Denzel Washington as Othello, on Broadway

The prospect of a European nation waging war against Turkey on the island of Cypress ought to be unthinkable in the near future. Yet, given Erdogan’s increasing authoritarian oppression and his open hostility towards his supposed NATO allies, it is not so outlandish anymore. Consequently, the mildly dystopian setting for Broadway’s latest Shakespearean production sort of makes sense—not that anyone cares. The real story is the casting. As even people outside New York have heard, Denzel Washington plays the tragic Moor and Jake Gyllenhaal plays Iago in Othello, directed by Kenny Leon, which is now playing on Broadway.

Washington assumes the role so famously associated with Orson Welles, Sir Laurence Olivier, Placido Domingo, and William Marshall—and for most readers that is all they need to know to have confidence in this production. Frankly, they are not wrong. Leon and company emphasize Othello’s military status, which plays to the strengths of Washington, who can still don fatigues with complete conviction and a ram-rod straight bearing.

You really ought to know the basic plot of Othello, but if you are a Gen-Z’er who was failed by your woke schooling, Othello was an outsider who rose to become one of Renaissance Venice’s top generals. However, he passed over Iago for promotion, in favor of the more refined but less experienced Michael Cassio. Despite his ostensive loyalty, Iago also bears nativist sentiments of some sort towards the Moor. As a result, resentful Iago resolves to ruin Othello, exploiting his insecurities regarding his much younger wife, Desdemona, while both are summoned to Cypress to fight the Ottoman Turks.

If you have seen Washington in The Tragedy of Macbeth, there is question he can swagger through the first act and then rage and wail through the second. He is perfectly cast and he never disappoints. However, the surprisingly good news is Gyllenhaal’s comparable performance as Iago. Think of him as the Gyllenhaal of Nightcrawler, but at a higher, more devious, and sarcastically calculating level.

So yes, the two reasons everyone is interested in this production are as good as you expect, or even substantially more so. Take that George Clooney and your extended movie monologue. In fact, the chemistry (from Othello’s perspective) or tension (as Iago sees it) shared by the two co-leads is totally electric.

Leon’s director well serves the two thesps and their fans. He stages most of the action front and center, so it is easy to follow from any seat in the house. The imposing yet minimalist set designs harkens back to classical architecture through its massive concrete-looking columns, while also evoking the dehumanizing brutalism of its Orwellian setting.

Grey House, on Broadway

There was a time when Broadway was the place for horror. It was a very different Broadway, when the masses could find an afternoon’s entertainment for the change in their pocket. It was also a very different horror, with plays like John Willard’s The Cat and the Canary and Adam Hull Shirk’s The Ape supplying a Scooby-Doo-style “rational” explanation (and a lot of killers in animal costumes). Horror has returned to Broadway, but the sensibilities are more contemporary and the terrors are much more explicit than those of the 1920s. Unfortunately, ticket prices also conform to 2020’s expectations. Frankly, getting snowed-in with a creepy family in the isolated cabin is bad in any genre, but the implications are especially fearful in Levi Holloway’s Grey House, directed by Joe Mantello, which officially opened last night on Broadway.

Technically, their car hit a deer, but it seems like an unseen force is mysteriously guiding Max and Henry to cabin in the woods. It is bitter cold out and Henry’s banged-up leg needs tending, but the modest home still feels sinister. Soon, the couple learns it is the abode of four pre-teen-to-teenaged girls and a silent young boy, who all have a rather strange relationship with Raleigh, their presumptive mother.

It is the 1970s, but all the girls behave like they stepped out of an earlier era. However, Henry quickly takes to the family’s medicine of choice: mysteriously glowing moonshine, each batch of which carries a man’s name. The couple is in big trouble, which they sort of recognize, but they do not realize how bad things are until the girls invite Max to play their sinister (and possibly lethal) games.

The producers of Grey House can hyphenate its categories all the like, but there is definitely horror in there. There is even a spot of gore, which would be modest by Evil Dead standards, but is quite impressive for a live stage drama. In fact, there are a lot of clever visual effects that might not be prohibitively expensive or complex, but look really impressive from the audience’s perspective. There are things that suddenly shine or appear and disappear that create a potent atmosphere of mystery and dread. Frankly, some of revelations is Grey House are more shocking than they would be in a movie, because as a play, you are seeing it “live.”

Come from Away, Recorded Live-On Broadway

The international airport at Gander, Newfoundland used to be the great last-chance-for-gas station in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. However, when fuel capacity increased for transatlantic flights, it became an underutilized white elephant—until September 11, 2001. When the infamous terror attack, planned and coordinated by al-Qaeda in Afghanistan, weaponized commercial airliners, 38 international flights were diverted to Gander. Since then, the hospitality of the local Newfoundlanders has become the stuff of legend, inspiring films and a hit Broadway Show. The Tony-winning director, Christopher Ashley subsequently helmed a filmed version of Come from Away (music, lyrics, and book written by Irene Sankoff & David Hein), which premieres Friday on Apple TV+.

This was a special performance, recorded while Broadway was still dark during the pandemic shutdown, featuring many of the original cast-members, with many invited first-responders and 9/11 survivors in the audience, so you couldn’t ask for a more empathetic vibe in the house. As many of us remember, it all starts on an eerily beautiful morning. Like most days, Gander mayor Claude Elliott is at Tim Horton’s, measuring the town’s pulse, when he hears news of the attack. Understanding the strategic location of the Gander airport, he and the entire staff of air-traffic controllers swing into action.

Soon, the entire town is planning to host thousands of unexpected guests, except the striking bus drivers’ union (which is eventually shamed into cooperation by a vote of its membership). Initially, everyone is confused about why they are there and how long they will stay, especially the airlines. However, as the enormity of recent events sinks in, it becomes clear their extraordinary layover will last more than a day.

Some guests, like eco-energy entrepreneur Kevin Tuerff try to make the best of things, but his partner, Kevin (“the other Kevin”) Jung, never warms to Gander’s charm. Much to their surprise, American divorced-mom Diane Gray and British petroleum middle-manager Nick Marson finds themselves flirting together. However, Hannah O’Rourke too preoccupied waiting for news of her firefighter son, but she still finds friendship and comfort with Beulah Davis, a local gander volunteer.

Frankly, Come from Away is an example of a book musical that is arguably too well-written to spawn a breakout hit song. For instance, “Me and the Sky,” the feature number for Captain Beverly Bass (American Airlines’ first female captain, who was already a notable aviation figure in her own right) is melodically catchy and takes the audience on a vivid emotional ride, but it is highly specific to the circumstances of the character and the story. Regardless, it is still a showstopper whenever Tony-nominated original cast-member Jenn Colella performs it (it still gets me every time I hear it).

Every cast-member pulled double-duty, portraying at least one guest and one host, but they all differentiate their roles nicely. Ashley earned his Tony with the lively minimalist staging. It is basically a few chairs and revolving stage. Stylistically, it is somewhat akin to what you might expect from a comedy improv troupe, but it works on Broadway and the dynamic movement of the camera gives the film version a sense of energy that translates surprisingly well to screen. Frankly, Come from Away is much more satisfying as a work of filmed entertainment than Disney’s Emmy-nominated Hamilton.

