Mamma Mia! (subtitle: Here I go again...)

I just can't get enough of Mamma Mia! It's true, I love it. And most people who have met me—even for just a second, can attest to that fact. I've seen this show 15 times now: 14 in English, once in French; 8 times in Toronto, three times on Broadway, once in Buffalo, Baltimore, DC, and finally in Paris. For me, it is the kind of show that never fails to disappoint. It is very self-aware, knows what it wants to accomplish, and does that exactly. It is not brilliant; it is not impressive; the choreography is simplistic; the music isn't exactly Mozart (but who doesn't love a good ABBA song?); as far as I know, there are rarely big name actors; the movie version was embarrassing; the set is minimal; the storyline is absurd and predictable; need I go on? Then why do I see it so often? What keeps bringing me back? And what will bring me back to Berlin later this year when it opens in a German translation in October (though, Eileen is busy that night, she informed me, so I guess I'll be going alone...)?

Ben Brantley, the New York Times musical reviewer, said it best: Mamma Mia is like a Hostess Cup. The Hostess Cup of musicals. It is synthetic, bad for you, but still tastes so good. The simple choreography just makes you want to get up and dance with the actors; the popular music makes you want to sing along. Mamma Mia doesn't need to be brilliant to make you love it. In fact, it is proof that Broadway does not necessarily need to be a multi-million dollar industry to do what it is intended to do: entertain. Two moving walls can be an entire set, and any moderately talented singer can distract you from your normal life for a few hours. On tour or a permanent production, you can enjoy it from any seat in the house without worry of obstructed views or sound impediments (it's quite loud). Overall, it never gets dull...and I should know!

A few months ago, I was lucky enough to see this delightful piece of theater a fifteenth time, courtesy of Alan and Ritchie, my heroes in Broadway-viewing! They put me in touch with their friend Stacia who is an actress in the show, and after the performance (where I was sitting front and center of the balcony, by the way!), I actually went into the stage door rather than waiting outside! Stacia showed me the stage, the wings, where the actors do their quick changes, where they sing the background music (never prerecorded!), etc. We took a selfie on the stage, she got a picture of me posing in front of the set, and we chatted for a bit about other Broadway shows I had seen recently. In all my years seeing Broadway shows, I had never done something like this before, which just goes to show: every performance—even of something as simple as Mamma Mia—is unique.

How the audience looks from the stage. Dead center, Balcony second row—that's where I sat!

Stacia Fernandez and me!

The wings, from the stage

Pretending to be Donna

With the actual Donna!

Cabaret

Back in June, I was lucky enough to see a fantastic production of Cabaret (the matinee performance right before I saw If/Then a second time) done by the Roundabout Theater Company. I cannot say enough how much I loved not only the performance, but the entire experience of dealing with the Roundabout Theater Company. I only wish I had paid more to sit at one of the tables, to have an even more complete experience. To explain a bit: after purchasing the tickets, I received a pre-show informational email that explained some background stuff about the history of the production, the cast, the theater, the company, etc. They didn't give us programs when we entered the theater, which was a bit of a surprise. Instead, the theater (Studio 54) had been converted into a cabaret of sorts where over half the audience sat at tables, was able to order a meal, and was in a perfect position to be called upon for a few moments of audience participation. Rather than read the program we didn't have, my friend Heather and I looked around. Aside from the beautiful interior of the theater, the stage was totally open: no curtain. Musicians and actors wandered around aimlessly, either warming up or stretching or talking with audience members. Already, the show had begun before it had officially begun.

The first number (the famous "Willkommen") was energetic, raunchy, and extremely charged with a libertine vibe. Here is an abridged version that they performed at the Tony Awards the next day: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ua0U7m9rNc Alan Cumming was marvelous from start to finish—a seeming embodiment of sin and sex, omnipresent, continually watching and using the artifice of the cabaret and its numbers to critique the pre-WWII Berlin outside. The rest of the cast (notably Michelle Williams as Sally Bowles) surrounded him admirably, portraying a cast of profoundly human characters who blindly carry on as though nothing horrific were happen, was energetic, multitalented (several alternate between singing, dancing, and playing instruments), and told this haunting tale in the most visually stunning way possible. Yet, never did the production take itself too seriously, for which I was very glad. As we used to say in creative writing seminars: the hotter the topic, the cooler the prose.

