Wonderland

Photo credit: Peter James Zielinski

You know you’re in trouble when the most endearing, magical moments of a musical occur before the curtain ever rises. Much like the looped entertainment news that precedes a movie, Wonderland features a preshow: an invisible hand that slowly sketches the original Tenniel illustrations of Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland onto a curtain colored like an antique book’s faded page. The soft, swirling movements etch the iconic black and white drawings, allowing the viewer a brief glimpse before the image evaporates in a smoke like wisp. Unfortunately, the effort only reminds you how much more enchanting the original version of Alice’s adventures are.

In this rendition, Alice (Janet Dacal from In the Heights) becomes an overworked inner city schoolteacher and frustrated wannabe children’s book author. Oh, and she’s also on the verge of divorce. As she falls asleep on her daughter’s bed after receiving another publisher’s rejection, she follows a white rabbit into Wonderland and her journey to self-realization begins. She meets the usual characters: the caterpillar (The Scottsboro Boys’ E. Clayton Cornelious), the Cheshire Cat (Jose Llana, portraying a Spanish version as El Gato) and The White Knight (Darren Ritchie). Her initial interactions with Wonderland’s population seem almost like cabaret banter—fluffy and light, and good for a laugh, but not really memorable. For instance, the White Rabbit mutters, “I was not punctual… I was not punctual,” instead of the usual “I’m late” because Disney owns the rights. Quite fun, though, is the nostalgia-infused “One Knight” number that casts The White Knight and his fellow knights as a boy band, clad in tight white pants and appropriating the moves of ’N Sync, BSB, and NKOTB.

The virtuous White Knight becomes Alice’s protector, following her to the infamous tea table where she meets a dominatrix version of the Mad Hatter (a menacing Kate Shindle) who states airily that Alice is not what she expected. “I’m a disappointment to myself, too,” Alice replies. And here’s the crux of the problem: Alice as a self-defeatist (and a bit of a whiner to boot) isn’t exactly an endearing character. Does the audience really care if Alice finds her way? Not really. Even when she snaps out of her melancholy to venture through the looking glass when the Mad Hatter and her henchrabbit, Morris the March Hare, kidnap daughter Chloe, Alice never seems maternal; her rescue mission feels like one more thing an overtaxed working mother should do.

Ultimately, Alice’s evolution into someone who will fight for her dreams, as well as for her daughter, seems too pat. Rather than learning something from her adventures, her epiphany comes from a meeting with The Victorian Gentleman (a thinly veiled Lewis Carroll), who urges her to “always believe in your dreams.” This makes her eventual transformation feel more like a Lifetime movie than offering any real resonance.

The music by Frank Wildhorn (lyrics by Jack Murphy, who also writes the book with Director Gregory Boyd) is serviceable. Although Wildhorn’s past shows Jekyll & Hyde and The Scarlet Pimpernel produced some power ballads still on the cabaret circuit today, overall the songs in Wonderland don’t linger after the show finishes—although, perhaps, Alice’s solo, “Home,” (later reprised in the second act) might someday join that cabaret rotation. The cast makes the most of the treacly material, though. Karen Mason manages to make you look past the ridiculous Princess Leia like hair braids and heart-shaped wardrobe of the Queen of Hearts to appreciate her underused crystalline voice. Especially good is Carly Rose Sonenclar, as Chloe, who provides the heartfelt vulnerability of a child discovering that the world is not a fairytale.

Introduction

Hello. I'm Sandra Mardenfeld and I'm excited to be writing for Show Showdown! I'm currently working on my PhD in Communication and Information at Rutgers University, specializing in media studies. Writing for this blog is a welcome diversion--anyone who has written a dissertation will tell you how grueling it is. Previously, I was the managing editor for several national magazines, the Broadway editor of Playbill, and an editor/writer on many websites. Currently, I am the director of the journalism program at C.W. Post University and a freelance writer/editor.

Seance on a Wet Afternoon

Photo: Carol Rosegg

In writing Seance on a Wet Afternoon, was Stephen Schwartz hoping to create his Sweeney Todd? There are definite similarities: grim subject matter, a middle-aged couple full of manipulation and evil-doing, a large chorus commenting on the goings-on, even a two-story set that turns to present different rooms of a house. Unfortunately, however, Seance on Wet Afternoon is not the masterpiece that Sweeney Todd is. But this tale of a medium who has her husband kidnap a child, in order to then "find" her and receive acclaim, has some definite strengths.

