I must admit that I was hoping for a "Xanadu" upset at last Sunday's Tony Awards. It was hands down the funniest show I saw last season, and I was ecstatic to see it give the best performance of the broadcast. Special shout out for Dan Knechtges fantastic, goofy, and wonderfully musical choreography. Is it just me or did they make Cheyenne Jackson's shorts extra short and tight for the broadcast? I guess he's gotta hit those high notes somehow.
JUST IN TIME FOR THE TONY AWARDS TONIGHT! MY REVIEW OF THE LAST SHOW I SAW THIS SEASON.
My parents must have given me over fifty VHS’s as presents during my childhood. There were the animated classics (“Ferngully,” and “The Little Mermaid” come to mind) as well as live-action fantasies that fueled my creativity, like “The Goonies.” But none compared to a VHS I unwrapped when I was five years old.
My mother had just returned to our Los Angeles home from a trip to New York City, which I knew equaled a wealth of surprises the moment she unzipped her suitcase. As she reached in, I impatiently bounced around on the floor of my parents’ bedroom. Her arm unfurled to reveal a bag containing what I quickly deduced (according to the size and weight) was a video. The bag crinkled as I reached my arm in and pulled out a bright orange VHS titled “Sunday in the Park With George.”
What ensued not only cemented my devotion to the composer Stephen Sondheim, whom I discovered at the age of four with “Into the Woods,” but opened my eyes to the post-Impressionist painter George Seurat, whom the story is centered around.
At that point it was the most poetic work of art about an artist that I’d ever seen. (Of course, at five, the only other references I had were landscape painters on local PBS affiliates and instructional videos at pottery painting parties.) The isolating devotion the central character of George displayed toward his art left a lasting imprint about the sacrifices of creation; that and the original production contained Bernadette Peters, who, at five years old, I was as fiercely devoted to as my own family members. So it was with some trepidation that I went to Studio 54 a few weeks ago to catch the first Broadway revival of my dearly beloved show.
Upon entering the converted disco I found a stage reduced to a portion of the normal size. Pristine white walls with a few large doors (marked only by small knobs) enclosed the space. Other than an easel, and a few small tables, it was a bare stage waiting to be painted.
From the moment the lights went down and Daniel Evans (George) delivered the famous first line, “White: a blank page, or canvas,” I felt a flood of memories rush through me. But the question that remained to be answered was whether this production could transcend the nostalgia factor and win my praise by its own merit; the answer was a resounding yes.
The first act of the musical focuses on the creation of Seurat’s breakthrough painting, “Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte,” a masterpiece displaying his trademark pointillism technique (where small flecks of different colored paint are “dotted” on the canvas so closely together that the eye, not the paint palette, blends them). James Lapine’s original 1984 staging used flats that emerged out of the wings, or the floor of the stage to create the “canvas”; the production at Studio 54 translates that idea to the 21st century with enchanting projections.
My fear coming into the show, after hearing from friends that it resembled the “coolest Power Point presentation [they’d] ever seen,” was that the material would be upstaged by a gimmick; instead it creates a companion visual to the central theme of the show – the painter’s obsession with his work. As the first act progresses, Daniel Evans sketches several of the characters populating his life. With a slash of his hand through the air, a line appears along the white walls of the stage. At times he grabs a small canvas and sits staring at it, only to see a projection of a dog come alive and interact with him, bouncing around the stage with movement that is impossible in a painting. It is in these moments that the brilliance of the projections reveals itself: an artist’s work has a way of coming alive in their own mind (and ruling that mind) unlike anywhere else.
Playing the role of Dot, a woman both in love with the flawed artist and trying to ground him, Jenna Russell was able to do the unthinkable – make me forget (at least momentarily) Bernadette Peters’ interpretation of the role. Her character seems to ask the question of George: can you be a successful artist without the tunnel vision that takes you away from living your life?
It is when negotiating the answer to this question that Sondheim’s score hits me in a way that has only deepened with age. George is the type of artist whose only way to live his life is to bring order to it by creating. From the time I discovered the show as a child, this has been a feeling I sympathized with.
The brilliance of the show’s construction is how much it mirrors a Seurat painting. Sondheim presents the audience with “flecks” of information regarding George’s relationship to the outside world and his art, leaving the audience to piece them together. Much like the post-Impressionist’s work, it is clear enough to gather meaning, without being so rigid as to tell you exactly what you are seeing.
