I had the most incredible, unexpected experience tonight. I was on my way home from the Desk Jockey Day Job and ended up walking through Times Square, so I decided to cruise past a couple of theatres and just check on the general idea of procuring inexpensive tickets to something since I had no previous plans for the evening. My first stop was the newly christened Bernard Jacobs Theatre (formerly the Royale), home of the acclaimed revival of David Mamet's Glengarry Glen Ross. But, no dice. While the production earned sterling reviews and employs an all-star cast, it has not been selling out, so no standing room was to be had. And, for whatever reason, the production has elected not to offer rush tickets at this time. Boo!
So then I doubled back up the street to the Booth Theatre to see about a cheap ticket to Irish playwright Martin McDonagh's newest play, The Pillowman, currently nominated for the Tony Award for Best Play. I had missed their rush ticket sale (which sold out quickly apparently), but there was a chance that there could be standing room if the play sold out. When I asked, there were 4 tickets still available.
I debated standing around the Booth's outer lobby and waiting versus going home and washing some dishes or answering some email or reading a book. Then I remembered that today is Tuesday, the day when many shows, including The Pillowman, start their performances at 7.00pm, instead of the usual 8.00pm. This meant that instead of potentially wasting an hour and a half, I'd only have to hang out for 30 minutes or so. So I decided to go for it.
Even though there were only four seats to be sold, it did not look good. There was one other woman also waiting for standing room and we commiserated as the hour approached curtain time with no additional tickets sold. The Booth's outer lobby is tiny and theatregoers with tickets in hand and those picking up their tickets at the box office were streaming past and through the two of us on their way in.
It was a couple of minutes to 7.00pm and I was about to give it up and head out when we heard something. There was a woman coming into the lobby from the street and she was shouting "Tickets!...Two free tickets! Who wants them?" My line buddy and I just sort of looked at each other dumbfounded for a moment and my mouth dropped open. Luckily, SHE had the presence of mind to stop the woman and grab the tickets; I certainly was only capable of making some weird sputtering sounds in that moment (but I made them well). She then verified that I only needed one ticket. Then she took one and I took one and we went into the theatre practically at 7.00pm on the dot.
Oh, and the tickets? Seventh row on the center aisle. We couldn't have wished for better. My only regret? That we were all so pressed for time to get to our seats that I really didn't have time to thank the anonymous lady properly.
And the play was GREAT! Are you familiar with this playwright? McDonagh has had a number of plays produced in New York, a couple even on Broadway. You probably remember The Beauty Queen of Leenane, which opened originally off-Broadway in 1998 and stuck a chord with audiences to such an extent that, not only did the play transfer to Broadway, it kicked off such a vogue of Irish plays here in New York that, for a couple of years, it didn't matter whether a play was good, bad, or indifferent. If it originated in Ireland, it ended up in New York at some point.
Anyway, The Pillowman, is very much in the vein of his previous work, while being entirely different and, to my mind, much more accessable to the average American audience. I think the best description I can think of for it is "black comedy." Extremely black. As in "I can't believe this is a comedy about torturing and murdering little children" black. Yeah.
It's not really about that, of course. Well, not entirely. The play takes place in an interrogation room at a police station in some unnamed country with a totalitarian dictatorship. Katurian, a writer, has been brought in for questioning, he thinks due to subversive elements that the government is reading into his short stories. Not so...some kids have been brutally mutilated and murdered in ways that seem to mirror some of Katurian's writings and the police would like to know what he knows about such things. Also, brought in for questioning is Katurian's retarded brother, Michal, with whom he lives.
I won't spoil the many twists and turns the plot takes, but this play is one wild ride. It asks questions about truth and legacy. And what is important. And degrees of guilt.
Katurian is played by Tony nominee Billy Crudup, a fairly well-known actor who I keep hearing is supposed to be the next big thing in Hollywood. And I've been hearing that for years now. The problem may be that Crudup continues to find better roles in the theatre than in the movies, since he seems to return to the stage on a pretty regular basis in some pretty challenging parts. Here, he's sort of the "every guy" who is trapped in the nightmare of being alternately questioned and tortured for he-doesn't-know-what by police unfettered by rule of law. When things change over the course of the play, Crudup is able to effortlessly communicate the various moods and desires of his character. There's never any doubt what his objective is, even as his objective changes from scene to scene. And you still understand and sympathise with Katurian even when he says and does things that most of us could never understand.
Movie star Jeff Goldblum and stage veteren Zeljko Ivanek are the police handling the questioning. Goldblum plays Tupolski in his usual off-kilter manner with his often bizarre line readings and the effect is amazing. He can make you laugh at even the most throwaway of lines or when he's saying the most horrible things. Ivanek is Ariel, the explosive, violent half of the team, whose very violence may be a cover for something wildly different and unexpected. As the play careens toward its conclusion, it's Ivanek who steps up to shoulder the load. And wow...no wonder he's always working in something.
Tony nominee Michael Stuhlbarg plays Michal, Katurian's retarded brother, also brought in for questioning. "Retarded" probably isn't the best word here. Katurian himself says his brother is just slow and that provides the best description of Stuhlbarg's performance. He's never over the top or showy, just a few beats behind where he should be. There are times when the character exhibits terrifying comprehension, and others where he's almost child-like. It's another brilliant performance in a play full of them.
John Crowley is the director here and, boy, has he done a good job getting what could be a very static piece up on its feet. As a tall actor myself, I found it especially amusing how Crowley would block Goldblum who, at 6'4"+, is ever taller than me. The actor spends much of his time on stage sitting in a chair to de-emphasize his height, but Crowley is never afraid to let Goldblum move about the stage when his height might be to the character's advantage. And, even with Ivanek's blustery histrionics, there's never any doubt which character is in charge here.
This play is so strange. I was laughing out loud at some horrible, horrible things. Though this play doesn't descent into the Grand Guignol violence of Beauty Queen, it certainly spends a lot of time in that neighbourhood. I don't quite understand what leads a person to laugh in the face of terrible violence and unbeliveable tragedy, but McDonagh has managed to tap into that here and the effect is amazing. What could have been a non-stop horror show, actually, as I pointed out, is the darkest of black comedies.
Go see this and check it out for yourself.
One of the downsides of knowing a lot of bloggers and considering them to be friends is reading about all the fabulous and fun get-togethers these folks have...after the fact. Often, I will read accounts of some brunch/party/event and realize that I knew a handful of people at the gathering, including the host(s), but wasn't one of the chosen, those lucky enough to actually be invited.
And I wonder if the people consciously chose not to invite me or if I was simply forgotten. And I wonder which of those is the better?
Reminds me a little of gym class in high school. Remember how the "teacher" would pick two team captains, who would then each choose teams, one-by-one, from the remaining class? The unpopular and unathletic kids were invariably the last picked and only chosen at all because they had to go somewhere.
Or maybe I just don't have the good friends that I think (thought?) I do. Remember how few people were able to find two and half hours out of their lives to attend My Favorite Year a while back?
There are many people to whom I often say things like "It's been forever since I've seen you, we must get together for dinner or a drink and catch up." And there is general agreement from the other party that this should be arranged. But though I will read blog postings about busy social lives with others, I never quite get the call myself.
Makes me think. I'm not quite sure what to think, but makes me think nonetheless.
I don't think I'm a bad friend, but maybe I am. I don't think I smell or behave rudely, but maybe I do.
Or maybe my pre-determined position in life is to always be on the outside looking in?
Or maybe I just need to go out and find better friends.
ADDENDUM: Okay, this post was written in a moment of stress and pique in response to a specific situation that turned out to be a misunderstanding on my part. I toyed with the idea of simply deleting it, but have decided to leave it as a reminder to myself about putting raw feelings into print for all the world to see. So I'm fine...just had a bad moment or two.
So last night I dreamed that I was a journalist interviewing gay car salesmen in the Philipines. I was interviewing them in a back room in some car dealership and they were terrified that their identities might be revealed in my story. I have no idea why I was there or why these men (and there were only men in the dream) were so scared.
Is there something special about Filipino car salesmen that I should know about? And were they frightened because they were gay or because they were car salesmen?
