Three heavy hitters have teamed up on Broadway to give audiences an evening of kinship wrapped in contention with Relatively Speaking: three one-act comedies which cover various forms of familial remedy, rivalry and racket.  Four-time Oscar winner Ethan Coen, two-time Oscar nominee Elaine May and multiple award winner Woody Allen each offer up their views on the subject, resulting in short plays which each bear the distinct mark of their unique brand of writing; all delivered under the deft direction of John Turturro.

Danny Hoch and Jason Kravits in Talking Cure by Ethan Coen (Photo: Joan Marcus)

Ethan Coen handles the “remedy” side of things and is first up with Talking Cure.  Coen’s distinctive, brooding style is in evidence throughout this snappy first act which finds Jerry, a post office worker (Danny Hoch – delivering his performance like a shaken soda can about to explode) having recently gone … well … postal.  Now committed to a mental hospital, Jerry receives routine visits from his therapist (Jason Kravits) who tries to reach him in earnest.  Set during a series of fast paced discussions — punctuated by abrupt blackouts — Jerry battles the doctor at every turn.  Their verbal sparring brings frustration to both as “everybody has problems” becomes a constant refrain.

Even as the doctor tries in vain to promote his “talking cure”, he is needled by his patient: “What if I start talking too much?  Is there a ‘shut-the-fuck-up’ cure?”

In a quick set change, we’re suddenly transitioned from the world of Jerry (who has gotten more belligerent) and his doctor (who has become increasingly frustrated) to a quiet dinner scene which rolls forward complete with demure solid wooden fixtures, elegant table setting and grand picture windows.

However, what first appears to be a quiet evening at home for this couple (Allen Lewis Rickman and Katherine Borowitz) quickly devolves into a shrill argument that, like any fight, shows there’s no topic too random or irrelevant to use as ammunition when you’re angry — so of course it makes perfect sense when a phantom couple called “the Hitlers” are conjured up  purely to be used to underscore a point.  The woman is pregnant and it doesn’t take much after that to find that the unborn baby is destined to become Larry the postal worker.  Talking Cure is a perfect bite-sized play that archly illustrates the notion, “With parents like these, no wonder he turned out like that”.

Marlo Thomas and Lisa Emery in George is Dead by Elaine May (Photo: Joan Marcus)

Next up is Elaine May providing the rivalry with her beautiful gem George Is Dead.  Artfully interweaving laughter and blunt observation, she serves up two very different women who had the opportunity to be reared by the same woman – though each was given a far different allotment of time and attention and stands now in a very different world.   Carla (a no-nonsense Lisa Emery) is anxiously awaiting her husband’s return after a delay at her mother’s house has caused her to miss his acceptance speech at an awards ceremony.  Ridden by guilt, she paces and leaves messages in the hopes of convincing him to return home.   A middle-of-the-night knock on her door proves to be Doreen (Marlo Thomas) who tumbles into Carla’s apartment on the brink of hysteria screeching, “George is dead!” and then proceeds to turn Carla’s night upside down.

Not close friends, not even somewhat related, the wealthy Doreen was raised by Carla’s mother who was her nanny.  Now grown the woman admits to not having seen her nanny in 40 years but somehow manages to stagger to Carla’s place since everyone else she knows is unavailable, and in the wake of this upsetting news of her husband’s tragic accidental death, she’s helpless.  And rich.  Surely she’s not expected to do anything is she?

What follows is an utterly priceless night of watching as Doreen simply pouts and tantrums her way out of taking any action.  “What will I do?” she wails at one point, “I don’t have the depth to feel this bad!“  As she reels off the things that usually constitute a bad day in her protected world (all the while instructing Carla to scrape the salt off her saltines), she comes off not so much malicious as simply vapid and unaware of anything but herself.  In fact, when Carla asks “Have you been listening to me?” she replies, “Not really.  I’m always stunned that people listen to each other’s stories.”

And so, throughout the night, we find more and more how Carla was left alone as her mother tended to Doreen, and how Doreen was utterly dependent upon her Nanny while being completely oblivious of the woman’s personal life.

When Carla’s husband (Grant Shaud) comes home a long-brewing tension erupts and he leaves her.  Oblivious, Doreen hunkers down and continues to expect Carla to arrange for George’s body to be transported back to New York, to call the lawyers, even to give her a nightgown, and tend to her throughout the night.

Ultimately there is a heartbreaking moment when Carla’s mother arrives on the scene the next morning to coax the petulant Doreen into her (borrowed) black dress.  Taking charge, Nanny  does for Doreen what she never did for her own daughter: command the situation.  It is an ironic move for an old woman who, helpless and baffled by her remote only the night before, caused Carla to miss her husband’s speech and unwittingly set that tragedy in motion.  Now, however, there is no time to inquire about her daughter’s broken marriage … her Doreen needs her.  As the two close ranks, as if no time had passed, it is absolutely devastating.  Not only does the scene unfold brilliantly, but the pain leaves a surprisingly raw scratch after such strong comedic performance.

Ari Graynor and Steve Guttenberg in Honeymoon Motel by Woody Allen Photos (Photo: Joan Marcus)

Woody Allen caps of the evening’s fare with the typical racket in Honeymoon Motel.  This one-act finds Allen at his best and hearkening back to breezier days of fast one-liners and quippy zingers.  This play is all about what happens when, as one of the characters notes, “a mid-life crisis turns into an end-life crisis.”  And once again, parallels to Allen’s life are in evidence — though don’t distract from the broad humor of the piece.

When we come upon the happy couple – a May/December pair who seem as excited to get down to the business at hand as they are about the sheer tackiness of the decor of the honeymoon suite – they are breathless with joy and exhilaration.  Soon enough, we find that the bride Nina (Ari Graynor) and her tuxedo’d romeo Jerry (Steve Guttenberg) aren’t actually what they seem.