What is currently playing at Studio 54 (until June 29th) has much more to recommend than just the brilliant show itself, and lead actors. The sparse orchestral arrangements are too minimal at times, but it only adds to the power of some of the choral work by the ensemble at the end of the first act. Each actor who makes up the ensemble has moments of striking clarity with the material (particularly Mary Beth Peil as George’s mother, whose rendition of “Beautiful,” (not Christina Aguilera’s) brought me to tears), which is often lost in Sondheim revivals . Even through the second act, a notoriously flawed counterpoint to the perfection of the act before it, there are newly discovered moments.
Sondheim’s work, on this show as much as any of his other work, has a way of polarizing its audience in the same way as George is isolated from the world. Through the years that I have grown and revisited the show, I find it to be as textured as any piece of fine art; it will always reveal something new to the viewer, even after 17 years of living with it. Sitting on my own in the theater, I looked around and wondered who was discovering the piece for the first time. Here’s hoping they have as rewarding of an experience with it as I have. Not everyone is lucky enough to have parents like mine.
A few weeks ago I was scanning through my email account when I saw a message from Robert Viagas of Playbill.com. Amidst the various letters from Nigerian princes asking for money, and lottery notifications, I figured a message from the reputable Playbill was a fluke offering a discount code to a play no one was seeing. Fortunately I took the time to read it, as it contained an exciting proposition: Robert wanted me to come into the Playbill Radio studio to record a Podcast predicting who would receive Tony nominations when they were announced in the middle of May. I scanned the email a few more times to make sure that I wasn’t dreaming what I’d just read, and sent a response that attempted to sound as collected as possible in my heightened state of excitement. Then I waited. And waited. And never got a response.
Every morning I woke up and opened Yahoo with my fingers crossed for a reply highlighting the details of the taping. After a week passed, I sent a few emails to Robert (downplaying any hint of desperation) asking if the recording was still on. Then I waited. And waited.
Then one afternoon (during my first of several distracted web searches) I decided to clean out my inbox. I scrolled through the messages and looked to the left of the window where there was a folder titled “Spam.” The number 127 rested next to the word, which until then I’d managed to have a happy existence with: my email accounts would notify me of wanted correspondence, while discarding the Viagra ads to the abyss of Spamland. Occasionally an ad or two would slip into my inbox, but I’d never had the reverse happen. Unfortunately this time, Yahoo! earned its exclamation point not out of excitement, but out of anger.
Sitting comfortably in the untouched spam folder was a bundle of messages from Robert. First there was information about the taping. Then several others padded the middle, leading up a final message, which informed me that he and the other guest had waited fifteen minutes for me, but had gone ahead with the taping.
I felt the pit of my stomach turn over. Without sounding too ridiculous, the past year has been full of disappointments, and I was looking forward to being included in something that I have a passion for. When I stumbled into my spam folder and realized that the taping had occurred only the day before, it made the blow even more powerful.
I shot off a profusely apologetic email, underlining my interest in being included in any future tapings. And with a simple click of a button labled “Not Spam,” I ensured Robert’s messages would reach me the next time around; if there was a next time.
Fortunately, last Wednesday I got my chance to sit in the Playbill Radio booth and record my first ever Podcast. The several days leading up to the taping found me cramming in performances of as many of the remaining musicals on my list as possible. When the night before rolled around, I’d seen everything (except for “Grease,” which, let’s be honest, has no chance of winning) and had revisited my reviews to remind myself of what I had liked and disliked about all of the shows in the running. Yet as I walked to midtown for the taping, all of those thoughts seemed to dissolve.
The moment I entered the offices (a collection of grey cubicles where the only display of color comes from various posters and Playbill’s that adorn the walls and tables) I realized how nervous I was to speak. When it comes to dancing, I have all the confidence in the world to present myself and rely on what I’ve rehearsed. I even have more confidence writing than I do speaking. There is a huge difference between sitting at a computer formulating your opinion with the comfort of the delete button only a pinkie-reach away, and having an articulate conversation that will be preserved for all the web to hear.
As I sat by the front desk, a boy poked his head around the corner of a cubicle and came creeping toward me. “Are you Matt Murphy?” he asked. “I read your blog!” It was just the right boost of confidence I needed before Robert came to lead me to the booth after a quick introduction to Matthew Murray, a professional critic who joined us.