I lost the dream before I was able to find out and I'm not sure it had sound anyway. If it did, the sound was spotty, I think, cutting in and out without warning.
So...gay Filipino car salesmen, anyone?
Today, my parents came to town for a quick visit to have brunch and take in a matinee. For brunch, I took them to my favorite spot, the Film Center Cafe, which does a lovely brunch for about $10 that includes all-you-can-drink mimosas. Mmmm...Yeah, all you people who keep saying you want to get me drunk? This would be a good start.
Anyhow, it turns out that the Film Center is full and completely booked up with reservations. I had no idea the place even took reservations. I guess it's turning into a hot spot now. Dammit.
So we ended up having brunch across the street at Marseilles, a lovely restaurant, though quite a bit pricier than the Film Center. But we got to eat outdoors and enjoy the beautiful day. And the food was terrific.
Now, I had planned to steer my parents toward going to the TKTS booth in Times Square and getting tickets to the revival of Glengarry Glen Ross, which I've been wanting to see. But that was not to be. My parents are on the Roundabout's mailing list and they had received a discount offer for their current revival of W. Somerset Maugham's The Constant Wife that is currently in previews at the American Airlines Theatre. I have no idea why, but Dad was very excited to see this play.
So we just stopped in at the box office, got three tickets in the orchestra, and that was that. I was not UNhappy about this turn of events, I'm just pretty focused at the moment in trying to see productions that will be in contention for Tonys next Sunday. So whatever.
The Constant Wife is a 1920's comedy of manners in which Constance Middleton's seemingly loving and devoted husband, John, is cheating on her with her friend, Marie-Louise. The problem is that everyone in London knows all about it, including Constance's sister, Martha, and mother, Mrs. Culver...everyone, that is, except for Constance. Martha is determined to spill the beans to her sister, but their mother is equally convinced that the best course of action is to say nothing and stay out of it.
To say that the shit eventually does hit the fan here is to make the understatement of the season. There are a number of twists and turns in this comedy and I won't be spoiling any of them. The production is also still early in previews, so I won't be posting about at length at this time.
But GO! Go now! It's hys-fuckin'-sterical! You'd have no idea that this play was written 80-some years ago. It asks a lot of provocative questions about the nature of marriage and just how exactly this institution will evolve. The Roundabout may have another smash hit on its hands, following the Tony-nominated revival of Twelve Angry Men, the longest-running, most successful straight play the company has ever mounted.
The first clue that this production was going to be a good one was the stellar cast. Kate Burton is the wronged wife Constance, Michael Cumpsty is her philandering husband, Lynn Redgrave plays her mother, Enid Graham her sister, and John Dossett appears as an old flame suddenly back in town after 15 years. The director is Mark Brokaw, one of the most talented guys working right now.
Were there problems? Sure. As stated, the play is still early in previews and most of the actors had some trouble stumbling over their lines. But it was mostly fine and I definitely recommend checking this out.
My Dad surprised me when we walked by the Shubert Theatre by saying that Spamalot looked like it would be a lot of fun. I said, "Dad, are you familiar with Monty Python?" And, indeed, he was. "They're the British comedy troupe," he said. Apparently he's caught some of their shows on television.
This always amazes me. My father's knowledge of pop culture came to a halt sometime in the mid-1950's and took a 40 year break. Now, he's up on everything. I suppose that he has a lot more time to watch television now then he did then, but still...when you're used to your Dad not really knowing what's going on in the world pop culture-wise and he suddenly starts talking about stuff like Dawson's Creek, 90210, The OC, Queer As Folk, MTV, and Monty Python. Weird!
I heard a rumour the other day that Brian Stokes Mitchell is interested in/being wooed to replace John Lithgow in the Broadway production of Dirty Rotten Scoundrels at the Imperial Theatre. Though I proposed another actor not long ago in this space as a possible Lithgow replacement, Mitchell would be an excellent choice for the role.
Though he was once a go-to replacement guy, Mitchell has spent the last decade creating roles in plays and musicals and, lately, putting together his own cabaret show/theatre concert. And, in the process, he has become a bona fide theatre star. I don't think he has replaced another actor on Broadway since he stepped into the original production of Kiss of the Spiderwoman in the mid-90's, replacing Anthony Crivello as Valentin. You can hear him do that role opposite the replacement Molina of Howard McGillan on the second cast recording of that production that was made when Vanessa Williams made her stunning Broadway debut, joining the cast as Aurora.
I have no idea when Lithgow's contract is up, or if he's due for an extended break from the show (like Spamalot's Hank Azaria will shortly be taking), but, if this unsubstantiated rumour is correct, the producers couldn't hope for a better leading man to "give them what they want" at the Imperial.
I had that callback for Six Dance Lessons in Six Weeks this afternoon. I'm so NOT getting this part. I did not ultimately bring up my concerns about not being right for this part with the director. It quickly became apparent that there was no need.
There was another guy there who not only was the right age for the character, but also had lots of experience with the various ballroom dancing styles that play into the plot.
So I'm not getting it, but I don't really feel badly about it. I wasn't the best choice, and I wouldn't have cast me either. Sometimes it just shakes out that way.
But this means that I'm now available. Anybody have a show?
Oh, hey, and I got an email from a guy I went out with earlier this week that he feels that we're more destined for friendship that anything else. That's always nice. Well, at least, he emailed to let me know. Most guys don't even bother.
It's okay...I didn't feel the sparks in person that flew when we were emailing and IMing, but I'm always willing to give such things a second chance. Ugh.
So it's been a day of rejection. I think I want to head out for a drink now.
Last night I went to see Billy Crystal in his current one-man show, 700 Sundays, on Broadway at the Broadhurst Theatre. This show has been a hot ticket lately and it has already extended a couple of times. And I read recently that not only has the show recouped its original investment, but it is one of the most profitable non-musical productions in Broadway history.
Basically Crystal takes us on a tour of his childhood growing up in New York City and Long Island in the 1950's and 1960's. The set is a replica of his family's home on Long Island with the "windows" doubling as projection screens that show family photos that illustrate various points that Crystal makes throughtout the evening.
The cool thing here is that Crystal talks about his life, warts and all. He doesn't shy away from the difficult times, like the deaths of his parents (his father died suddenly when Crystal was 15 years old), but he really manages to make you laugh as much as cry.
It's not exactly stand-up that he's doing here, but not actually a play either. I guess the best way to describe it would be as an extended monologue. Crystal's not really telling jokes. He's telling stories in a humourous (or sometimes really sad) way. There's just no way to mine comedy from the deaths of your parents and Crystal doesn't really try. But, incredibly, he does manage to find kernals of dark humour from time to time in even the most sad places.
And did I mention that this is a full 3 hour show? There's an intermission, of course, but Crystal is on stage for a full 2 hours and 45 minutes talking. I don't know how he does it.
700 Sundays is nominated for a Tony this year as Best Special Theatrical Event and I bet it's going to win. It deserves it. Crystal deserves it.
When he tours with the show later this year, definitely try to catch Billy Crystal in your own town. I promise it'll be worth it.
Tonight at the Broadway Show Bowling League, we rolled against a team called One Left Standing that represents Tony and Tina's Wedding.
The second game was my best ever, with a score of 137!!! It was pretty awesome. If it hadn't been for one or two asshole frames, I'd have had a really spectacular night. In the first game, I scored a 103, I think, but both games should raise my average, which was 101 thanks to a lousy set last week, and lower my handicap.
Awesome! I find that I say "awesome" a lot at the bowling alley. My theory is that it's because it's always late and my command of English slips a bit in conjunction with the hour. And I think there's a corner of my brain that has retained a selection of early '80's slang for use when I least expect it. But if ever the phrase "grody to the max" pops out of my mouth, please kill me. I'm serious. Shoot first, ask questions later.
Anyhow, we managed to beat One Left Standing in both games, which will, in turn, improve OUR standing next week. And one of their members told Michael and me that we were her favorite team that they'd bowled against. Whoo-Hoo!
Remember how much I loved that set of that revival of A Streetcar Named Desire at Studio 54? I know the Kowalski apartment is supposed to be a bit...well...rundown, but I loved it. I wanted to move right in.