There is also a greater sense of humanity in Come from Away, thanks to the wonderfully down-to-earth performances of the ensemble. After watching Joel Hatch play Claude Elliott (and several other locals mayors, who look comically similar), I’d vote for him for New York Mayor (honestly, we couldn’t do much worse than de Blasio). Tony LePage is terrific as Tuerff, particularly in a touching scene, in which he revisits a beloved hymn from his youth.

Duke Ellington’s Sophisticated Ladies: Broadway in Movie Theaters

Don’t call the Ellington Orchestra a ghost band.  At least it wasn’t in the early 1980’s.  The maestro would still recognize most of the members, especially the leader, his son Mercer.  Though the Ellington patriarch had gone off to the great bandstand in the sky, the family business was still going strong, thanks to a Broadway show featuring Ellington’s most popular songs and the band, under Mercer’s direction. More of a revue than a musical per se, Sophisticated Ladies ran for 767 performances at the Lunt-Fontanne.  Captured live in-performance in 1982, Ellington’s Sophisticated Ladies (trailer here) makes its big screen debut in all its restored and re-mastered glory, courtesy of SpectiCast, beginning this Wednesday at participating theaters.

If there is one theater Sophisticated Ladies tries to evoke, it is the Cotton Club.  Our first clue is probably the big neon sign hanging from the back of the stage that says Cotton Club.  However, the production conceived by choreographer Donald McKayle and directed for the stage by Michael Smuin is not pedantically faithful to the era or venue. Ellington’s final theme song, “Satin Girl” duly finds its way into the program. Also conspicuously anachronistic is the multiracial company of hoofers who dance to Ellington’s classics together, which would have been a major no-no during the Cotton Club’s heyday—so some things really aren’t how they used to be.

On the other hand, the immortal appeal of Ellington’s swinging standards comes through loud and clear.  Ladies actually starts with the “Sophisticated Gentlemen” performing a relatively minor piece of Ellingtonia, “I’ve Got to be a Rug Cutter,” but it sure is a handy vehicle for some tap pyrotechnics.  Likewise, “Music is a Woman” has never been excessively covered, but it is a nice up-tempo introduction for Paula Kelly, who looks terrific in flapper fashions (some might also recognize her, or perhaps not, from her trailblazing appearance in Playboy).

In a related development, one of the Ladies’ few missteps is a Josephine Baker-esque “jungle” style rendition of “The Mooche” that is probably quite true to the show’s Cotton Club roots, but has not aged well.  The band still sounds great on it.  Terri Klausner then commences torching up the old chestnut “Hit Me with a Hot Note and Watch Me Bounce” something impressively fierce.  Kelly, two gentleman admirers, and a red piano keep the sassiness cranked up to the max with a “Love You Madly/Perdido” medley.  It is elegant, but also pretty darn hot.

Phyllis Hyman starts “It Don’t Mean a Thing” in an unusally diva-ish bag, but it segues into show-stopping tap showcase for the gents.  The video crew really shines during these big dance numbers.  Clearly, multiple cameras were involved, mostly captured the company in full Astaires, with a few close-ups of their flying feet thrown in for good measure.  The jitterbuggers take over during “Cotton Tail” and they don’t skimp on the air-steps.  The rendition of “Solitude” is a bit miasmic for jazz tastes, but Kelly cranks the energy level back up with a duet-medley of “Don’t Get Around Much/I Let a Song Go Out of My Heart.”  Unfortunately, a killer “Drop Me Off in Harlem” is slightly barred by a dated Chinese caricature.

For hardcore Duke fans, “Diminuedo in Blue” leads into the intermission, but without the “Crescendo,” probably because nobody would want to try to replicate Paul Gonsalves’ epic solo.  Oddly, there is nothing representing the Sacred Concerts, which seems like a lost opportunity, but so be it.  Considered the star, Hyman specializes in ballads like “In a Sentimental Mood” that are all very nice, but Kelly steals the show out from under her with saucy twists on favorites like “I’m Beginning to See the Light.” There is also good reason why she is the featured dancer for the pseudo title song, “Sophisticated Lady.”

The choreography of McKayle and Smuin (with a tap assist from Henry LeTang) translates well to the screen.  In fact, the dance sequences are distinguished by an exuberance that remains fresh and appealing thirty-some years later.  The cats in the band sound great too, but they are mostly stuck behind a gauzy curtain for most of the show (at one point future Lincoln Center mainstay Joe Temperley can be positively id’ed, but few others get even fleeting face time).  The current Broadway production After Midnight does a better job in this respect, featuring the Jazz @ Lincoln Center affiliated band clearly on-stage, even giving them their own front-and-center number.  It is a great show, but if you cannot make it to New York, there is considerable crossover between the two productions’ choice of tunes, so keep an eye out for Ladies.

Indeed, there is both timelessness and nostalgia to be found in Sophisticated Ladies.  Most of Ellington’s songs sound as vital today as they did in the 1930’s and a few outliers are nicely rehabilitated by the Sophisticated Ladies and Gentlemen.  Yet, when the camera pans the audience, we see folks dressed to the nines for Broadway.  The men are wearing suits at the least, with a fair smattering of tuxedoes out there. Those days are gone, but the music swings like it always did.  Highly recommended for fans of Ellington and Broadway, Sophisticated Ladies will have limited screenings in select theaters nationwide, beginning December 4th until the 18^th, depending on the schedules of participating locations—including this Wednesday (12/4) at the Chelsea Cinemas in New York.

Annie: Reviving the Hard Knock Life

If you believe the W.C. Fields theory of kids and animals, Daddy Warbucks must be a terrible part.  Plus, there’s the whole baldness thing going on.  Of course, a working stage actor would be delighted to land the role just the same, but viewers will never know who that might in the recent Broadway revival from watching the behind-the-scenes special Annie: It’s the Hard Knock Life, From Script to Stage (promo here), which airs on PBS this Friday.

For producer-director Josh Seftel, the book musical Annie means only one thing: “It’s the Hard Knock Life.”  Those hoping the sun will come out tomorrow might be a tad disappointed.  Nevertheless, Seftel’s narrower focus allows him to document in-depth how the anticipated showstopper takes shape in the new production. 

“Hard Knock” will always be a challenge because it features Annie and all her fellow orphans, who will necessarily be played by young, relatively inexperienced performers.  Indeed, the revival’s charismatic nine to eleven year old cast-members (Lilla Crawford, Junah Jang, Georgi James, Madi Rae DiPietro, Taylor Richardson, Tyra Skye Odoms, and Emily Rosenfeld) come across like good kids, but they often have choreographer Andy Blankenbuehler pulling his hair out.  Adding a further challenge, he is inclined to ditch the iconic mops and buckets from the number, but remains unsure whether the audience will accept such boldness.