Odd as that coincidence of having a Matthew Murphy and a Matthew Murray as guests was, I quickly found that we had more in common than our names -- our opinions of the theatrical season synched up in most every category. Of course, we didn’t do too much talking before the taping began (we wanted to keep the conversation fresh), but it was a comfort to know that I wouldn’t have to get in an argument with someone about why I disliked Patti LuPone so much.
(Robert from my vantage point.)
After running through a bit of advice about the art of recording a Podcast (don’t eat the microphone, try not to pop “P’s,” and scream like a chimpanzee at every moment possible have fun) Robert turned on his best radio voice and pressed record. For the next 50-minutes he led us through a conversation about who will win, who should win, and what surprises we can expect come Tony night.
When we had finally exhausted the categories (with only a few retakes along the way) Robert thanked us for joining him and sent us on our way. The elevator ride down the lobby found me questioning every word that I had uttered throughout the previous hour. Had I insulted anyone? Forgotten to mention any key points? Probably. But I’ll have to wait until June 11th to find out.
(The Matthew Mur's.)
A poster in Times Square for the new revival of “Gypsy” features a twenty-foot tall Patti LuPone, mouth agape, beneath the word “Finally.” It echoes the sentiment that, for many, this performance is something they claim was inevitable. Ever since the brassy dame warbled her first bombastic notes in “Evita” over twenty-five years ago, the sheer determination and vocal power she displayed made her a natural fit for the musical theater behemoth, Madame Rose.
After witnessing her performance in the pre-Broadway mounting of the revival at City Center last summer (which I felt had all the nuance of a jackhammer), I planned on steering clear of 44th Street this year. But after several people informed me that her once jarring performance had received a shot of subtlety, I decided to stop by and check it out for myself.
There’s no question that LuPone means business when she barrels down the aisle of the St. James Theater yelling the infamous opening line, “Sing Out, Louise!” Whether I’m buying what she’s selling is a different question entirely, and one whose answer, just like her performance over the past ten months, has changed a bit…but not much.
Out of the starting gate, LuPone’s Rose is a train at full speed that the audience seems to be running alongside, desperate for an opportunity to jump on board. As Arthur Laurents’ brilliant book takes us chronologically through the childhoods of the doted upon Baby June and the brushed aside Louise, LuPone hardly stops to breathe. Instead she chooses to pull out her bag of tricks: the occasional mumbled line, a note so powerful it sends her jaw into a veritable earthquake, or an arched eyebrow that seems well rehearsed, but hardly spontaneous.
The character of Rose is a stage mother desperate for attention. She’s a calculated woman, but also one who is so gruesomely unaware of her own game that she manages to ruin everything around her. She’s a woman who late in the game is clawing her way to the top of vaudeville, only to end up in a burlesque house pimping her daughter out for the “star spot.” LuPone plays the woman high on the planning, and short on desperation, which leaves for an unfulfilling performance most of the evening.
Only when paired with another actor does LuPone really seem to connect with the material (other than on a sheer vocal level, of which there are many stunning moments), and forget that she’s billed above the title. Her scenes with Boyd Gaines’ Herbie (who I found wonderful last summer, only to feel that he was over acting a few nights ago) show a hint of the vulnerability that would have made this Rose a knockout along the lines of, but still much different than, Bernadette Peters’ revelatory performance four years ago.
When left to fend for herself (in numbers like “Some People”), LuPone gives a performance that has been drilled to the point that every sigh, arm gesture and hip cock is as predictable as the “Let Me Entertain You” routine that becomes such a brilliant running gag throughout the show. Yet unlike “Let Me Entertain You,” which grows from juvenile entertainment, to burlesque showstopper under the skilled transformation of Laura Benanti (as Louise), I never felt like LuPone transformed into the role.
Perhaps partly to blame is the direction of Arthur Laurents, who has given us a sonically wonderful (complete with a full-size orchestra), but visually and emotionally lacking production. Just as the sets seem to have jumped out of a 1960’s production, much of the direction feels stilted. Jokes are often played so broad that you can almost imagine them splattering against the back wall of the theater. If I had been toward the back, I might have appreciated the projection, but seated in the third row of the theater it made the material seem cheaper than it actually is.
At close range, the actors’ eyes became not indicators of the lives of the characters, but all too often signaled a moment where they would check out. LuPone seemed to be going on cruise control, but managed to unlock for the last half hour of the show when things begin to unravel.