In fact, it is precisely that aspect of Cabaret that I find most unforgettable. This musical thematizes indifference, making it totally and utterly unique as far as I can tell. The second song consists of Frau Schneider compromising on every misfortune that has ever befallen her ("So What") and Sally's reaction to losing her job ("Mein Herr") is equally ambivalent. The first act follows these two love stories—the main tale of Cliff and Sally and the much more endearing tale of Frau Schneider and Herr Schultz—with all the conventions of Broadway theater. But Act II allows indifference to triumph: when Frau Schneider breaks off her engagement with Herr Schultz purely because he is a Jew, she implores the equally passive Cliff (who is about to leave Berlin himself) what he would do ("What Would You Do"). In his omnipresence, the Master of Ceremonies sings his retort ("I Don't Care Much"), a last-minute foreshadowing of the failure of the Cliff/Sally plot. The finale, which reprises the opening number by asking the audience "Where are your troubles now? Forgotten? See, I told you so!" is for all of the indifference, much more tragic than it otherwise might be.

Cabaret is brilliant in that it portrays that dangerous moment when indifference becomes a political act, when cowardice becomes culpability—that fine line where innocence disappears behind collaboration, however passive it may be. While it can sometimes seem impossible to discuss an event such as the Holocaust in a productive way, I feel that Cabaret is an unlikely success story, manipulating the much lighter Broadway musical genre into a profound statement about this atrocious event in our recent history. By portraying the pre-war Berlin in all its contradictory glory (it was, after all, at once a cultural hub, far more socially progressive than other cities at the time, but bore witness to the warning signs of a crime against humanity), it succeeds in making the audience feel, making everyone more conscious of the dangers of indifference. And that effect lasts after the show has ended.

A Q&A followed the performance of the Roundabout Theater Company in which several actors responded to audience reactions. They discussed the history of the production (from the memoirs of Christopher Isherwood entitled "The Berlin Stories" to the 1951 play I Am a Camera, to the original 1966 Broadway production of this Kander and Ebb musical, to its 1972 movie adaptation with Liza Minnelli as Sally and Joel Grey reprising his role as the MC, to the current production which was really just a revival of yet another revival), how it feels to be Jewish and act in such a production, and most importantly, the ending. This production ends with a horrific portrayal of a gas chamber, and before the MC bows, he removes his coat to reveal a uniform of a concentration camp prisoner. Of everything in the production, this point seems to have shocked the audience the most. For me, it seemed slightly heavy handed, but I did appreciate how it continued the contradictory nature of the show. You see, this man who seemed omniscient and omnipresent, who saw everything and recreated it—in short, who was always in complete control—was transformed in the finale into yet another victim. Such an abrupt reversal almost highlights his role as an actor, playing on a stage without any chance to escape.

To wrap this entry up, Cabaret can be difficult to watch. At every moment, it tries to shock and stun, embarrass, and upset. If it doesn't deter those who are unlikely to appreciate the decadent nature of the Cabaret, the sexually charged numbers, and the libertine Sally Bowles, it ultimately catches everyone with the sharp critique of Nazi Germany. Fortunately for current audiences, the Roundabout Theater Company does an excellent job situating such a spectacle and allowing it to be informative as well as entertaining. I would highly recommend it.

Aladdin

Before leaving the Princeton/NYC area, I just had to see the new Disney musical. I had a pretty silly reason: I didn't care much about seeing recent Tony-winner James Monroe Iglehart (who plays the Genie), nor did I feel that my life wouldn't be complete without the apparently jaw-dropping flying carpet scene. Actually, I mostly just wanted to hear the actual voice of Jafar from the movie (Jonathan Freeman) coming out of the mouth of a living human being. To begin, he did NOT disappoint. The musical, on the other hand...

Let me be brief (because not only should no one spend money on this show, but no one should have to waste their time reading about it either), Aladdin is an overblown, expensive, not anywhere near as endearing copy of the original. To be clear, I generally consider Aladdin one of the greatest movies that Disney has ever made. It's well-paced, cultural (loosely based on the 1001 Arabian Nights), Robin Williams is a genius in his role as the Genie, and the music is lovely. It's the kind of movie one can enjoy as a child then rediscover as an adult. In other words, exactly what current Disney movies seem to lack. This musical version, however, is a deflated version of the original, to say the least.