Crisply but sensitively lensed by Stephen T. Maing (the director-cinematographer of the fascinating and alarming High Tech, Low Life), Script to Stage was produced with fans of the musical in mind, but students of stagecraft should also be fascinated by the inside look at the revival’s creative development.  In addition to Blankenbuehler putting the young girls through their paces, Seftel also captures the work of costume designer Susan Hilferty and set designer David Korins.  It rather turns into a family affair when the latter’s theater savvy young daughter becomes production’s key demographic advisor.

Frankly, it is always easy to get caught up in behind-the-scenes Broadway documentaries, because the clock is always ticking down towards opening night while bedlam reigns backstage.  Yet, viewers looking to really get caught up in an emotional story will probably find Step By Step (the Chorus Line doc) more rewarding because of the way the cast personally relates to the show’s themes and characters.  Step is a great movie, whereas Script to Stage is a very nice television special, which should still be a good fix for theater patrons.  Nicely put together, Annie: It’s the Hard Knock Life, From Script to Stage is worth catching when it premieres on New York’s Thirteen this coming Friday night (6/28).

(Photo: Joan Marcus)

Dro-oo-od on Broadway

They are not booing, they are chanting “Drood.”  Spectators are immediately asked to join in and hold that “o” whenever the title character is mentioned on-stage.  Incorporating audience participation in the tradition of Rand’s Night of January 16^th, patrons will decide who the issue of guilt, but nobody is really innocent in the Roundabout Theater Company’s randy revival of Rupert Holmes’ The Mystery of Edwin Drood, now running on Broadway (promo here).

Staged as the latest production of a Victorian theater company, the first act more or less follows Dickens’ unfinished novel and previous Masterpiece and Universal adaptations.  Dro-oo-od is the entitled orphan nephew of his guardian, John Jasper, a secretly drug-addicted provincial choirmaster.  Jasper is not so furtively obsessed with Rosa Bud, who was betrothed to Dro-oo-od in their childhoods.  To deal with his ghosts, Jasper frequents the London opium den operated by the Princess Puffer, a mere old crone in most renditions, elevated in stature on-stage to accommodate a Broadway diva like Chita Rivera, or in the case of the Roundabout’s revival, exactly like Rivera.

Before long, Dro-oo-od will disappear and suspicion will fall on his newly arrived rival, Neville Landless.  However, theater company chairman William Cartwright, serving as master of ceremonies and reluctantly stepping into the role of Mayor Sapsea, will give the audience a chance to “elect” the murderer for the evening, whether their choice makes sense or not.

With its meta-play-within-a-play concept, Drood the musical is not unlike the recently hyped Anna Karenina.  Yet, the device works better here, probably because nobody takes it very seriously.  Arguably, Holmes’ gimmick was also more original when it debuted on Broadway in 1985, the same year Oliveira’s Satin Slipper was released.

In truth, Drood the musical can never harbor many pretensions, aside from expressing a bit of Dickens love, which is jolly fair enough.  It is simply a chance for the cast to unleash their inner mustache-twisting villains and vamps.  Jim Norton, the distinguished co-star of many Conor McPherson Broadway productions and his exceptional film The Eclipse, combines ham with dry wit to excellent effect as the Chairman.  The Princess Puffer is not a natural fit for Rivera, but at least it is a chance to see the Broadway superstar in her element.  Nor can the pleasure of the unapologetically colorful turns from Will Chase as the dastardly Jasper and Jessie Mueller as Landless’s femme fatale twin be denied.

Ironically, the weak link of the musical Drood are Holmes not particularly memorable tunes.  Still, “Perfect Strangers” is an appealing enough love song.  However, the second act reprise became truly high farce last Saturday, due to eccentric choices made by the audience that would take too long to explain.  (Evidently, the Devil really gets into New Yorkers during the holidays.)

Appropriately returning to Broadway during the Dickens bicentennial, the hard-working, highly likable Drood represents a fresh holiday alternative to yet another Christmas Carol.  The audience outreach is clever without becoming intrusive (unless you’re asking for it in the front row) and the performances are uniformly energetic.  Recommended for those who enjoy broad musical comedy with a literary veneer, The Mystery of Edwin Drood runs on Broadway until March 10^th at the Studio 54.

Memphis on Great Performances

Celebrity casting might sell tickets initially, but their commitment to a production is usually limited. However, if a show hires Broadway actors by virtue of their talent, they stand a chance of keeping the original cast together for a long run. Happily such has been the case for Broadway’s Memphis, the Tony Award winning book musical that may no longer qualify as “new” but still remains fresh. Viewers can find out for themselves, either by visiting New York where it continues its crowd pleasing run or by tuning into PBS’s Great Performances, which broadcasts Memphis recorded live in performance with its original cast this coming Friday.

Huey Calhoun is one of the few white residents of Memphis who is either gutsy or innocent enough to frequent the African American clubs on Beale Street. While his presence makes club owner Delray Farrell understandably uneasy, everyone generally accepts the goofy kid because of his obvious affinity for their music. Smitten with Farrell’s sister Felicia, the big talker promises to get her on a major Memphis radio station. Commandeering the broadcast booth of the station owned by the upright and uptight Mr. Simmons, Calhoun lights up the proverbial phone lines spinning R&B for appreciative white teenagers. Suddenly, Calhoun has a steady job.

For a while, Calhoun actually has it all, including a relationship with Farrell. Yet he just does not understand how things really work in Memphis, whereas she is all too aware of reality. Although their love might be impossible in that specific time and place, their music is the future and it is quite catchy indeed.

Though the score by David Bryan (best known as a member of Bon Jovi, but also the composer of the Toxic Avenger musical) is a bit more orchestrated and well, Broadway-sounding than the genuine R&B and rock & roll of the period, it really delivers the goods. “Someday,” Felicia’s first hit in the context of the show, really does sound like it could have been a chart-topper, perhaps for Etta James. Ironically, one of the show’s highlight comes from Derrick Baskin as the mostly silent Gator, who blows everyone away with “Say a Prayer,” the riveting gospel-derived first act closer. However, the standout song is arguably Calhoun’s feature, “Memphis Lives in Me.” It is actually a twofer: musically it is a legitimate showstopper, but it also explains Calhoun’s character better than any of the previous dialogue.

Granted, Joe DiPietro’s book is not exactly the most original treatment of themes and issues that drive Memphis. Of course, clichés become clichés because they work, and audiences will most likely find themselves charmed by Memphis’s likable and vocally talented leads. Frankly, Chad Kimball’s weird affected, nasally accent and rabble rousing man-child demeanor suggests a pronounced Jerry Lee Lewis influence. Sounding totally Beale Street, Montego Glover takes a star-making turn as Felicia, displaying dramatic poise and powerhouse vocal chops. In supporting roles as Calhoun’s Beale Street friends, Baskin and James Monroe Iglehart also make a strong musical impression.

Memphis boasts far more memorable songs than nearly any of its Broadway contemporaries (most of whom have since come and gone), which is the ultimate measure of a musical. Slickly produced and tightly paced, Memphis looks great and sounds soulful. Christopher Ashley’s stage direction holds up well for those of us who saw it in-person during its early months and veteran television director Don Roy King effectively captures the spirit of the show through Broadway Worldwide’s multiple high def cameras. Recorded in January of last year and briefly seen in movie theaters for four days, King’s live-recorded Memphis is highly recommended for both fans and first time audiences when it airs this Friday (2/24) as part of the current season of Great Performances on PBS.