Whereas the psychologically devastating “Rose’s Turn,” was played with such maniacal energy last summer at City Center that it lost much of its impact, LuPone has now balanced the manic desperation for success with the crushing reality that it is unattainable. As she removes a paint-covered smock to reveal a form-fitting red dress, it’s as if we are seeing the performer disrobe her rehearsal clothes and get down to business; this “Rose’s Turn” doesn’t simply cover the stage, it devours it. Laurents finally seems willing to step away from some of the more routine staging, and as LuPone stumbles around in circles, back slightly to the audience with tears in her eyes, it is a display of the performer finally forgetting the performance and becoming the material.
There’s that word again, “Finally.” If only I could join in the crowd of people gasping it out of excitement rather than out of exasperation. Perhaps if LuPone could finally forget she’s towering above Times Square, she’d be able to give the performance so many have been waiting for and change my tune.
(My friends outside the theater.)
After months of hearing about her from my friends, and watching her be ridiculous on YouTube, I finally had the pleasure of meeting Ms. Natalie Weiss at "Glory Days" last Sunday afternoon. She's a beauty in person, but my god does she just turn into something else entirely on stage?! This clip, which my friend Andrew just posted, takes her talent to a whole different level. Beautiful.
It's no secret that I absolutely love the new musical In the Heights. The show, which chronicles the lives of a group of Washington Heights residents over the course of a 4-day summer heatwave, is the most fun I've had at a new musical in recent memory.
Sure, the story is a glossy portrayal of a gritty neighborhood, but the music is infectious, and the cast blows the roof off the theater with each successive number. Since I've been sick I've had many conversations about how companies and shows can use the internet to market themselves in a creative way; what we have here is perhaps my favorite example of creative, and just plain adorable marketing using the power of YouTube.
(The writer and star of the show, Linn Manuel-Miranda, pulls out some vintage footage from his childhood. OH MY GOD. AMAZING.)
(Have you seen "High School Musical 2," and Zac Efron's incredible ridiculous power solo "Bet On It"? Here is Linn Manuel-Miranda's version. I love him even more now.)
Does something like this turn you on to see the show? Or does it make you run for the next show of Phantom? Did you NEED another reason to grab a ticket?
I’ve never been a religious person, but color me converted, because I’m
subscribing to a new religion: Stewism. All memories of those other
one-name musical wonders go out the door the moment Stew takes center
stage in the mesmerizing new musical "Passing Strange," currently
playing at the Belasco Theater.
Even after rave reviews by some of the most prestigious press, I was more than a little skeptical to journey to the forgotten theater that lies east of Times Square. Perhaps it was the ad campaign, or just musical overload after the past few months, but I had every intention of letting it fall by the wayside. Fortunately, my friend persuaded me to see it.
From the moment I entered the theater and saw a square of instruments set up on stage, facing center, I knew things were going to be different. A curly haired man strutted out, gave a rock-star nod to the audience and sat down at his keyboard to initiate the journey. Seven actors and four musicians soon followed and my mind was blown.
Stew, a heavyset man with chunky frame glasses and a head as smooth as his guitar, situated himself behind a podium and opened up a red book to tell us a story. It's not often that a narrator makes an appearance in a Broadway musical, and as Stew introduced us to a slew of characters (who we can only assume make up his own real-life history) it became clear that it was just the first of what would be many unique devices.
After a short introduction, that pumps guitars and drums through the speaker system with the ferocity of a U2 concert, we are dropped into Los Angeles, as a stubborn boy (known only as "Youth") argues with his mother about going to church. She finally convinces him and he begins his journey to find the ever-elusive being: himself.
As the seven actors rotate in and out of different characters, the bare-bones set (consisting only of chairs, a few tables, and a back wall with as many lights as Times Square) transports us from Los Angeles, to Amsterdam, to Berlin, and back again. The actors, who immerse themselves (using a variety of accents, but more importantly, emotions) as fully as I've ever seen on a Broadway stage, construct a world around the "Youth" that further helps (and muddies) his quest for his place in the grand scheme of things.
(Stew gets the crowd going at the end of the show.)
Stripped away of all Broadway razzle-dazzle, the focus is left on human emotions and interactions that define who we are. As the Youth journeys across continents, we watch as he passes himself off as one thing or another, trying on different cultures like they are shirts at the Gap.
