Jere-Rigged

Not The Sondheim Musical

On Wednesday, I volunteer ushered for Manhattan Theatre Club's Broadway production of Elaine May's new evening of three one-act plays called After the Night and Music at the Biltmore Theatre.

In the first play, "Curtain Raiser," J. Smith-Cameron and Eddie Korbich play an unlikely pair of dance partners who meet in the bar of a popular dancehall and find that they bring out the best in each other.

"Giving Up Smoking," the second play of the evening, finds a group of single New Yorkers who, for various reasons, find themselves home alone and on the phone with each other in various combinations.

And, finally, there is "Swing Time," in which a nervous middle-aged couple is sniping at each other as they prepare for the arrival of another couple they've invited over for dinner...and sex.

My favorite of the three was "Curtain Raiser." This was simply a little jewel of a piece. Korbich and Smith-Cameron were perfect as a dorky dance teacher and the lesbian he meets at the bar and gives confidence on the dance floor. Watching the butch Smith-Cameron, who is, at first, relunctant to dance after being rejected by her partner in favour of better, smoother dancers, become, alternately Fred AND Ginger, as the pair twirl around the floor, is magic. Korbich scores as a terrific dancer who is, nonetheless, a wall-flower due to his schlubby appearance.

"Swing Time" was amusing also, as we see Smith-Cameron and Jere Burns (hey, look at that name!) preparing for a dinner party. At first, it seems like the normal pre-party nerves as the two bicker about how to put out the potato salad and what to wear. But then, we realize that this very straight, very conventional couple has decided to spice up their lives and have invited their friends over to a sex party. Needless to say, things don't go quite as planned. For anyone.

The second play was just not as successful as the other two. Jeannie Berlin (the playwright's daughter and frequent interpreter) is pretty annoying as a feeling-sorry-for-herself Joanne who is sitting by the phone waiting for a call from Brian Kerwin's Mel. She's also trying to avoid her gay friend Sherman (Burns), also home alone dateless, because she's so afraid of missing the errant Mel's call. This woman has apparently never heard of a cell phone or call waiting. This play showcases a stageful of characters so self-absorbed it was like watching a not-so-great episode of Seinfeld. And, boy, did it drag on way too long. I hate to say it when the whole evening ran less than 2 hours, including intermission, but this one really needed editing. There just wasn't enough here to hold interest for what seemed like 45 minutes.

Thematically, this one didn't seem to fit in with the other two either. Both "Curtain Raiser" and "Swing Time" involve people discovering their own desirability and how this changes their lives. "Giving Up Smoking" didn't really offer anything all these lines and its four pathetic characters remain much the same from start to finish.

The actors were all excellent, although this was really quite the showcase for Smith-Cameron, Burns, and Kerwin, the only actors to appear in all three sketches. Berlin and Korbich were excellent as well, and I definitely wanted more of Korbich after the exciting first play. Smith-Cameron is something of a New York star and is one of our town's best character actresses. Her breakthrough came a few seasons ago when she created the role of Alexa Vere deVere in the raptuously received As Bees in Honey Drown, and she's hardly stopped working since. And she's a joy here as a sad lesbian, an elderly mother, and a nervous orgy hostess. How has Saturday Night Live not snapped her up by now?

If you happened to be around, go see this and see what you think. It didn't get great reviews and is closing this weekend, but there's something nice about a fun comedy on Broadway. It's not great (except for the first play), but definitely enjoyable.

Dreaming of Lesbians -or- Welcome to Pride...Here, Have a Condom!

I dreamed last night that Ellen DeGeneres had invited me to her apartment for dinner. I'm not sure how I met Ellen, but she was a new friend and we were still getting to know each other. I was looking around the place, thinking it was smaller and darker than I was expecting, when she basically called me on checking out the apartment and told me that I really had to see the kitchen, which was large and her favorite room. So she showed me into the kitchen which was NOT that large (sorry, Ellen), where she started preparing dinner and I watched and talked to her. There was a window (with actual glass in it) between the living room and the kitchen and I commented how great it would be to be able to have some peace and quiet in the kitchen while still being able to keep an eye on what's going on the living room. She told me that had been the idea. I asked Ellen if she lived in this apartment with her family and that's when she got sad. She said no and I apologized for straying into territory that's none of my business. She quickly changed the subject and started talking about friends of her named Brett and somebody. I was starting to wake up here and didn't catch Brett's partner's name. She realized that I didn't know Brett because I hadn't been there at the apartment for some other event at which Brett had been present. I was about to remark that I'm sure I'd love Brett because I love women who use power tools, when I realized in the dream that I didn't know if Brett was a woman or a man. It was right around then that I lost the dream entirely.

Sigh.

Anyway, Pride on Sunday was fun! I didn't get to see any of the parade, because I was working the HGTV booth at the street fair. We were giving out bookmarks with design tips from various HGTV stars and backpacks with the HGTV logo on them. The backpacks were hugely popular and we had decided to only give them out every half-hour on the half-hour in order to make our supply last all day. Once word got out, people were lined up at our booth 3 or 4 people deep about 10 minutes prior to each giveaway. You'd have thought we were stuffing the bags with money or gold.

Most of the people were very nice. A couple of the crowds did manage to get slightly out of hand in the frenzy of grabbing for free bags. One group nearly pushed our table over, which scared the hell out of us for a few seconds. I started giving a little speech to the assembled horde about 3 minutes prior each time where I asked the crowd to please remain calm, not to push over the table and endanger our lives, and reminding them that it was just a bag. I also spoke about how we were all there to love each other and how the day itself symbolized love. In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have proclaimed that "the bags are love, people," because who knows? I may have provoked some desperate-for-love homosexual into thinking that he or she would find true love with the bag.

Had any of these desperate bag-seekers been my type, I'd have totally included my email address as a "bonus" with the bag. But, no. Mostly lesbians. Not that I'M a desperate-for-love homosexual, of course.

One of the reasons that I love the annual Pride celebration is that it seems to draw people from all walks of life and all parts of the country. The people I usually hang out with are generally white guys around my own age. And it's really cool to be reminded once again that gays come in all sexes, shapes, colours, and packages.

There were even some heteros present, who came out (oops, wrong choice of words) just for the fun of it and to enjoy the day. And to collect free stuff.

And the swag was abundant, as usual. Our backpacks seemed to be the most popular item (based on the crowds and the fact that each batch was gone in 2 minutes flat), but there was a lot out there for people to pick up.

Condoms, condoms, condoms. Unless my life drastically changes, I now have enough condoms to last me the rest of my life. And I have them in many different colours and flavours, so any future lovers that I may have will face a plethora of choices in my bedroom. There's also lots of lube, but in little packets rather than tubes, which isn't my favorite thing. I can never seem to get the little packets open in the heat of the moment, you know?

Not only were many booths giving out condoms, at least one woman from a health clinic came down the street dropping piles of condoms on every table. She also left a supply of dental dams. I had to ask her what dental dams were and how they are used. I'm not kidding. Her first explanation involved placing it on the vagina for oral sex. I decided to pass on that, as did the other gay man with whom I was working. Then the kindly health care professional explained that dental dams can also be used by men when providing "oral stimulation of the anus." NOW she had my attention. Neat-o! Why didn't she say so in the first place? So I did take some dental dams and I will have them handy for whenever next there's someone in my bedroom. Watch out, guys! The Dental Dams are coming out!

Speaking of health clinics, there was one giving free, on-the-spot HIV testing. I wish I had had time to do it, but I was working and didn't have the 45-60 minutes that the process took. Since I don't have health insurance, I try to jump at any opportunity for free medical services. If I do happen to have any NYC-area doctors that read this blog and would be interested in giving a free physical, please get in touch. And dentists? A free check-up/cleaning would be much appreciated. Thanks!

My favorite booth was the one hawking Delta Air Lines, at which you could spin a wheel and, depending on where the counter landed, win free frequent flyer miles. Last year at Pride, I won 5,000 miles. This year, I won free coupons for drinks on the plane. Eh.

Cable television was out in force and, aside from HGTV, there were booths representing LOGO, Showtime, Q, and probably others that I don't remember. We were the only decorating/home improvement channel represented, which surprised me.

After I was finished working, I walked by the entertainment area and who should I see on the stage, but my friend, the divine Shavonne Conroy singing a pop song and dressed up like a drag queen. When she waved to me from the stage, I was a mini-celebrity in the crowd for about 2 seconds. This woman is fierce, not to mention stunningly beautiful, and I found it increasingly hard to believe that she was biologically capable of having a 14 year old daughter.

After that, I took a walk around Christopher Street, but was much too tired to contemplate anything other than heading home, plopping on the couch, and watching Queer As Folk.