First off, the additional music is uninspired, forgettable, and ultimately a waste of time. And while the first few scenes seem to promise the same jubilance as the movie, the show slows down as it progresses. Next, it is poorly paced (the two biggest scenes are in the middle of both acts, breaking up the action for the overzealous applause), and becomes more and more saccharine as you reach the end. Beyond general criticisms, the writers have decided to take Jasmine's stubbornness and independence from the film and transform it into unbridled feminism, which, when acted out on stage, sounds stilted and absurd. It is a fairy tale, of course, so even the most unbelievable plot events could happen. But, one is much more accepting of a cartoon movie with a childish outlook on reality than of a stage musical with big sets and an even bigger price tag. They have also removed the more cultural aspects—the shiny, sparkling set and largely Jewish/African American/Hispanic cast sing and dance in a thoroughly American way. America, let us remember, is a hodgepodge, and in this case, the traditionally Broadway style which has already been largely replaced today (you know what it looks like—lots of tap dancing, huge sets that are mostly backdrop, lots of sequins and lights), seems more like the absence of culture. I suppose people might be hesitant to produce a musical that glorifies Arab culture in America today—and I certainly don't mean to say that the original movie represents that culture in an authentic way—but ignoring the tradition that this movie calls upon causes the musical to lose everything.

Like I said, I want to be brief. All I want to say is that Disney is going to need to look back at its one truly successful musical in order to learn how to write new ones. The reason that The Lion King is still going strong is that it is a work of art—largely distinct from the original movie. The songs that were added are often equal to the originals, if not better; the set and costume design are nothing short of brilliant and succeed in transforming a lovely animated film into an equally appealing stage production; finally, the cultural aspects (from the language to the masks) make the show appear distinct and original among countless other Broadway productions that all tend to look alike. Aladdin does none of this, but that's not the worst part. The worst is that I spent $150 and went to see it on a Wednesday night while I was still jetlagged. Forcing myself to stay awake to get my money's worth was difficult. I don't think I have ever been more disappointed by a musical.

The curtain at intermission. Not particularly impressive for a multi-million dollar show that will probably close within the year...

If/Then

To begin this post about the new musical, If/Then, I have to say this: as with most of the shows I write about on this blog, I am biased. Generally, that bias comes from various preconceptions about the shows, their writers, the actors, etc. In this case, the bias comes from lead actress, Idina Menzel, whose voice I have held in my memory since I was six years old and first heard the Rent soundtrack. The reason I saw the show was for her, despite the lackluster reviews of its test run in Washington DC. While writers Brian Yorkey (book, lyrics) and Tom Kitt (score) and director Michael Greif (whose names have been affiliated with such hits as Next to Normal and Rent) helped convince me that I was right in giving this show a chance, I should admit to anyone who reads this that I went not once—but twice—for the thrill of seeing one of my favorite singers perform live on a Broadway stage.

Understanding that, I have decided not to "review" the show, so to speak. I don't want to attest to how well or poorly it functions as a musical, since no one would (or really should) believe me on that subject anyway. Instead, I'm going to do what I do best: analyze the story and treat it in an academic way. It is essentially my job to comment on current literary production, including of course contemporary theater. While my research focuses on French literature, I still feel perfectly competent to assess the book of a Broadway musical (considering my commitment to musicals), and in fact, I feel obligated to comment on this particular one, considering it was written by a Pulitzer Prize-winning team. So, to quote the show: Here I go.

If/Then chronicles two independent trajectories of one woman's life after a seemingly innocuous decision in Madison Park to spend time with one friend or another. This woman is Elizabeth (Idina Menzel) and the friends are: her lesbian neighbor, Kate (LaChanze) and her bisexual best friend from college, Lucas (Anthony Rapp). Let us sidestep the obvious cultural bombs they have opened the story with for the time being—feminism (a woman and her potential, the myriad of outcomes her life could have resulting from one small choice), homosexuality (not only is this straight woman closest to friends who do not conform to any gender norm, but their homosexuality is present without being commented upon, a recent Broadway trend that attempts to subvert expectations). Rather, let us just look at how the writers chose to deal with their choses initial situation.