(Photos: Broadway Worldwide)

Time is Running Out for Bonnie & Clyde

It was still tough, but New York offered comparatively more opportunities during the Great Depression (as opposed to the current lousy one), thanks to the skyscraper building boom. In contrast, West Dallas was pretty much dust bowl bleak. However, two tempestuous lovers rose up from this hardscrabble environment to become folk heroes in their own time. Forever immortalized in Arthur Penn’s 1967 film, the more historically accurate life story of the bank-robbing duo has been set to music. However, if you want to see Bonnie & Clyde (promo here) on Broadway you had better move fast. It closes this Friday at the Gerald Schoenfeld Theatre.

West Dallas was sort of the end of the line in the 1930’s. It was where Clyde Chestnut Barrow’s family drifted into a squatter’s camp after losing their sharecropping work. Constantly in trouble with the law, the young Barrow grew up idolizing Billy the Kid. Bonnie Elizabeth Parker saw herself as the next Clara Bow, but she would settle for anything but average.

Barrow and his brother Buck were already fugitive escapees when he first meets Parker. The Brothers Barrow would soon be back in the slammer, with Buck voluntarily turning himself in and Clyde returning the hard way. In fact, this prison stretch would change everything for the famous Barrow, turning him into a killer, even before Parker aided and abetted his escape. At that point, the die is essentially cast for the gangster-lovers, but they intend to go out in style.

Is there anything as romantic as a hail of bullets? Shrewdly, book writer Ivan Menchell puts it up top, telling their story in flashback form in a way that seems almost empowering, as though Bonnie and Clyde are going out on their own terms. Indeed, B&C is pretty hot for Broadway, aside from the thinly veiled prison rape references, which are a real mood killer. They certainly sway audience sympathies towards Barrow though.

It is rather surprising drama critics did not more fully embrace B&C, considering how easy it would be to dub it the Occupy West Dallas musical. Clearly tapping into the Steinbeckian Depression era mythos, it even employs iconic Dorothea Lange photos as part of its backdrop image projections.

If you want a lesson in economic history, you should probably not look for it in a Broadway theater. In truth, one of the great distractions of B&C is that it never asks what ultimately happens to the many mom & pop general stores Barrow hold-up. On the other hand, if you are coming for the music, Frank Wildhorn’s tunes are quite strong, deftly integrating elements of era-appropriate Gospel, blues and roots music, while staying within the comfort zone of Broadway performers. Don Black’s lyrics are also sharp and frequently loaded with smart historical references. Their words and music are well served by some inventive staging, with several tunes cleverly evolving into unexpected duets.

It is also surprising that B&C could not generate more heat from the presence of lead actress Laura Osnes as the “ravishing redhead.” The winner of the NBC reality show You’re the One that I Want that produced the cast of the most recent Grease revival, she is one of the few pure theater performers who can claim a national following. She is also quite good in the part, displaying a rich voice and scorching Maggie the Cat-like stage presence. Although not as magnetic, Jeremy Jordan has the right fierce intensity to carry off Barrow and also has pretty strong chops as well.

It is a shame B&C is closing, because it is a fine star vehicle for Osnes and it employs some very stylistically flexible musicians in the pit, who, led by musical director Jason Howland, really have a spring in their step. Despite its relatively short stage life there will be a cast album forthcoming and a production is scheduled to open in Tokyo next month, so there will be a few more chapters for the show. Recommended for those who like a bit of blues and twang in their book musicals, Bonnie & Clyde runs through Friday (12/30) on Broadway at the Gerald Schoenfeld.

(Photo: Nathan Johnson)

Memphis on Broadway

The lily white Huey Calhoun has his faults, but he is not trying to appropriate the music of Memphis’s rhythm & blues musicians. While plenty of other people in the music business will be only too willing to do so, all Calhoun wants to steal is the heart of Felicia, a Beale Street diva. In late 1950’s-early 1960’s Memphis, that just cannot happen. At least he can love the music in Memphis, a dynamic new book musical now running on Broadway.

Calhoun is one of the few white residents of Memphis who is either gutsy or innocent enough to frequent the African American clubs on Beale Street. While his presence makes club owner Delray understandably uneasy, everyone generally accepts the goofy kid because of his obvious affinity for their music. A big talker, he promises to get Delray’s sister Felicia on a major Memphis radio station. Commandeering the broadcast booth of the station owned by the upright and uptight Mr. Simmons, Calhoun lights up the proverbial phone lines spinning R&B for appreciative white teenagers. Suddenly, Calhoun has a steady job.

For a while, Calhoun actually has it all, including a relationship with Felicia. Yet he just does not understand how things really work in Memphis, whereas Felicia is all too aware of reality. Although their love might be impossible in that specific time and place, their music is sound of the future and it is catchy indeed.

Though the score by David Bryan (best known as a member of Bon Jovi, but also the composer of the Toxic Avenger musical) is a bit more orchestrated and well, Broadway-sounding than the genuine R&B and rock & roll of the period, it really delivers the goods. “Someday,” Felicia’s first hit in the context of the show, really does sound like it could have been a chart-topper, perhaps for Etta James. Ironically, one of the show’s highlight comes from Derrick Baskin as the mostly silent Gator, who blows everyone away with “Say a Prayer,” the riveting first act closer. However, the standout song is arguably Calhoun’s feature, “Memphis Lives in Me.” It is actually a twofer: musically it is a showstopper, but it also explains Calhoun’s character better than any of the previous dialogue. It would not be surprising if the city of Memphis adopted as their unofficial anthem in the near future.

True, Joe DiPietro’s book is not exactly the most original treatment of themes and issues that drive Memphis. Of course, clichés become clichés because they work, and audiences will most likely find themselves charmed by Memphis’s likable and vocally talented leads. Frankly, Chad Kimball’s weird affected, nasally accent does not sound at all like Memphis, but his energy and powerful singing voice more than compensates. Montego Glover takes a star-making turn as Felicia, displaying dramatic poise and powerhouse vocal chops. In supporting roles as Calhoun’s Beale Street friends, Baskin and James Monroe Iglehart also make a strong musical impression.

Memphis boasts far more memorable songs than most of its Broadway competition, which is the ultimate measure of a musical. Slickly produced and tightly paced, Memphis looks great and sounds soulful. Now running at the Shubert Theatre, it is a spirited show, definitely recommended for R&B listeners and book musical patrons.

When Broadway Got Real: Passing Strange (The Movie)

It seemed like there was a revolutionary spirit afoot on Broadway in early 2008, when two new musicals brought the theater world an infusion of energy and hipness. While Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Latin-hip hop flavored In the Heights is still up-and-running, Stew’s hard-rocking Passing Strange closed far too soon, despite garnering excellent reviews and a Tony Award for best book. Yet it was too good to go undocumented, so Spike Lee brought his cameras into the Belasco Theatre to record Stew’s show in the live performance documentary, Passing Strange (trailer here), which starts a limited engagement in New York this Friday.

