depth to what could be a stock character)

A Chorus Line

****

Broadway

When I got my drivers license at 16, the national tour of A Chorus Line was the first show I went to without a parental escort. This closeted gay theater junkie in West Houston suburbia was riveted with the character's stories and if they'd needed a towel boy he would have happily run off with the circus. This weekend's visit hit me in a different but still very special place: one of appreciation and reverence. This tightly staged revival had me drooling over that familiar choreography and had me wanting to sing along. I won the lotto (thanks Patrick!) and sat front row center. Perhaps I was a bit too close during the high energy full company dance numbers but during the solo numbers, like "Nothing" expertly delivered by a three feet away Natalie Cortez, were intense and very special.