I mean, Stanley and Stella totally need to upgrade their kitchen because all the appliances look original to the place and have probably NEVER been replaced. But that's something I could probably handle, especially if it was a condo or a co-op situation.
So, anyhow, I sent the following email to the Roundabout, the production company behind the show:
Dear Sir or Madam:
I very much enjoyed your production of STREETCAR and I'm wondering what will happen to the furniture used on the set when the production closes. I loved the bed and the kitchen table and would love to know if the theatre might sell them at a decent price when they are no longer needed?
If so, I'd love to talk to someone about it.
Jere
And here's the response I got from them:
Hi Jere,
Thank you for your inquiry regarding our Streetcar set pieces.
Unfortunately, we will be keeping the all of the pieces that make up the bed for future use.
After the show closes, we would be willing to sell the kitchen table for approximately $900.00.
Please let me know if you are interested in purchasing the table.
I can be reached by return email or at the phone number listed below.
Sincerely,
[Roundabout Representative]
Yikes! $900!!! Did I not use the phrase "decent price?" What does "decent price" mean to the Roundabout? What about a simple kitchen table costs $900? Are they out of their minds? No one even likes that show anyway. Well, I did, but no one else.
So, needless to say, no Kowalski kitchen table for me. And no bed either. It would have been kind of cool to have the bed where John C. Reilly took Natasha Richardson by force, but, I guess, it's not to be.
Tonight, I took in the current Broadway revival of Tennessee Williams' The Glass Menagerie at the Ethel Barrymore Theatre. This other big ticket Williams revival this season (along with that Streetcar that I saw last week) has also not gotten much love from the critics or audiences, despite the presence of Jessica Lange as the indomitable Amanda, Christian Slater as Tom, and Josh Lucas as the Gentleman Caller. The fourth role in this classic, the crippled daughter Laura is played by Sarah Paulson, an actress with whom I was unfamiliar.
The story is told in flashback by Tom who explains the concept of a memory play and tells us about his mother and sister and the time that he brought home, at his mother's insistance, a gentleman caller for his sister.
Lange is this revival's raison d'etre and her Amanda isn't an icon or a giant, but rather a regular woman, albeit a woman with an endless capacity to nag and nitpick her children. Lange starts out on a pretty even keel, which makes her out-of-control moments all the more shocking. And it's not a bad approach to the role...when Tom announces that he's capitulated to her wishes and invited a friend home to meet his sister, Lange can barely contain her joy, even breaking out into a few dance steps. It's as if Jim is to be her own Gentleman Caller and, indeed, the elaborate show that Lange puts on when Jim finally does arrive gives even Tom pause. But, Lange does make you see Amanda's point of view at moments and I genuinely felt her concern that Laura would end up a spinster unable to support herself. I definitely saw that Amanda's heart was in the right place, but that she just has no idea how her actions affect those nearest and dearest to her.
Christian Slater is an appealing Tom right from the curtain. He easily handles the numerous transitions from narrator to character in his own drama and back again. You understand his frustration with his mother because you see him doing everything he can to keep his cool and hold things together for his family. And you get why he makes the decisions he makes at the end of the play because Slater allows you to see Tom's utter befuddlement and frustration at what's going on in his home.
Josh Lucas, as Jim, the Gentleman Caller, only has one real scene, but it's a doozy. And he's terrific as the sometimes clueless guy who means well, but who may end up being the final nail in this family's coffin. He's naturally appealing and you can see what Laura sees in the guy, while also realizing what an asshole he can inadvertently be.
Which brings me to Sarah Paulson's Laura, my biggest reservation about this whole production. Paulson plays much of the show in a baby doll monotone that suggests that Laura is either on a lot of drugs, completely insane, or possibly both. I kept expecting this Laura to pull out a knife and hack her family to death with it. Paulson does warm up in her scene with Jim, so possibly this is to illustrate how painfully shy and "different" Laura is. Frankly, I was wondering how even the ever-optimistic Amanda could not see anything amiss in her daughter's odd behavior. Laura's always been a puzzle to me...she's written to be so painfully shy that I can't figure out how the poor girl can even begin to function in the world. How does she manage to even walk out the door, something we are told she does indeed do, although we never actually see it?
Director David Leveaux has presented the play pretty organically without his usual bold visual statements. He does take some pains to remind the audience, just as Tom does, that this is a play. He's surrounded the main playing space with a sort of flourescent frame made from lights glowing inside the stage deck and set. His tight staging doesn't really allow even for entrance applause for his stellar cast. One strange choice was the lack of an actual dining room table and that was a bit bizarre. The cast played a lot of the play around this non-existant table for reasons that were unclear to me. Why no table? I have no idea.
So, yeah...I'd never seen an actual stage production of The Glass Menagerie before and I enjoyed this one quite a bit. Had it opened in another season, I'm sure it would have received a number of Tony nominations, rather than being completely shut out. Go check it out if you can, especially if you're a fan of Lange, Slater, or Lucas.
So I've been on some dates that I will not be writing about unless they turn into something. I don't want to make too much of anything and then have it fizzle into nothing as per usual. If there's anything earthshattering, I'll certainly keep you all informed.
And there's a weekend not too far in the future when I've been invited to TWO parties that are being given on the exact same day at the exact same time. One is here in the neighbourhood and one is in a neighbourhood far far away. I will probably try to spend some time at each and just hope that I don't end up spending the majority of the evening on the subway instead.
Oh, and is anyone having a Tony party? The usual party that I attend to watch the awards is most likely not happening this year due to a work commitment on the part of the hostess (Don't they know at her office that it's Tony Day, for God's sake?), so I'm free if anyone would like to invite me somewhere.
And by "somewhere," I mean, preferably, somewhere in the five boroughs. No, make that FOUR boroughs...not sure I could deal with a trek to Staten Island.
I have a callback on Saturday for a play called Six Dance Lessons in Six Weeks. It had a short run on Broadway a few seasons ago starring Polly Bergen and Mark Hamill and had had a previous production in California with Uta Hagen and David Hyde Pierce.
This play would be a huge challenge for me. For one thing, this is a two person play, so it would be the largest role I've tackled in quite some time, if ever. For another, I am at least 15 years too young for the part.
At the audition, we read sides from the script, so all I knew about the character at that time was what the producer and director told me and what I read in the audition notice, which was that they were looking for an actor in the 30-40 year old range.
I did see that the script says that the character is 45 years old and mentioned that to the producer privately. She told me that she thinks it could be played younger and still be fine. Not having read the play, I took that at face value.
The producer gave me a copy of the script to read in preparation for the callback and I, of course, read it immediately. And I just don't see any way this character could be any younger than 40. He has lines about being middle-aged, and about getting too old to be a chorus boy, and talks a lot about the harsh realities of his life, a litany that would neither be as long nor as bleak if he were a younger man.
So I'm torn. While I may be the best choice available for this production, I'm probably not the best choice for the role. I do plan to raise my concern with the director at the callback, but I also don't want to talk him/them out of casting me if that's what they want to do.
Now don't get me wrong...I'm all for unconventional casting and looking at roles and scripts in new ways. But if casting a role unconventionally works against the writer's intentions, is it a good idea?
Of course, I will do the play if cast. That goes without saying.
Just in from the hottest ticket on Broadway, Monty Python's Spamalot, the new musical adapted from the comedy troupe's cult classic film Monty Python and The Holy Grail at the Shubert Theatre. How did I, a mere mortal, manage to snag the current New York theatrical Holy Grail, a ticket to this production? Well, I'm glad you asked...
This morning at 5.00am my alarm went off. I mumbled something profane, rolled over, and hit the snooze button. And 9 minutes later I did the same thing. But, at some point, I did manage to rouse myself and get out from under the warm blankets and into the bathroom.
By the way, here in New York, we seem to have skipped spring, summer, AND autumn and gone straight back to winter. This week has been cold, wet, and overcast. And I just want to kill myself. It's almost fuckin' fuck ass Memorial Fuckin' Day and it's still fuckin' winter out there. Fuck!
Anyway, I was out of the apartment and heading over to Times Square by 6.15am and by 6.30am I was in line at the Shubert to get standing room to the show. And by "in line," I mean that I joined the one other person, a lesbian from Houston, Texas, that had managed to get there before me.
