Review: Cry-Baby

What can be said about Cry-Baby? It's kinda like diet orange soda that's gone flat - it's calorie-free yet sickly-sweet, and seriously lacking in bubbly zip. Plus the songs, well, suck and it's not funny, but that doesn't have anything to do with orange soda. It's just a sad fact: Cry-Baby is a D+ version of Hairspray.

The good: Rob Ashford's choreography is sexy and fun, and Harriet Harris is kicking ass, getting laughs out of lines that should never get laughs. The costumes are kinda fun. The cast is talented - I know because I've seen them in other, more interesting shows. And that's about it for the good.

The list of the bad is, unfortunately, much much longer. Let's see, there's the utterly unfunny book, complemented by the unremarkable, unhummable songs. One theatergoer remarked, "It sounds like somebody heard a few old radio jingles from the 50's and thought, Hey! I can make a musical out of that!" Okay my date said that. But he was right! One song is actually called, "Baby Baby Baby Baby Baby (Baby Baby)." You might guess that the show is poking fun at the style and idealism of the era, but the songs, script, and direction aren't inventive or witty enough to demonstrate whether the creators are in on the joke, or if they're just doing a poor Grease imitation. And though the cast is a talented group, the characters aren't winning or charming enough to make you care. There's no Tracy and Edna Turnblad here, nor any of the other larger-than-life Hairspray crew - this show has stock characters, too, but the lifeless story (and book) leaves them two-dimensional. The actors are working their tails off, but the spark just isn't there.

I had been so looking forward to Cry-Baby. Reports of it being deliciously bad, so bad it could rival In My Life, had me all excited for gloriously terrible musical theater. Sadly, I can't even recommend that you see it to revel in it's awfulness. It's not good-bad, it's just... bad.

Les Liasons Dangereuses et Sexy

Maybe I was wrong. She looks really good! Maybe Laura Linney will be great as the dastardly Marquise de Merteuil. More photos here. Eeek... Mamie Gummer looks awful!

Becky Shaw is on her way to Second Stage

Up there in that photo is Mia Barron and David Wilson Barnes, in Gina Gionfriddo's bleak, hilarious, delightful yet scary play Becky Shaw at The Humana Festival. Note: the photo above might look awash in beige, but the play is full of juicy naughty human misbehavior and messiness. Annie Parisse, in the eponymous role, makes a grand entrance in a bright chartreuse, satin, too-short bubble dress. 'Nuff said.

I was in attendance for the festival, along with the literary managers from every major theater company in the country, and left Becky Shaw exclaiming two things: "David Wilson Barnes is a star! WHY is he not famous yet?!?" and "Mark my words: This play is totally going to be at Second Stage next season."

Then the Times review came out and Charles Isherwood was all "David Wilson Barnes is a star!" and I was like, uh, what did I say? Side note: Chuck himself was on my flight to Louisville for the festival, and while is he a very good dresser, he positively radiates snobbishness. We happened to be on the same shuttle to the hotel, and someone was chatting him up about Louisville's many cultural offerings. Here's how the conversation went:

Guy on Shuttle: I hear they have many fine museums here in Louisville.
Isherwood: Mmm, yes.
Guy on Shuttle: In fact, the Museum of Bourbon is supposed to be quite interesting.
Isherwood: My apartment is a museum of bourbon. Ba-dum-bum.

Yup, that's right, he even did the little ba-dum-bum part! It would have been cute, if he didn't look like he was about to burn through someones skull with his eyes.

So now Second Stage announced its season, and again, who called it? Moxie.

Hell Hath No Fury, Indeed

If the name Tricia Walsh Smith doesn't ring a bell, you might recall this incident that Page Six wrote about the cancellation of a benefit reading of her play "Addictions" due to a little mishap involving using a liquor company as the major sponsor of a play about substance abuse.

It looks like Smith might be headed back to the gossip pages - she's posted a six-minute youtube diatribe against her philandering husband, entitled "One More Crazy Day in the Life of a Phoenix Rising from the Ashes". Oh, and her husband happens to be Phil Smith, the president of the Schubert Organization. In a cozy kitchen setting, Tricia tells the camera all about the family's legal drama, and the prenuptial agreement that is now allowing her husband to evict her from her New York apartment, "for no reason." If that's not enough, she wants everyone to know about Phil Smith's stash of viagra, porn, and condoms. Eeeeewww.