Passing is the semi-autobiographical creation of the uni-named Stew (at one time known as Mark Stewart), the show’s narrator, guitarist, bandleader, book and lyric writer, and co-composer/co-orchestrator with bassist Heidi Rodewald. Although Stew had an understudy listed in programs, it is difficult to imagine the show without him driving the band and offering witty musical commentary on the dramatic proceedings.

In a variation on the on-the-road story, the simply named Youth, feeling constricted by his lower middle class Los Angeles upbringing, sets out on a journey to find “the real.” Yet it is not clear whether the aspiring songwriter really wants to find it, preferring the excesses of Amsterdam’s bohemian hash bars and the hipster pretensions of Berlin. His expatriate voyage unfolds on an austere stage right in the midst of Stew’s band, with only a few plain chairs for a set.

At times the book is quite clever, savagely satirizing the self-important leftist performance art of the Berliners. Featuring sharply incisive dialogue, Passing challenges the audience’s expectations in shrewd ways, frankly addressing issues of personal identity and authenticity in race, sex, and art. When the Youth adopts a militant Black Power persona to impress the Berlin artist collective, his role-playing is undercut by Stew’s narration: “Nobody in this play knows what it’s like to hustle for dimes on the mean streets of South Central.”

Daniel Breaker is quite convincing as the somewhat immature Youth, perhaps benefiting the most from Lee’s cinematic close-ups. Likewise, the power of Eisa Davis’s performance as his mother remains undiminished by the show’s transition to the big screen. However, Stew dominates the show with his music and presence. Together with Rodewald, Christian Gibbs on drums, and Jon Spurney and Christian Cassan, both doubling on guitar and keyboards, they rock the house, far more than any previous so-called “rock musical.”

Indeed, the music of Passing is quite catchy and it legitimately rocks, but the program is a bit unbalanced, with most of the absolute killer showstoppers, like “Arlington Hill,” “Amsterdam,” and “Keys” front-loaded in the first act. Yet throughout the show, Stew’s effective recurring riffs like, “just when it was starting to feel real,” tie the music and drama together quite powerfully.

Employing multiple cameras over three nights of shooting, Lee and cinematographer Matthew Libatique capture the sweaty vitality of the show’s essence. However, it seems like they were a tad stingy with Rodewald’s screen time, which is a shame considering her contributions as Stew’s musical collaborator and her own talent as a musician.

Lee might have directed the film, but Passing is still undeniably Stew’s show. It was as real as it gets on Broadway. When the musicians and actors take their final bows on stage, cinema audiences will probably find themselves up on their feet, applauding along with the Belasco patrons. It is a fine send-off for one of the best musicals of the last decade.

It opens on the 21st at the IFC Film Center, with Stew and Rodewald attending the 6:15 & 9:20 screenings on Friday and Saturday, as well as the 3:30 screening on Sunday.

The Chorus Line Story: Every Little Step

Even those who have never seen the Broadway musical A Chorus Line are likely to be familiar with many of the show’s songs, including “What I Did for Love” and “One (Singular Sensation).” It has penetrated the popular consciousness to a degree few subsequent musicals could ever dream of replicating. Clearly, something just clicked for the show, but the story of how the elements came together, both for the original 1975 production and the acclaimed 2006 Broadway revival, prove surprisingly compelling in James D. Stern and Adam Del Deo’s new documentary, Every Little Step (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Appropriately, Step starts by going back to the source: the original reel-to-reel tapes of late night conversations creator Michael Bennett recorded with his fellow dancers that provided original seed of inspiration for Chorus. It would take years for the show to go from Bennett’s vague idea to its record-breaking Broadway run, essentially creating the workshop production model along the way. Step simultaneously chronicles the casting process for the 2006 revival, conceived largely as a tribute to the late Bennett, by the surviving creative team from the original production.

Stern and Del Deo talk to just about everyone connected to both productions, scoring some great behind-the-scenes information from the likes of composer Marvin Hamlisch and the original featured star, Donna McKechnie. However, in the age of reality television, the emotional punch of the 2006 casting scenes is frankly shocking. It certainly helps that most of the auditioning dancers are reasonably interesting people, largely auditioning out of pure love for the show, unlike the average vapid American Idol contestant.

The audience will find themselves rooting for some dancers, like Yuka Takara, who finds herself in the unenviable position of auditioning for the role of Connie, originally created by Baayork Lee, the current production’s choreographer and an advisor during the casting process. In fact, the directors strike documentary gold, capturing maybe the most successful audition performance ever from Jason Tam, to judge by the reaction of Bob Avian, the 2006 director and Bennett’s longtime creative collaborator.

The original Chorus Line was a smashing success, winning the Tony Award for Best Musical and the Pulitzer Prize for Drama. However, the only disappointment in the show’s history was Sir Richard Attenborough’s lackluster film adaptation, which bombed at the box office. Step is a far worthier film representation of the beloved show.

The acid test for a film like Step is whether it holds up for someone who does not passionately love the Broadway show. As such a heretic, I argue it absolutely does. Step perfectly captures the affection for the show shared by so many in the theater world, finding insight in unexpected places. It is a thoroughly satisfying film that should even engage viewers unfamiliar with Bennett’s original musical. It opens tomorrow in New York at the Angelika.

Broadway In The Heights

Welcome to Upper Manhattan—some might call it the barrio. Broadway has not gotten up around here too often since West Side Story. However, In the Heights, composer-lyricist Lin-Manuel Miranda’s affectionate slice-of-life musical set on a Washington Heights street corner, has none of the gang wars of the earlier Bernstein musical, focusing instead on the daily struggles of its characters. Now, after a long, circuitous Off-Broadway route, Heights finally opened on Broadway last night at the Richard Rodgers Theatre.

For out-of-towners, Washington Heights is a neighborhood in Manhattan, above 155th Street and below Inwood on the Island’s tip. It currently has a largely Hispanic demographic breakdown, so Heights appropriately boasts a very strong salsa and meringue flavored score, joining Passing Strange in an attempt to broaden Broadway’s musical palette.

Miranda plays Usnavi, the shy Dominican everyman bodega owner who knows everyone in the neighborhood and how they take their morning coffee. Many of Miranda’s numbers incorporate a sort of half rapping, half singing delivery that deftly handles a lot of the exposition. He also makes shrewd allusions to Ellington’s “Take the A Train” and Cole Porter.

This show just would not work if its lead did not exude an earnest likeability. Fortunately, Miranda’s Usnavi makes for a strong rooting interest as he deals with his undisciplined cousin Sonny and his unrequited love for the impossibly long-legged Vanessa, played by Karen Olivo (there is a reason she never has to pay for coffee).

The book by Quiara Allegria Hudes is not perfect, but it keeps the audience caring about the characters. Actually, the cleverest lines of Heights, like the explanation of Usnavi’s unlikely name, often come embedded in songs, in a way that makes it difficult to determine if book writer or songwriter deserve the credit.