Did I mention that the box office opened at 10.00am. That's right. I was curious enough about this show to brave the chilly weather and the early hour and go wait outside the theatre for three and a half hours. Yes, I am insane...thanks. I figured that out for myself as I was shivering under the Spamalot canopy at an hour when any rational human being would have been sleeping sounding in his bed. Or in the bed of some cute guy somewhere.
The Texas Lesbian (whose name I never did learn) had gotten there at 5.40am, nearly a full hour before me. We struck up a conversation after awhile and I found out that she manages a Kohl's and comes east often on vacation. She and her partner had planned to split this trip between NYC and Provincetown, but with the advent of the crappy weather, they decided to come back to the city and see some shows.
Other people started coming after another hour or so and by the time the box office actually opened, there was a nice long line that stretched first down Shubert Alley, under the theatre's extended marquee due to the off-and-on icy rain, and then, as time got closer, down 44th Street toward the Broadhurst Theatre. The security staff somehow felt the need to move the whole line at one point, for reasons unknown. The Asian guy with the great shoes who was in charge didn't tell us why.
Anyhow, the box office opened at 10.00am and 5 minutes later, I had a standing room ticket to tonight's performance for the bargin price of $21.25. And I promptly headed home for a few hours of rest before taking care of some errands today.
So the show itself...Spamalot...yes...well...
It was really fun. It was. I gotta say that I'm not a Python fan and I don't think I've ever seen one of their films. So I'm no expert on this material, which, judging by the audience reaction, put me solidly in the minority tonight.
It was campy and spoofy and fun and, frankly, more like a comedy show with some music thrown in than an actual musical. Is it a great musical? No. Is it the Best Musical this season, an award for which it is nominated and for which it appears to be the favorite? No. Not even close. In fact, of the four nominated shows, Spamalot is easily the least worthy of the honour. The fun here comes from the great performances from a cast that looks like each and every member is having the time of his or her life.
And what a cast! Hollywood stalwards Tim Curry, David Hyde Pierce, and Hank Azaria are joined by Broadway favourites Christopher Sieber, Christian Borle, Michael McGrath, and Sara Ramirez. Almost everyone, with the exception of Curry as King Arthur and Ramirez as The Lady of the Lake, plays multiple roles here, which gives the show the feel of a sketch comedy show.
Basically, this is a comic retelling of some of the King Arthur legend, but Spamalot plays fast and loose with the story so the plot really isn't all that important. In truth, there's as much parody of musical theatre going on here as there is of the King Arthur story. And that's all great.
And, since I find this stuff interesting, almost every leading player listed above is given a star entrance here, but, tonight, only the Hollywood refugees got their entrance applause. Oh, and, for those of you who might care, Azaria is already bolting the show, just after the Tony Awards, to go back to the coast and film the second season of his Showtime series Huff. He's scheduled to return in six months or so, I hear.
My favourite performances of the evening came from Christopher Sieber, as, among others, Sir Galahad, and Sara Ramirez as The Lady of the Lake. Sieber is a scream as the farmboy transformed into a Galahad with a mane of "don't hate me because I'm beautiful" blonde hair and he takes every and any opportunity to toss and flip it like a medieval Charlie's Angel.
Ramirez make the most of a role to which, frankly, there's not a hell of a lot. She even has a song in the second act called "The Diva's Lament," in which she wonders what happened to her part. And she does, indeed, disappear for much of the second act. But she's a stitch whenever she IS on stage.
Azaria is very funny indeed as a Lancelot who discovers a bit more about himself than he bargined for during the quest for the grail. His "His Name Is Lancelot" is a Vegas spectacle worthy of last season's The Boy From Oz.
Borle, otherwise known around town as "Mr. Sutton Foster," is terrific too in a variety of roles, notably the Historian, Not Dead Fred (don't ask), and the effeminate Prince Herbert. He displays a comic flair here not especially notable in other roles he's done in New York. He got the evening off to a great start getting a huge laugh on the line "I said ENGLAND!," which, you'll have to trust me, is much funnier in context.
Pierce manages to breakout of his well established television persona and is very funny in his main role, the cowardly Sir Robin. He's at his best later in the show when Sir Robin finds his calling, not in knighthood, but rather in musical theatre where you can "sing and dance and not soil your pants."
The score, by John Du Prez and Eric Idle, is, to be honest, pretty slight. Again, I like it...it was fun. But the score isn't the reason to be at Spamalot. It's just not a regular musical that way.
Mike Nichols handles the direction here, doing the honours for his first musical since The Apple Tree in the 1960's. He manages to keep things moving at a good clip and seems to have achieved a certain level of restraint amongst a cast where mayhem could easily break out. I saw not a single moment where the show got out of control or rode off the rails in any way and the actors seemed to enjoy getting the laughs in the script rather than improvising and/or trying to break each other up. Hopefully that state of affairs will continue.
Okay, so I liked it. I keep saying this, but it really is fun. Not a great musical and I think it's going to run out of gas when this cast starts leaving, but, for now, it's a really good time. But vote for something else come award time. Please.
Celebrity Sighting of the Day: For the third time this week, I ran into actor Victor Garber at the theatre, this time at the Imperial Theatre in the audience of the new musical Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. When the time comes for star John Lithgow to depart, Garber wouldn't be a bad choice as a replacement here. I'm so glad that Garber hasn't paid me the least bit of attention this week as he might think I was stalking him. And, of course, I'm not. Really.
So I made a return visit to Dirty Rotten Scoundrels tonight as part of a date with someone new. The last time I saw the show, it was early in previews and I thought it needed some work. And it appears to have gotten it. The shows seemed tighter and I had a much greater appreciation of the score this time around.
Thought the theatre was full, only Lithgow got applause on his entrance this time out, quite a change from last time when every leading player got it.
This is really a terrific show. I had such a good time. It's getting better and better. I'm sort of pulling for it to win now.
Oh, and hey...there was a rumour that actor Lorenzo Lamas was in the house, though I did not see him. Lamas is name-checked in a lyric in the show.
And it turns out that my date when to college with the show's conductor...whose place on the podium was right in front of our first row seats. They had a lovely time catching up before the show, at intermission, and afterward. That was weird, but in a good way.
And, from the first row, you really get a good look at all the cute guys in the show. Whoo-Hoo!
Today, while walking around town running errands, I ran across three different representatives on three different corners of something called The Journey Church. Now, it's not uncommon, especially in the Times Square area, for businesses and religions of all stripes to be handing out flyers and/or preaching at passersby in the street. Ever see Guys and Dolls? Yeah, like that, except not as entertaining and, occasionally, somewhat hatemongering. Nevertheless...
I know nothing about The Journey Church other than the information that was on the cards, which was everything you'd want to know about their upcoming "God On Film" series in which they go see summer popcorn flicks like the new Star Wars film, the upcoming Batman movie, and the soon-to-come Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and learn about God through them. Somehow. I don't know either. Don't ask me.
What got my attention, however, was that with the postcards, these folks were handing out snacks. And if you want MY attention, snacks is a good way to go about it. A full stomach is a stomach at attention, I always say.
I got granola bars from the first two, and a pack of gum from the third, who was actually pretty cute.
So, thanks, Journey Church! I won't be attending your services, but the granola bars really hit the spot.
Oh, and I sent the church the following email today:
Hello!
I got a couple of granola bars from your representatives in midtown today and, never having heard of your church (I was raised Presbyterian USA, although I no longer attend church on a regular basis), I was curious about it.
What is your church's position on homosexuality? I find it so interesting that so many denominations in this country preach love and family values, while also condemning gay people and their families. I mean, God created me this way and who's really going to have the guts to say that He made a mistake. What's next? God hates folks with blue eyes?
Anyhow, I'd also like to hear your church's position on equality for women, and religion in the government. Obviously, women are every bit the equal of men (the Bible gets a little bogged down in the cultural mores of the period on this point) and the government needs to be as free and clear of any religion as possible. We see the dangers of fundamentalist religion in government every day in the Middle East and we certainly don't need that here in this country.