First, and most importantly, Schwartz manages to sustain a continuous level of tension throughout the piece, despite its too-slow first act. The entire opera is satisfyingly unsettling. Second, Schwartz provides moments of real beauty, though they are not as frequent as one would want. The high point for me (and, judging by applause, for the rest of the audience) was when the mother of the kidnapped child expresses her anguish in an aria gorgeously sung by Melody Moore. The third strength is that the libretto, based on a novel written by Mark McShane and a movie directed by Bryan Forbes, has an intriguing story to tell. Last but certainly not least, the design elements and orchestra are excellent. A curtain of long glittering chains evokes both a sense of constant rain and a creepy feeling of claustrophobia.

[spoilers below]

The weaknesses include the following: The show is too long and too slow. The supratitles are annoying and hard to ignore, and they are mostly unnecessary. Schwartz's lyrics, while deserving high points for intelligibility, are often silly and/or lame and rarely more than adequate. Lauren Flanigan plays the humor well but falls down on the pathos. (In another parallel with Sweeney Todd, she has a scene in which she realizes that she will have to kill a child. A number of the Mrs. Lovetts I have seen, in particular Christine Baranski, played that realization with a chilling combination of sadness and nonchalance. Flanigan's realization was considerably less textured.) The crowd scenes of reporters and photographers add little to the opera, and they are awkwardly staged. (Not meaning to beat a dead horse, but director Scott Schwartz is no Harold Prince.)

Overall, Seance on a Wet Afternoon provides an interesting evening in the opera house but, considering the source material, might have provided a thrilling one.

(Press ticket, 6th row slightly to the side.)

Priscilla, Queen of the Desert

A Little Dessert in the Desert

I love the movie, Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. The performances are nearly flawless, the costumes spectacularly original, and the script and direction fresh and thrilling. And the score is inspired. Translating movies to Broadway seems to be a dicey affair, especially when transfusing in the literal vein. As a matter of course, adding no original music rarely honors either medium.

From that standpoint, Priscilla the Musical isn't "good." Compared to the movie, the script is lesser, the costumes are copies, and the brilliance of the song selection (as necessary as some of the changes were) is debateable. Despite any of that, the show is fun and entertaining. It isn't trying to reinvent the musical form. It isn't trying to out-do the movie. It exists for commercial and not creative reasons. And, quite frankly, it does more to give you your money's worth than many shows with better books and scores. Personally, I am happy the show exists.

As staged camp, they know better than to take themselves too seriously, with the exception of the terminally pensive Will Swenson (who I loved in Hair with a stalker's devotion--a stalker that was, alas, too lazy to pose an ounce of a threat, so no need to alert Mr. Swenson's security team). It is tough to make interesting a dramatic arc that journeys from ache to hurt for 2 hours. It makes the audience a little numb to the moments that are actually intended to be painful--and the movie has those moments. Beneath the wigs, wardrobe, and wackiness, the movie was about real people with real issues that exist in the real world. It revealed devastation at every stage, literally and figuratively.

All of the leads are shadows of the original, although Tony Sheldon is genuinely touching and funny. The actors tell the story with heart (and heels), and they mount the bus and invite you along for a joy ride. I was pleased as punch to climb aboard, but most in the audience on the night I attended displayed a raucous enthusiasm and nearly jumped on board. They were into it from the first spin of the disco ball.

Keala Settle as Shirley shines in a brief appearance that capitalizes on every moment. The 3 divas, big voiced one and all, offer a nice but ultimately unnecessary addition that serves more as vocal set dressing than Greek chorus. Much of the remainder of the supporting cast were attractive--all over. The buffet of bare flesh was endless and extensive, a slip of the tucking tape away from revealing their didgeridoos.

I won lottery tickets in the first row. My general opinion is that closer is better. That just works for me. At the Palace, though, the height of the stage is a bit too high for my comfort (and at 6'2" I've got more stretch than most people). You'll spend the money you save on $40 tickets on a chiropractor after the show.

I understand that they couldn't get the rights to the Abba songs that were so essential to the movie--you'll have to walk up the block to catch those. If you don't know the movie, you won't necessarily miss the songs, but what they represented is missing too. They were the payoff for a movie-long buildup. There's no climax here. As a matter of fact, there's very little huffing and puffing either. It is actually disappointing theatrically and politically. That this female impersonator's showstopping characterization is reduced to an off-handed, poorly-executed Elvis redux is silly, unnecessary, and borderline offensive. It makes one wonder why they didn't cut it entirely, as they did the ending of the movie. It felt like they had to get everyone out of their gaffs and girdles before the clock struck twelve or overtime kicked in. Interesting that the script was the clumsiest thing about the show given the height of the heels.

The show has the elements to have a nice run--flash, fun, familiar songs, and a negligible script. Safe for tourists who don't travel with a Bible, a baseball bat, or a translator.