The video is here, watch it in all it's horrifying glory before they take it down. Fast forward to the end to hear Tricia sing a little "Maybe This Time." I love this woman!

Can I get a "hell yes!"

Hell yes, Damn Yankees is coming to town! Encores Summer Stars (which brought us the current revival of Gypsy) will stage the musical July 5-27 at City Center, starring Jane Krakowski and Sean Hayes!!! I am going to celebrate with a staging of "Whatever Lola Wants" in my office.

"I'm going to find it and I'm going to destroy it. I don't know how yet. Possibly with dynamite."

Moxie's birthday is coming up, and if anyone wants to send me these Steve Zissou legos, I would be very appreciative.

They even have an Alistair Hennessey one!

"Is this my espresso machine? Wh-what is-h-how did you get my espresso machine?"
"Well... uh... we fuckin' stole it, man."

Review: The Drunken City

In the opening moments of The Drunken City, three brides-to-be march out from house left, giggle to each other, and then, screaming gleefully, thrust their three sparkling engagement rings forward for all the audience to see. The rest of the play, like this opening moment, is both refreshingly joyful and maybe just a teensy bit annoying.

The story: Three gals from the suburbs head into the city to drink pink martinis and celebrate one's impending marriage. What glorious bridge-and-tunnel fun! Until the gals get way too drunk, some too-drunk men enter the picture, and suddenly the bride-to-be is making out with a black dude...

--- wait a second. I didn't mean to say "a black dude." I should have said "a stranger," or "a ridiculously hot stranger," since Mike Colter plays said dude. His race is so totally not the point, but my theatergoing instinct says that if the actor is black, it must be because his blackness is integral to the plot. And hey, let's be honest, my own innate racism is playing a role here, too. (What do you find yourself expecting when a non-caucasian actor walks onstage? Discuss.) But hey, white people aren't always talking about what it's like to be white, and I don't think everybody else is constantly talking about the color of their skin. So how fucking awesome is it that this is a play about love and relationships and New York City, and some of the people are white and some are not? I mean, thank god. In fact, as with many of Adam Bock's plays, The Drunken City uses a truly color-blind cast, featuring actors who are asian, hispanic, and african-american without their casting being due to a necessity in the script. To see this group of friends onstage who happen to be different ethnicities is refreshing to say the least, and reflects both the world I know and the world I hope to see. Enormous kudos to Adam Bock and to Playwrights Horizons awesome casting department for this. Anyway.

... When the bride-to-be heads off to god knows where with her hot, drunk man off the street, everyone (understandably) freaks. Through the fish-eye lens of their inebriation, we see that each character is a whole lotta lost, and pretty messy sober or not. The message is ultimately sweetly romantic and hopeful, and maybe secretly what all New Yorkers need to hear: everybody is secretly terrified, it's less scary when you get honest, and it's yes, you will find love. It's a little too sweet at times, and the running theme of utter intoxication wears thin after the first 45 minutes or so. But ultimately, it really is a delightful play.

Now here's the bad news. And I felt a lot worse about saying it before she got really good reviews, so maybe I just didn't get it, but... I did NOT go for Cassie Beck in the lead role. I just wasn't feeling it. I didn't believe her, I felt like she was acting and trying and full of effort and awkwardness and just. not. good. It pulled me right out of the play many times, and was just not an enjoyable performance, for me.

BUT! The rest of the cast is terrific, especially Sue Jean Kim, who is one of the *best* actresses you've probably never heard of. The girl is funny, smart, beautiful, and ought to be working constantly. And Alfredo Narciso is a revelation (at least to me), and gives a hilarious and moving performance that will blow you away. See this play for them, they are the bomb.

By the way, Playwrights Horizons has a ton of cool materials online. You can watch scenes from the play, hear a podcast from Adam Bock about drunkeness, and more. It's fun, check it out.

Is Mary Rodgers Guettel a real-life Livia Soprano?

From The New Yorker:

Mary [Rodgers Guettel], who is the composer of “Once Upon a Mattress,” among other shows, is now in her forty-sixth year of marriage to Henry Guettel, the theatrical producer and her second husband. She had six children, including Adam Guettel, the composer of “The Light in the Piazza,” and five grandchildren. “All of them are musical, but nobody is a genius,” she said. “I don’t believe you can judge a genius by the way he treats the human race. He may be as mean as a snake, and my father often was. But a genius gives back—oh, my, does he ever.”