On my way back to the train, I wandered into CVS, where I saw they were selling 2-liter bottles of Coca-Cola products for 79 cents! That's amazing! I picked up some divine nectar of the Gods and decided to try the new "Coke Zero," which seems to be the exact same thing as Diet Coke, but in a new package. Maybe they've removed that bitter diet soda aftertaste that I hate so much. Can't wait to try it.

And you should have seen me trying to get back to the train with my bags of soda. The police barricade all the streets around Sheridan Square so, in order to get anywhere, you have to walk blocks out of your way. I understand the barricades for the parade, but what's the point otherwise? The stoplights and crosswalks exist to help shuttle traffic and blocking them off to create artifical traffic patterns seems non-productive. And it wastes the time of all the cops assigned to guard them and make sure we homos don't use a crosswalk that's normally open.

If it's this big a deal, simply block off motor vehicle traffic between 14th Street and Houston Street for the day. It's a weekend and traffic would be lighter than normal anyway. Anyone who really needs to drive through the city on this day can be directed on 14th Street or Houston around the gay pride festival. It's not that difficult a concept.

And anyone who drives in Manhattan deserves what they get anyway.

Now...who wants to help me put all these condoms to use?

Pride Festivities

I'm just sitting here killing time between auditions today. Audition #1 was okay, but not stellar, so I doubt I'll get it. We'll see about #2.

If anyone is in town for the Gay Pride festivities this weekend, be sure to come over to the "street fair" on Sunday in the West Village. I'll be spending most of the day working the HGTV booth/table, as I did last year. I'm told the location our location will be somewhere around the intersexual...homosection...intersection of Washington and Morton or Leroy, but I don't have a clear picture in my mind yet of exactly where that is.

I'd love to see anyone who wants to come out. If you're a reader and don't actually know me, please do come over and introduce yourself. And bring me a Coke if you think of it.

Last year, we were giving out sun visors (while they lasted), so if you come over and talk to me, you'll also get free stuff. Actually, judging by last year, there'll be tons of cool swag, so come on by and collect it all.

But don't forget to say hi. And the Coke. :)

He's Nice...For A Weirdo

Last night at bowling, we played the current #1 team in the league, Making Contact, which originally represented Lincoln Center Theatre, but has since come to comprise people from various shows and institutions. I managed a 113 in the first game and 118 in the second, a highly respectable showing for me. Also, I beat my opposite number on Making Contact in both games. Whoo-Hoo!

Before going bowling, I joined Byrne for a sumptuous dinner at Ranch 1 after which we headed across the street to the Al Hirschfeld Theatre to see Christina Applegate star in the revival of Sweet Charity.

I had seen the production months ago when it was still in previews and I was curious to see how it was holding up, how Applegate was managing on her formerly broken foot, and if I was going to like it as much as I did before.

And the answers are: well, great, and yes.

The only major change I noticed was that Applegate is now dancing the full "There's Gotta Be Something Better Than This" number, which is much improved for her increased involvement. I had also had issues with her choreography in "I'm A Brass Band" and "If They Could See Me Now," but those numbers seem unchanged. "If They Could See Me Now" just isn't the bravura showstopper it should be, but this may not be Applegate's fault anymore; for all his inventive work elsewhere in the production, choreographer Wayne Cilento may be the one letting her down.

Walter Bobbie's direction is strictly for those sitting in the center only. I was sitting midway over on the auditorium left side of the orchestra and half the famous elevator scene was blocked by the scenery. I also noticed that Bobbie allows something I've only noticed elsewhere in Joe Mantello's direction of Wicked. What I mean is that nameless ensemble characters are allowed to stand downstage and block the leads from view, even when they are obscuring someone who is speaking. It's weird...it's such a quick fix ("Actor X, please stay upstage of Actor Y, who is speaking, so that he can be seen.), that I don't understand why it wasn't done. Unless Bobbie was lazy and only cared to sit in the center section while the show was rehearsing, of course. Gee, do you think that could be it?

The famous dance number "The Rich Man's Frug" was still pretty cool and it was nice sitting closer up this time and being able to study the actors' faces during it. It would still work better if the various sections were alternated with short Charity/Vittorio scenes, in which we'd see her reactions to the chichi club, but it's fine too the way it is.

Applegate's voice seems to be holding up nicely. I thought she might have sounded a little ragged at the beginning of the show, but whatever it was that I was noticing there disappeared or was ironed out quickly. However, I don't think she's well-served by having to begin "Where Am I Going?," her big second act ballad, a capella. I couldn't tell if her hesitancy in this moment was due to the emotions of the scene or if she just wasn't sure what was going to come out of her mouth.

Rob Bartlett, formerly of the Chicago and Little Shop of Horrors revivals, has taken over as dancehall boss Herman. Bartlett also, apparently, does a morning radio show called "Imus in the Morning," that I've never heard. I wonder if it's any good? And what does he do on the program? In any case, he's terrific here in a small role, as he has been in his previous revivals.

I also had a chance this time to recognize the wonderful work of an actor in the ensemble called Timothy Edward Smith. Smith doesn't dance in the big numbers (that I could tell), but he plays a variety of small parts and manages to inject some humour and character into every one of them. Among his bits: The 92nd Street Y receptionist, the waiter at Club Pompeii, the Central Park policeman, Vittorio's manservent, and the balloon guy at Coney Island. AND he understudies Denis O'Hare's Oscar. You see, this is totally the role I'd be playing if I were in this show. But Smith is fab!

So, yeah...go. It's fun. The score varies from the ordinary to the thrilling, but the performances here are terrific and this may be the best Sweet Charity we may see ever.

Insert Sassy Quotation Here

Tonight, I went to see one of the final performances of Brooklyn: The Musical (as opposed, I assume, to The Borough) on Broadway at the newly renamed Gerald Schoenfeld Theatre, formerly the Plymouth.

This show has been much maligned here in the press and the chat rooms and I was curious to catch it before it closes, just to see what all the fuss is about. It didn't receive a single Tony nomination and its box office figures have made it fodder for closing rumours almost since it opened last autumn. I've heard that the producers of Brooklyn give away free tickets like candy on Halloween, which might account for tonight's nearly full house; I only wish I'd been suitably connected into the comp pipeline.

Brooklyn is actually a show within a show in which a handful of urban street performers are acting out a modern "fairy tale," for which they've improvised sets and costumes from trash and other found objects. This tale tells the story of an orphaned French girl who becomes an international singing sensation and comes to Brooklyn in search of the father she never knew, who never even knew that she existed. In the process of searching for Dad, she runs afoul of a local diva singing superstar and finds herself in a sing-off at Madison Square Garden. Yeah.

The story is pretty insane, but works on some level if you don't think very hard about it. The biggest problem here is the score, which is composed (Har De Har Har) of generic pop ballads and stuff that would seem to be more at home in dance clubs than on the stage. There's little character expressed in song and, after awhile, I found myself tuning out a bit during the numbers.

But, you know, if you like that sort of American Idol/Mariah Carey/Wicked/scream-as-loud-as-you-can-type of singing, you'd probably like Brooklyn.

The cast was fine, doing as much as possible with the thin material. Eden Espinosa plays the central role of the orphaned French girl, whose name also happens to be Brooklyn. Though the character is born and raised in Paris, Espinosa doesn't burden her characterization with anything even remotely Gallic. There's no accent, no wonder at visiting New York for the first time, no problems understanding American urban street culture, nothing. I was confused by the choice. Perhaps it was made because of the play-within-a-play framework, and Espinosa's nameless street performer just isn't a very good actress. However, had I been directing, I'd have had Espinosa adopt a light French accent as Brooklyn and then drop that completely when she's "out of character." It would make for much more interesting transitions and underline how out of place Brooklyn really is in New York, despite her many protestations to the contrary.

The other performers were also fine, especially Ramona Keller as the American diva Paradice. My only problem with Keller is that she was way too young to be playing an aging diva. The cracks about her Paradice's longevity rang hollow and there was nothing in her performance to indicate that the character is past her prime in any way.

But can I mention something that really bugged the shit out of me? I always thought Broadway shows could afford to have someone, anyone, even an intern, proof the program copy before it goes off to be printed in the Playbill. First, Ramona Keller lists amongst her credits several recordings including "the Caroline or Change soundtrack." Huh-wha?! Has last season's Best Musical nominee already been made into a film and I didn't know about this? Or is it possible that an actress working at the top of her field on Broadway doesn't know the difference between a soundtrack and a cast album? And why has no one involved in the production caught the mistake? The show has only been running for 8 months! Second, I read in composer Mark Schoenfeld's bio (I wonder if he's related to the rich guy for whom the theatre is named?) the following: "They believed in Barri and I when we had nothing to believe in but ourselves..." and then he thanks many people who helped along the way. Okay, I understand that sometimes people speak incorrectly and this quote was, perhaps, taken verbatim from the man himself, but you don't put down in print something as obviously incorrect as this unless you're doing it for a specific reason. I can't figure out what that reason might have been.