And, speaking of the Bible, of course, you can't take it word for word seriously. It's not as though God picked up a pen or sat down at the keyboard and wrote it Himself. You have to look at it as a product of the time in which it was written, just like any other literary document. Plus, when you add in the difficulties of translation from ancient languages, you really compound the issues of accuracy. I think it's more of a blueprint than a paint-by-numbers.
So, I look forward to hearing about what I hope are your church's progressive beliefs. We don't need any more hate in the world.
Thanks.
Jere
I'll let you know what they respond, if they do.
Okay, folks, I've seen a lot of theatre lately and I just don't have time to write up full posts on all of it. I'm terribly behind and would like to hit some hightlights and move on. If you would like a fuller opinion from me, just drop me a line and I can certainly oblige. Otherwise, here goes:
Last Saturday I saw the Broadway revival of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? at the Longacre Theatre. Kathleen Turner is a goddess. Bill Irwin is amazing. The other actors were great. They're all deservedly nominated for Tonys as is the production. I was unfamiliar with this classic before I went in and found these sad, bored, awful characters utterly fascinating. Go see this if it's at all possible.
Sunday afternoon, I caught the current Broadway revival of On Golden Pond at the Cort Theatre, which stars James Earl Jones and Leslie Uggams. Uggams took a couple of scenes to hit her stride, but Jones is masterful from the start and holds the audience in the palm of his hand. He really achieves something remarkable here: Although the audience can full well see the robust and healthy Jones on the stage in front of them, the actor makes us believe in his character's frailty and declining health. The play itself is a bit creaky, but the performances make it worth seeing. Linda Powell, perhaps best known as the daughter of former Secretary of State Colin Powell, but a working actress in her own right, is also wonderful as the estranged daughter of Jones and Uggams who must come to terms with the past before it's too late. Alexander Mitchell is great as the kid who manages to bring out the best in the grumpy Jones. This is the same kid who played the son of Sean Combs (Puff Daddy) and Audra McDonald in last season's revival of A Raisin in the Sun.
Sunday night, I caught the latest offering from the Encores! series, a concert version of 1966 three acter The Apple Tree, Sheldon Harnick and Jerry Bock's follow up to their blockbuster Fiddler on the Roof. The stars were Broadway darling Kristin Chenoweth in roles created by the legendary Barbara Harris (Chenoweth played another Harris role in the Encores! On A Clear Day You Can See Forever a couple of seasons ago), Malcolm Gets in the roles done originally by Alan Alda, and Michael Cerveris in those created by Larry Blyden.
This is actually three one act musicals that relate thematically, but otherwise have no connection. In the first, "The Diary of Adam and Eve," Gets and Chenoweth play an Adam and Eve who manage to clash over most everything in Eden, notably the names of things. (You see, God has asked him to give names to everything, but he exhibits no talent for this, unlike the gregarious Eve who sees right away what any given object should be named.) This wacky comedy becomes unexpectedly poignant toward the end and Gets and Chenoweth were remarkable in what is essentially a two person show (Cerveris cameos as the Snake).
"The Lady or The Tiger?" finds Chenoweth as a princess whose commoner lover, Gets, is on trial for daring to love her. He must choose between two doors, one of which will release a vicious tiger, and the other a beautiful woman whom he must immediately marry. When the princess discovers which door is which ahead of time, she is torn...would she rather see her lover torn to pieces and eaten or as the husband of another? It's a quandry...
And the final act is "Passionella: A Romance of the '60's" in which Chenoweth plays a dowdy chimney sweep who dreams of being a glamourous movie star. Her television set grants her wish (don't ask) and she becomes a voluptuous Marilyn Monroe-esque star. When she meets a Bob Dylan-esque folk singer who chastises her for being empty and fake, she's torn between her new life and possible love. And how this is resolved is very funny indeed.
Oh. Cerveris played narrators in the second and third pieces and was wonderful adding a variety of colours to the evening.
I've always heard that the first act of The Apple Tree was the best and the other two were just not as strong. I disagree and think that, while all three are capable of standing alone, together they make this one terrific show. I'm so glad that I got a chance to see this. No idea what's wrong with it and why it's fallen out of the repertory.
Are you a producer? Do this show. Are you a director? Cast me in it. Thank You.
And the last play I have to catch up on is Privilege, a new play by Paul Weitz that was playing at Second Stage. You know Weitz as a screenwriter and film director of such films as About A Boy, the American Pie movies and the recent In Good Company. This comedy drama focuses on two brothers whose father has been indicted for insider trading in the New York City of the mid-1980's. Actor/comedian Bob Saget plays the father, though the play really belongs to young actors Conor Donovan and Harry Zittel as the boys.
Excellent production all the way around. Whee!
Totally forgot to mention that Jim and I also went to see two former castmates of ours from My Favorite Year make their debut as an acoustical guitar folk music duo called The Deco Moon on Thursday.
Rita Markova, who played Tess, my prom date, and Paul Caron, who played Scungili, among other roles, were fabulous and Jim and I had a great time. I couldn't believe that this was their first public performance.
Go see them on Friday, June 24th at Flannery's, which is located at West 14th Street and 7th Avenue, at 10.00pm. There's a $5 cover charge, but it'll be worth it.
Just in from seeing the new, but soon-to-close, Broadway musical Little Women starring Sutton Foster and Maureen McGovern at the Virginia Theatre. Foster rocketed to stardom two seasons ago as the leading lady of Throughly Modern Millie, winning a Tony for her trouble and McGovern has been a huge singing star for 30 years, notably warbling "The Morning After," which won The Poseidon Adventure its only Oscar way back in 1972 or so. Of course, for me, McGovern will always be the singing nun of Airplane!, the funniest movie ever made. R-E-S-P-E-C-T, indeed!
Little Women, an adaptation of Louisa May Alcott's classic novel, tells the story of the March sisters, Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy, who are growing up in nineteenth century New England and trying to make the best of limited circumstances with their boundless love for each other. Foster plays Jo, the tomboy sister who wants to travel the world and be a writer. McGovern plays the sisters' mother, Marmee, who is trying to cope with raising a brood of energetic girls with her beloved husband far away at war. I was unfamiliar with the novel, but it reminds me of an American take on Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice.
Foster is terrific here as a most throughly modern Jo. In fact, in light of her previous triumph, Foster was a perfect choice for the role. Her Jo is witty, smart, and talented and, try as she might, she just can't seem to fit in with what is expected of a woman at the time. Foster uses a lot of the same tricks here she employed as Millie, and this makes Jo seem like she's somehow dropped out of the 20th Century into this rather curious environment, but it works. My friend Jim, with whom I saw the show, pointed out that Foster didn't take her usual high note at the climax of the first act ender "Astonishing," and that seemed a bit anti-climatic, for lack of a better term.
Now, I realize that I'm looking at the material with modern eyes, but I'm pretty certain that tomboy Jo, at least in Foster's interpretation, is a nineteenth century proto-lesbian. She is visibly uncomfortable in dresses and only seems to truely relax in pants and boots, which she wears throughout much of the show. She shows absolutely no interest in men and declares several times her intention to not marry. Her dedication is solely to her sisters and her writing, mostly women-in-jeopardy tales, one of which actually features a rescuing "hero" who is really another woman (in male drag, natch). When she loses one potential love interest to a sister, she barely bats an eyelash, especially considering that she declined a proposal from this man with a quick and final "no," not even thinking twice about it. She ignores another potential love interest as anything other than a friend until he too proposes and she accepts in the most noncommittal way I've ever seen a woman do so. The only time Jo exhibits any passion at all toward her "fiance" is when this man tells her that a publisher to which he's shown her novel wants to publish the book. Uh Huh...
McGovern is warm and loving as the mother and I wish she'd had more stage time. Her big solos, "Here Alone" in the first act, about her uncertainty in raising her family without the imput of her at-war husband and her loneliness at facing life without him there beside her, and "Days of Plenty," in the second act, in which the strong mother reveals how she deals with the tragedies that have befallen the family, both land strongly. She is truely the backbone of this extrordinary family and we feel that at all times, even when she's not on the stage.