A constant refrain pokes its head into each section of the show, "Is it
alright?" The question (one that is almost impossible to answer with
assurance) pushes the Youth away from those he loves; he's afraid of comfort
and stagnation, and he immerses himself in his songwriting. He seeks
catharsis through art, but ultimately misses out on true connections
with those around him because of it. This climaxes in a "conversation" between Stew and the Youth about art's place in the world that ranks as one of the most effective (and basic) pieces of staging in recent memory; it is one of many riveting moments in the evening.
To pinpoint the moments of brilliance in this show is almost as difficult as the boy's journey to find himself. Stew has written a score that brings true rock music to Broadway, filled with metaphoric lyrics that give insight into human interactions as well as push the plot forward. He has talent as a writer for cutting directly to the core of emotion. The layers he builds in songs often have a more conventional musical theater narrative existing with an abstract rock lyric delivered by the narrator; the effect is euphoric. More amazingly, as the book writer he presents a series of vignettes that never seem choppy, but instead capture the uncertainty of life and the questions of existence that consume so many youths.
Led by the brilliant Daniel Breaker as "Youth," all of the actors have been directed to straddle the line of classical acting and musical theater projection with finesse. They deliver Stew's words in a way that is poignant but never preachy.
"Passing Strange" has the incentive of being taken in three forms. There are those in the audience, so taken with the visceral experience of the music that they can't resist moving their head in response to the beat. Then there are those who may find the music too loud, but the emotional chords just right. Last, there are those like me, who combine the two and leave feeling as if they've witnessed something truly unique.
I don't mean to imply that the show redefines perfection. Stretches in the second act (while the "Youth" lives in Berlin) can meander a little, but it's a small price to pay for the brilliance that pads the lag. Ideally the creators would condense the show to one-act and not interrupt the characters' journey for an intermission. Yet these are minor qualms for a show that is as thought provoking as it is loud.
It's not often that Broadway musicals leave you with much to discuss these days. Even for that reason alone, "Passing Strange" is worth seeing. First rule of Stewism? Not buying a ticket is a sin.
For some reason I have fallen almost two weeks behind in my blogging schedule, therefore I am just now getting to a recent trip a few friends and I took to see Rent. As many of you know, the show is closing at the end of the summer (not June 1st, like first announced) after a twelve year run that changed many people's lives, including my sister and me.
I first saw the show in the summer of 1997, with all but one member of the original cast. Each subsequent viewing (five or six in total) never met the energy, or emotional impact, that that first time had on my eleven year old self. But that didn't change the fact that I could enjoy Rent performed by just about anybody.
The nostalgia factor holds a lot of weight with this show, and while the cast that we saw a few weeks ago wasn't perfect, there were some fantastic performances. One of the things I found most bizarre while I was watching it was the fact that all of the performers on stage were people that grew up with Rent in their lives. The first few times I saw it, there was a freshness and vitality that, while mainly attributed to the urgency of the message when the show first arrived, seemed a little absent a few weeks ago; it must be surreal to grow up listening to a cast recording, only to come into the show during the tail-end of its initial run.
With that said, several performers were able to break the mold in little, but effective, ways. We were lucky to witness Adam Kantor's first performance (and Broadway debut) as Mark. He gave an assured performance in one of the more difficult "wallflower" roles. Angel (played by Justin Johnston) found humor, and stylistic dance choices, that were the best I've seen since the original.
Not to say that all of the performers who broke the mold of the original cast were successful; American Idol's Tamyra Gray struggled to find a vulnerability in Mimi that is essential to the role. Her acting choices looked very much like "choices" and not as instinctual reactions to the events happening on stage. Everything about her Mimi, down to the chopped haircut that replaces the curly tresses fans have come to expect from the character, looked like heavy-handed efforts to "change."
As Rent enters its final months, I find myself having many conversations with friends about the impact the show had on each of us. It's hard to imagine a Broadway that doesn't include 41st street's grunged up Nederlander theater. It leaves me pondering the following questions:
At what point does a show bow out with grace? Has Rent worn out its welcome? Or should it stay around awhile?
(Nick and I after I outside the Cry Baby theater.)
Most performers move to New York and pound the pavement for a while in hopes of landing a job. They set their sights on a dream and work their whole lives to get there. With the demands inherent in the arts, it’s rare to find someone with the passion and determination to succeed in more than one area; but Nick Blaemire isn’t just “someone.”