Elizabeth therefore splits into Liz (who wears glasses and whose story is backdropped by a blue light) and Beth (no glasses, but red light). Lighting, by the way, was designed by Kenneth Posner. Liz immediately meets Josh (James Snyder), and begins a romance fit for a Broadway stage—meeting, fast-paced dialogue, marriage, babies, death of spouse (did I forget to mention that there would be spoilers? I'm sorry—don't read on if you have not yet seen the show and/or think the plot is too complicated to unravel yourself); Beth, on the other hand, is given the opportunity to be a city planner, a career choice that propels her into professional stardom but leaving her love life a desert of missed opportunity. Once again, let's ignore the feminism issues that arise from such a plot. I'll get to that later. The musical alternates between these two lives, focusing on major moments in both all of which seem very skewed towards the lovable Liz rather than the serious Beth. How quickly one forgets that these individuals are the same person, the very endearing Menzel, who does her best to make sense of a fragmented and trite narrative. Note that I do not say confusing: while that might be a common criticism, I find the alternation between Liz and Beth cute and engaging, a bit ridiculous at times, but certainly never confusing. The writers were careful enough to avoid confounding the two, and stuck almost religiously to a first Liz, then Beth order (with the small exceptions of a few songs, which alternated somewhat freely between the two—"What the f***" and "You Learn to Live Without").

Continuing on, let me list these pivotal moments:

Act I:
1) Liz meets Josh but initially rejects him/Beth gets a phone call from Stephen (Jerry Dixon) offering her her dream job as a city planner. [Song: Prologue/What if?]
2) Liz sees Josh again in a stopped subway car and is encouraged by Kate/Beth attends Lucas' protest, stopping a subway car. The next day, she becomes the head of the development project that Lucas is protesting. [Song: It's a Sign]
3) Liz sees Josh a third time in the park and finally agrees to go out with him (she has also begun work as an urban planning professor)/Beth begins work as a city planner which she finds extremely fulfilling [Song: A map of New York]
4) Liz begins dating Josh, who introduces Lucas to his best friend David (Jason Tam)/Beth convinces Lucas to abandon his protests by securing him a publishing deal [Songs: You Never Know,Ain't No Man Manhattan]
5) Liz sleeps with Josh/Beth attempts to sleep with Stephen (who refuses because he is married), a disappointment which results in her inviting Lucas over that very night [Songs: What the F***, Here I Go, You Don't Need to Love Me]
6) Liz finds out she's pregnant, and tells Josh who proposes/Beth finds out she is pregnant, but does not tell Lucas so she can continue to pursue new career opportunities [Songs: No More Wasted Time, Surprise]

Act II (this act seems to reverse the order of storytelling to Beth, then Liz):
1) Beth walks by a wedding alone and has an abortion without telling Lucas/Liz marries Josh and has a son [Songs: This Day/Walking by a Wedding, Hey, Kid]
2) Beth attempts to reconnect with Lucas, who feels that Beth was his last chance at love/Lucas and David admit that they love each other [Songs: Some Other Me, Best Worst Mistake]
3) Beth continues to excel at her career but feels incomplete as a coworker has a baby and leaves the company to move with her husband/Liz struggles to accept that Josh is called into active duty overseas and then is killed. [Songs: I Hate You, A Map of New York (reprise), You Learn to Live Without]
4) Beth has a near-death experience in a plane on a work trip and convinces Kate and Anne (Jen Colella) not to divorce/Liz is too overcome with grief to notice Kate's and Anne's marital troubles [Songs: The Moment Explodes, Love While You Can]

(I'm putting these next two songs separately since at this point, the show becomes very Liz-oriented)
5) Josh's body is returned to US soil and Liz, Kate, Anne, Lucas, and David attend the funeral. While Liz is still hurt and angry that Josh left at all, David suggests that it was better to have loved him and lost him, than never to have known him at all. [Song: What Would You Do?]
6) Liz repeats the lines with which she seems to have begun the musical, talking to Josh (who we now know is dead), explaining that on the plane, she had wondered what her life would be like if she had never met him. She then comes to the conclusion that she did not regret her life with him, but will have to start her life again. [Song: Always Starting Over]

Finale:
In the park, Liz (who is upset at the fact that, had she not postponed Josh's army tour due to the birth of their second son) sees Stephen and his wife, who offer her a job as a city planner/In the same park at the same time, Beth is meeting Kate and Lucas when Josh (back from his tour) invites her for coffee [Song: What if? (reprise)]