Shortly, the love-nest becomes a hub of activity as every in-law and even the rabbi and the shrink comes crashing through the door, each brandishing their own shtick and often times simply unleashing jokes into the room to no one in particular.  It’s chaos done right, however, in a Marx Brothers “Is my Aunt Minnie in here?” kind of way, and all the fabulous actors are given their moment to shine, despite the pandemonium.  Ultimately it is not the Rabbi or even the Therapist who manages to calm the roiling storm, but the pizza delivery guy – who arrives in the nick of time – with a pie that’s half sausage, half pepperoni and all wisdom.

Relatively Speaking covers a lot of ground in its three short acts; while not all of it hits the same mark in terms of symmetry, there is still a certain rhythm created through the entire piece thanks to Turturro’s strong direction.  He takes care to build up some of the weaker spots and reign in the areas that could have gone careening off … this keeps a common element flowing throughout three very different plays making them more of a cohesive whole.

While there are no real deep insights to take away from this night of theatre, there is certainly an abundance of fine acting and wonderful laughs — with May’s middle piece fastening the two bookend plays in place.

If fighting with your own family no longer holds the same kicks it used to, come down to the Brooks Atkinson Theater and listen in as these great writers put the fun back in dysfunctional.

~~~

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My parents spent a great deal of money on my education. First they chose a strict parochial grammar school for 8 years, then I was sent off to an exclusive prep school for 4 years, and finally my education was capped off with a fancy private college. All this was done to ensure that I had a good working knowledge of the world. Yet my European-born mother still sadly shakes her head when I make such public blunders as exclaiming to a roomful of people that I have no idea where Holland is in relation to Norway. “I always thought they were the same place!” I remark, blithely, with not even a hint of embarrassment. “Aren’t they, though?” I go on – digging the hole deeper. Oh – American Education – how you failed me.  Surely someone could have made politics, history, and geography stick in my brain in a way that made sense so that I don’t continually shame my family?

After spending a night with Colin Quinn as he delivered his one-man show Long Story Short (directed by Jerry Seinfeld)  it’s obvious that he was that someone.   Colin Quinn is like that teacher who comes into the urban school and makes all the tough kids love learning.  But he already knows that.  In fact, at some point during Long Story Short, he even does a spot on send-up of every To Sir With Love / Stand and Deliver / Dangerous Minds movie ever spit out by Hollywood — though his version ends with the teacher taking a job at the cushy prep school at the end of it all.  The very prep school where I would have benefited so much!  So you see how we’ve come full circle here.  But wait!  That’s only the introduction . . .

By anthropomorphizing (see, there’s your fancy private college education!) countries into spurned jealous lovers, hedonistic stoners, single-minded over achievers, disinterested, sarcastic fashionistas, brooding, depressed fatalists and cocky barroom brawlers, Quinn was finally able to make sense of history for me. And all in 75 minutes, no less.

Backed only by a rear screen projection and some huge steps that at any given moment can act as a Greek Theatre, a Roman Colosseum or a Mayan Temple (scenic and projection design by David Gallo) Quinn delivers sharp observations and gives a copious lesson of the world by way of a steady stream of dead-on interpretations that illustrate where we came from and where we are now.

“An unexamined life is not worth living”, said the Greeks – and yet, Quinn continues, for all this examination we’re doing these days, are we any richer for it? Glance at any Twitter stream or Facebook news feed – truly: do we need to be examining ourselves this much in order to know who we are?

So, the lesson begins in Greece as we start in the cradle of civilization. The Greeks – who invented the Gods so that people could blame their problems on something and who also invented Theatre so they could gossip about their neighbors. (Oedipus: Hey – that show last night? Was that about me? Sophocles: No! What? No! Oedipus: Cause, you know, I killed my father and then slept with my mother. Just saying.   Sounded like you were talking about me. Sophocles: Yeah? Really?  No – no. It’s based on a lot of people I know. It’s a compilation.).

Quinn goes into Magellan mode, circumnavigating the globe and no culture, civilization, or stereotype is left unexamined.  Quinn’s talent for boiling down the essence of entire countries, equally highlighting their failings as well as their fortunes makes for a hilarious world tour.   From the Holy Roman Empire (who were covered in more jewels than the attendees at a Death Row Records release party), to The British Empire  (the small country who controlled the world not with Might but with Contempt), to the French who were portrayed as England’s emotionally distant, but somewhat interested lover  (whose Facebook Relationship Status would have been “It’s Complicated“) – this all crystallized years of history for me.  Oh – NOW I get it.

There’s more of course: The Mayans, hanging out and smoking pot on the biggest stoop in the world, The Russians who (unlike the Americans, who are continually in the pursuit of happiness) perfected the art of being depressed, The Chinese (One Country, One Leader, One Haircut). No one escapes as Quinn does spot on accents yet teaches a lesson that would put any history teacher to shame.

By then end, when Quinn turns the entire world into a bar at 3am – with the United States as a cocky redneck who had a few too many and is itching for a fight, insisting that Iraq was hiding a gun, and taking the fight out into the parking lot where the world’s countries are hanging out  in assorted stages of inebriation and various levels of booze-inspired loyalty, well – the moment is inspired brilliance. From Quinn’s ability to transition effortlessly from one culture to another, to just the way he shows that, when boiled down, it really all amounts to the same thing – well, that bit alone required a standing ovation.

Which Quinn got – deservedly – at the end of his 75 minutes.

Simply put – this is a smart show that delivers big laughs. A must-see for anyone who really wants to understand the George Santayana quote “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it”. If you’ve only had a passing acquaintance with Colin Quinn all these years, you’ll leave The Helen Hayes theatre a huge fan. If you already start out as a fan, you’ll have renewed appreciation for Quinn’s deft comic timing and his spot-on observations.  No matter how you walked in, you’ll walk out with a little more understanding of your fellow man.  You know – That Guy.

~~~

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For those of us who were there last night, either as fans of Green Day, Broadway, or their rock opera American Idiot- it was a legendary moment.  Billie Joe Armstrong- lead singer of Green Day, main lyricist, and guitarist of the band for the past 20 years made his Broadway debut appropriately as the character  ‘St. Jimmy’ last night, September 28th at the St. James Theater. (Where he runs through a limited 7 day engagement).