The rest of the small cast is terrific too, although none of them has a lot of material. Danny Gurwin is a really cute Laurie...really cute. Amy McAlexander gets the most to play here as youngest sister, Amy, who starts off the show as a bratty little girl and blossoms into full womanhood by the final curtain.
The whole show was charming and undeserving of the scorn that's been heaped on it. The score by Jason Howland and Mindi Dickstein is lovely and probably deserving of the nomination it didn't get, especially considering how slight everyone says the score of Spamalot is.
Afterward, Jim (a great date...for a straight guy) and I hung by the stage door with a group of mostly pre-teen girls. The whole cast seemed like very nice people, but neither Foster nor McGovern exited that way, both choosing to avoid the small crowd of fans.
While waiting, I was recognized by another guy named Jim who was also at the show and who'd seen me in My Favorite Year and introduced himself after a performance. That's always cool.
So, yeah, I really enjoyed this show and I wish it could have found an audience. When the national tour hits your town later this year (also starring McGovern, I think), go see it and tell me what you think.
Last night, we Wizomaniacs bowled against a team called Drunken Bastards, folks representing many shows including Spamalot and The Glass Menagerie. I bowled my worst game ever with a 102 in the first and 90 something in the second. Ugh.
And, when I arrived back at my apartment at about 1.30am, I discovered that I didn't have my keys. This was going to be bad.
I didn't want to ring the bell and wake the superintendent because it was so late and I don't really want him mad at me for waking him and his family. So I wasn't sure what to do. Luckily it was a nice night, and not so chilly.
I walked around the neighbourhood and, on a whim, went into a couple of hotels, just to check and see if the rates might be anywhere near the neighbourhood of affordable. I thought they might have a "middle-of-the-night-and-a-neighbour-has-locked-himself-out-of-his-apartment" rate. Well, both places I checked, a nationally known chain, as well as a chic boutique place, were entirely full with not a room to be had. Oh, well...
So I returned to my front stoop and hung out there for a bit while reading the free magazines and papers I picked up in the lobby of the national chain hotel. After a while, one of my neighbours comes by and I follow him into the building. I had an idea of try to go through the basement and climb up the fire escape to my apartment, but the ladder of the fire escape was too high off the ground to be reached.
At that point, I was ready to admit defeat, so I found a mattress in the basement of my building and just dozed for a couple of hours until I was discovered there by the super. No idea why he was up at that hour and down in the basement. He told me I should have called him, but I don't know...
I got back into my place at about 5.00am and had a few hours of sleep before tearing the apartment apart in search of my keys. Now, I have a small apartment and there are only so many places the keys would be. I've never been one of those folks who might one day find his keys in the freezer or the bathroom. And I couldn't find them.
I called the bowling alley and was told that there weren't there either. So I tore the place up again. Still no keys. Although I did find a roll of quarters that I'd picked up for laundry weeks ago and which, apparently, had rolled under the sofa at some point.
So I grabbed a spare set of keys and went down to search the bowling alley myself. No dice. And no keys either. I ask at the desk, just to cover my bases, and, lo and behold, there they are. My beautiful keys. There all along.
Whew! Thank heavens for small favours. In celebration, I bought myself a hot dog, with sauerkraut, and watched some dude play "Dance Dance Revolution." What the hell kind of game IS that, anyway?
Celebrity Sightings of the Day: Last night at Studio 54, I again saw actor Victor Garber in the audience of A Streetcar Named Desire. That's twice in four days. And on the way home from the Desk Jockey Day Job, I saw Veronica Mars' Enrico Colantoni outside the Penninsula Hotel at 55th Street and 5th Avenue.
In all the Sturm und Drang of my emotional reaction to seeing A Streetcar Named Desire last night, I realized after the fact that I forgot to actually write about the show. I'm feeling better today, by the way. Some sleep, even with bad dreams, did an enormous amount of good.
I'm always torn when writing about classic plays...do I recap the plot that you all know already and risk boring people, or do I let it go and confuse potential readers who actually might not know these plays? Anyway, I was always taught to write as though the reader knows nothing, so here's a brief synopsis of Streetcar: Faded belle Blanche DuBois shows up on the doorstep of her sister Stella's apartment in 1947 New Orleans. Their old home place, a plantation in Mississippi, has been lost and Blanche has left her teaching position. Blanche thinks Stanley, Stella's working class husband, isn't good enough for her. He thinks she's a prissy bitch who's living above her station in life. Things come to head when Stanley does some investigating into Blanche's past and...well, the picture is a little different from what she's painted for them.
The show hasn't gotten much buzz, except for the controversial casting of John C. Reilly in the iconic role of Stanley Kowalski, defined for all time (or did it define HIM?) by Marlon Brando in the original production and film. Reilly most certainly isn't the walking personification of sex that others have been in this role, but the choice to play the character as a regular guy is an intriguing one. Reilly is a Stanley who could be your older brother, that guy you went to high school with, or your neighbour. We all know guys just like this. And Reilly is as natural and unselfconscious as you might expect the great actor to be in this part. He strips off his shirt with some regularity, revealing the start of a beer belly and the physique of a regular joe...again, somewhat perfect.
And make no mistake...Reilly exudes a certain sexuality here, playing Stanley as an uneducated, unrefined lug whose life is ruled, to a certain extent, by his dick. The chemistry is palpable with Amy Ryan's Stella and the electricity in the air whenever they're together leaves no question as to what the high-born Stella sees in the low-born Stanley.
Natasha Richardson is a particularly glam Blanche, making her first entrance in a gorgeous suit and matching hat. Richardson makes an interesting, almost bipolar, Blanche, seemingly normal, if a touch eccentric, at the start and gradually adding more and more notes of fragility as the play progresses. But, even when Blanche is at her worst, Richardson manages to convey the woman underneath the mania.
Tony-nominee Amy Ryan is an excellent Stella, conveying the sexual spark that attracts her to Stanley, as well as the family loyalty that binds her to Blanche. When those two become mutually exclusive, she is almost torn in two.
And can I just mention the set design by Robert Brill? The set, representing Stanley and Stella's apartment and the street outside is gorgeous. It definitely sums up the sort of romantic squalor in which the Kowalskis reside. I wanted to move right in, redo the kitchen and replace those dated appliances, and keep everything else.
The Roundabout has also renovated Studio 54 for this production, installing traditional theatre seats on the orchestra level and exposing the shiny hardwood floor beneath. The new seats are comfy and have plenty of legroom. Studio 54 is not the only flexible seating auditorium on Broadway, with the company able to restore the table-and-chair setup that has been used previously should a future production warrant it. It's all beautiful.
So, yeah...it's hard to go wrong with a Streetcar, but this production does manage to do a lot of things right.
Quick Question: Does anyone of the season finale of Alias on tape or (if you're actually a friend) on TiVO that I can see. My DVR failed to record it the other night and I have to figure if I'm going to continue watching this show or not.
So I've just come in from the current Broadway revival of Tennessee Williams' A Streetcar Named Desire that is being produced by the Roundabout at Studio 54.
This play has always affected me in an odd way. I never really thought about it before, but it's all rather clear to me now.
I am Blanche DuBois. I want magic, not reality. I make myself out to be much grander than I really am. I would rather live inside my delusions than face the cold shoulder of the real world. And I'm afraid that what happens to her will one day happen to me. I'm 32 years old and I pretend to be 25. I'm not getting any younger and yet I persist in stuggling to make it in a business that doesn't really want me. And maybe it doesn't want me because I'm not good enough.
I sometimes wonder that if I met someone special if he would still want me if he heard the honest truth about some of the things I have done in my life. Sometimes I wonder myself what the truth is. If I believe hard enough, can I make the fiction real? Is burying the past the same as not having lived it?
Is my entire being a clever construct painstakingly pulled together through years of pain to create an illusion that I find more palatable? An illusion that can get me through the day? Or the night? At this point, I'm not sure how I'd even know.
Often I feel as though I missed the instructions on how to live a successful life. And I missed them because I was too busy playing dress up or conjuring glamourous stories starring myself from my ever vivid imagination.
And maybe the reason that no one wants me is that they can see the real me. The me that I hide from myself. If I were as terrific as I think I am, wouldn't I have someone? Wouldn't the boy that I loved, to whom I gave my whole heart, have loved me in return?