For those of you who might not have gotten this in elementary school, here's how you can figure out whether to use "I" or "me" in a construction like this: Simply take out the other words and say the sentence using only "I" or "me." In this example, our two choices would be "They believed in me when we..." or what Schoenfeld went with, "They believed in I when we...". Now how hard is that? Really?

Schoenfeld (the composer, not the Shubert executive) was signing autographs in the back of the theatre afterward, something he apparently does after every performance. There was a sign in the lobby about it. Perhaps I should have asked HIM.

These mistakes LEAPT out at me the first time I read the program. Why didn't professionals catch them? This kind of sloppiness always baffles me.

Ugh.

Anyhow...it was fine. Nothing remarkable or special really. It came, it'll go and no one will remember a thing about it in a few years.

Hittin' The Bars...But Not Drinkin'

I've spent an inordinate amount of time in bars this week and it's only Tuesday. Well, actually, as I write this, it's early on Wednesday. And nary a drop of alcohol was consumed during my adventures.

Now get this straight...I'm just a mean green mother from outer space, and...no, nevermind, that's not me at all. That's someone entirely different.

What I meant to say was that it's not that I'm not drinking because I'm in the program (not that there's anything wrong with that; I know a bunch of awesome guys in Chicago who are in it) or because I vomited all over the steps at a party or because I got plastered and embarrassed my friends or simply because I just don't like the taste of alcohol. Mercy, no.

I'm not drinking at the moment because I just don't have the money to pay for the liquor. In the past, I would just stay away from the bars, but I began to realize that most of my friends hang out in bars and staying away simply because I's po' was seriously inhibiting my social life.

It's not as awful as it might sound. The worst part of it is not the lack of alcohol, but rather the lack of a prop. As many actors will tell you, it's sometimes difficult to figure out what to do with one's hands and I've often envied non-actors for their unstudied, unself-conscious way of just doing any old thing with these sometimes-awkward instruments and not caring how they look when they do it. I'm usually looking about at everyone else's posture and position in order to counter for some unseen audience as if my life was a Neil Simon play and one amongst my group of friends could, at any moment, turn to address those little people out there in the dark with a monologue.

But I digress...

What I mean to say is that, while hanging about in a bar, it can be very useful to have a glass in front of you. It gives you an excuse to divert your attention elsewhere for a moment if necessary and take a breather from the conversation. Or it gives you something to concentrate on if you're suddenly left out of the conversation or if the couple(s) next to you start making out.

Sometimes, when I'm not drinking, I will have someone heading to the bar also get me a glass of water. This solves my props issue, but the thing is that I dislike simply going to the bar and requesting water on my own, because it always makes me feel slightly awkward to be requesting something that doesn't cost anything. I'm much more comfortable if someone who can afford to drink also happens to pick up the water for me when buying his or her own beverage. At least something's going in the till.

Also, I know what you're thinking and no. In general, my friends do not buy me drinks, nor would I expect them to do so. My friends are, in general, not all that well off themselves and, while they may be able to afford their own liquor, can't really support me in a similar endeavour. So they don't offer and I don't expect it. Which is perfectly fine, believe me.

But I do accept drinks from strangers, in the rare instances when they are offered. I don't turn down free liquor. And don't think I'm going home with you just for buying me a drink either. If that's what you're looking for, then keep that tequila coming, darlin', and we'll see. And if the bar serves food, it wouldn't hurt your case if some wings or mozzerella sticks or nachos or even a burger suddenly appeared along with that margarita or shot or whatever. You never know if I've eaten that day or not and I never turn down food either. I still might not go home with you, but I will definitely thank my lucky stars for the benevolent angel who crossed my path that night. And that would be you. Aren't YOU lucky?

On Sunday, David was in town from one of those red states out in the middle somewhere and I was so happy that he called me to come hang out. I met him in a West Village bar on Christopher Street called Pieces, to which I'd never been. I was happy to see that Matt and Jeff were also there because it's always fun to see them too.

The men at Pieces were all over David like yellowjackets on an open can of Mountain Dew. These guys were (literally) tripping over me to get to him and after the fourth or fifth time this happened, I think I was declared officially invisible. Not that there was anyone there that I would have been interested in (my table excluded, of course), but it would have been nice if the guys had even spared me enough of a glance to verify my position and not trip over my size 12 Sketchers, thank you very much.

After Matt and Jeff left us, David and I adjourned to The Duplex, not my favorite bar ever, but David was in from out of town and I wasn't going to argue the point (too much). We were soon joined by Mike, but the highlight of that stop on the West Village Gay Bar Tour started before he even arrived.

David and I found a table upstairs and, almost immediately, I was targeted for flirting by a really cute, really drunk guy named Joe, who was wearing the popular "New Jersey: Only The Strong Survive" tee shirt. In addition to my new boyfriend, Poor Drunk Joe, David started a flirtation with Rafael, the Minature Puerto Rican.

Poor Drunk Joe proceeded to tell me how cute I was, how adorable, blah blah blah. (I wonder why it's only the really drunk guys who say these things?) He started feeling me up a little bit, which is usually fine. I don't mind a little touchy-feely in a bar, as long as pain isn't being inflicted and I don't feel threatened or repelled by the person's presence. We kissed at some point and my response to this was, "Hmmm...scotch."

PDJ then came right out with it and asked me if I wanted to have sex. I said that I'd love to have sex, but that I was there with my friend (David was watching this exchange with amusement) and, besides, I didn't think he was in any shape to be having sex.

But, let's be clear here...Had PDJ even been slightly lucid or if I had been there alone, it might have happened. He really was cute. Although, chances are that he would have passed out the moment we got horizontal anyway.

And David discovered at some point that Rafael, the Minature Puerto Rican, was faking it. It seems that the guy was from the Bronx or somewhere and didn't even speak Spanish, which would make him Nuyorican at best. David, a real-life Puerto Rican from Puerto Rico, didn't care for that.

Oh, and there was also the "straight" guy (or so he kept insisting) who was also quite hammered, but who kept coming to talk to us. I never did get his name. The Green Lantern, who was tending bar in a kilt, had to intervene with this guy several times and almost threw him out. He was pretty amusing though.

Anyhow, Mike did eventually join us and we went downstairs and grabbed a table there where we enjoyed the deafening sounds of the staff singing pop and the occasional show tune with a microphone turned up high, even though the room is only slightly bigger than my apartment.

Then it was off to Marie's Crisis, which was not hosting a particularly exciting crowd that evening. There were a lot of people taking solos and way too much Frank Wildhorn coming from the piano player. Though the place is usually a really good time, we didn't last long before heading next door to Rose's Turn, where, as we entered, a waitress was screeching something from Les Miserables, I think.

And that was it for me. Put a fork in me, I was done. And it was 2.30 in the fucking morning on a work night. But I was so happy to spend a little time with David, who doesn't come to town often, that I didn't care.

Tonight, I made the trek to the Lower East Side to the monthly WYSIWYG Talent Show at P.S. 122. It was a terrific program, as usual, and I must particularly laud the talents of MAK and Faustus, who never disappoint.

And there were, to quote Ann Reinking as Roxie Hart, "a whole BUN-CHA boys" (It's not as effective if you don't know the lady's voice; imagine Kathleen Turner with a cold. Or go out and get the original cast album of the Chicago revival...you'll see.) there that I knew, so I didn't have to sit all by myself as usual.

Not to go all Romper Room on your ass, but Mike was there and JP and Jon were there, as well as Matt and Jeff, and Michael. I also saw MAK's other half, K, and Byrne, though I was not sitting with either of them.

Afterward, we headed over to the Phoenix, another gay bar to which I'd never been. It was pleasant and divey, which is great. Love that in a bar. Best of all, there was no boom boom boom beat working its evil way into my soul from dance music being played way too loudly for comfort and conversation. Someone at the Phoenix must have noticed that they have no dance floor; I wish they'd pass the word to their breathren in Hell's Kitchen.

It was a really fun evening. Amongst other things there was a discussion with Jon about the various merits of farce and a funny misunderstanding with Mike when he mistook the word "acidic" for "Hassidic." Talk about farce...

Also, my raucous laughter continues to draw attention. It's all from the diaphragm, Jeff.

Happy Fathers' Day

So, it's Sunday, Fathers' Day, and I am still down in New Jersey spending the day with my Father. Whee!

Funny thing about this state...New Jersey has no television news outlets of its own and the residents here watch stations that originate in either New York City or Philadelphia. Here at the Forked River house, the cable system (Comcast, I think) actually carries both, giving the viewer a choice of media market. Since my family lived in suburban Philadelphia for many years (and my mother actually grew up in the city), my parents have, out of habit, continued to watch the Philadelphia stations that we've watched for years.