When he first came out onto the stage, mid way through the play, the crowd roared with applause and screams, as if we were at an arena Green Day concert. It didn’t stop through the fiery and fierce 1st song also titled ‘St Jimmy’ where he plays a character who is the fictitious alter ego and personal demon to the main character of Johnny (played by John Gallagher Jr.).

As a huge fan, I’ve seen this musical several times, and it only gets better, and better. The cast stays strong, and continues to grow together as an incredible ensemble. The music gets louder, the passion of the performances from the band and cast, stronger.

Even if not a Green Day fan, you will walk away one. Even if not a Broadway fan, you will walk away one. This is a show for everyone, where I’ve seen 60 year olds and 10 year olds singing along.  But, there is NO better way to witness it than to see Billie Joe Armstrong-the incredible performance he gives, through the songs he wrote- up on stage with these guys.

You will never forget it.

The playing schedule for American Idiot is Tuesday at 7 PM, Wednesday 8 PM, Thursday at 8 PM, Friday at 8 PM, Saturday at 2 PM & 8 PM and Sunday at 3 PM and 7:30 PM. Tickets range from $127-$49 and can be purchased at The St. James Box Office or via telecharge.com (212) 239-6200. Visit www.AmericanIdiotonBroadway.com.

Billie Joe Armstrong runs on a limited engagement through Oct. 3rd.

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Curtain Call - Cast Finale

So this evening, I had the pleasure of finally seeing American Idiot The Musical on Broadway at the gorgeous St. John’s Theater, and I am without words on where to begin.

This musical truly is a brilliant, creative masterpiece, and stands alone in a genre of its own originality and style. Certainly a ROCK OPERA, the play is based on Green Day‘s multi-platinum and Grammy Award winning 2004 CD of the same name.

Additionally, several songs are from their musical sequel album 21st Century Breakdown, released in 2009. Singer and lead lyricist of Green Day, Billie Joe Armstrong, and Director Michael Mayer (Spring Awakening) co wrote the book for this play together, based on the stories told from the musical CD.

It tells the story of 3 young rock and roll men from typical suburbia, Johnny (an AWESOME and oh-so-talented John Gallagher Jr.), Tunny (Stark Sands), and Will (Michael Esper). It centers around rebellious youth, in a post 9/11 world, filled with political undertones and some very important messages. Green Day has something to say, and their album is meant to be told through these incredibly talented young actors.  As their lives each take a different path, the songs take them through personal heartache, politics, war, drug abuse, and sex. American Idiot has a message to deliver, and it certainly makes sure the audience receives what it is trying to say.

Everything from the breathtaking set design (Christine Jones) to the large cast of immensely talented musicians and dancers is on POINT.  The experience you will get coming from seeing this play is indescribable and will leave you wishing it had never ended. Yes, this musical is THAT good.