The matriarch and moral center of the neighborhood is Usnavi’s Cuban “grandmother” Claudia, played touchingly by Olga Merediz, who one way or another figures in some of Heights’ most moving numbers, including “Paciencia y Fe (Patience and Faith).” It vividly describes her past life in Havana as well as her family’s sudden flight, which though not explained in song, obviously involves a certain bearded dictator.

While there are moving moments in the various subplots, the music is what really stands out in Heights. “96,000” is a rousing show-stopper for the entire cast and “The Club/Fireworks” is a well staged conclusion to the first act. Even Eliseo Roman in a small role as a street vendor competing with Mister Softee gets a big hand for “Piragua.”

Miranda’s Latin music is infectious and the band sounds great throughout. It includes a number of jazz musicians (or at least musicians with jazz experience), including: trombonists Joseph Fieldler and Ryan Keberle, trumpeter Raul Agraz, Kristy Norter on reeds, percussionist Andres Patrick Ferero, and bassist Irio O’Farrill. Together they contribute enormously to the show’s success.

One of the questions hanging over Heights is whether or not this corner is a neighborhood or simply a way-station. It is hard to ignore the fact that the characters never express a sense of American identity. Rather it is their roots in DR or PR that define them. Perhaps Usnavi takes a step towards answering this question in the nicely drawn conclusion. Yet to its credit, Heights values things like family, hard work, education, sacrifice, music, and yes, community.

Ultimately though, the music of Heights defines the show—it is probably the best original score to grace Broadway stages in years. Together with the charisma of its lead, it provides a fresh theater experience, which should give Heights a long, successful run.

Stew’s Rock Musical: Passing Strange

The image of a journeyman musician carrying a guitar down that lonesome road still has resonance in our collective unconscious. That archetype is part of what is at work in Passing Strange, a new rock ‘n’ roll musical (no joke), which opened at the Belasco tonight, after a successful Off-Broadway run at the Public last year.

Strange is the semi-autobiographical creation of the single-named Stew (at one time Mark Stewart), the show’s narrator, guitarist, bandleader, book and lyric writer, and co-composer/co-orchestrator with bassist Heidi Rodewald. Although Stew has an understudy listed in the program, it is difficult to imagine the show without him driving the band, and that band is truly front-and-center in Strange. There is something aesthetically pleasing about seeing the instruments prominently up on stage when you enter the theater. (Although Stew has not had much to say about other musicals in interviews, appropriately he did tell the NY Times Magazine he “loved Chicago,” another show with the band up out of the pit and visible on the stage.)

The story is basically a variation on the on-the-road tale. The simply named Youth, feeling constricted by his lower middle class Los Angeles upbringing, sets out on a journey to find “the real.” Yet it is not clear whether the aspiring songwriter really wants to find it, preferring the excesses of a bohemian lifestyle in Amsterdam and the hipster pretensions of Berlin. His expatriate voyage unfolds on an austere stage amid Stew’s band and a few plain chairs, augmented by the flash of a light wall designed by Kevin Adams and David Korins, which definitely heightens the rock ‘n’ roll ambiance.

It might be a simple story, but Stew has penned some sharp, incisive lines. At times the book is quite clever, as when the Youth has an epiphany regarding the connection between the African-American Church and rock music (both come from a blues source, feature call-and-response and so forth.). It also savagely satirizes the self-important leftist performance art of the Berliners. However, there was about one too many of those performance art numbers, as the Berlin interlude drags a little.

Stew’s book challenges the audience’s expectations in shrewd ways, frankly addressing issues of personal identity, and authenticity in race, sex, and art (hence the confusing title). When the Youth adopts a militant Black Power persona to impress the Berlin artists’ collective, his role-playing is undercut by Stew’s narration: “Nobody in this play knows what it’s like to hustle for dimes on the mean streets of South Central.” Ultimately, it casts a critical eye on the Youth’s expatriate wanderings, perhaps suggesting he may have missed “the real” he had been looking for all along by turning his back on his home and mother.

Daniel Breaker is convincing enough as the somewhat immature Youth, and Eisa Davis gives a powerful performance as his mother, but it is really Stew’s show. Together with Rodewald, Christian Gibbs on drums, and Jon Spurney and Christian Cassan both doubling on guitar and keyboards, they rock the house, far more than previous so-called “rock musicals.” Their performances definitely sound in-the-moment, with even some improvisation reflecting the evening’s vibe. Over all, it is a strong score featuring two standout showstoppers in “Amsterdam” and “Keys” as well as effective recurring riffs like, “just when it was starting to feel real,” which tie the music and drama together nicely.

It is great to see and hear something legitimately new on Broadway. While the second act does not quite have the zip of the first, it does deliver some unexpected honesty, which is always worth seeing on stage. Passing Strange might not exactly be a Disney show—remember a good part of the first act takes place in the Amsterdam where the expats hang—but it has real energy. The music of Stew and Rodewald could actually produce Broadway’s first legitimate breakout chart hit in years. It is a brisk change of pace from the old warhorses anchored in many Broadway theaters that deserves a strong run.

Company Next Week

Stephen Sondheim has a reputation as Broadway’s most challenging composer, but his work has proved remarkably accessible and pliant in recent years. Last year, Tim Burton compellingly adapted Sweeney Todd using a cast of actors with little vocal experience. On Broadway, director John Doyle has staged some unusual revivals of Sondheim, including Todd, and more recently the Tony Award winning Company, documented by Great Performances, and debuting on PBS stations next Wednesday, February 20th (you know, check local listings).

In staging Sondheim, Doyle has his troupe multi-tasking in the extreme. In addition to their traditional acting and singing roles, they also serve as their own pit orchestra, playing each instrument from the stage (see clip embedded below). It is an unusual effect, but Company lends itself to Doyle’s approach, with its abstract sets and situations.

To an uncharitable eye, Company would seem to simply be the story (or Seinfeldian non-story) of Robert, a Manhattan commitment-phobe with a group of annoying married friends, who seems to spend a lot of time standing on his furniture and sabotaging his romances. However, George Furth’s book is a brutally frank examination of relationships. Sometimes his words induce wincing, as they often hit raw nerves. Some descriptions compare Company to Sex in the City, but the writing is far superior, refusing to sugar-coat its uncomfortable situations.

Raúl Esparza as Robert, or Bobby, Rob, and Bubby-Baby, as he is variously called, is the key to the show. Always on stage, he has to appear emotionally detached, but suggest something is going on deep beneath the surface. In the song “You Could Drive a Person Crazy” his girlfriends sing: “you impersonate a person better than a zombie should.” Yet at the end of each act, Esparza has to deliver a revealing show-stopper, which he does convincingly. Esparza is in great voice throughout, and his performances of “Marry Me A Little” makes one wonder why the song has not become more of a standard.

Sondheim won the Tony for both best score and lyrics when Company debuted on Broadway in 1970, and it might be his best work for any show. Individually the songs are memorable, and there is a nice sense of variety within the show (Angel Desai’s “Another Hundred People” being another highlight). Undoubtedly the best known song would be “The Ladies Who Lunch,” which Elaine Stritch debuted. Later renditions have played down the sarcasm of the lyrics, but not here. Channeling Stritch in the role of Joanne, Barbara Walsh’s version of the toast almost borders on the abrasive.

