Patti LuPone: A Memoir (Book Review)

Patti LuPone likes to whine. I have nothing against whining per se--it can be a great way to get things off one's chest. But when one has a fabulous career, a shelf full of awards, plenty of money, and a lovely family, the whining becomes, well, tacky--or worse. For example, LuPone refers to Paul Sorvino as "Howdy Doody in Auschwitz" because he is cheerful while the rest of the cast of The Baker's Wife is depressed. Can you say tasteless? The overall theme of the book is that LuPone is hard-done-to and that nothing comes easily to her. From some of her stories, you would think she was working in a coal mine. And to say that she deals with setbacks with class would be a bald-faced lie. She throws tantrums. She disappears for days when she has performances to do! (Yes, Andrew Lloyd Webber treated you badly during Sunset Boulevard, Patti, but no one died, you know?) The fact that most of the other people in the photos in Patti LuPone: A Memoir are not identified might just be a result of careless, or a bad editorial decision, but it comes across as supporting LuPone's seeming worldview: it's all about her.

The Little Foxes

Photo: Jan Versweyveld

Watching Ivo Van Hove's direction of Lillian Hellman's The Little Foxes, I was reminded of the Forbidden Broadway take-off of the most recent revival of The King and I. The skit advised directors of classics that, if they run out of ideas, they can always have the performers play the subtext (as in replacing "Shall We Dance" with "Shall We Boink"). In Hellman's The Little Foxes, the story of three siblings vying for money and power, everyone is rotten. In Van Hove's version, everyone is really, really, really rotten. The family members yell and punch the walls and whale away on each other (necessitating fresh Bandaids during the performance I saw). Does this approach work? Absolutely! The tension builds beautifully, and there is no doubt that everyone is playing for keeps. Also, casting Birdie young and beautiful takes her role out of the usual stereotypes and assumptions, and the bare stage and purple-ish, velvet-ish walls work well. The cast is strong--as are their lungs!--and the direction is never less than compelling. However, an important question must be asked: does Van Hove's concept-heavy direction add more than it takes away? I think the answer must be no. Hellman's Little Foxes already provides the tension and fascinating relationships; it is a solid, well-written play. Most of Van Hove's contributions come across as noise--interesting noise, but noise nonetheless.

Delusion

Photo: Leland Brewster

Laurie Anderson's Delusion is typical Laurie Anderson fare: smart, hypnotic, and wonderful. Combining rhythmic visuals, evocative music, and electronically enhanced singing and spoken word, Anderson makes the quotidian magical and the magical miraculous. Her generosity as a performer is breathtaking, and her thoughts and ideas--this time largely focused on mortality--provoke even more thoughts and ideas. Despite the many who have tried to be, there is no one else like her.

Me, Myself, and I

Photo: Joan Marcus

Edward Albee's irritating new play Me, Myself, and I focuses on a seriously dysfunctional family after son OTTO decides that his identical twin otto no longer exists. With its repetitious dialogue and anti-logic, Albee's absurdist investigation of identity relies heavily on language, humor, and symbolism. But the language isn't all that interesting, the humor is intermittent at best, and the symbolism is neither elucidating nor engaging. Emily Mann's flat direction only adds to the tedium, and Elizabeth Ashley directed to be annoying is even more annoying than Elizabeth Ashley not directed to be annoying.

Tigers Be Still

Photo: Joan Marcus

Everyone has problems in Tigers Be Still, Kim Rosenstock's engaging new play (directed by Sam Gold) at the Roundabout Underground series. Sherry and Grace's mom is so depressed that she's gotten fat that she hasn't left her room in weeks. Grace (Natasha Lyonne) is so depressed that she lost her boyfriend that all she can do is watch Top Gun and drink Scotch. Sherry (Halley Feiffer) wants to break out of her family's paralysis and do well in her new job but has to deal with her mother and sister. Sherry's new boss (Reed Birney) recently lost his wife, and he and his son Zach (John Magaro) are not doing well. Despite the seriousness of the characters' situations, Rosenstock has written a very funny play. The dramedy approach works well, allowing Rosenstock to examine relationships, mourning, healing, and growing up with grace and compassion. Tigers Be Still is not earth-shattering, but it is excellent, and I look forward to Rosenstock's future work. The cast is top-notch.

Paula West and the George Mesterhazy Quartet

The lovely Paula West sings with elegance, commitment, and understanding. She presents her music as someone might present a gift, and the songs, ranging from Rodgers and Hart to Bob Dylan, are indeed gifts, sometimes playful, sometimes serious, always sung with intelligence and style. Particular highlights include Irving Berlin's "Suppertime," sung with heart-breaking simplicity, Dylan's evocative "Shelter From the Storm," and the effervescent Arlen-Harburg "I Love to Singa." Perhaps the biggest strength of the evening is that the George Mesterhazy Quartet does not "back up" West; instead, each musician makes a superb individual contribution, whether playing ensemble or in solos. Jerome Jennings plays drums with a level of imagination, finesse, and attention to detail that adds up to magic, particularly during Hoagy Carmichael and Paul Francis Webster's "Baltimore Oriole." And if guitarist Ed Cherry ever chooses to headline an evening of his own, I will be the first one there. The clarity and emotion of his playing are what guitar playing should be. Paula West and the George Mesterhazy Quartet are at Feinstein's at Loews Regency through October 16 and then again November 22 to 27. Do yourself a favor--catch them.