I highly recommend it, and if you are a long time fan of Green Day-as I am- you will walk away very, very proud.  Also congrats to the three TONY nominations “American Idiot” received today!

~~~

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The Man and The Music - Charles Strouse

Charles Strouse isn’t a name that immediately rings a bell with most people the way, say, Andrew Lloyd Webber does.  If you say “the great musical composer, Charles Strouse”  people don’t go “Ahhhh, right, of course”.  But mention some of his iconic songs and right away the “wow, I didn’t know he wrote that“s and “seriously, that was him?“s come rolling in.  So, for those of you who don’t know and need me to hum a few bars …

No?  Not yet?  How about

Warmer?  Well you’ve gotta know this one …

Yeah?  Starting to come together?  Want the big finish?

OHHHHH!  THAT’S Charles Strouse!  Yes … THAT’s Charles Strouse, writer of musicals such as Bye, Bye, Birdie, Annie, Applause and composer of movie scores and TV scores like “All in the Family”.   With writing partner Lee Adams he penned half a dozen musicals, and even after that collaboration ended he went on to create a half dozen more with other lyricists (most notably one of my 2nd favorite Musical Theatre Stephens after Sondheim — Stephen Schwartz — for Rags).

On Wednesday night I attended The President’s Forum: An Evening with Charles Strouse at the New School. Being able to sit and hear this man talk about his illustrious career was almost unparalleled; born in 1928 Strouse is a rare gem: someone who was trained in the discipline of music in a way that quite possibly doesn’t even exist anymore who is able to turn on the radio and hear a song with roots in music he helped create.  When he speaks of harmonics it’s with the verbosity of a musical professor; how tones relate to each other, why notes are meant to be paired with each other, explanations as to why one tone follows another, and how to write a piece of music in order to maintain control over an arrangement.  This is not a man who wandered upon a hit song by haphazardly plonking out a tune on the keyboard.

Born into a middle class family to parents who didn’t quite get along Mr. Strouse spoke about evenings gathered around the piano as his mother, a jazz pianist, played old favorites.  It was this memory of his childhood that was the seed that sparked the now iconic All In The Family opening (and of course, the Family Guy opening too, no doubt).

He spent time as Lee Strasberg‘s  piano player and watched as the likes of Marilyn Monroe worked through scenes in The Actor’s Studio.  He paid his dues as a Movietone News composer writing background music for such stirring pieces as “Chorines March to War” (and even here he can dissect the technicalities, explaining how everything was written in 2nds and glissandos so that the music could be edited to fit the piece).

He scored industrial films, one of which (for Van Heusen) he later partially repurposed and unwittingly gave birth to the opening phrase of one of the best known  little girl anthems of all time, Tomorrow … (Ya wanna feel young?  Van Heusen!)

Speaking of Tomorrow … it’s inescapable, I’m sure, for Mr. Strouse to get around talking about it.  I was lucky enough to see Lisa Loeb in person recently and she performed (amoung other songs I enjoyed) Stay.  She was asked by an audience member what her feelings were about the song … she of course replied that she owed her career to it.  However, Mr. Strouse had many melodies to his credit long before this little ditty (written to fill in the two-to-three minutes needed for a scene changed).  When Mr. Strouse was asked to play it on the piano (he played several numbers that night) I did an inward groan.   Really?  I mean, I was honored to be in the presence of the man but … really?  That treacley little number?  Howsabout another song from Goldenboy?

However, when Mr. Strouse played the opening notes of the song  it forever shifted for me.  I don’t think I will ever hear the song the same way again (and for that I am very grateful).  The Tomorrow that Mr. Strouse played was jazzy, undiluted, sublte, and best of all, not an anthem as much as a shrug.  Not a punch in the face but an inevitability — a restating of “Tomorrow’s another day”.  There was no hanging on for dear life … “I just stick out my chiiiiiiin and griiiin and saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay …. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHH!”

In fact, hearing this 81 year old man happily singing along to his playing of this song just about made the rest of my year.  And for the first time the song brought tears to my eyes and a wide smile to my face.

Aside from all that, one of the most beautiful things about hearing this man speak about his illustrious career is to hear how much he loves his wife and credits her with making him who he is.  He speaks of her dearly, and it elicited  several “awww”s from the audience — especially after hearing about his dysfunctional childhood and what it meant to grow up with a mother who was eventually committed due to mental illness.

I enjoyed every moment in the presence of Mr. Charles Strouse, and I encourage you to take a look at his book: Put on a Happy Face: A Broadway Memoir which has all these stories and more.  The only thing missing is his performance of Tomorrow.   The good news is that  this event was  videotaped and will be available for viewing on the New School’s YouTube site in a few weeks.  I urge you to check it out.

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In Memorium

This was supposed to be a review for reasons to be pretty (written by Neil LaBute, directed by Terry Kinney, starring  Thomas Sadoski,  Marin Ireland, Steven Pasquale and Piper Perabo).  A very late review, no doubt, but not every reviewer has the luxury of seeing a Broadway show while it’s still in previews.  Sometimes a reviewer needs to wait until someone wins an extra pair of tickets and graciously passes them along to her … which is how I came by my tickets.  So, if you’re looking for a review I’m going to direct you to a terrific review of reasons to be pretty by David Stallings of The Fab Marquee. If you’re looking for my reasons why good shows can’t survive on The Great White Way these days, then please keep reading …

It all started last week when I got this call:

Man: Is this Karen Tortora-Lee? Me: Yes.
Man: Did you win tickets to reasons to be pretty?
Me: (nervously) … Um … yes … <Oh my God!  They got me!  They know Glamorous Miss X  entered the contest twice and passed her second set of tickets on to me!  They’re taking them away!>
Man: Well, your tickets are for the 15th …
Me: Yes …
Man: …  and the show is actually closing on the 14th …
Me: OH NO!
Man: Yes … it’s true …
Me: How unexpected!
Man: So we’d like to offer you tickets on a day before the 14th … can you make it before then?
Me: Sure <checking calendar> … oh, this is so sad!  Why are you closing?
Man: Well, we were up for a Tony …
Me: RIGHT!
Man: … and we didn’t win.  So, you know … we just don’t have the ticket sales now …
Me: Can I come Friday the 12th?
Man:  Sure … I’ll put you down for 2 …
Me: I’m so sorry … and I’m sorry that you’re going to have to make calls like this all day.  That’s awful. Man: <chuckle> Oh, well, that’s how it goes.  But thanks.

That’s how it goes.