The cast all have strong voices and happily hold their own as musicians. (Again, Company deserved the Best Show Album Grammy far more than Spring Awakening.) While the music is great and there are some nice comic touches, some viewers might have difficulty with the ambiguous nature of the show. It is not a dumbed-down Disney production.

It is a happy development that people around the country will have this chance to see it on GP. Commentators on NY1’s On-Stage have bemoaned the disappearance of recorded theater on television and it is a fair point. The combination of Doyle’s unique staging, Sondheim’s music and Esparza’s performance make this a very memorable show, and an effective corrective for the syrupy sentimentality of lesser Broadway shows. It airs a week from today, February 20th, at 9:00 pm (here in New York on WNET 13).

Prague Rock City

For many of us, 1968 means only one thing: Soviet tanks rolling through the streets of Prague. Rock ‘n’ Roll, Tom Stoppard’s latest play, identifies another significant event with that year—the formation of The Plastic People of the Universe, the underground (by necessity) Czech rock band that would become a symbol of Communist oppression when arrested and imprisoned in 1976 (background info from Stoppard here). Spanning decades from the bleak days of Husák's hard-line regime to the heady promise of the Velvet Revolution, Rock ‘n’ Roll tells the Plastics’ story obliquely, through the eyes of an average Czech rock fan and his English friends.

Music and freedom are intertwined in Rock ‘n’ Roll, but the political implications of rock are initially lost on Jan, a young philosophy student and record collector who voluntarily returns to Czechoslovakia after the Soviet invasion, having studied in England with a prominent British Marxist professor, Max Morris. Though not political, Jan’s love for the music of the Plastics and other western bands forces him into a dissident’s life.

The first act moves through the years in a rapid-fire succession of scenes, as Jan is increasingly harassed by the state and reluctantly pushed into pro-democracy activism. Any record collector’s stomach would turn at the sight of Jan’s record collection smashed by the secret police. All the while, Morris remains faithful to his ideology, despite the evidence he sees with his own eyes when he visits Jan in Prague during a Marxist academic conference. He is a hard-case—after all, he weathered 1956 with his faith in tact.

After thoroughly damning Morris in the first act, Stoppard largely lets him off the hook in the second act. Morris is now a widower living with his daughter Esme and granddaughter Alice, both of whom have sentimental attachments to their neighbor, the reclusive former Floyd band-member Syd Barrett. The scenes are longer, but frankly, it is harder to care about the Morris family dramas. However, when Jan comes for a visit, things pick up steam, as Stoppard challenges preconceived notions of collaboration, emphasizing the difficulty of making moral judgments under an oppressive government.

Stoppard is often knocked for the intellectualism of his plays and characters who talk in academic jargon. Morris would be a prime example of this, a man who needs to exist on a philosophical level to disconnect from uncomfortable realities. However, in a tough, challenging scene, his cancer-stricken wife Eleanor calls him out, demanding he respond to her on an emotional level, with ambiguous results.

As Jan, Rufus Sewell is pitch-perfect. It was not just the accent and mannerisms, but something indefinable in his performance was totally Czech. He actually reminded me of Czechs I have met. As Morris, Brian Cox blusters and bellows, chewing up scenery and dialogue with gusto. In a dual role, Sinead Cusack turns in some of the play’s most electric moments as Eleanor, but her grown Esme comes across a bit milk-toast.

Sewell’s Jan though is the heart of the play. Not really an intellectual because he never finished his degree, and not really a dissident because he was never political, Jan is simply a rock ‘n’ roll fan. However, that in itself was political in Communist Czechoslovakia. He was just one of many dreamers who never had chance under a corrupt system of government. In a telling exchange late in the second act, Jan contemplates immigrating to England, but a former Czech countryman tells him words to the effect of: “you finally have a chance to rebuild your own country, why leave now for an England that only apologizes for itself now.”

Stoppard, born in Czechoslovakia, British by way of Singapore, had often spoken out on human rights concerns behind the Iron Curtain, particularly in his collaboration with André Previn, Every Good Boy Deserves Favour, and his television film, Professional Foul. Here his words crackle with meaning, deftly integrating Czech history into his story and wrapping things up nicely with a perfectly fitting conclusion.

Veteran stage and film director Trevor Nunn keeps the pacing brisk. Rock ‘n’ Roll is effectively staged, particularly in its use of classic rock songs to introduce each individual scene, like U2’s “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For,” an arresting preface to the second act, particularly in light of what preceded. Ultimately that is what Rock ‘n’ Roll the play is about—the power of music. After runs in London and Prague’s National Theater, Rock ‘n’ Roll opened last night on Broadway at the Bernard B. Jacobs Theatre, and it well worth seeing, provided the stagehands don’t strike.

(Note: this review is based on a preview performance, coincidentally on the night before I left for Prague.)

Strike Talk

The illegal transit strike of 2005 did not quite go according to the transit union’s plans. Deep, dark blue New York City quickly lost patience with TWU 100, rewarding the despised MTA a PR draw with the union. The stagehands union Local One might be heading towards a similar fate if they make good on threats to strike. The critical issue at stake, as defined by Patrick Pacheco on NY1’s On-Stage a few weeks ago: “featherbedding.”

Both sides seem to agree the single biggest sticking points are current work rules requiring excess (producers claim) stagehands above and beyond the needs of shows. According to the League of American Theaters and Producers' Charlotte St. Martin: "Were the League to accept the final offer dictated by Local One, the Local One labor costs for new plays and musicals would rise by 30% for new musicals and 44% for new plays, over the life of the contract." In the long run, these production costs will make it ever less likely riskier productions like the recently closed Grey Gardens will make it to Broadway. Instead, theater patrons could expect future seasons chocked full of safe but dull Disney and Hollywood adaptations.

So far, Local One has not appeared to be as publicity conscious, posting no press releases or letters to theater patrons on their website (but according their newsletter, they just held a successful golf tournament fundraiser for their PAC). They “respectfully declined” Mayor Bloomberg’s offers to help facilitate negotiations. Most of their statements in press reports refer to the revenue generated by Broadway’s blockbuster shows (conversely, producers point to an 80% failure rate for new shows). Variety reports the local is formulating justifications for striking without the required approval from the international, which indicates a disconnect between the two.

If Local One does strike, will New Yorkers rally to their cause? So far, they have not really taken their case to the people, but defending unnecessary “featherbedding” is a tough case to make. Of course, it will not just be producers who suffer. The real economic pain will be felt by restaurants, shop owners, and hotels that cater to the Broadway tourist trade, hardships which the union has yet to acknowledge.

Lyrics Worth Remembering

Broadway lyricists are in a bit of a slump. It has been years since they produced a breakout hit. As entertaining a show as The Drowsy Chaperone is, the only memorable song is a gag number spoofing shows like the King & I. One show that did not have that problem was To Live Another Summer, To Pass Another Winter, an Israeli musical that played on Broadway in 1971, featuring lyrics by the Polish born Hayim Hefer who “founded the Chizbatron, the first Israeli Army entertainment troupe,” according to the cast album notes. His words are indeed memorable:

The Boy With The Fiddle
“I Can Remember A German Captain Called To Me,
Get Over Here, My Darling, Our Pretty Little Boy
You Played Bach and Beethoven While You Were Free
And Now You Join Our Little Orchestra of Joy.