To avoid making this post a hundred pages long, I will just focus on numbers 5 and 6 in Act II. When Liz speaks those lines that open the show, it appears for a brief moment that the parallel lives act was a ruse. Nothing more than clever misdirection on the part of the playwrights. Rather than sell theatergoers the same trite love story they have seen time and time again, the writers decided to distract them with these alternating stories, neither of which seem particularly original. As I said, while the Liz love-story is cliché, the Beth story is perhaps even more so. The first two hours of the show seem to contradict the feminist ideals that they seem to tout—while one woman's life holds the potential for both love and career, in practice, Elizabeth can only accomplish one or the other. But then, the glorious Tony-stopping song "Always Starting Over" begins. With her opening monologue, Liz says: "On that plane today, I thought about what my life would be like if I had never met you. And in that instant, I imagined our whole life together...and what if I had been in that park a day later, or an hour later? Or what if I had gone with Lucas or I hadn't stopped to listen to that guy playing guitar?" This is a standard literary technique: beginning with the ending, and then upon reaching that starting point, the audience understands how emotionally charged such a beginning actually was. In this particular instance, sitting in that theater, I believed it was something even more: that since the musical opens on this exact line (even before splitting Elizabeth into Liz and Beth), the world of parallel lives was actually a lie: there was one life, Liz, and the hypothetical scenario of Beth. That is what Liz had been imagining on the plane, and that is why Beth's story seemed so unpleasant and off-putting. As a widow morning her husband's early death, of course she is inclined to favor her actual love story, and is using this hypothetical imagining of what her life might have been to justify that one cliché that we hear all the time: it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. And indeed, such creative musings fit well with the character as she was presented to us at the outset—she is constantly making a big deal out of little choices she has to make, she thinks about every possibility, and she is hesitant to make even the smallest decisions given the huge impact they can have on her life. In fact, in that moment, If/Then actually seems quite brilliant! The beautiful minimalist set (Mark Wendland) and excellent lighting portray Ms. Menzel as alone in her own galaxy, her show-stopping number and position at center stage reflected in a slanted mirror, emphasizing how her consciousness has been laid bare before us, and is ultimately an illusion.

Yes, that is what I thought was happening. Unfortunately, I was wrong. These writers refused to let Ms. Menzel end the show on such a powerful note. Rather, the story continues, parallel lives and all. And the story wraps up so succinctly that it makes one wonder if it was written by the same writers. Yorkey took such care in each story to underline the small changes, the sloppy nature of life in which one small decision can have a myriad of repercussions. In Beth's scenario, Lucas never finds love; in Liz's, Kate and Anne get divorced while Lucas and David adopt a son. The perfect ending seems to negate such details, saying that in the end, that one choice at the beginning wasn't really that important after all. In fact, Elizabeth can have it all either way: she just needs to be patient and good things will fall into her lap regardless of her choices. So perhaps yes, the musical was unnecessarily complicated, but perhaps this complication results more from the disconnect between the beginning and the ending. What seems to be a perfect circle (both scenes take place in the same park, have the same cast of characters, the same guitar player, and the same song) is actually one whose existence throws into question the entire premise. And while in the moment, throwing Beth a happy ending seems satisfying, the greater implications of this choice unravel the fabric of the entire show.

So, to wrap things up. I saw If/Then twice, and was extremely disappointed by the ending the first time around. The second time, since I was aware of it in advance, I was able to bring a more critical eye to the entire production: the cast is very energetic, the set design and lighting are beautiful, the songs are cute (but ultimately not very memorable), the lyrics are often vague and cliché (almost every song, as Ben Brantley noted, is interchangeable with lyrics about fate), but the story is (until the end) engaging. Ultimately, while I came both times for Idina Menzel (and don't regret it—her performance should not be missed, and since she did not win the Tony for this role, she might leave a little sooner than expected, a cast change that will most certainly result in the death of the musical), If/Then still might just be the most innovative and exciting American musical to open in the past few years. And as disappointing as that may be, the real problem is that other new shows, mostly spinoffs of mediocre movies with very little original music, seem to be what is rewarded on Broadway right now. While If/Then was not perfect, as one of the only original musicals of the season, I do believe it was unjustly ignored by the Tony Awards this year. In any case, I can see it becoming a cult classic somewhere along the line.

Also, here are a few pictures of the cast at the stage door, the night before the Tony's.

Hello again!