Ahhh, boy.  This is very, very sad.  Very sad.  Just goes to show you that The Tonys are nothing like American Idol where Season Two runner up Clay Aiken can have a better career than Season Two “winner”, That Guy With The 205 On His Shirt.  (Yeah, I had to think a while before Ruben Studdard came to mind).  Heck, even a 3rd Runner Up like Season Five’s Chris Daughtry was able to have a career that made actual winner Taylor Hicks look like an accountant doing karaoke in a dive bar on his lunch hour for tips.  Broadway, however, is not American Idol and it seems like the “honor of just being nominated” is not enough to get butts in seats these days … not at $100 bucks a butt.  Seems like these days the only way to get people to your show is to give tickets away in a contest (Glamorous Miss X had already entered and won the contest once before.  To me this smacked of desperation on the part of the show. Perennial crowd-pleaser Wicked isn’t out there giving away tickets to anyone who enters their “contest”).  Oh, and for what it’s worth?  I saw God of Carnage — the winning play — a few months ago.  I liked it, but aside from the fact that I got to watch famous people for an hour it really didn’t move me all that much.  Notice I didn’t submit a review for it …

Of course, after Friday night’s performance of reasons to be pretty it was obvious to me why this show wasn’t succeeding.  Not because it was badly acted … quite the contrary.  And director Terry Kinney (Okay, okay, I admit it … I’m an OZ fan, even all these years later, and to me he will always be Tim McManus) hits the mark every time.   This was a high octane show with layers and layers of emotion, with no clear heroes but rather four realistic characters who uttered comments filled with such truth that they actually drew gasps from the audience.

So … why did it close?  Simple:  It’s not a tourist show.  It’s not a kid’s show.  It’s not a show based on a Mel Brooks movie or a Disney movie.  And it’s not a bunch of random songs from one particular group or time period strung together around a loose “plot”.  In other words … it was a real and intelligent piece of theatre, and it was meant for a real and intelligent audience.  Without a famous-name celebrity in the cast (sorry, Beverly Hills Chihuahua star Piper Perabo, Coyote Ugly was a looooooooooong time ago), a familiar plot, or a toe tapping song to jolt the audience into paying attention this play was coasting on fumes.

A taste of ... home?

Having lived in NYC my whole life, and being a Broadway fan from the time I could crawl, I have endless stories about tourists coming to New York City with high expectations and the inability to tell a good restaurant from a bad one (it is for these very people that there is an Olive Garden smack in the middle of Times Square).  These tourists have made the long, expensive trip.  They’ve put on their fancy duds … some gals are even in their highest heels and shiniest clothes trying to “blend in” as  –what TV and their imagination tells them is–  a Typical New Yorker.  They’ve got their show ticket and they want to be IMPRESSED.  Here’s what they do NOT want to be:  Challenged (by world views that don’t match their own) or Confused (by plots that are too thoughtful).  They don’t want to leave the theatre after plunking down $100 bucks saying “well, I just didn’t get that at all“.  This is why CATS was the longest running show on Broadway and why the Disney Cartel is eating up the theatre district one playhouse at time.  Someone from Montesoda (the fictional place that includes every none-coastal American State) can go to see any one of these shows with a Japanese grandma one seat to the left and a home-schooled 6 year old one seat to the right, and sit in the darkened theatre knowing that they won’t be shocked by anything they’re about to see … or offended … or forced to learn.

A while back my husband and I had traveled to a bed and breakfast in Mystic and met a European couple making their way down the coast with NYC being their last stop.  They asked us which shows we’d recommend, after they named some shows they wanted to see, or had already seen (Mary Poppins, Beauty and the Beast, The Little Mermaid …).  We said that Hairspray (which was still open at the time) was a lot of fun.  The woman looked at me quizzically “It won’t make any sense to me” she said, in her completely fluent English.  ”Why not?” I asked.  ”Because I haven’t seen the movie” she replied, and promptly opened up her “I HEART NY” Travel Guide and left me to my Eggs Benedict.  So much information in so short a sentence.

I loved reasons to be pretty.  I loved the rapid-fire dialogue, the layers of emotions, the way it illustrated how an entire relationship can hinge on one mis-spoken phrase.  I loved how the show examined our own images of ourselves versus what those close to us see.  I viscerally felt the drain a friendship can have on you when it’s run its course but neither friend bothers to let go.  I had flashes of my life, of old relationships, where ex-boyfriends said the wrong thing at the wrong time and our wrong relationship fell like a house of cards.  I understood how some times a waste of time can feel like a good thing because the opposite is just too scary.  I also understood how bitter a pill that waste of time is to swallow when you actually do leave it and glance back at it from a different perspective.

Having said that … I agree.  This was not a show for a six year old.  This was not a show for a grandmother from Montesoda.  The language was too quick for a high-school English As A Second Language visitor from another country.  And the themes were far far too dark for a person who is only in New York for five days and has to get up early every morning in order to get the best seat on the Big Apple Bus.  If you can’t knock it out of the park for all those people every night, every time … you’re not going to have them go back to their home town and recommend your show to their friends who are making the big Broadway trip themselves next summer.  You’re not going to have the six year old go back to her class and bring her program (or mug, or t-shirt) to show-and-tell and make all the other kids so jealous that by the time the three o’clock bell rings they’ve all got their Can we go too?  Please?  Please?  Please?  Please …. mantra all ready to spill out of their baby-toothed mouths.  You’re not going to have that busload of Japanese tourists waxing rhapsodical about that beautiful play about … four hard to understand people who scream a lot.

It’s true, a Tony win might have secured reasons to be pretty a few more months.  But eventually they were going to run out of New Yorkers, and visiting people from LA, and Neil LaBute fans.  And then reasons to be pretty, as good as it was, as close to perfect as a show can get, would have closed their doors just the same.

These days, that’s just how it goes.

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I’m here to set the record straight. I’ve spent years thinking that Phylicia Rashad‘s career was based on giving life to characters that sprung forth from Bill Cosby‘s head, the straight (wo)man standing patiently by as William Henry Cosby, Jr. Ed.D. gave in to one of his patented Cosby-eque tirades.  After all, she played his wife, lawyer Claire Huxtable, for eight seasons on The Cosby Show, then signed on for the gig again, playing Ruth Lucas on Cosby. She took Claire Huxtable on the road and over to  A Different World to visit her “daughter” when ratings required her to do so, and she had no issue with voicing the mother of Little Bill, Cosby’s saccharine animation for the 3-and-under set.  She’d even appeared in an episode of The Cosby Mysteries.  (Ever hear of it?  Me neither).  Almost more stereotyped than Henry (who?) “The Fonz” (oh …) Winkler, she even Claire Huxtable’d her way through those Jenny Craig commercials.  I know she’s had other roles, but her main body of work remained so uninteresting to me that I never bothered to catch her in A Raisin In The Sun or anything else, quite frankly.   So it wasn’t really on my radar that she won a Tony … or even that she was up for one.