So basically, she's saying that though her son is "musical," he will never be as accomplished as her dead dad, who was talented but abusive. Cool.

Wait, WHAT?!? Shame! Shame!!! Adam Guettel composed Lincoln Center's last hit musical, The Light in the Piazza. He won a little thing called The Tony Award for that show. He has also composed several other very beautiful musicals that some might even prefer to "Once Upon A Mattress." But that is hardly the point....

What kind of mother tells The New Yorker that their son is "musical", but not a genius? What the fuck is the point of saying something so incredibly invalidating in such a public forum? Oh, that's right - to remind your son that no matter how lofty his achievements are, he will never be good enough to please you. Wow.

A little light googling reveals this glimpse into the psyche of such a parent. Here's what she said on PBS about her father. The whole thing is sad:

''I don't think anyone really knew who he really was, with the possible exception of one of the five psychiatrists he went to,'' says Mary Rodgers on PBS. ''And I'm sure they didn't know either. I don't think he knew. He was just all locked up in there, grinding out gorgeous stuff.''

Review: Passing Strange

“What IS Passing Strange?” This is the question that many friends have asked upon hearing that I’ve seen the show four times now, and loved it each time more than the last. And even after several viewings, it’s not a simple question to answer. This two-and-a-half hour trip through the mind, musings, and memories of a guy named Stew is more rock concert than Broadway musical, and more visceral current of experience than straightforward story.

What it is about, to boil it way down, is the coming of age experience of a middle class black kid from L.A. From his rejection of the beige-toned suburban life, through the cafes of Amsterdam, into the underground art scene of Berlin, the story is a sort of historical fiction based on Stew’s own experiences traveling abroad in his youth.

Though Passing Strange isn’t an outright political piece, politics played a noteworthy role in the creation of the piece. Observe the word of Stew:

We have GWBush to thank for this play. Seriously. When I found out that he had never been to Europe in his youth (or in his adulthood until he becme prez!!!) I immediately knew I wanted to write a play about a kid who wanted to go to europe. That fact about Bush said a lot to me about America's lack of interest in anything foreign except that which it can exploit (always to exploit – never to learn from). Can you imagine an uber-privileged billionaire's son from any other country that would not have been curious enough to travel to a foreign country or two or 3 or 20? Especially when you're talking the kind of money where you already OWN a few airplanes yourself? As someone whose experience abroad informed and shaped my very being and consciousness about everything from sexuality, politics, culture, language and human nature, I became obsessed with this factoid and decided this incuriosity was at the heart of the war. I realized that we are actually suffering the results of Bush's and his cronies' incuriousness… their dimwitted foreign policy time and again shows that beneath it all these fuckers don't even care about trying to understand the world they wish to dominate.

After years of development, the final product is a musical that is truly unlike any other I’ve seen - different in form, style, message, and music than anything you would expect to see on Broadway. Stew, creator and composer, narrates the show from centerstage, with his band onstage amidst the action and occasionally even piping into the scenes. Stew shows us himself at a younger age (“Youth,” Daniel Breaker), with a fiercely talented supporting cast that takes on the variety of friends, family, lovers, and comrades whom Youth knows, loves, and inevitably leaves, “right when it was starting to feel real.”

Back when Passing Strange was at the Public, I said that "between the poetry, depth, and humor of the piece, and the kick-ass cast, Passing Strange is pretty transcendent." It's even stronger in it's more robust Broadway staging, and still completely unmissable. Check out the show's awesome website here, where you can download songs for free!! See? It really is the hippest show on Broadway...

Hunter Parrish in Spring Awakening?

This blog Tapeworthy says that Hunter Parrish, who plays Silas (Mary-Louise Parker's older son) on Weeds, is going to replace Jonathan Groff in Spring Awakening. Who knows if it's true, but Parrish is awesome on Weeds, and if he can sing as well as he acts, he would make a fierce and edgy Melchior. Hey interweb superhighway, anybody out there heard this?

West Side Story Broadway Revival: It's ON!

How am I only now seeing this?

The years of rumors are finally coming true - West Side Story is ON. They're planning for a run in D.C. followed by Broadway in February 09. The musical's librettist, Arthur Laurents, will direct - just like the current production of Gypsy.