Well, it has been quite a while since my Tony bitterness and a new round of musicals has appeared for mass judgment! This blog post will not be about that, as my faith in the Tony selection process has not returned and I do not expect it to. In any case, since it has been so long since I began this blog, I decided it would be a good idea to continue it. Just because I haven't written in a while does not mean that I haven't been seeing musicals—far from it! In fact, I've seen so many this year that I had to buy a new Playbill binder to accommodate them all. It seems fitting that my first post back should be about one of my favorite Broadway stars, Idina Menzel, who in the time since my last post has created quite the new name for herself by singing "Let It Go" in Disney's Frozen. This post will not be about that, but will rather focus on the musical. I should, however, preface this by saying: as with all of my blog posts, I am biased. These are not reviews, but my personal opinions. I do not expect anyone to agree with me completely, or always. In this case, Idina Menzel has been one of my favorite Broadway singers for most of my life, and there is no way I can critique her objectively. I could write as though I weren't so biased, but the truth is, there is no interest in that. All I can promise is that I will write about the musical as I see fit, with the understanding that I am more inclined to favor Idina Menzel's performance no matter what. For anyone who might be reading this, I hope you can forgive me that.

Tony Break

I just wanted to take a break from my reviews of individual shows to jot down a few of my preliminary thoughts on the Tony Awards this year. I didn't get to watch them (being in Europe right now, and all), but I've seen the results and I have to say they came as a bit of a shock. 

The choice between Matilda and Kinky Boots seems to me to be a choice between several polar opposites: 

1) Subtle vs. Pedantic

While Matilda transforms a novel that seemingly resists adaptation in the form of a Broadway musical, Kinky Boots is the literal mold for most blockbuster hits (let me be clear, by "blockbuster hit," I mean a flashy, expensive musical that might last a year or so—I have higher standards for what I would call "great shows"). While the former uses the basic building blocks of language to spin an entrancing tapestry of stories that enchant through alienation, cleverly mock mediocrity, and encourage everyone to be the author of their own stories, the latter loudly proclaims at the end: "Just be with dignity. Celebrate yourself triumphantly. You'll see, just be." As if Broadway spectators had never heard that one before. 

2) Quiet vs. Loud

The defining song of Matilda is entitled "Quiet," in which Matilda stands on a block and sings a lovely, simple tune while the adults scream silently in the background. In contrast, her mother sings "Loud," proclaiming that "the less you have to sell the harder you sell it." This is essentially the motto of Kinky Boots, though they would never admit it. If their only message for audiences is to be themselves, they sure do make a racket saying it. Ms. Lauper's music isn't unpleasant (as indeed several numbers in Matilda are, and are supposed to be), but it's nothing special. It is loud. It is relentless. It is, well, just like everything else. 

3) Groundbreaking vs. Ripoff

While Matilda distinguishes itself by being nothing like other musicals in every way, Kinky Boots operates based on a traditional recycling of tired standards: the set, the music, the book, the plot, the dancing, the cross-dressing. The set in Matilda is unique and bold, the music is chaotic, the lyrics are subversive, the plot is genius (Roald Dahl, and no one can possibly disagree with that), and the use of cross-dressing should hopefully be a lesson in innovation to future shows even despite Mr. Carvel's unjustified loss. 

4) Discipline vs. Sloth

Matilda is a tediously-worked adaptation of a popular novel that has already been adapted into an equally popular film. Such work is evidenced by the beautiful product you see on stage: not quite the book, but something else. Definitely not the movie. The children are expertly trained, right down to their accents (which they maintain even during complicated songs and dance numbers). The fantastic balance between scenes and songs never fails to catch the audience off guard. And Mr. Carvel, whose performance cannot be lauded enough, has accomplished what might be the most incredible feat that any actor might have done: he has faithfully reproduced pure evil in all its unbalanced eccentricities. All this while Mr. Porter of Kinky Boots strutted about the stage in exactly the way Fierstein has done many times before. 

On the other hand, Kinky Boots never surprises the audience, who even with no knowledge of the film on which it is based (at least, this is how I experienced it), can easily predict every second that is still to come. The music does not fit with the story, the British accents are all lost in the extremely American tunes, and the entire show operates based on a shabby alternation between the perky group numbers and the trite slow ballads. They might have transferred the story over to this side of the pond, because the accents were actually quite infuriating, indicative of a much greater sloth that one can equally discern by looking at Mr. Fierstein eat one of his new hotdogs. Kinky Boots is a lazy musical, capitalizing on habits and pre-fabricated techniques. Nothing original, the musical might be compared to a coloring book written by someone else and filled in by Lauper and Fierstein, or maybe a set of legos. 