August: Osage County (written by Tracy Letts and directed by Anna D. Shapiro) starts out slowly and a bit sadly, as Patriarch Beverly Weston (John Cullum, brilliantly thoughtful and strong-voiced as ever) tells young perspective housekeeper Johnna Monevata (this performance unfortunately featured the underwhelming understudy Kristina Valada-Viars) about his peculiar setup: a house kept in darkness so day can’t be distinguished from night; a habit of drinking that has long since moved from “socially” to “till passed out”, a wife so chock full of pills that every word past a certain point in the day is unintelligible, and a family that doesn’t come around very much … though is it any wonder?  Beverly is asking the young girl to be a live-in, to just help them keep their status quo.  She takes the job; she needs the money.

Soon enough Violet Weston (Phylicia Rashad) comes on the scene blathering a hello through a drug haze, demanding things rudely and clumsily knocking things over.  Beverly seems unfazed, this is just how things are now.  He allows her this wreckage of self because oh, hadn’t he mentioned?  She’s got The Cancer.  So maybe it’s better this way.

All too soon (because I LOVE John Cullum) Bev disappears which brings his family out of the woodwork and back to the family home.  Violet’s sister, Mattie Fae (big, beautiful, boozy-voiced Elizabeth Ashley who shimmers through every scene and brings layers of grit and pathos to her role) Maddie’s husband Charlie (Guy Boyd), and Violet’s middle daughter Ivy (Sally Murphy) are first on the scene.  Soon to follow is eldest daughter Barbara (Amy Morton) with her own fractured family in tow: estranged husband Bill (Frank Wood) and precocious 14 year old daughter Jean (Anne Berkowitz).  Thrown into the mix a little later on is youngest daughter Karen (Mariann Mayberry) who’s dragged along her inappropriately creepy fiance Steve (Brian Kerwin) who immediately is unlikable, and finally helpless cousin “Little” Charles (Michael Milligan) who is called a loser so often that it’s impossible to believe that he can really succeed at anything, what with all those negative tapes playing in his head day and night.

The Weston clan puts the diss in dysfunctional; their home explodes in rage and insult so often that when there’s a lull in the fighting you literally lean back, readying yourself for the next outburst which comes soon enough, and only proves that family fighting can always get bigger, uglier, and more violent.  Problems abound so much that they’re doubling up … not one but several kinds of drug use/abuse, several kinds of deviant sexual behavior, several kinds of unhappy marriages (in fact, they’re all on the unhappy scale somewhere, even the marriages that haven’t happened yet). Which isn’t to say that this isn’t a comedy of sorts.

Moments of laughter are peppered into the drama as liberally as makes sense; and the story gets SO dark that at times all you can do is laugh at it.  Father’s missing, Mother’s hooked on pills, Daughter Ivy is dating Mystery Guy (who, when his identity is revealed, is all the less advisable), Daughter Barbara is trying to handle her own failing marriage and control her wild child daughter Jean whose pot-smoking habit is encouraged by her father … a father who has left his marriage in order to date a girl closer to his daughter’s age than his wife’s.  Their sister Karen is a motor mouth, too self-referential and self-observant but also completely self-doubting and at times self-hating. Karen’s fiance, Steve, whom she adores couldn’t be less worthy of adoring … he’s lacking any sort of depth or color except for the fact that he’s a cheat and a pervert.  So with all this built-in angst the audience finds itself laughing uproariously at lines that, anywhere else, would seem mean or harsh.  Lines such as “Eat your fucking fish, Mom!” and “I hate you too, you little freak!”

There’s a point where August: Osage County felt like it was really June: New York City, because while I was pretty certain I’d entered the theatre in June … I was almost sure it would be July by the time I got out.  This play is loooooooooooooooooooong, coming in at 3.5 hours (with two very necessary 10-minute intermissions).  Not to say that it’s long and dull, more like it is long and invasive; entering into your body through your senses and spreading throughout until you’re pulled into the family whether you like it or not.  While that may sound harsh, it’s not altogether untrue.  That doesn’t mean this play isn’t brilliantly done, it’s just quite simply emotionally draining and for anyone with an empathetic bone in their body, it’s almost obliterating.  Sounds dark?  It is.

However the entire cast sinks their teeth into this family and performs this play with gusto; and the simple truth of the matter is that nothing is more satisfying than watching Phylicia Rashad curse a blue streak, throw her dinner on the floor, and incite a family fight that’s only millimeters shy of bloodshed.  Winner of the 2008 Tony Award for Best Play and Pulitzer Prize for Drama, August: Osage County has been around for a while but, come summer, the show will be heading out to cities across the country as it sets out on a National Tour.  See it before it’s gone and while Phylicia Rashad is still at the helm and in town.

August: Osage County is currently playing at the Music Box Theatre, 239 West 45th Street (Between Broadway and 8th Avenue).  Click here for ticket information.  To find out more, visit the official website.

IMPORTANT NOTE: Running Time is 3 hours and 20 minutes, including 2 intermissions.
All evening performances start at 7:30PM except for Tuesday evenings which are 7:00PM and Saturday evenings which are at 8:00PM.

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The other day a friend of mine went to see Sessions.  I asked her how she liked it and she said, “I didn’t expect it to be so heavy.  I guess when I saw “musical” I expected “light”.  Huh.  

Comedy Tonight!

As a life long devotee to Sondheim, who’s every musical (even the deceptively named Follies) is filled with some combination of longing, regret, despair, confusion, anger, revenge, lethargy, emptiness, callousness, greed, murder, mental illness, and scorn, the last thing I tend to expect from a musical is “light”.  Even the first song from A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum (“Comedy Tonight”) takes the time to tell you what you will NOT see: NO ROYAL CURSE, // NO TROJAN HORSE, // AND A HAPPY ENDING, OF COURSE! // GOODNESS AND BADNESS, // MAN IN HIS MADNESS, //  THIS TIME IT ALL TURNS OUT ALL RIGHT! // TRAGEDY TOMORROW! // COMEDY TONIGHT! as if to caution “If you’ve come here for the typical Sondheim fare you’ll be disappointed by all the jubilation!”  Of course Sondheim is brilliant in any mood, so there’ no fear of disappointment, it’s just rarely does a musical start off with the disclaimer WARNING … HAPPY ENDING AHEAD!

Bring On the Girls!