And did that boy's rejection of my love send me further into a fantasy world where no one else can measure up to him? Is it a big step from a fantasy in which he could love me to one in which no one is as wonderful as he? What is reality? Do I want to know?
How is my life going to be different when I'm 40 years old? When I'm 45? 50? At what point, do I give up my illusions and walk into the harsh light of the real world?
I need a drink. And I need to cry. Please excuse me.
I haven't told any of my family members about this blog. Not that I have anything to hide, I just don't mention every little thing that goes on in my life to the parents or other family members.
But today I noticed that someone was reading the blog at the company where one of my cousins works. Of course, it's not necessarily her, but it got my attention nonetheless.
The firm in question is a rather...um...forward thinking provider of automobile insurance.
Now I don't really care if my family discovers the blog. But I would like to know if this occurs. If the description above fits your firm and you are not related to me, drop me a line or a comment. If you are indeed my cousin, call me.
Thanks!
Celebrity Sighting of the Day: actor Miguel Ferrer, currently starring in NBC's Crossing Jordan, walking west on 45th Street in Times Square.
Later on in my travels, I bumped into someone I could have sworn was former hobbit Elijah Wood, but, upon further inspection, was not. Though the guy was certainly Elijahesque in many ways.
I had some extra time on Friday before going into the Belasco Theatre to see Julius Caesar, so I popped in to the neighbouring Hudson Theatre, which is just down the block. The Hudson hasn't been a legitimate theatre in many years and was basically absorbed into the Milennium Broadway Hotel, which was built around and above the theatre, for use as a conference center.
Some event was just breaking up and I was able to walk right in, through the lobby area and into the auditorium. The place is remarkably intact and looks like it could be restored to legitimacy with minimal expense of time and money.
It appears to have been a lovely, intimate house for plays or possibly small musicals. Small round tables were set up in the orchestra section, giving the effect of Studio 54 in the heyday of Cabaret. There was a mezzanine level above, as well as a balcony. There's a picture of the interior, as it currently looks, here.
The men's restroom was gorgeous.
I would totally love to see this facility back operating as a playhouse again. One thing New York really needs right now is smaller 500-1000 seat theatres that would be appropriate (and cost effective) for plays or smaller musicals that might otherwise go into off-Broadway houses. Or plays or musicals that were hits off-Broadway and would be able to transfer to a Broadway house without necessarily sacrificing the intimacy of wherever they originally opened.
I'd never been in the Hudson Theatre before and was glad to take this opportunity to see what it was like inside. Timing is everything.
Celebrity Sighting of the Day: Saturday Night Live's Seth Meyers in the audience of Privilege, a new play by Paul Weitz off-Broadway at Second Stage. He was with an Asian gentleman who might have been actor/comedian John Cho, but I'm not sure.
There was no particular indication that the two were together as anything other than friends, but I've always wondered about Meyers, who is one of the cutest guys ever on SNL. They really need to work on getting him out of his shirt more often over there.
I have so much to write about these days and I just haven't had the time to sit down in front of the computer and write. But I will get there eventually, I promise.
Got another email from Ginger Carlucci today promising to send another payment toward the money she owes me from the sublet in January. Here's what she says:
dear jere,
i haven't forgotten you, promise.
just a quick note to keep in touch and let you know
another payment is forthcoming.
hope all is well.
best regards,
ginger
So far, I have received two payments of $5 each toward the $175 that she owes me. We'll see.
It's certainly amusing, if nothing else. I'm not sure that I'd hire this girl if I did a google search and found all my posts about what she did to me. I'd certainly raise the issue in the interview.
But she actually doesn't owe me all that much money ($165, at last count) and she could easily pick that up in tips waiting tables or working at Starbucks; she doesn't need to land a gig as personal assistant to Martha Stewart.
So I don't get it...but I'll keep you posted.
So I somehow got myself involved in some drama with another blogger awhile back. And I have no idea how it happened.
This blogger, whom I've met once or twice, had a pretty rude anonymous comment left on his blog.
Somehow he got the idea that I was the anonymous commenter; I'm unsure how he reached this conclusion. But, nonetheless, he called me out on it in another comment. When I noticed this (my name is pretty unusual), I corrected him, while allowing for the possibility that his commenter might be someone else with my same name.
He then came out with some sort of snide remark about IP addresses that I didn't really understand. Eh.
When I asked for explanation and clarification on exactly how he'd determined (incorrectly) that I was the culprit, he declined, saying that he wasn't up for the drama.
I'm not sure why this bothered me, especially since I don't really know this other blogger. I think I just hate having my good name sullied without actually having done anything or without having anything to show for it.
At the recent GB:NYC2 meetup at Barrage, this blogger was also present and even came over to a group of people, of which I was a part, to talk to, not me, but someone standing next to me. He stood right next to me and never acknowledged my presence. Nice.
After the snub and this person's exit, another blogger who had also happened across this exchange of on-line comments told me that HE thought the issue was that the original anonymous commenter was accessing this blogger's site through my blog and that was what was confusing the poor guy.
Maybe. I don't know enough about it to really troubleshoot the issue. The only thing I actually know is that I didn't make the initial comment and was unhappy to have aspersions cast on my name.
Not that any of it really matters, of course.
Hey, I put the word out about this every now and then, but if there's anyone who pops in here on a regular basis and who also has a blog that they'd like linked here, please let me know. This is especially true if you've provided a link to me; I'm certainly interested in returning the favour.
I do look at my Site Meter now and then and I may already know who some of you are. But I hesitate to just blindly link up with people I don't know who may not want the attention or simply not want it from other people who frequent this blog.
As far as I know, there are no axe-murderers or stalkers out there in my readership. As I write this, I have NOT been chopped up into little bits by a psychopath with an axe like in that late period Joan Crawford horror flick (which one WAS that, David Cerda?).
If I do have a stalker(s), allow me to pass on some advice to him/her/them: Honey, it doesn't count if I don't know about you. Get a name tag that reads "Hello, My Name Is...(And I'm Jere's Stalker)." Print up a tee shirt that says "My Boyfriend's Not Jere's Stalker, But I Am." Or forge a coffee mug that says "I Stalked Jere and All I Got Was This Lousy Mug."
So, yeah...are you reading this? Do you have a blog? Want me to link? Drop me a line (or a comment).
On Friday night I went to see the current Broadway revival of William Shakespeare's Julius Caesar at the Belasco Theatre on West 44th Street.
Nobody seems to like this production much and it earned not a single Tony nomination last week, not even for Oscar-laden movie star Denzel Washington, who is appearing on the Broadway stage for the first time since 1988, in the role of Brutus.
This isn't my favorite play in the Shakespearean canon, but it's a mostly solid production. Washington handles the language superbly, as do the more regular theatre actors that surround him on the stage.
The play is set in some sort of modern Rome, while also taking place amongst what could be ancient ruins. The characters wear sleek business suits in the earlier acts, while adopting fatigues and combat boots when the events of the play plunge Rome into chaos and civil war.
Director is Daniel Sullivan, one of the town's busier directors. I normally very much like his work, but I was torn here. I appreciated his ideas at first, but, as the play moved toward its conclusion, he seemed to be equating one side of the battle with encroaching fascism, which doesn't seem to be supported in the text. There's lots of pseudo-Nazi imagery going on here and I just didn't quite get it.
As you must know by now, the plot centers on what happens when Julius Caesar, the most popular general in Rome is talked up to become Emperor, a move which would, in effect, nullify the fragile Roman republic. Caesar declines the honour at every opportunity, but those closest to him see him weakening in the face of absolute power and, in order to preserve the republic, conspire to assassinate their friend/compatriot. What the conspirators don't quite expect is that their actions plunge a previously (mostly)peaceful Rome into chaos and anarchy. Oops. If I had a nickel for every time THAT happened...
Anyway...other than Washington, standouts included Colm Feore as lead conspirator Cassius, Tamara Tunie as a particularly glamourous Calpurnia (this play seriously short changes actresses), and William Sadler as the doomed Caesar. Sadler even gets a brief full-frontal nude scene that seemed to shock the audience in the way that nudity often does with Americans; one would think that citizens of the U.S. had never seen a naked body of either sex and are completely unfamiliar with basic human anatomy. This happens often in the theatre, even when the nudity is brief and/or extremely well publicized. Ask anyone who has seen a production of The Graduate or Take Me Out.
