TRACES/fades

Photo/Gary Breckheimer

The postcard for Lenora Champagne's TRACES/fades has the image of a young girl wheeling her grandmother along at a high speed: both are giddy. Unfortunately, the actual production rarely has such glimmers of life. There are hints of humor, crackles of poignancy, and some terrific images from Robert Lyons's co-direction, but Champagne's depiction of Alzheimer's comes across as patronizingly as Nurse Harper's attitude toward her addled patients. A mournful set of images are projected onto the background, starting with snow, which Claire (Champagne) then emphasizes "makes a clean white blanket of forgetting." Soon after, Claire specifies that her mother, Ann (Joanne Jacobson), with her mind bundled in the depths of that blanket, did not expect this. Honestly, who does? Even the second half of the play, which takes place in a senior care center, seems more demonstrative than dramatic, with the dialogue straining to show us the highs and lows. (It doesn't help that Amelie Champagne Lyons, who plays Anne's granddaughter, doesn't really provide much of an energetic contrast.) Still, it's sensitive topic material, and the closeness of it to Champagne's heart is reflected in the quirky songs that her other 'inmates' sing, from Hilda's choked ability to remember those who have died in her life, but not the wars in which they died, to Delores's no-nonsense appreciation of eating, which serves as a reminder that they're living. For me, the strongest image is of the nurse restraining Ann to her wheelchair with a device that she explains as being "just like a cummerbund." It's not, but these little injustices and deprivations are where Champagne most clearly succeeds.

Boeing Boeing

Photo/Sara Krulwich

Not that Broadway needs more mindless entertainment, but here comes a commercial comedy: yes, I'm talking about Boeing Boeing. I like my comedy to be as crisp as airline peanuts, so I was happily surprised to see understudy Roxanna Hope as the kinky American stewardess (one of the three that bachelor Bernard is juggling on separate timetables), and pleased to see that there was merit to Mark Rylance's Tony win. As Robert, Bernard's straight-laced (soon-to-be unlaced) friend, Rylance is unapologetically apoplectic as he frets his way through one hell of a coverup, and he shows a marvelous range as he goes from mild-mannered to tentitively suave and hesitatingly sexual. (Think Bill Irwin.) But the rest of the cast made me feel as if were riding in coach: Bradley Whitford takes far too long to warm up, and when he does, he never seems as invested as Rylance, and the other two stewardesses, Gina Gershon and Mary McCormack (a jealous, sharp Italian and a booming, obsessive German) are so exaggerated that it's sometimes hard to understand what they're saying. This sex comedy may be about broads, but I'd have liked Matthew Warchus to make all the racing around just a little less broad: as tight, specific, and polished as Christine Baranski's deadpan.

[title of show]

Photo/Carol Rosegg

Jeff and Hunter and Heidi and Susan may be playing exaggerated versions of themselves, but they can't hide that genuine cheer, even in a big Broadway theater. [title of show] isn't ambitious in presentation, but it is impressive all the same, filling the house with honesty, intimacy, and lots of laughs. It's an homage to musical theater, but at the same time, it's a Disney musical in its own right: "Dreams Do Come True," it sings, and that's perhaps the rarest, most worthwhile spectacle of all.

[Read on]

Perfect Harmony

***1/2 (...out of 5 stars)

The Essentials

Two earnest, high strung High school acapella groups duke it out for the National championship in this darling quirkfest of a musical play currently running at The Clurman on Theater Row. Never mind that perhaps some of the cornball choices undercut the sincerity of the piece (a haz-mat suit as a performance costume?, estrogen injections?) or that a few of the sub-plots are extraneous and/or weakly resolved, there is a gallon of charm in this engaging look at angst-ridden teens throwing their hearts and souls into their extra-curricular activities. Each character has their own pet foible (Tourettes, TMJ, agoraphobia, etc.) and our cast here revels in these foibles giving us rich, hysterical characters that you want to slap and hug. And yes, there is plenty of singing and it's a whole hell of a lot of fun (my fave: an acapella rendition of George Michael's "Freedom 90"). I was all wrapped up in the acapella scene when I was in high school (baritone/tenor 2) and this play nailed the earth shattering impact that this scene can have on a awkward teen looking for something to believe in. Thumbs up. Oh! And HGA!

Do Not Do This Ever Again

Photo/Caleb Hammons

"Dim O," indeed, to quote from Karinne Keithley's new and accurately titled play, Do Not Do This Ever Again. This wholly indulgent work, presumably about loneliness, is broken into four unrelated and abstract pieces, all performed with a heavy-handed seriousness. The only good thing here is Maria Goyanes's use of the deep Ohio Theater; too bad the script isn't nearly as deep. It's just an indecipherable mess, stilted and restrained, particularly in the "operetta," which features Marie Antoinette, Esme (a talking cat), and three deer. The action for this part, incidentally, takes place on transparencies, broken only by a clunky dance set to harsh and broken music. As always, this is just my opinion, but this is the sort of smartsy theater that drives audiences to the safety of Broadway.

Bouffon Glass Menajoree

Photo/Maike Schultz

Screw Tennessee Williams, that hack, and all his illusions that congeal to speak the truth. Instead, take the advice of Ten Directions, and buckle your seat belts for truth in the form of illusion, and their bouffon (anti-clown) adaptation of The Glass Menagerie. Eric Davis starts by throwing out the "memory play" narrative: with the use of a giant spiderweb-like dream catcher, he works in the nightmarish present. To this end, the characters are all played at extremes: Tom (Lynn Berg) is half-Quasimodo, half-quarterback, which reflects both his work habits and his recklessness; Amanda (Aimee Leigh German) is now a grossly obese woman, which makes her fixation on her gentleman-caller days as disturbing as her appetite; and Laura (Audrey Crabtree) isn't just physically crippled, she's mentally off, too: like an infantilized version of one of the villains in a Rob Zombie film. The aggressive, grotesque acting frequently directs them toward the audience, but their barbs are more humorous than hurtful, and often accompanied by free beer. All three of the actors have their distinct strengths, and they blend nicely, a real feat considering how much of the show seems to be improvised (especially with the final scene's "gentleman caller"). At the end of the show, the actors curse the audience with the memory of the show, but that too, is in good fun. From Berg's Robin Williams-like "night at the theater," to Crabtree's oversexed snarls and thrusts for her "unicorn," and German's mouthful of butter, having survived Bouffon Glass Menajoree, you won't really want to forget it.