When musicals first started out they were long on musical numbers and short on plot — a hold over from Vaudeville, Burlesque and … dare I say it … Minstrel Shows.  It wasn’t until around the 20s when composers like George and Ira Gershwin, (Richard) Rogers & (Lorenz) Hart and Cole Porter burst onto the scene that Broadway Musicals took a giant step forward.  And as quaint as we like to paint early shows such as Of Thee I Sing now, they were written in direct response to the times as a way to distract everyone from what was happening.  Filled with Busby Berkeley numbers where beautiful girls kaleidoscoped their way through hopeful tunes before the boy got the girl in the end.  As the saying goes … That’s Entertainment!

So how did all of THAT lead to musicals now that almost come with a warning label: Caution: May lead to depression or thoughts of suicide?  When did Oh What A Beautiful Morning! (Oklahoma!), Confidence In Me (Sound of Music) and Happy Talk (South Pacific) turn into Ugly Boy (Bat Boy), The Bitch of Living (Spring Awakening), and It Sucks to be Me (Avenue Q)?

Well, I’ll tell you when.  When Broadway Musicals started reflecting life realistically as opposed to showing it sorta realistically and then distracting you with a pretty song.  Take a closer look at all those fluffy musicals that were the standard and you’ll see they hid just as much double crossing, adultery, murderous intent and skulduggery as anything thing from today, but they couched it all in soaring tunes that had swells of violins and the occasional harp flutter thrown in.

Here is a smattering of plot lines from classic musicals.  Boiled down to their essence they make RENT look like The Wiggles singing selections from The Backyardigans.

The King And I

Obfuscated Plot #1: A lonely widow takes herself and her kid halfway round the world to a strange culture to work in a job where she’s treated like a second class citizen by her boss, constantly reminded that she’s inferior, and when she finally starts feeling good about things her boss dies.  There’s a stable of women who are considered his gifts or property, and when they fall in love with anyone but the king, it’s literally life-threatening.  
Catchy Tunes with Sunny Titles Intended To Distract You From Horrifying Plot Developments: I Whistle a Happy Tune, Shall We Dance?, Something Wonderful.   

My Fair Lady

Obfuscated Plot #2:  A poor woman doing what she can to survive in the dirty streets of London is made an example of when a snotty man makes a bet on her future.  He verbally abuses her, constantly reminds her that she’s inferior, and takes total credit for her transformation when she finally DOES re-invent herself.  He denies all feelings for her, though he has them.  When she leaves, he lets her … and just when you’re saying “good for her!” she comes crawling back to him.   
Catchy Tunes with Sunny Titles Intended To Distract You From Horrifying Plot Developments: I Could Have Danced All Night, You Did It.

Gigi

Obfuscated Plot #3: A young girl is being trained to be some random man’s high priced whore because that is her lot in life.  She’s encouraged to learn how to please a man and forget her own wants and desires.  Her old aunt (who was also a high priced whore) constantly reminds her that she’s inferior and shouldn’t be thinking thoughts of her own.  When she’s finally taken for a test drive  by the rich man who, up till now, was just like a brother to her, he doesn’t like how she’s “all grown up” and not the silly little girl she used to be.  He treats her rudely, take her home, and when she begs him to take her on as his mistress he spurns her again.  Eventually he takes her back but only if he can do the right thing and marry her … making her an “honest woman”.
Catchy Tunes with Sunny Titles Intended To Distract You From Horrifying Plot Developments:  Thank Heaven for Little Girls, The Night They Invented Champagne.  

South Pacific

Obfuscated Plot #4:  A young nurse is sent far away to tend to soldiers during the war.  Among some of the other people who are there is a soldier who’s having lots and lots and lots of sex with an island girl, despite the fact that he’s a racist and constantly reminded that she’s inferior.  When cornered, he refuses to make an honest woman of her.  Meanwhile the nurse has fallen for some rich guy but when she finds out his kids are not 100% Caucasian she throws all her racists paranoia at him and runs away. She comes back, but only because she thought he might be dead.  
Catchy Tunes with Sunny Titles Intended To Distract You From Horrifying Plot Developments: A Cockeyed Optimist, Honey Bun, Some Enchanted Evening, I’m in Love with a Wonderful Guy.

Camelot

Obfuscated Plot #5:  A young woman is married to a king but finds she’s desperately in love with someone else whom she can’t be with.  She’s bored, under utilized, and constantly reminded that she’s inferior.  When she tries to run away with her true love, they wind up ruining the whole kingdom.  She’s forced to become a nun, which is better than the burning at the steak deal that was supposed to be her lot.  
Catchy Tunes with Sunny Titles Intended To Distract You From Horrifying Plot Developments: Lusty Month of May, Then You May take Me To The Fair 

Carousel

Obfuscated Plot #6: A young woman works in a factory, toiling away at the looms.  She falls in love with a bad boy who’s rough and abusive and doing so makes everyone in the town treat her as if she’s inferior.  He marries her, but still can’t shape up, and is rude and violent. When she tells him she’s pregnant he considers “doing the right thing” by going out and stealing so he can provide for his baby.  He winds up botching the job and dying mid-robbery, leaving his widow to raise the child by herself.  The child herself is shunned and constantly reminded she’s inferior.  When the dead dad visits his daughter as a ghost he winds up slapping her.  
Catchy Tunes with Sunny Titles Intended To Distract You From Horrifying Plot Developments:  A Real Nice Clambake, Because it’s June, When the Children Are Asleep.

West Side Story

Obfuscated Plot #7: A young woman from another country comes to NYC with her family and her brother joins a gang of street thugs who are in a war with another gang of street thugs.  She meets a guy who seems to like her but when everyone finds out he’s in the other gang, she’s told to keep away from him.  The boy is told to keep away from her kind too … as they are all inferior.  The boy winds up killing the girl’s brother and then gets killed himself in a street fight.  The girl cradles his bloody body and tries to kill everyone else there with a gun.  
Catchy Tunes with Sunny Titles Intended To Distract You From Horrifying Plot Developments:  Tonight, I Feel Pretty, America.   

Gypsy

Obfuscated Plot #8: A young girl has a sister who is beautiful and talented … and spoiled.  The young girl is starving for attention but is ignored by everyone, especially her mother, who only bothers to talk to her when she’s reminding her that she’s inferior.  When the beautiful sister runs away with the boy the girl has had a crush on this whole time, the girl’s mother forces her to take up stripping in order to support the family.  The girl is mortified but the mother literately pushes her on to the stage in front of a group of lecherous men.  The girl learns how to be a better stripper and after she gains some self esteem tells her mom to stay out of her life.  The narcissistic mother takes this moment to tell the world that it was SHE who was the big star all along anyway, despite the fact that she’s talking to herself in an empty dressing room and no one actually gives a damn about her.  
Catchy Tunes with Sunny Titles Intended To Distract You From Horrifying Plot Developments: Mr. Goldstone I Love You, Little Lamb,  All I Need Now is the Girl.  