But I digress...
What to say about Julius Caesar? Okay, if you like this sort of thing, go. If you're a Denzel fan, and, judging by the box office of this production, there are many, go. If you're up for an evening of light entertainment and self-referential comedy, I can give you a list of musicals at which you'll have a much better time.
Celebrity Sightings of the Day: Stage actor Austin Pendleton and film producer Scott Rudin in the audience of On Golden Pond at the Cort Theatre and Broadway and television star Victor Garber, currently of ABC's Alias, in line to pick up tickets to The Apple Tree at the box office at City Center. Garber was with a very handsome man that I'm hoping is a boyfriend.
Oh, and I found out something the other day. Remember when I wrote about seeing Roger Bart in the street? Well, I had no idea at the time that Bart is currently back in The Producers playing Leo Bloom to Richard Kind's Max Bialystock. The management of the show has stopped putting the names of the leads up on the marquee over the title of the show and I only noticed that Bart was back in it when I happened to walk by the theatre and see his name in the cast list.
I'm trying to briefly write about what's been going on OTHER than many trips to the theatre. Here goes...
Thursday, I met up with Randy for La Cage and a bite to eat before going bowling. Randy is a great guy that I happened to meet through the blog and he seems to like going to the theatre as much as I do. Though he lives out in Pennsylvania, we get together when he has occasion to come to town.
Friday, I met up with two of my cousins who were visiting New York for the first time from Michigan on a whirlwind bus tour. I'd met Marta and her son Mike at a family reunion in 1997, but barely remembered them. I met up with them in Times Square and took them on the subway down to Little Italy and Chinatown. It was really nice taking some time to get to know them and I hope they will be back in New York some time soon.
After leaving my cousins, I went and met up with Hector for a little Thai food and it was great to hear about his new day job, his recent sojourn upstate and his upcoming cabaret show. Whoo-Hoo!
Friday night, I was lucky enough to meet up with Chicago's own Jake, who was in town on business and seeing some shows over the weekend. I gotta tell you, folks, that Jake is even cuter in person than in the photos he posts. While doing some Coke at Joe Allen, Jake and I got acquainted and I even got to see one of the scars from his recent liposuction. He seems like a really terrific guy.
Saturday afternoon, I got together with David to go see a community theatre production of a delightful play called Music From A Sparkling Planet by Douglas Carter Beane. I saw the original production of this at Drama Dept and loved it. It's set in Philadelphia and Beane has done an excellent job of working in many local references in an organic way that doesn't seem forced. I'm surprised this play hasn't had more of a life. The production was fine and I'm not going to rip on it for its failings, because there's just too much else going on. Some of the actors were better than others and there was one really superb performance, but it was really lovely to take some time to catch up with David.
Saturday night, I did a Hell's Kitchen bar crawl, stopping off in such places as Therapy, Ninth Avenue Saloon, Barrage, Ninth Avenue Bistro, and Posh. At most of these, I just ducked in for a few minutes. Almost all of them were packed shoulder-to-shoulder, with the music blaring way too loudly, which is anathema to me. I did spend some time in Ninth Avenue Bistro, where a nice bartender named Manny kept pouring the margaritas, which kept me in my seat a lot longer than I'd intended.
And, to answer the inevitable question, Manny did not succeed in getting me drunk. I think I had four frozen strawberry margaritas and was just fine, thank you very much.
Like I've said before, I can hold my liquor pretty well. But I'm always up for a challenge...
Sunday was another meet-up with Randy for a quick bit to eat before heading over to see The Apple Tree in concert at Encores! Fun Fun Fun...and nobody's takin' the T-Bird away.
Thursday night I went to see the revival of the Jerry Herman/Harvey Fierstein musical La Cage Aux Folles at the Marquis Theatre on Broadway. As you have probably heard, this production of La Cage has suffered from much backstage drama, the result of which was the firing of original leading man Daniel Davis, who played Georges. While I know nothing for certain, the rumours swirling around the Marquis a couple of months ago had it that Davis, a well-respected stage actor best known for playing the butler on the TV sitcom The Nanny, was verbally abusive to almost the entire company to the point that he and co-star Gary Beach were not on speaking terms offstage. While I hesitate to give credence to unfounded rumours, the fact that Davis was abruptly fired does lend a certain credibility to the idea that his behavior was an issue. As per their contracts, union actors cannot be fired without cause, and, even then, I think it is extremely difficult to do this. That this was accomplished, coupled with the fact that Davis was an over-the-title star in the show, speaks volumes.
In any case, to replace Davis, the producers hired singing star Robert Goulet, who got his start in the original cast of Camelot in 1960 and who has returned to musical theatre often in his career, usually in extended tours of shows such as South Pacific, Man of La Mancha, and, of course, Camelot. The choice was a controversial one because Goulet, in his 70's, is quite a bit older than this role is written and usually played.
La Cage Aux Folles tells the story of what happens when Jean-Michel, the son of long time gay couple Georges and Albin, brings home his fiancee, Anne, and her arch-conservative parents to meet his own parents. Only Jean-Michel is afraid that Anne and her family will disapprove of his parents' gayness and flamboyant lifestyle. Georges runs a popular drag club called La Cage Aux Folles in which Albin is the star performer. And Anne's father is a conservative politician with a far right social agenda that includes shutting down gay clubs. And...chaos ensues.
Robert Goulet is amazing as Georges. He may be in his 70's, but he can easily pass for 20 years younger. He commands the stage whenever he's on it and he easily holds his own with the wild and crazy Gary Beach as Albin. Goulet's grounded intensity is a perfect match for Beach's bewigged flamboyance and we see immediately what has kept this seemingly mismatched couple together for 20+ years. Through all of Beach's histrionics and Goulet's exasperation, there's a real love that shines through.
Beach has the flashy role of Albin and Albin's drag alter ego, Zaza. He's terrific, but I felt like I'd seen this performance before in Beach's Roger DeBris a couple of seasons ago in a far superior show, The Producers.
Gavin Creel has the tricky role of Georges and Albin's son, Jean-Michel. I say "tricky" because Jean-Michel has got to be one of the biggest assholes in musical theatre to not actually be a villain. His arrival sets the plot in motion when he asks Georges (his biological father) to play it straight by temporarily forsaking Albin in favour of his birth mother, a woman that has never been a part of Jean-Michel's life. Some of the words that come out of this character's mouth are astounding considering that he is, in effect, pushing aside a person who has raised him from birth. Creel doesn't find much that's sympathetic in Jean-Michel, but it's possible that there just isn't anything there to find. Even the character's last minute conversion to humanity is too little too late. I kept wanting someone...anyone...to slap the boy silly. I almost took the opportunity myself from my seat in the second row.
And then there are Les Cagelles, the show's famous chorus of men in drag. These guys are wonderful dancers and their scenes are great fun, even if the show itself stops dead for these extended sequences. This production has broken with tradition in that ALL of the Cagelles are men this time out; normally, two are actual women and it's fun to try to spot the genuine in a sea of illusion. Doesn't really matter though. These guys are great.
Oh, and restauranteur Jacqueline is played by the great, GREAT Ruth Williamson, one of the funniest women on New York stages. Williamson is almost completely wasted here, but she gets to be sexy and slinky in a way that she doesn't normally and I bet that's why she's here.
What surprised me most about La Cage Aux Folles was how very slight a show this is. It's a minor score that sounds like it was reconstructed from bits and pieces of Herman's other scores, and, with a couple of exceptions, it pales in comparison. The book is also clunky and moves in fits and spurts, stopping cold for long stretches. It flabbergasts me that this show, even in the possibly superior original production, beat out a work of timeless brillance like Sunday in the Park with George for Best Musical. I am absolutely gobsmacked here.
It's not a bad show; it's just nothing special. Sure, it's a landmark musical for the representation of gays, but I think its time has passed. I enjoyed it...it was a pleasant evening at the theatre. But nothing more.