As far as television news goes, this means they watch WPVI-TV, Channel 6, the Disney-owned Philadelphia ABC affiliate that is the 1,000 pound gorilla of local news in the City of Brotherly Love. Since Philadelphia is such a large media market, anchors and reporters come to this station and NEVER leave. Ever. The people reporting the news on Channel 6 now are the same people who were reporting it 20 years ago when I was in junior high.

Except that there's this hunky new meteorologist named Adam Joseph (I bet the name's fake), who is HOT HOT HOT. The picture on the website does not do this man justice...you should see him in jeans and a polo shirt reporting the weather from a boardwalk somewhere down the shore. Whoa!

Do I have any Philadelphia-area readers who know anything about this guy? Of course, he must be gay. He just HAS to be.

Oh, and being down the shore for the weekend seems to have triggered another round of odd dreams.

In this particular one, I had moved to a studio apartment in Minneapolis (of all places). The weird thing about this apartment was the doorway to the kitchen. There was no actual door, but, if I hit the kitchen wall in just the right way, a door would appear. But the door didn't go all the way down...there was a foot to a foot and a half gap at the bottom.

And, when I couldn't figure out how to get rid of the magic door again, I ended up just sliding back into the main room of the apartment throught the gap. And that's when I noticed that the door was invisible from the other side. Weird, huh?

I was very nervous and scared about the move and had three guests over at the apartment at various times. Two were a man and a woman, a couple I recognized in the dream, but I no longer remember who they were. The third was Mike. I was surprised to see Mike, since he rarely leaves Manhattan, let alone travels to the midwest, but he explained to me that he had come to Minneapolis for a "booty call" and, since he was there anyway, decided to drop in on me.

I remember yelling out to him from the kitchen that the mysterious door was "just like Star Trek." I don't think he was all that impressed, especially considering that I couldn't figure out how to open it again. He did not seem so when I slid out the bottom, which must have looked like materializing out of thin air from his perspective.

In retrospect, many of the Star Trek films are predicated on having equipment fail or not work properly and, if you watch a marathon of the movies you would never want to travel on the Enterprise, as nothing on it every seems to actually work. So, perhaps, it was fitting that I related my kitchen door that appears, but doesn't go all the way to the floor, to those films.

As far as I know, there were no other sci-fi accoutrements in the apartment and it seemed to be a rather spacious studio on the top floor of a house. I could see the roof sloping at various angles, but there was plenty of headroom in the apartment everywhere I went. I did not see the bathroom in the dream, but I'm assuming that there must have been one.

There was a fireplace too, now that I think of it, a real, wood-burning fireplace.

And, as usual, I have no idea what any of it means.

Saturday in the Country

Didn't do much today. Went for a bike ride with my father. Tried to go for a swim, but the day was overcast and the water was really cold.

Tonight, I took Dad (Mom too, actually) to see the current Brad Pitt/Angelina Jolie opus Mr. And Mrs. Smith. Have you heard about this movie? Apparently Pitt has had some marital difficulties that may or may not involve Jolie. If you looked really really hard, you might have seen a "news" item about this.

Now, I don't care a whit who Brad Pitt is fucking or not fucking. I do not know him, nor do I know Angelina Jolie, Jennifer Aniston, Gwyneth Paltrow or anyone else that Brad Pitt may or may not have fucked in the past.

Can you tell that I like saying "Brad Pitt" and "Fuck"?

If I ever do get to fuck Brad Pitt, I may or may not tell you. On the one hand, it's not the gentlemanly thing to fuck a major movie star and then go tattle about it on the internet. But, on the other hand...wow...I would totally have to tell someone about THAT!

The movie? Oh, yes...the movie. Pitt and Jolie do have a certain chemistry together, but I still think she could kick his ass into next Tuesday. I would love to have seen a movie starring Jolie and Clark Gable in his prime.

Movie isn't too bad if you don't think about it too hard. There are a lot of clever touches and there's a certain excitement in the major gun battles that destroy, among other things, a perfect suburban home and a typical American house and garden store.

Whoever thought to stick Adam Brody in a Fight Club tee shirt at one point is genius. I think I was the only person in the theatre who noticed.

I get the feeling that there were a lot of scenes left on the cutting room floor for one reason or another. The reason I think so is that there's not a lot of "connective tissue" between the scenes. Often I wondered how Pitt and Jolie got from one location to another or out of some sticky hiding place. Movie doesn't really bother to explain a lot of that, but that's what I mean about not thinking too hard.

Also...

I actually ate three meals today for the first time in I have no idea how long. So I feel fat and bloated and ugly. The amount of food I had today alone could last me a week at home. My mother is an excellent cook, but...wow...

Can't wait to get home tomorrow.

All Alone In New Jersey

I arrived at my parents' house this afternoon in time for a wonderful meal of baby back ribs, corn on the cob, and salad. Mmmm...

But now my parents have left the house to go spend the night at their church as a part of some kind of outreach program to homeless people and I am all alone down here.

It wouldn't be so bad if this was a place where I had ever spent any time and knew people, but it's not. So there's no old friends to call up and with whom to go hangout.

My parents have even gotten rid of their high speed internet connection and gone back to dial-up, so I'm pretty much stuck in the bedroom if I want to surf the net.

Argh...

Back on Sunday.

This Is A Bowling Alley, Not A Bistro

Celebrity Sighting of the Day: actor Richard Kind, currently starring as Max Bialystock in The Producers on Broadway, on Eighth Avenue taking a turn onto West 44th Street after his performance tonight.

At the Broadway Show Bowling League tonight, we bowled against a team called Striking Headsets, made of (what else?) stage managers. I rolled a pitiful 97 in the first game and a less pitiful 110 in the second. While this is an improvement over what I managed last week, it's still not what I know I can do.

Oh, and I got paid today, so, when I got home from work, I pulled out the big stack of bills and started writing checks. And I ended up writing checks for more than what I brought in this week. I hate that.

Whoo-Hoo!

Dunna Shore

Celebrity Sighting of the Day (yesterday, really): I saw actor John C. Reilly, one of the stars of our current revival of A Streetcar Named Desire heading down Ninth Avenue in the 50's, not too far from Studio 54. This is the second time I've seen Reilly out and about. I love living so near Times Square.

I'm in the midst of preparing to decamp and head down to the Jersey Shore to see my parents for Fathers' Day weekend. I had planned to spend the weekend by the side of the pool in their complex, which is not as nice as the one at the Florida condo, but it'll do. And, of course, it looked like it's to be rain...all weekend.

In fact, we had another monsoon just this afternoon when the skies opened up, with me, natch, 15 minutes from home. Soaked. Again. And this is WITH an umbrella.

Perfect.

There's nothing like spending a long weekend with your parents in a place where you don't know anyone else and can't leave the house due to the weather. Argh. This always happens when I plan a weekend down there.

Spent some time on Tuesday reconnecting with my friend PJ, who was in town visiting from his home in Orlando. PJ and I used to work together when I worked for a major Broadway producing organization (which is now somewhat on the skids...ahem). Anyway, PJ was also an actor, but gave it up to move to Florida, where he has supposedly met this great guy with whom he now owns a jacuzzi (and the house that's around the jacuzzi, I suppose, but I stopped listening at "jacuzzi"). And he teaches and directs at a high school, which is ever so cool.

I have never met the supposed boyfriend/partner, but I'm guessing that he's probably NOT a giant hallucination or otherwise some figment of PJ's imagination. Although I could be wrong about that. The Florida sun can play tricks with the mind, you know.

PJ used to live here in the neighbourhood and he couldn't believe how much it's changed in the years he's been gone. We met for lunch at McDonald's, where we commiserated about how fat we've become. I wonder how that happens?

Anyhow, off to bowling...

Pizza Pizza

I love pizza. It's one of my favourite kinds of food and I like all sorts of things on my pizza from your more traditional meats like beef, sausage, and pepperoni to more outre stuff like eggplant, ham and pineapple, BBQ chicken, shrimp, scallops, and so on. Veggie-wise, I like mushrooms (not really vegetables, I know) and can deal with onions and tomatoes, but that's sort of it. Maybe spinich or broccoli.

I'm not so much a veggie guy. But I love extra cheese. As much cheese as they can put on a pizza. Sometimes you can get cheddar or ricota on there too. It's all good. I love cheese.

And I don't really have pizza all that often.

But this week I've been having it a lot. Why? Well, let me tell you...

Domino's has this deal going here where you can get 2 pizzas for the price of one on Tuesdays. I know, I know...Domino's?! Okay, so it's not the best pizza in thie world, but they DO take credit cards.

Last Tuesday, I ordered 2 large pizzas and for the price of about $15.00, I had two delicious pies delivered to my apartment. I ate my fill and put the rest in the refridgerator. And have continued to eat slices of my bounty throughout the week.

It's a week later and there are still a couple of slices left. I've been eating off those two pizzas for a whole week. For about $15. Charged to my AmEx.

Not a bad deal.