About the revival, Laurents had previously said it would be "radically different from any production ever done and contemporary to boot."

- playbill.com

They are casting young (18!) for this, which is smart. First love just isn't as thrilling when it's happening to 28-year-olds. No doubt, cutie Krysta Rodriguez will be somewhere on that stage. But who else? Karen Olivo? Jonathan GROFF?

[photo via broadwayworld.com]

Oh No.

And the award for #1 Rumor I Hope is False goes to: K-Fed may be coming to Broadway.

The Drama of Spitzer

This is the problem these guys get into: they're so morally rigid and puritanical in real life (and on some level, so responsible for this priggish world we now live in) that when they get caught committing victimless crimes, everyone thinks they should be punished for sheer hypocrisy. But they shouldn't really.
-Nora Ephron, via The Huffington Post

Well said! It's about time someone addresses the ridiculous hyper-reactive way that we've come to deal with Politicians Behaving Badly.

When Larry Craig did whatever he did in the bathroom stall, was it surprising? Of course, because he seemed like such a massive homophobe. But as Ephron goes on to say, "It's one of the things you have to admire about Senator Larry Craig: he's still there. And who can say he's doing a better or worse job than he was before? And compared to whom in the United States Senate?" It's true - why should anybody have to step down from their job because of some naughty bathroom antics? And why should we believe that the other elected officials are any less morally ambiguous?

Of course, Spitzer broke the laws in several ways that I find abominable. And perhaps he should step down. But I can't help but find the Shock! and Outrage! almost as repulsive and laughable as the crime committed.

So here's the solution. In the future, all public elected officials will obey Erica Jong's new code of ethics:
1. Pay hookers in cash.
2. Think globally, act locally: don't cross state lines to get laid.
3. Don't use "George Fox" as a pseudonym.
4. If using a pseudonym, make up a phony address. Revealing the marital residence on Fifth Avenue is a bad idea.
5. Don't try to avoid using condoms with women named Kristin.
6. Never send cash by mail.
7. Be skeptical about institutions with sexist names like The Emperor's Club.
8. Don't yell at investment bankers on the phone.
9. If you are famous for closing prostitution "rings," don't frequent them.
10. While in public office, fuck your own wife -- unless you are in French politics.

Three things that are making today awesome

1. Whole wheat everything bagel. mmm.

2. Baseball season is coming! The mets pre-season is on, and my boys are looking real good. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy to see them playing again. Damn, I love this team.

3. Seeing Elizabeth & the Catapult tonight. If you could take happiness, kites, and rainbows, put them in the blender and turn the concoction into music, it would sound like this band.

meme-tastic!

Oh boy, I got memed! Jaime, who tagged me, explains the feeling perfectly. "No one loves being tagged more than girl grown-up after a childhood of exclusion. Hey kids, it's okay if junior high was miserable - when you're grown up and have a blog, it'll be that much more exciting when you get tagged with a meme." Girl, you read my mind.

The rules: Look up 15 of your favorite films on IMDb and take a quote from each. List them below. When someone guesses the quote correctly, I cross it off the list. NO CHEATING.

So here are quotes from 15 of my favorite movies, in no particular order - the ones that have been correctly guessed are in italics:

1)
- Repeat after me. Pepper.
- Pepper.
- Pepper.
- Pepper.
- Waiter, there is too much pepper on my paprikash.
- Waiter, there is too much pepper on my paprikash.
- But I would be proud to partake of your pecan pie.
(When Harry Met Sally, way to go Jaime!)

2)
After that it got pretty late, and we both had to go, but it was great seeing Annie again. I... I realized what a terrific person she was, and... and how much fun it was just knowing her; and I... I, I thought of that old joke, y'know, the, this... this guy goes to a psychiatrist and says, "Doc, uh, my brother's crazy; he thinks he's a chicken." And, uh, the doctor says, "Well, why don't you turn him in?" The guy says, "I would, but I need the eggs." Well, I guess that's pretty much now how I feel about relationships; y'know, they're totally irrational, and crazy, and absurd, and... but, uh, I guess we keep goin' through it because, uh, most of us... need the eggs.
(Annie Hall, way to go Audiomaverick!)