I Remember the Long Striped Shirt He Made Me Wear
The Others Had Them Too as the Trains Rolled By
He Made Us Play This Tune, This heinous Little Air
We Played As Our People Went to Die . . .”

To Live Another Summer, To Pass Another Winter
“We Were Content to Give Our Youth,
To Pawn Our Years Like Golden Chain,
For Words Like ‘Freedom,’ or Like ‘Truth’
Days Clear and Free From Bloody Rain,
And Only One Wish Remained.

To Live Another Summer, To Pass Another Winter
To Watch the Trees Turn Green from Ashes and from Cinder
To Cross A Quiet Street, Alone Secure from Trouble
To See the Flowers Bloom, Away from Graves and Rubble”

Sorry We Won It
“Oh Please World, Excuse Us
We’re Asking You For Forgiveness
We’re Awfully Sorry
We’re Sorry We Won the War”

It would be interesting to see To Live revived, or at least have the cast album reissued on CD. It was actually the final recording project for the great jazz arranger-composer-vibraphonist Gary McFarland, who was credited on it as the Musical Supervisor. Shortly after the session, McFarland visited a bar with a musician friend, consuming a drink mysteriously laced with liquid methadone. According to reports he died immediately of a massive heart attack. (I’ve actually played an excerpt of To Live when discussing McFarland in class, and got some looks like I had three heads.) It is a memorable work though, historically significant for many reasons.

The Award for Least Relevant Award Show . . .

Stop your Sopranos griping. It’s over. As disappointing as it may have been, Sunday could have been worse, if say, you were producing the Tony Awards. Pending final numbers it may have been the award show’s record lowest rating. Two days after the fact, I just noticed my only rooting interest in the show, Julie White in The Little Dog Laughed, actually pulled off the upset, winning best actress in a play, despite having been closed for months.

What does it say that Americans turned away in droves from a celebration of Broadway’s finest? There is still money to be made there—just ask the producers of Jersey Boys. As an art form though, how vital are its signs of life? Jazz used to frequently adapt Broadway songs as vehicles for improvisation, and many classics of the American musical songbook remain in musicians’ repertoire today. Yet how many jazz versions of Grey Gardens songs have you heard? Who can even name a tune from Curtains? One has to wonder if Broadway can produce a hit song any longer.

During the late night Monday rebroadcast, some of NY1’s On-Stage commentators questioned whether there was a place for a Broadway award show on national television. The pessimist could conclude people are increasingly less comfortable with live entertainment that cannot be fast-forwarded, paused, or rewound.

Broadway book musicals and jazz have some common ancestry, rooted in the early Broadway revues of ragtime musicians like James Reese Europe and Joe Jordan. It would be nice to see both genres financially and artistically successful. (Broadway still has the former, while jazz claims the latter.) For those outside of New York it may well be harder to experience either in a genuine live setting, which explains the collective yawn for Sunday’s Tony broadcast.

Coming Soon: Show Business

The modern musical and jazz have common roots in the Broadway revues of turn-of-the-century musicians like James Reese Europe and Joe Jordan. Both genres have evolved enormously in the succeeding years, but the Broadway musical still holds out the elusive promise of a potential blockbuster hit. Dori Berinstein’s new documentary ShowBusiness (no space) documents the pursuit of that goal during the 2003-2004 Broadway season (trailer here).

Business follows four shows—two hits and two misses—from workshops through the Tony Awards. The hits, Avenue Q and Wicked, are still running strong. The flops, Caroline, or Change and Taboo were not long for this world, but in the case of Taboo, the bad taste for many still lingers.

There is behind-the-scenes drama for each show, but Taboo, the Boy George musical produced by Rosie O’Donnell, was a circus. We see early scenes of hubris in which O’Donnell confidently predicts success and Boy George basically blows off the Avenue Q creators on Taboo’s opening night. Karma indeed.

Perhaps those who come off the worst are the various sarcastic critics whose prognostications made in Midtown restaurants are almost entirely wrong. At the start of the season, no critic (except Ben Brantley of The Times) has much faith in Q, and a quick demise is predicted for Wicked. Michael Riedel of The New York Post in particular, comes in for some lumps for his columns detailing the chaos of Taboo, but that seems to overstate his influence in the show’s closing.

Of the four shows we see in depth, Q is clearly the most engaging, and its creators have a goofy charm that contrasts with the corporate professionalism of the crowd pleasing Wicked. Caroline showed a great deal of potential, including an entertaining score from Jeanine Tesori, who also arranged music for the film. However, there seemed to be a strident edge in the performances which my have doomed it with Broadway audiences. Despite some half-hearted praise for Taboo late in the film, it was clearly a train wreck. After screening Business one comes to the conclusion that market forces picked the right winners and losers during the ’03-04 season. (Although, I would argue Bombay Dreams, also from that season, deserved a longer run.)

Berinstein and her crew had fly-on-the wall access, which allowed them to capture some fascinating scenes. It also benefits from occasional commentary from actor and co-producer Alan Cumming. At times Business is quite funny (if snarky), but the filmmakers clearly have a genuine affection for the theater, which is why they seem to fall in love with the underdogs of Avenue Q. Ultimately, it is a New York success story that anyone who has attended a Broadway show in recent years will enjoy. It premieres tonight in New York (of course) and starts its regular run on May 11th.

. . . As the Dish Ran Away with the Spoon

Theater-goers won’t be able to see Douglas Carter Beane’s The Little Dog Laughed much longer. It closes Feb. 18. The reviews were excellent—I blame the title. The line from the nursery rhyme makes sense once you’ve seen the show, but it does not have any real meaning to prospective ticket buyers.

It is one of the smarter, funnier straight (non-musical) plays of recent years. There isn’t even the obligatory Bush joke. In fact, center-right patrons would probably enjoy it, if they don’t mind gay themes and brief on-stage nudity (I mean, whatever), because Beane absolutely savages the PC-money-grubbing hypocrisy of Hollywood.

It might be just as well that it closes with the original cast, sparing patrons the revolving door of celebrity stunt casting. Julie White should be nominated for her performance as the manic agent-manager Diane, and its hard to envision the play without her. Oddly, in a play whose central event is an affair between a closeted movie star and a rent boy, the women characters are actually much more interesting. Julie White’s profane uber-agent is a force of nature, almost equaled by Ari Graynor’s “edgy” “party-girl,” Ellen. Alex the hustler actually evolves in an interesting way, but movie star Mitchell Green does seem somewhat shallow and dull. Of course he is a Hollywood star, so the role may have been deliberately written that way.

Little Dog is a funny, well-staged play. It even uses Lewis Flinn’s pleasant electronic incidental music in an amusing, referential way. It is an entertaining play, but certainly I wouldn’t predict a movie sale now.