Although I seriously need to head back to my favorite dollar store to pick up some groceries.

Catching Up With Friends

I completely forgot to mention that I've spent some time over the past week or so seeing friends in shows. I try to get out and see friends in shows as much as possible because I know how much it means to performers to have the support of their friends. And, selfishly, I'm hoping that these people will support me when the time comes for me to be in another show.

My friend Harry and I went to see our friend Tom play Joe in an off-off-Broadway production of the Stephen Sondheim/George Furth musical Merrily We Roll Along at the Gene Frankel Theatre down in the East Village. I'd give you all the information, but I believe the production has already closed.

I'd never seen a production of Merrily and was excited to see it. For those of you that care, this was the revised libretto that was first seen several years ago in a revival at the York Theatre here in town and also used at the Kennedy Center a couple of summers ago for the production that was part of the Sondheim Celebration.

It was an excellent production with a terrific cast. Tom was great and it was such fun seeing him. The only real problem was that the director tended to end the transitional scenes with awkward blackouts that basically defeated the purpose of those same transitional scenes.

And I was joined by Jim and Harry again to go see our friend Hector star in his new revue, What's Your Problem?, at The Encore, a newish piano bar/cabaret space in Times Square.

Now Hector is one of the more talented people that I know. Not only is he starring in this revue, he also wrote all the songs with his writing partner (who was on the piano musical directing the show). It was SO cool.

The show was loosely organized around the stupid things that people do that annoy us all. Standout numbers included "If We Were Gay-Married," "Fleet Week," and "Thanks For A Lovely First Time, Mr. Wilby," which I may need to borrow from Hector as an audition piece.

Hector's backup performers, Dawn Trautman, Travis Bloom, and especially Matthew Myers, all had their moments in the spotlight and each got to shine, even though this was clearly Hector's show. He was the STAR. And why not? He's a winning performer and the whole audience loved him from the moment he walked onstage.

Now I just need to get him to hire ME to do one of his shows.

Anyway, you can find information on the run of What's Your Problem? here. Go if you can. And tell Hector that I sent you.

If You're Not With Me...

Last night I finally got around to seeing Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith. It's not that I didn't want to see it, I did. But the abject failure of George Lucas' previous two attempts to reclaim the magic of the original trilogy had dampened my enthusiasm for seeing this.

I've always been a huge fan of Star Wars and one of my first movie memories is being taken to see the original film, which, apparently we are now to refer to as Episode IV - A New Hope (yeah...that's NOT going to happen), as a child. I even had a metal Star Wars lunchbox in the first grade. There's nothing more thrilling than sitting in a darkened theatre and hearing John Williams' soaring theme music and reading words as they scroll up the screen away from you while setting the scene and reminding you of what's going on.

But I was so disappointed with the wooden acting, disregarding of plot and continuity, and heavy reliance on CGI effects in The Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones that Lucas just about lost me.

Just About. I still was excited to see this new film, even though I was prepared to be, by turns, bored and incredulous for the entire two and half hours. Am I jaded? Yes. But it's Lucas' fault for churning out two embarrassing movies that tarnished the very words Star Wars.

Oh, and insisting on going back and "fixing" the original trilogy? Not cool, George. I understand that you didn't have the technology back then to fulfill your complete vision, but that was part of the charm, especially of the original. The tinkering doesn't completely ruin the experience of the original films, but it's not for lack of trying.

Anyway...(and there will probably be spoilers coming, so be warned)

Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith is an amazing movie. I love nearly every second of it. While I was sitting in the dark last night in the Ziegfeld Theatre, it was 1977 all over again. And it's all the more amazing since the film's outcome has been a forgone conclusion for 30 years. It couldn't end any way other than it does, and yet, I was on the edge of my seat for much of the film, especially toward the climax.

Even Hayden Christensen, whose impression of a giant redwood in Attack of the Clones was one of that film's more obvious problems, gives a pretty great performance here as the troubled Jedi who must decide where his loyalties lie and what he will do for the sake of love. And he's helped by Lucas' impressive screenplay in which there's little that black and white.

And I was totally in love with Padme and Anikin's apartment in the Republic's capital city. They seem to have 360 degree views (with a terrace)and be right in the heart of the metropolis. And the decor was modern, but very comfortable-looking.

More questions and observations:

Padme and Anikin are supposed to be keeping their marriage a secret because Jedis are supposed to remain pure, and, I suppose, sex and love would be a distraction from their mission. (Are all the Jedis we meet in the course of the films celibate virgins? That would certainly go a long way toward explaining the dynamic between Luke and Han in the original films.) But Padme and Anikin are clearly living together and sleeping together. Has no one bothered to ask Ani where he's staying these days? Or are the Jedis a "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" kind of organization?

And Padme is rather obviously pregnant, a fact that goes unmentioned by others throughout the film until close to the end when Obi-Wan asks her if Anikin is the father. How could everyone have not known this?

I was charmed by a view of Christensen's bare chest in a scene in which he awakes in bed, until I realized that I was seeing Darth Vader's nipples. Ewww... Who needed to know that Lord Vader sleeps in his boxers?

The climatic scene that features two light saber battles, one between Anikin and Obi-Wan and the other between Yoda and the Emperor was really exciting. Even more so given the fact that all four characters must survive. I thought of this about midway through and it still didn't dampen my enthusiasm.

The scene in which Anikin nearly burns to death, necessitating the dark suit, etc. of the original films was horrifying to watch. And his transformation by medics into the Darth Vader of our nightmares is fascinating. Alec Guinness' Obi-Wan in the original says of Vader "He's more machine now than man," and we see in this scene why that's the case. There's so much technical apparatus keeping Vader alive that he's pretty much a walking, high-tech iron lung.

And how weird was it to finally hear the voice of James Earl Jones as Vader, but to hear him speaking lines that young Anikin would have spoken, asking about Padme, etc.? A Darth Vader who has emotions? Yikes!

Natalie Portman doesn't have a tremendous amount to do here as Padme, but she excels as a real woman in love caught up in the events of the film by a fate she cannot control. I loved how, in an stab at continuity with the original film, Padme is shown in one scene with her hair in the "cinnamon bun" style that Princess Leia made famous in 1977. So Leia's do in Star Wars was retro chic, was it?

Padme is shown to possess an independent spirit though, as befits the mother of Princess Leia, the leader of the Rebel Alliance and one of sci-fi's strongest women. She thinks nothing of jumping in a ship while great with child and flying herself off to a planet that seems to be nothing but volcanos and boiling lava in search of Anikin. And let's not forget that Padme IS a member (though not a terribly influential one) of the Senate (representing her home planet Naboo), a position that her daughter would also hold (representing HER home world of Alderaan) until the Imperial Senate is dissolved by the Emperor and Leia is captured by Darth Vader in the opening moments of Star Wars. Padme is the one to observe how liberty falls in the face of security and I wonder if any Republicans out there read anything about the current administration into the rise of the Emperor here?

And I just loved how everything neatly fell into place for the events of the first film to happen 20+ years later. Normally, I hate that, but here...love.

And I also loved how stand alone the film is as a prologue to the original trilogy. Bascially you can disregard and forget The Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones and start right here.

Although, I would be torn were I introducing these films to someone who was unfamiliar with them. It would make sense to first view Revenge of the Sith and then the original trilogy, but I'd hate to deprive anyone of the original trilogy's questions and mysteries, not to mention Darth Vader's first entrance, which is the stuff of nightmares.

Okay, so who owns the trilogy on DVD and wants to have a viewing party?

And who wants to go see Revenge of the Sith again?

Worst. Game. Ever.

Celebrity Sighting of the Day: actor Alexander Gemignani standing outside Vintage on Ninth Avenue having a smoke.

Tonight we bowled a team called Waste Management that comprises folks from several theatres and shows. I bowled an embarrassing 88 in the first game and a slightly less embarrassing 101 in the second. I couldn't believe how badly I bowled this week, especially considering that I bowled my all-time high game just last week.

Argh.

Where's My Gun?

I just came in from what must be the worst show of the recently ended theatre season. I would never have guessed that something that appeared so benign could turn out to be so awful. Guess what it was...

Okay, I'll just go ahead and tell you. It was the Broadway production of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang at the newly rechristened Hilton Theatre, formerly the Ford Center for the Performing Arts. I was appalled.

I was sort of excited about this show. I've never been a big fan of the original film (a sort of Mary Poppins-lite that just doesn't work at all), but this production has snagged a stellar cast of well-regarded New York stage actors that should have made it a must-see evening. Plus, there's the scenic effect that everyone's been talking about, in fact, really the ONLY thing that has anything resembling buzz about this show, the flying car which gives the show its title.