If you are looking for a silly night in the theatre that allows you to escape for a couple of hours, this is a perfectly enjoyable show. If you are a huge fan of the movie, you've probably already seen the show. If you haven't, spend the time on the couch cuddled up with the originals.

Anything Goes

A Cole Day in Hell 

Photo Credit: Joan Marcus

I work in the theater. No, I no longer perform; but I am an enthusiastic audience member who believes that once the curtain goes up, I have a job. I don't sit back and wait to get caught up in a show. I throw myself at it. In the spirit of full disclosure, I will also pick myself up and remove myself at the first black out if I decide the job's not up to much. As a passionate audience member, my responses tend toward the extreme. I am bitter, resentful, and venomous when I hate something and am an effusive, cheering, unpaid-spokesperson when I love something. Occasionally, I am merely whelmed.

I went into The Stephen Sondheim Theater with a dubious heart and a ten dollar ticket for Anything Goes. I also went in with a history, starring alongside a first-class Reno Sweeney in community theater and witnessing the pint-sized genius of Elaine Paige from the third balcony in the West End. Upon hearing the announcement of Sutton Foster's casting, I was more perplexed than when splitting the check after an all-you-can-drink brunch. To me, she was a Hope at most and a Bonnie/Irma at best.

A reconfigured opening, establishing her dating relationship with Billy, gave me hope. . .that lasted until the first belt. As feared, she just wasn't up to the role. Her singing was sweet not Sweeney, her vibrato was under control, and her dancing (what little there was in what is traditionally a tap show) was accurate, although the choreography transported me back to community theater--more arms than toes and heels. Her delivery, requiring zing and star quality, was more US Postal Service than Fed Ex. The jokes showed up, just not always on time. And when she wasn't speaking or singing, her attention span jumped ship.

The show, as written, is fun. I came to have fun. It was, instead, functional. It was super-undersized--fewer actors than a hillbilly has teeth (I grew up in hillbilly country, I know). Billy was beige, Hope was off-white, Irma was egg shell. All well and good for a Sherwin Williams paint chip strip, less dazzling in a Broadway show. The three lead women had nearly identical voices, nearly identical ranges--I was wearing a more impressive belt. John McMartin, Jessica Walter, and Adam Godley shone like eco-friendly bulbs--sustained brilliance, dialed back so as not to outshine the leads. The only person who stood out was Joel Grey, but mostly because he was doing a completely different show, with a comedic tempo that worked better for his performance than the production.

The greatest disappointment of the night was the dancing. It's a dance show. More specifically, it is a tap show. In short supply, the tapping felt more perfunctory than integrated or inspired. Rarely thrilling. And that sums up the show--rarely thrilling.

For a person who doesn't know the show or has never seen a beloved production, Roundabout could easily satisfy. I attended with two first-timers who were perfectly entertained. I love the show too much and worked too hard (all through the night's performance as a matter-of-fact) to love this production. It was not De-Lovely. De-Likely at best.

Born Bad

Photo: Carol Rosegg

The lights come up. A woman demands of an older man, "Say it!" Before we can fully consider what she wants him to say, the lights go down. When they come up again, the same woman is calling an older woman a bitch. But not just calling her a bitch. Instead, she spews forth a spoken aria on bitch-ness. After the lights go down and come up again, the woman's sister has joined them, dodging the woman's needy questions about their childhood as skillfully as a toreador dodges a charging bull. This pattern of lights down-lights up-new character continues until we have a whole family: mother, father, three daughters, one son.  By the end of the hour we spend with them, we have experienced their lies, their pain, their denial, their betrayals, and even their love as they try to understand just what happened many years earlier.

Playwright debbie tucker green's elegant, pared-down Olivier Award-winning play Born Bad is a formidable achievement. The language is poetic and revealing, and green's acute understanding of family psychology allows her to parse the intricate relationships among the six complex characters. Director Leah C. Gardiner supports the play's elegance with her focused, stylized staging, using the juxtaposition of chairs to let the audience know just where the characters stand (or sit). Mimi Lien's simple, handsome set smartly reflects the mood and tone of the play, as does Michael Chybowski's lighting.

And then there is the cast. All six performers are superb. As Sister #1, Quincy Tyler Bernstine finds the comedy in the play without losing the tragedy. Crystal A. Dickinson (pictured) speaks with a mania that underlines Sister #2's deep desire not to listen.  Elain Graham works hard to retain the mother's dignity even as it is stripped away, LeRoy James McClain (pictured) says few words as the father yet maintains a vivid presence, Michael Rogers' physicality as the brother says more than words ever could. And Heather Alicia Simms, as the sister who catalyzes the play, goes through a tornado of changing emotions without ever losing her way.  

(Press ticket, fourth row on the aisle)