At 23 years old, the recent graduate of the University of Michigan, is busy in previews right now preparing to make his Broadway debut in the new John Waters musical Cry Baby. Then, two weeks later, he’ll make another Broadway debut…as the composer of the new musical Glory Days.
I sat down with Blaemire a few weeks ago to make sure his head hadn’t spun off from the excitement pick his brain about what it’s like to make your Broadway debut…twice in one month.
Can you talk a little bit about the origins of Glory Days?
Welll Matt (in my best important voice), I started writing Glory Days when I was 18, after I went through an experience with my three best friends from high school that was really life changing. I hadn’t really written much of anything at that point, but I loved musicals so much. This period of in my life felt so important, and had so little written about that I just thought I’d try being the one to find a way to talk about it as accurately as I could through music.
Five years later, I’m still trying, but I’ve had some amazing help from my high school buddy (and book writer) James Gardiner, and our incredible director Eric Schaeffer. He took the show under his wing three years ago, and has been helping us cultivate it ever since. The show used to be something I was really embarrassed by, that I didn’t really think was very good, but I always knew there was a reason I started it, and I’m so glad I didn’t stop working on it just because we didn’t know how to make the technical stuff around the heart work yet.
What initially drew you into writing musicals? Did it start during your time at University of Michigan?
I grew up on musicals (as I imagine most writers and performers in this community say) listening to my mom and dad's copies of Phantom and Les Mis and being overwhelmed by the grandeur and emotion of them.
But the stuff I really listened to the most when I was growing up was my dad's rock music - The Beatles, Bruce Springsteen and Crosby, Stills, Nash ‘n Young were kind of my childhood. So when I realized I wanted to write musicals, I decided that my way would be to combine those two worlds, and prove that any situation, no matter how naturalistic, could sing.
My writing partner and I call what we want to do "kitchen sink musicals" - they don’t have helicopters, but are still emotionally viable. I kind of got that idea from being around musicals so much in high school, and loving them but not really connecting with much besides Rent, which completely changed my life when I heard it in 7th grade.
When I got to U of M, my interest in writing only grew. A big reason was because a student production company there called “Basement Arts” let me produce Glory Days (in an early, embarrassing form, when it was titled ASS BACKWARDS) for 3 nights. It totally re-infected me with the idea that I could write AND perform, and that was what was going make me happy.
What songwriters are your most significant influences?
As I said before, rock music is a huge inspiration to me - but especially writers from this generation like John Mayer and Jason Mraz are doing things that give me so much hope for what’s possible to create under the umbrella of "pop music."
In terms of musical theatre, the one and only Stephen Sondheim is a
pretty amazing teacher just by way of listening to his shows. There
are a ton of other musical theatre composers I really admire - but
another huge inspiration in my life are my friends who also write
music: Benj Pasek, Brian Mazzaferri, Zia Hassan, Danica Dora
and Theo Klose, just to name a few. They INCREDIBLE talents who
constantly influence the way I think about writing music. It's the
best feeling in the world to be most inspired by the people who are
closest to you; it’s definitely true for me these days.
What performers are your most significant influences?
Edward Norton, Matt Damon, Norbert Leo Butz, Brian d'arcy James, Tom Hanks - guys who seem like good guys, who have discretion in the stuff they choose to work on, and who give their all to it. Again, I could name a million people my age who inspire me in that same way - it's really hard to be young and make an impression in this city. So many of my buddies are out there doing just that, and it's so inspiring.
What were you out of town experiences like with "Cry Baby," and "Glory Days?"
They were both dreams. I’d never been out of town with a show before Cry Baby, and literally the day I finished the run I went into rehearsals for Glory Days in DC; it was kind of the perfect crash course.
Cry Baby tried out at the La Jolla Playhouse in California, which is one of the most gorgeous, luxurious towns in America; it was like vacation. I actually spent most of my time there working on Glory Days, but when I wasn’t working there were palm trees and 80-degree weather to reap the benefits of. Not to mention a really fantastic group of people working at one of the most technically advanced, prestigious regional theatres in the country on a new John Waters musical! Like I said, a dream.
We changed a lot out of town with Cry Baby and it made me realize how much you can’t have an ego about your work as a writer - that you have to let stuff go if it’s not working - and that was a great lesson to bring with me to DC.