Plot and coherence obviously didn't matter much to this musical's creators, but I will make some attempt to recount the wafer thin story. Widowed inventor Caractacus Potts is attempting to raise his two children in some vaguely period England with the help of his eccentric father and a rich lady who just keeps on stopping by the house. The kids convince Dad to buy a broken down car, which he then restores. The problem is that the car is also wanted by the Baron Bomburst of Vulgaria because it seems to have a mind of its own and can do amazing things like float on the sea, fly, bring home the bacon, and fry it up in a pan. Well...maybe not those last two.

Not sure what the Baron wants to do with the car, because that's never actually explained. Also unexplained: why the "Kingdom of Vulgaria" seemed to be ruled by a Baron. Do I need to explain to the people behind a show that originated in London the various levels of aristocracy and society? Of course, a "Kingdom" is ruled by a King (or a Queen, because the term "Queendom," though correct, never did catch on). An area ruled by a Baron is called a "Barony," folks. And, incidentally, Baron is just about the lowest rung on the titled ladder. It's the German equivalent of what in England is called an Earl and in France a Count. The only rank lower, I believe, is Viscount.

But I digress...

Caractacus Potts is played by New York favourite Raul Esparza. Erin Dilly is his lady friend, Truly Scrumptious. Marc Kudisch and Jan Maxwell play the Baron and Baroness Bomburst. Robert Sella and Chip Zien are two of the Baron's henchmen. Kevin Cahoon is the Childcatcher. And Philip Bosco normally plays Grandpa Potts, but he was out of the show tonight and his role was played by understudy JB Adams. The kids are Henry Hodges and Ellen Marlow.

The show here is truly stolen by Tony nominees Kudisch and Maxwell as the Baron and Baroness. They play in a style of over-the-top comedy that seems to be from an entirely different show than the rest of the cast. It's as if the actors mistakenly wandered in from Spamalot to do a few scenes. Maxwell, in particular, is a riot as the droll Baroness who seems to be part AbFab character and part Donatella Versace by way of Maya Rudolph. Kudisch is doing a variation on his usual self-important man-child, but he can do this sort of thing in his sleep and never be less than amusing.

Chitty's third Tony nominee in an acting category, Erin Dilly, also puts on a good show with the little bit of material she's given. Her Truly Scrumptious is arch and witty and has a way with a quip, even one at her own expense ("You should meet my sisters-Madly and Deeply," she says at one point). She a smart, modern, biker babe who falls in love with two children and must decide whether to put up with their goofball father in the process.

Raul Esparza must have really needed the money.

Seriously. I cannot, for the life of me, figure out what else would have drawn him to the central role of Caractacus Potts. As well-meaning goofballs go, this part is pretty colourless and the actor has almost nothing to play here. There's little physical comedy and the character is written to be somewhat absent-minded so not much verbal wordplay. He does get to dance a bit more here than in past shows, but I can't imagine that Esparza, the darling of the local critics in just about everything that he does, isn't chafing at the bit. There are no quirks, no tics, no indication that Caractacus might be a little odd or even just a little different from the average person. Nothing. Not a damn thing.

Sella and Zien are basically the Gangsters from Kiss Me Kate plunked down into this story. They do try some comedy that sounds like it might be partially improvised, and some of it works. A lot of it doesn't. But they have a handle on the inept flunky routine and their scenes aren't really painful.

Kevin Cahoon, an actor who's as cute as a button normally, here is costumed and made up like a refugee from The Nightmare Before Christmas. His Childcatcher is another radical departure from the style and tone of the rest of the show in that the idea here seems to be to make the character genuinely scary and like something out of a child's nightmare. Which is certainly a way to go and Cahoon is excellent in achieving it, except that it just doesn't gel with the cartoony atmosphere of the rest of the production.

For example, there's a potentially frightening moment in the second act in which Cahoon attacks Dilly just as a blackout ends the scene that was alarming in its implications for such a "child-friendly" fluffy musical. Is he going to injure her? Rape her? Kill her? We're unsure, but, given the realistically scary nature of the Childcatcher, any of those is a possibility. And you'll never guess how librettist Jeremy Sams resolves the situation...he simply ignores and/or forgets about it. When Dilly enters for her next scene, there is no mention of the attack, what happened, or how she escaped. Lovely.

Adams was fine, filling in for Bosco, in yet another role that isn't given a whole lot to do. The kids were cute and sang well.

And the car. Yes, the car. Okay, this is the real "star" of the production. Yes, it flies. And...spoiler alert...if you've seen Cats or Wicked, you've seen the car fly. Only before it was a giant tire or a screaming actress. I was very disappointed here that the trumpeted effect was merely a crane that raises and lowers the car at various angles. Ho Hum. Seen it. It may have been inventive 20 years ago, but, now? Not so much.

The score for this musical, written by Richard M. Sherman and Robert B. Sherman, is pretty piss poor and there's not really a good song to be heard all night. Most of the songs stops the show in its tracks, rather than advancing the plotline at all. The libretto, by the aforementioned Jeremy Sams, hardly makes any sense. The Tony-nominated scenic design by Anthony Ward is nice, but unremarkable. Ward's costumes range from the practical to the bizarre. And the choreography by Gillian Lynne is also unremarkable. Adrian Noble's direction was pretty directionless.

If you're interested in seeing this, go soon. The theatre was half empty tonight and my friend Randy and I took the opportunity at intermission to move from the balcony to the mezzanine, which is, inexplicitly called the Dress Circle at the Hilton. The kids that were there were bored and listless throughout much of the show and only seemed to pay attention during moments of booming sound effects or big, pretty visuals, like the car flying. I doubt most of the younger ones could follow the story, or even cared to try.

It's a huge company and can't last long on half-full houses. But, truthfully, this is not a very good show, so I certainly don't blame audiences for staying away in droves. There's plenty of stuff out there to which you can take the kids. No one needs or wants a third rate musical of a fourth rate movie.

Postmortem, Part II

I have more thoughts on Sunday's broadcast of the Tony Awards...Surprise, Surprise! Also, I wanted to highlight other interesting tidbits that have been pointed out to me by readers and/or friends in the meantime.

While I mentioned Cherry Jones' salute to fellow nominee Kathleen Turner, I completely forgot to mention a similar tribute by Doubt playwright John Patrick Shanley to his play's only true rival for the Best Play award, The Pillowman. Again, very classy.

Speaking of Cherry Jones, I had no idea that she and Glass Menegerie actress Sarah Paulson were a couple. I feel like Belinda in the first act of Noises Off..."Well, that's one thing I didn't know." Like the Tin Man, I too have been found by many people searching for "Sarah Paulson gay" in their search engines. I didn't even recognize Paulson sitting next to Jones during the ceremony.

I wish we'd gotten to see more of playwright Edward Albee's speech after being given a Lifetime Achievement Tony Award in the group of Tonys given out prior to the broadcast. In the brief clip that was shown, Albee touchingly dedicated the award to his partner of 35 years who'd just passed away a month ago. This was an important moment for a giant of American literature and deserved more time.

It has been pointed out to me by an Anonymous commenter that when La Cage aux Folles took the award for Best Revival of a Musical, the show once again bested a Stephen Sondheim show, this time the revival of Pacific Overtures. Again, I can't believe I didn't notice that myself. It's not the egregious wrong against humanity and the known and unknown universe that occurred when the original production bested Sunday in the Park with George in the mid-80's, but it's still noteworthy. While I enjoyed this Pacific Overtures, its critical reception elsewhere was mixed. Also, it was only scheduled for a limited run at Studio 54 and has been closed for months. It's not really a surprise that this occurred, but it's sad nonetheless.

A reader named Rich reminded me of a piece of the history between two of the nominees for Best Actress in a Musical that I, of course, knew, but somehow forgot to mention. Several seasons ago, when Throughly Modern Millie was trying out at the La Jolla Playhouse in California, its leading lady was let go just days before the opening and replaced by her understudy. Erin Dilly, a nominee this year for her work in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, returned to (relative) obscurity, while the understudy, Sutton Foster went on to acclaim, a Tony Award, and stardom. In fact, this season's production of Little Women, which earned Foster her nomination this year, came to fruition largely because its producers were able to secure her participation. Dilly and Foster reportedly are friends, so perhaps they consoled each other Sunday night after Victoria Clark beat them both out for the award.

Getting back to Pacific Overtures for a moment, The Rebel Prince himself wrote to tell me that the show didn't perform a number on the Tonys because, apparently, CBS doesn't allow numbers from productions that have closed. Huh. Can I tell you what complete bullshit this is? This is a fairly recent decree; in the past productions such as Side Show and the revival of Once Upon A Mattress performed numbers on the Tony telecast even after closing. Bullshit, I say.