3)
- I hate to use the word 'tourist' but it's not like I can hide it...
- Not really.
- [sigh] Did you know it took me three hours to get here from the airport? I got so lost. LA's one big place, but I guess you don't notice, seeing as you live here. Im such a yokel, there I said it!
- Oh jeez. You know what? I got gum on my seat. GUM!
(Speed, well done 4thFloorNYC!)
4)
- I can't seem to stop singing wherever I am. And what's worse, I can't seem to stop saying things - anything and everything I think and feel.
- Some people would call that honesty.
- Oh, but it's terrible, Reverend Mother.
(The Sound of Music, nice one Anonymous!)

5)
But wouldn't it be great if number one this Christmas wasn't some smug teenager but an old ex-heroin addict searching for a comeback at any price? All those young popsters come Christmas Day, they'll be stretched out naked with a cute bird balancing on their balls and I'll be stuck in some dingy flat with me manager, Joe, ugliest man in the world, fucking miserable because our fucking gamble didn't pay off. So if you believe in Father Christmas, children, like your Uncle Billy does, buy my festering turd of a record.
(Love Actually, way to go Audiomaverick!)

6)
I decided to stop pitying myself. Other than my eye, two things aren't paralyzed, my imagination and my memory.
(The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, way to go Jaime!)

7)
Do you find me sadistic? You know, I bet I could fry an egg on your head right now, if I wanted to. You know, Kiddo, I'd like to believe that you're aware enough even now to know that there's nothing sadistic in my actions. Well, maybe towards those other... jokers, but not you. No Kiddo, at this moment, this is me at my most... masochistic.

8)
- Can we get somebody over here to kill these mice for us?
- No. They belong to Chas. Or anyway he invented them.
- Get him to stick them in a fucking cage or something.
(The Royal Tenenbaums, way to go Ken!)

9)
And cause I was a gazillionaire, and I liked doin it so much, I cut that grass for free.
(Forrest Gump, way to go Audiomaverick!)

10)
*That's* what you get! Ha Ha! Look at you! Ya ship's all banged up! Who's the man? Huh? Who's the man? Wait till I get another plane! I'm a line ya friends up right beside you! Where ya at, huh? Where ya at? ...Welcome to earth.
(Independence Day, way to go Audiomaverick!)

11)
- Do you feel alone right now?
- Oh, I dunno. I mean I'd like to believe I'm not but I just... I've just never seen any proof so I... I just don't debate it anymore, you know? It's like I could spend my whole life debating it over and over again, weighing the pros and cons and in the end I still wouldn't have any proof so I just... I just don't debate it anymore. It's absurd.
- The search for God is absurd?
- It is if everyone dies alone.
(Donnie Darko, well done Michelle!)

12)
That was the summer of 1963 - when everybody called me Baby, and it didn't occur to me to mind. That was before President Kennedy was shot, before the Beatles came, when I couldn't wait to join the Peace Corps, and I thought I'd never find a guy as great as my dad. That was the summer we went to Kellerman's.
(Dirty Dancing, way to go Audiomaverick!)

13)
Final report of the commercial starship Nostromo, third officer reporting. The other members of the crew, Kane, Lambert, Parker, Brett, Ash and Captain Dallas, are dead. Cargo and ship destroyed. I should reach the frontier in about six weeks. With a little luck, the network will pick me up. This is Ripley, last survivor of the Nostromo, signing off. [to Jonesy the cat] Come on, cat.
(Alien, well done 4thFloorNYC!)

14)
The space goes down, down baby, down, down the roller coaster. Sweet, sweet baby, sweet, sweet, don't let me go. Shimmy, shimmy, cocoa pop. Shimmy, shimmy, rock. Shimmy, shimmy, cocoa pop. Shimmy, shimmy, rock. I met a girlfriend - a triscuit. She said, a triscuit - a biscuit. Ice cream, soda pop, vanilla on the top. Ooh, Shelly's out, walking down the street, ten times a week. I read it. I said it. I stole my momma's credit. I'm cool. I'm hot. Sock me in the stomach three more times.
(Big, way to go Anonymous!)

15)
I smell varmint poontang. And the only good varmint poontang is dead varmint poontang, I think.
(Caddyshack, nice one Anonymous!)


Okay! Hey Jeffrey, Rocco, Alison, (what the hell) Manolo, and (double what the hell) Michael Musto - TAG, you're it!!