We did our Glory Days tryout at the Signature Theatre, where our director Eric is Artistic Director. It was like a Frat house - 8 guys and 1 girl in a room just telling poo jokes, laughing so hard every day, and learning so much about each other. And in the process putting together a better version of the show than I ever could have dreamed existed. It was the most fulfilling few months of my life.
How will you juggle performing eight shows a week in Cry Baby, with readying Glory Days for its Broadway bow?
Oh it's going to be awesome! The people at Cry Baby are being so wonderfully accommodating to let me even TRY doing both, since I am most definitely under contract with them first. Basically I’ll be at Cry Baby (since we're in previews) from 1-5 every day for rehearsal, and then at the shows at night, and then working on Glory Days every other minute of the day that I’m not sleeping.
It’s going to be a lot, yea, but I’m 23 and its the freaking chance of a lifetime so I’m not gonna let being "tired" get in the way. The double duty time only really criss-crosses for a month, so it's probably just gonna be the coolest, most ridiculous month of my life. I can’t believe I’m getting a chance to do this.
(A little signage at the Broadway home for Glory Days.)
Have there been any significant changes to the material since the DC premiere of Glory Days?
There probably won’t be a lot of huge things changed in between DC and when we open up here. Mainly because the show is what it is: it's a small story with big themes, and we could keep tweaking it until we're blue in the face but that kind of editing could compromise the chemistry that our incredible four actors have found with each other. That is the most important element of the show - much more important than us being clever or figuring out the most intelligent rhymes. So we're being really careful.
I’m rewriting one song and there will be small tweaks, but we were really proud of the show in DC, and are really proud to bring that production to NY, and see if this town can relate to it.
What type of changes will the Glory Days undergo to play in such an atypical theater as Circle in the Square?
As of now, the plan is to transplant the set and lighting design from the DC production straight to Circle, and thankfully, it sounds like its going to fit in there perfectly! The show was directed in a thrust configuration and that's exactly what Circle is, so it really couldn’t be more perfect for that space. I can’t wait to be in there and see it - its such a dream come true.
How many times a day do you pinch yourself?
1,000,000,000 times a day! Pretty much anytime anyone says anything about it. This is the biggest, greatest surprise I could have ever imagined, and I never expected it in a million years - so right now it's just about trying to prepare myself for whatever's to come. But as I do, I keep pinching myself because I GET to prepare for THIS. I would never let myself dream this big, and now that it's coming true, all I can do is pinch…and go to the theatre, I guess.
My plan was to avoid seeing Young Frankenstein. I saw The Producers with the original stars, but had no interest in YF (other than the cast). If there was one show I was going to avoid in the 2007-08 season it was the new Mel Brooks juggernaut. I was going to stick to my ground. Oops. All it took was an email from my friend Abby offering a ticket for Tuesday night's performance to get me in the theater. Hey, I'm easy.
I usually relish the chance to write detailed reviews of the theater I go to in New York. However, I can't bring myself to spend the time writing anything formal for something as bombastic and juvenile as Young Frankenstein. Instead, I present to you "10 Things I Hate About Young Frankenstein."
10 Things I Hate About Young Frankenstein
1) It’s The Producers with a monster. Even down to the Swedish bombshell: Ula/Inga.
2) All of the actors are underused.
3) Mel Brooks insists on playing every (predictable) joke (at least) three times. I haven't even seen the movie and I knew what was coming.
4) Megan Mullally disappears for an entire act.
5) The songs aren’t even remotely memorable. Now, I’m not one to believe that a song needs to be playing in your head as you leave the theater, but it’s nice if at least ONE number makes an impact. Feeling sick does not count as an impact.
6) Everyone else in the audience (except for my lovely date Abby) seemed to love it.
7) There is no plot. Nothing is at stake. Doctor goes to Transylvania. He makes a monster. The monster gets out. Then Dracula shows up. What?!
8) There are back-flips, and a kick-line. In other words: Susan Stroman.
9) It goes on for 2.5 hours.
10) When in doubt, write a penis joke.
11) It’s officially called “The New Mel Brooks Musical Young Frankenstein.”
12) I hate it because I couldn’t get away with hating EVERYTHING about it: Christopher Fitzgerald is fantastic as the doctor’s assistant Igor. And you have to give credit to the cast who was committed to the material.
13) I hate it because I haven’t been to a show where there are more than ten reasons to hate it in a LONG time.
(Abby sums it up nicely.)