I was also informed by another Anonymous reader that the whole "Razzle Dazzle" routine was intended as a tribute to the late actor Jerry Orbach, as well as Fred Ebb. My mistake. Due to what I assume must have been a massive technical meltdown, Orbach's name was never mentioned on the telecast. It was a nice though to honour Orbach, an actor who had quite a stage career in the '60's and '70's originating roles in many shows now considered classics. What bothers me about this, however, is that Orbach hadn't be on Broadway since 1980, having spent the last 25 years on television and in the movies. Even when he hit the career jackpot of Law and Order, a lucrative gig that brought him back to New York full time, Orbach never appeared on stage again. I'm not saying that Orbach didn't deserve mention, but a "special" tribute in this way? Why, exactly? No idea.

Anyway, that's it on this topic for now. If I think of anything else, I'll be sure to let you know.

Back in the Chorus

Remember the Village Light Opera Group, the company that produced the production of My Favorite Year that I was in a couple of months ago? Well, every summer they do a fund-raising concert in Vermont and I have been invited to participate this summer.

But wait, Jere, you're saying? Don't you fuckin' hate choral music? Doesn't sitting and going over music and learning parts and trying to hear your line drive you up a fuckin' wall?

Well...yes.

So why am I doing this? Well, it's a bid to increase my musicianship a bit. I haven't seriously sung in quite a while and whatever skills I may have had at this whole choral thing have, sadly, gone out the window.

I love to sing, but, for me, singing is part of creating a character and playing a role. Singing for its own sake doesn't much interest me. I hated it in high school and I hated it in college.

But it's really not much of a time committment at all. Just a rehearsal for 3 hours once a week.

Of course, I'm watching the clock and practically climbing the walls for that ENTIRE 3 hours, but whatever. It won't kill me. And I hope it will, thus, make me stronger.

And it's not like I'm doing a whole lot else at the moment either.

I walked home in the rain from the first rehearsal last night. The program itself is a nice mix of showtunes and Gilbert and Sullivan. The G&S isn't all that interesting, but these people love it and so that stuff simply MUST be included. Sadly, nothing from My Favorite Year, which I thought odd considering that they are doing music from their previous production, Princess Ida.

We'll see how it goes.

Down Came The Rain

This morning on the way to the Desk Jockey Day Job, it was so hot that I was thinking that we'd skipped spring and moved straight into summer. But not so...

Judging by the sudden rainstorm that started pouring from the skies (of course, just before I had to leave the office), it must be monsoon season here in the Big Apple.

It was incredible...the sky just opened up and suddenly rivers were flowing the gutters and streets began to flood.

Luckily, I had my handy-dandy umbrella in my bag. But I still managed to get soaked. Argh.

Postmortem

So did everyone tune in the Tony Award telecast this evening? It was a remarkably dull evening and broadcast was rife with technical problems. But there were some definite highlights.

Bill Irwin's win in the Best Actor in a Play category for his George in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? came as a sort of surprise to me, but it's very much deserved. And he gave a beautiful, heartfelt speech. Did you see how excited Kathleen Turner was for him? You'd have thought she'd just won herself.

Cherry Jones' tribute to Turner and the cast of Virginia Woolf after besting her for Best Actress in a Play was extremely classy.

Christina Applegate's crawling out of the pit after a stuntwoman dressed as her twirled around a lamp-post and promptly fell off the stage was hysterical. The lady has a sense of humour and it was in evidence tonight.

The presentations from The Light in the Piazza and The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee were terrific and should do a lot to sell some tickets to their shows. I actually got goosebumps at the climax of the Piazza number. Spelling Bee's calling of Al Sharpton to the stage as part of their number was brilliant and funny and really showcased what their show is like.

And there was also a lot of questionable stuff going on that either didn't work or was just poor.

I've never seen a dynamic performer like host Hugh Jackman just fade into the background as he did tonight. His banter with Billy Crystal fell mostly flat and his opening medley of songs about dancing was a one joke affair that went downhill after he joked that having him dance made his action movie producers nervous. As the broadcast proceeded, Jackman pretty much disappeared leaving his Emcee chores to the unseen announcer.

None of the other musical numbers from the nominated shows did much for me. The Dirty Rotten Scoundrels number in particular seemed really off kilter in some way.

Robert Goulet gets this year's Carol Channing Award for Big Ugly Glasses worn to read the TelePrompTer during the La Cage Aux Folles segment. Could he really not have memorized his part, which was pretty much based on what he's already performing eight times a week anyway?

Could they not have made a few minutes to do a number from the nominated, but closed, Pacific Overtures?

They could certainly have cut the awful Hugh Jackman/Aretha Franklin duet on "Somewhere." Franklin did not sound good. The song was there nominally as a tribute to Stephen Sondheim, but didn't really work because A) they picked a song for which he only wrote lyrics and B) Franklin seemed to be making up her own lyrics at one point.

And why was Jesse L. Martin up there doing "Razzle Dazzle" with the cast of Chicago? It was ostensibly a tribute to theatre people who have passed away this year, but how did this honour anyone other than Fred Ebb?

As at most award shows, the banter between presenters pretty much sucked. Why do these shows persist in this? It NEVER works. Just send out a single person and get down to business, please.

Whomever is producing these broadcasts, really needs to call me in at some point to cut the fat and point out where things need to be finessed a bit. And they also need to speak with whomever produces other live awards shows and see how to iron out technical snafus BEFORE the live broadcast.

Ugh.

Celebrity Sighting of the Day

I totally saw actor and sometimes movie star John C. Reilly in the Duane Reade at 8th Avenue and 53rd Street, just a few doors down from Studio 54 where he is currently starring in A Streetcar Named Desire. He gets to the theatre around 6.30pm for an 8.00pm curtain. Neat.

The Tony Awards

The Tony Awards are this Sunday at 8.00pm EDT on CBS. I decided that I'm not going to write a big post of predictions this year, because, first, I have not yet seen all the contenders, so it's difficult to make a sensible prediction in that case. Second, this has been an ususual season in the sense that there's so much good work out there that, in looking over the nominees, there are many categories where each and every nominee deserves the award and I couldn't begrudge a single choice. I would not have wanted to be a voter this year; it would have been amazingly tough to make some of these decisions.

So, what I'm going to do instead is make some random observations, based on what I've seen and what I've heard. And I bet there'll be some predictions in the mix as well.

And here's where I lay the cards on the table. I did not or have not yet seen the following nominated productions: Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Sight Unseen, The Rivals, and Whoopi, The 20th Anniversary Show. I saw Sweet Charity in previews and Doubt and The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee in their off-Broadway runs, prior to transferring. I saw Laugh Whore on television. Okay, then, let's go...

-The categories of Best Actor in a Musical, Best Featured Actor in a Musical, Best Featured Actress in a Play, and Best Featured Actor in a Play all contain multiple nominees from a single show. Historically, this bodes ill for these performers as it tends to split support from voters who enjoyed that show, but don't tell that to last season's Best Actress in a Musical, Idina Menzel, who won in that year's most competitive race and bested costar (and Broadway darling) Kristin Chenoweth in the process.

-The technical categories are, for the first time this year, broken up into separate categories for plays and musicals. As a result, there is only one designer competing against himself in any of the categories: lighting designer Donald Holder has two of the four nominations for Best Lighting of a Play for his work on Gem of the Ocean and A Streetcar Named Desire.

-However, as usual, there is a choreographer competing against himself. There are so few marquee choreographers at any one time that this particular situation crops up almost every year. This season, it's Jerry Mitchell who has the honours, earning nods for his work on Dirty Rotten Scoundrels and the revival of La Cage aux Folles.

-The category of Best Featured Actress in a Musical contains what is probably a historic first. Kelli O'Hara is nominated for her turn as Clara in The Light in the Piazza and Celia Keenan-Bolger is up for her Olive in The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee. In the regional mountings of Piazza in Seattle and Chicago prior to the show's run here, it was Keenan-Bolger who played Clara. I have no idea if Keenan-Bolger left Piazza voluntarily or was fired and replaced by O'Hara, but how lovely that both actresses get their day in the sun here.

-Speaking of the Best Featured Actress in a Musical category, the favorite here appears to be Spamalot's Sara Ramirez, who plays The Lady of the Lake. Keeping in mind that I haven't seen the work of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang's Jan Maxwell (an excellent actress who I've loved in other things), all the other nominees have much more substantial parts that are much more essential to their shows than Ramirez's. Ramirez even has a song in which she complains about how small her part is and how she disappears in the second act. And yet she's the favorite. I don't get it at all.

-In the "It's A Small World After All" Department, nominees Laura Linney (Sight Unseen) and Amy Ryan (A Streetcar Named Desire) co-starred in the last Broadway revival of Chekhov's Uncle Vanya as Yelena and Sonya respectively. Ryan snagged a Tony nod there too. And Dirty Rotten Scoundrels nominees Norbert Leo Butz and Sherie Rene Scott have worked together TWICE before, in Jason Robert Brown's acclaimed off-Broadway musical The Last Five Years and as replacements on Broadway in Rent (she was a Maureen and he was a Roger). And, come to think of it, Gem of the Ocean's Phylicia Rashad was the first replacement Witch in the original production of Into The Woods, which means that she shared the stage nightly with Dirty Rotten Scoundrels' Joanna Gleason in a production directed by this year's nominee for his direction of The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, James Lapine. The last time Spamalot director Mike Nichols did a Broadway musical was 1966's The Apple Tree, one of whose stars was Alan Alda, currently nominated for his work in Glengarry Glen Ross.