And last but not least:

Sound of Music

Obfuscated Plot #9: A young woman is trying to become a nun but keeps bumbling her way through it.  She goes to a mean man’s house and tries to raise his kids for him, but they play tricks on her.  The man back up his rotten kids, and constantly reminders her that she’s inferior.  Eventually he realizes he loves this woman and leaves his (more age-appropriate) fiancee behind in order to marry her.  Just when everyone is happy the worst happens and the Nazis force them across the boarder – they lose everything.  
Catchy Tunes with Sunny Titles Intended To Distract You From Horrifying Plot Developments:  The Hills are Alive, The Lonely Goatherd, So Long, Farewell … heck … ALL OF THEM!  

Are We Dead Yet?

While there’ll always be a place in my heart for these classics which I was weaned on, these days I expect my musical to be dark bullets of reality that nick my shoulder and drop me to the ground … allowing me to bleed out slowly.  These days  I’d rather have my reality served up modern-day-musical style, where people stop singing in the middle of the song for an AZT break and the curtain only comes down when most of the main characters are dead.

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Bea Arthur as Vera Charles (with Lucille Ball as Mame)

My first encounter with Bea Arthur wasn’t in her role as Dorothy Zbornak on Golden Girls, or even as Maude Findlay in Maude.  I was first introduced to Bea Arthur’s disembodied baritone as it came seeping through my bedroom floor boards.

Picture it – Brooklyn, early seventies.  A young six year old is trying to get her beauty sleep, but in vain.  A lot is going on when you’re six years old; you’re in first grade, making new friends, learning how to raise your hand before speaking, and getting the rules of Red Light Green Light One Two Three down pat so as to not end up shunned by the kids who had older siblings and already knew all the tricks of winning.  It’s a very impressionable time.  It’s also the time in my life when my father decided to renovate the basement and spent many a late night hammering, spackling and painting till well after my bedtime.  He’d cleverly housed the stereo speakers in the ceiling and one speaker happened to be directly under my bed.

Always a Broadway fan himself (the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree), Dad played and replayed the essential Broadway Canon and I found myself being lulled to sleep by the likes of Carousel, Flower Drum Song, Oklahoma and Fiddler on the Roof which starred Zero Mostel as Tevye  and featured Bea Arthur in the role of  Yente the Matchmaker.  The first time I ever heard her voice she was doing patter in the middle of Tradition:

Tevye:  And in the circle of our little village, we have always had our special types. For instance, Yente, the matchmaker…
Yente:  Avram, I have a perfect match for your son.  A wonderful girl.
Avram: Who is it?
Yente:  Ruchel, the shoemaker’s daughter.
Avram: Ruchel? But she can hardly see. She’s almost blind.
Yente:  Tell the truth, Avram, is your son so much to look at?  The way she sees and the way he looks, it’s a perfect match.

But that’s not how I remember Bea Arthur.  To me, she will always be Vera Charles, the original frenemy of Mame Dennis (better known as Auntie Mame), who deadpanned her way through Mame in a way that made me appreciate thinly veiled sarcasm long before I knew what it was.

It was Bea’s Vera Charles who formed my opinion of what true comedy was — it wasn’t slapstick or tom foolery but quiet, scathing darts that hit the bulls-eye every time.   Bea Arthur is what made me despise the Broadway productions of The Producers and Spamalot … it was her little spirit in me that sat there saying “Really?  You’re going to go THAT WIDE to make me laugh?”  I just can’t bear anyone who covers all their bases just in case their humor is too subtle.  No … I’d rather be misunderstood that try too hard.

I’d wanted to experience Bea Arthur in person for as long as I could remember, but somehow never got around to buying tickets to her Broadway show, Bea Arthur on Broadway – Just Between Friends.  I’m not sure why not … it’s not like I thought there’d always be time.  But maybe it made me a little afraid to see her, maybe I just couldn’t bear to see how short her shadow was getting … the end looming almost directly over her.  One of my favorite lines from the song Bosom Buddies in Mame went like this:

Mame: Exactly how old are you Vera?  The truth!
Vera: How old do you think?
Mame: I’d say somewhere between forty … and death.

… and a part of me wanted to remember her closer to forty than to … well … you know.

In  any case, I sure will miss Bea Arthur but will always be grateful for the comedic timing she inspired me to strive for … for the arched eyebrow she had me practicing in the mirror at age ten … and for the delightful way she had of outshining every person who ever stood next to her, bosom buddy or not.

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For those who know their Broadway Show history, I Can Get It for You Wholesale is the 1962 musical responsible for bringing a teen-aged Barbra Streisand to the New York stage; she not only debuted to critical acclaim, but she sang her way into a Tony Nomination as well for her role as Miss Marmelstein.  (For those who know their Karen Tortora [sans Lee] history, the Miss Marmelstein song was in very heavy rotation during the Spring/Summer season of Karen’s Basement Follies of 1982.  If I haven’t mentioned it before, I’m an only child who, alas, garnered no such critical acclaim).

In any case, today “I can get if for you wholesale” is more than just a link you can click while you’re reading your way through my column.  Today it’s also a very clever pun because I, I … can help get you a ticket to a Broadway (okay, off-Broadway) show for what will feel like wholesale.  And these days, that’s saying a lot.

To be truthful I had no hand in this … I’m simply the messenger.  But here I go … messengering away:  I bring you news of 20at20: Off-Broadway show all yours for the low, low price of only $20 bucks!  That’s twenty one-dollar bills!  When was the last time you could pay for anything with that kinda dough?

For just a little while longer – till February 8th, get your butt out of your chair, DVR that episode of LOST (come on, that’s why you HAVE the thing!) and go see some great shows. Here’s what you do (and watch for the pattern here):

1. TWENTY minutes before one of these shows starts go to the box office.Say “20 at 20“.
2. You can also say “Twenty @ Twenty” or “20 at Twenty“.  It works any of those ways because (Pay attention! The wand never leaves my hand) it all sounds the same when you say it out loud.
3. They give you a ticket to the show of your choice for twenty bucks.

Seriously.  No gimmick.  (Well, just this 20 @ 20 gimmick.)  No hidden fees.  No tricks.  Just lots of great theatre at NOT lots of money.  And not lousy shows that no one’s heard of either.  No – big, great wonderful shows that EVERYONE’S heard of like (in case you haven’t clicked the link I just inserted into this post twenty … no, make that twenty at twenty times) Fuerza Bruta (any one catch the episode of Next Top Model?)  and The Fantasticks and Naked Boys Singing! (I did not add that exclamation point, but if the marketing folks hadn’t I sure would have.  I mean, I sure would have!!)

So go.  Now.  Because the next show starts in twenty minutes!

See you Off-Broadway!

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