-The last time Best Featured Actor in a Musical nominee Marc Kudisch of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang was nominated, it was for his performance as Trevor Graydon in Thoroughly Modern Millie. And when Kudisch left Millie to go uptown to New York City Opera and play Carl-Magnus in their revival of A Little Night Music, his replacement was none other than his fellow nominee this year, Christopher Sieber.

-Looking for drama at this year's Tonys? Well, nominees Mary-Louise Parker of Reckless and Billy Crudup of The Pillowman were in a long term relationship for many years until he left her, reportedly for actress Clare Danes. Problem was that Parker was something like 8 months pregnant with their son at the time. Something tells me that was NOT a friendly breakup.

-Three of this year's nominees have been a part of extrordinarily long-running television series. Glengarry Glen Ross nominees Alan Alda and Gordon Clapp are formerly of M*A*S*H and NYPD Blue, respectively, and Spamalot's Hank Azaria is many of the voices of Springfield on The Simpsons. It remains to be seen whether Azaria's other series, HBO's Huff, will fall into that category or not.

-And speaking of Hank Azaria, he's nominated for Best Actor in a Musical for his role as Lancelot in Spamalot. And he's playing 8 performances a week right around the corner from Broadway's original Camelot Lancelot, Robert Goulet, who is currently playing Georges in La Cage aux Folles.

-Okay, what's up with Edward Albee? Apparently, he has not only revised the text of his best known work, but its title as well. The official title of this play now seems to be Edward Albee's Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, which is how it appears everywhere now. This is such a crock of shit. Is Albee that insecure that he feels he has to include his name here or else people will forget it? Or confuse HIS play with some other Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf or even some other play with a similar title? The only other instances of this I can think of were the last revival of The Music Man, which was, officially, Meredith Willson's The Music Man (which, of course, Willson didn't decree, he being dead and all). Neil Simon will do this sometimes on movies, but never, as yet, plays, and sometimes it's done for revivals of Shakespeare. Mr. Albee, you're a giant of the American theatre, and not a single person would disagree...don't demean yourself in this way.

-All season, the scuttlebutt on the Rialto has had it that Victoria Clark has Best Actress in a Musical sewn up for her brilliant performance in The Light in the Piazza. I must agree that Clark's is the performance to beat, but, if I had to choose another contender, it would probably be the owner of everyone's favorite broken foot, Christina Applegate. Applegate is charming and winning in Sweet Charity and, if she's not the dancer that other Charitys have been, she's doing an amazing job...on a broken foot yet. And she certainly worked hard to get where she is. When her accident threatened to close the production, word is she personally lined up additional financing to keep it going. And thing is, she's great in the role and could definitely have a career on Broadway if she wants one.

-Philip Bosco is nominated as Best Actor in a Play for his performance as Juror #3 in the Roundabout's revival of Twelve Angry Men. Bosco left Twelve Angry Men to play Grandpa Potts in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, a performance that did NOT net him a nod.

So it's shaping up to be an exciting Tony night. I have no idea where I'll be watching it...probably at home, since the party I usually attend isn't happening this year and I haven't been invited anywhere. If anyone cares to join me, just drop a line. No talking during the show though.

Another Desperate Housewives Dream

Last night, I dreamed a Desperate Housewives season finale. The problem is that I'm not sure what season. It was obviously a later year in the series' run because the only characters still with the show from the season just concluded were Carlos and Gabrielle.

But I was on the show myself and I certainly recognized the other characters within the context of the dream...I just couldn't tell you who they were now that I'm awake.

Here's what happened:

Carlos goes nuts and basically takes the entire cast, including me, hostage at gunpoint. He's more concerned with the core group of housewives and I'm able to break away and, like the heroine of a slasher flick, I run upstairs instead of outside. It's because I'm concerned about Gabrielle, who wasn't among the hostage group.

While looking through the bedroom, I find something under the bed. It's the body of a woman, although I only see the lower half of her leg and the stiletto heel shoe on her foot. I stepped back, said "Oh, Gabrielle..." and went back downstairs straight back into the room where Carlos is pointing a gun at the ladies.

I can barely speak at this point and I, ignoring Carlos and his gun, tell the women, "Gabrielle..."

At that point, one of the women says to me, "We know...we saw her down in the basement."

And I'm all, "Huh-Wha...?!"

Then I notice through a window BEHIND Carlos that a bunch of cops are surrounding the house.

This is where the dream (and the episode, I think) ends.

Will we get out of the Solis house alive? Is Gabrielle really dead? And who's the dead woman stuffed under the bed upstairs?

I wish I knew. Hell, I'm on the show (apparently) and I don't even know. But I can't wait to see if I dream up the rest of the story some night.

Doin' The Laundry

Tonight at bowling, we played a team called Dirty Laundry that represents Rent. I rolled my best game ever, beating last week's best game ever, in the first set of frames when I scored 151. My second game wasn't so good at 126, but I'm steadily improving.

Go Me!

That Fuckin' Mamet Play

Last night, I finally got to see the Broadway revival of David Mamet's best known play, Glengarry Glen Ross, at the newly christened Bernard B. Jacobs Theatre, formerly the Royale. As you may have read, I've been trying to see this for ages and, when my friend Randy found himself in town last night, we ended up having dinner and going.

I had never seen this play or even the hit movie that was made of it in 1992, so I really had no idea what to expect here. But I'm pretty familiar with the Mamet oeuvre, and was looking forward to finally seeing a play that is such a part of the American culture as to have inspired a recurring character on The Simpsons, the nervous salesman Gil.

Glengarry Glen Ross (the title refers to a couple of real estate developments) takes place in a shark tank of a realty office in Chicago. The first act introduces each character in a series of short scenes in a cheesy Chinese restaurant. In the first, Alan Alda is the older, desperate salesman, Shelly Levene, and Frederick Weller is John, the young office manager who controls the hot leads that are so prized by the salesmen. In the second, Gordon Clapp is Dave Moss, the angry guy with a plan and Jeffrey Tambor is George Aaronow, the nervous guy who is unsure about rocking the boat. And, in the third segment, Liev Schreiber is Richard Roma, the top salesman in the office, to Tom Wopat's milquetoast to whom Roma's giving the hard sell.

The second act takes place in the real estate office on an exquisitely detailed set by Santo Loquasto. Loquasto has obviously spent some time in dumpy offices, because every detail is perfect here from the green linoleum on the floor to the fluorescent lights above.

As you've probably heard, there's fine acting all around in this ensemble cast, but this play truly belongs to Schreiber and Alda whose parts are a little more equal than the others. And what a showcase for these fine actors!

Alda gets to run the gamut of emotions here, from his character's first act pathetic desperation to the out-sized hubris of the second act. And there are plenty of other colours along the way as Alda hits highs and lows and generally gives the kind of bravura performance that will surprise audience members who only know his television work.

Schreiber, one of New York's most reliable stage actors in between his film roles, plays the kind of cool cat that everyone wants to be. You totally know this guy...he's a fixture in every high school, frat house, and clique. The difference here is that the impossibly cool veneer and kingly arrogance masks not only the same desperation exhibited by the other characters, but also a man who's a loyal friend to the others, especially Alda's Shelly.

Watching Schreiber and Alda play games with Wopat in a priceless scene in which Wopat's James Lingk is trying to get out of a real estate deal is heaven. It's watching two extremely gifted con artists doing what they love most...improv-ing an ebb and flow that can only come from years of working together. There's a distinct love of the game here, not only the winning (or, in some cases, the losing).

Director Joe Mantello handles the rhythm and flow of Mamet's language with ease. The first act, basically pairs of actors sitting at tables, is a little static, but Mantello more than makes up for that in the dynamic second act. He really seems to have a way with actors. Or perhaps he just has a way with men. Many of his recent projects have employed casts made up either entirely of men (Take Me Out, which also featured Weller, and Laugh Whore), just like this one, or mostly of men (Assassins). Mantello's only female-centric project of late has been that sparkly sequin Wicked, which I have promised to stop disparaging in print while I'm on its bowling team. Let's just say that his work on Wicked was somewhat...less inspired...than his other work.

Oh, and my favourite word was on display in a grand symphony of "fuck." Mamet is famous for his use of the word (some would say OVERuse), but he makes it sound as natural as can be and its popularity here is entirely appropriate for these less-than-classy men.

I'm so glad I got to go see this. Whenever am I going to see a better production with a more stellar cast? Probably never. I definitely recommend it. Go.