I could go on, but it's getting late and I'm tired. All I can say to conclude is this: perhaps it would have been too much of a statement, giving Matilda the Best Musical Tony Award. Such a choice might have implied that a group of children can put on a better show than Lauper and Fierstein and all the traditional transvestites in New York City. Perhaps such a choice would have reminded us that the West End is winning the unofficial battle of the arts. And I'm sorry Neil Patrick Harris, but no matter how big and flashy your opening number might be, Broadway cannot survive on that alone. This isn't your fault, though. It isn't Harvey Fierstein's either. It's mine. I shouldn't have hoped that whoever seems to be running the show could actually recognize brilliance. Rent only got 4 Tony Awards as well, and Wicked failed to win Best Musical to a funny show that just recently had to move Off Broadway to compensate for plummeting ticket sales. The Tony's have a long history of making the wrong call, and why should I have thought this year would be any different? 

Fortunately, it is not with that traditional Broadway flair that Matilda operates, and the Tony Awards clearly are not meant for such musicals. I think Matilda says it best: "If you think the ending is fixed already, you might as well be saying, you think that it's okay. And that's not right." Well, I think these awards were fixed, and that such behavior is the very reason for Broadway's latest failures. It's not right, and since I cannot do anything about it but continue to spend my money on Matilda, I will just have to content myself by putting the final period on this post.  

Jekyll and Hyde

When I was about 8, we went to see Jekyll & Hyde the musical. And while my friend Alexandra claims that taking children to a musical like that is child abuse, my brother and I knew what we were getting into well before we stepped foot in the theater. You see, we had been listening to the CD nonstop—I liked the pretty songs, and he liked the horrifying songs about murder. It was a great musical that we could both agree to like, but for totally different reasons. The CD alone gave me nightmares. Specifically Robert Cuccioli's voice, and his complete transformations from Jekyll into Hyde and vice versa. As I grew older and continued to listen to the CD, I was able to appreciate the complexity of his interpretations of what were otherwise mediocre lyrics. In college, I read the novel, and was surprised to see that it wasn't at all like the musical and that an extended theorization of the duality of man really had almost nothing to do with it: the novel is structured as a sort of mystery, recounted by the middle-aged bachelor friends of Dr. Henry Jekyll who were very surprised by his sudden, inexplicable friendship with a strange, little man named Edward Hyde. At the end, they have the not-so-surprising revelation that Jekyll was Hyde all along, which nowadays isn't particularly shocking since the name of the novel itself has become synonymous with good and evil. One of my Writing Seminars professors at Hopkins interpreted the novel as a commentary on homosexuality. For him, Hyde wasn't evil at all, but was gay, and that sort of behavior wouldn't be tolerated from a reputable doctor like Jekyll, so he "transformed" into Hyde in order to act however he wanted. The place where Hyde is "seen" committing the murder (though there is some doubt about that), my professor said, was essentially the red-light district, where upper-class people could get female or male prostitutes. 

I won't comment on that interpretation, but you can see that they would have to beef up the plot for a musical. So, Dr. Henry Jekyll now has a fiancée, Emma, who tolerates his obsession with finding the key to separate good and evil within mankind. The reason he's trying to do that, we learn in the first scene of the show, is to save his father, who is locked away in an insane asylum. Since that's not enough to keep the show going, they add in two more details: first, Jekyll asks permission to experiment on mental patients, and is denied; second, he attends a show at a cabaret/whore house and meets a prostitute (who, of course, has a heart of gold), Lucy. The musical that follows is the extended pondering on good and evil, the duplicity of men, told through the struggle of one man split into two that I was expecting from the novel (since I saw the musical first). It's a gripping tale when you're 8, mostly because of all the people being murdered all the time. Needless to say, I have very fond memories of my first and only encounter with a Frank Wildhorn musical. 

My first year in grad school, at the end of spring break, I went to Baltimore and took a little trip to DC to see 1776 at Ford's Theater. It was essentially history overload: the founding of America onstage where Lincoln was assassinated. The most shocking part of the whole thing for me, though, was when Dickinson (or rather, the actor playing Dickinson) walked onstage and told John Adams: "Mr. Adams, you are nothing but an agitator." Well, I am pretty sure my heart skipped a beat—it was Jekyll/Hyde from the CD! I hadn't looked in the program, but I was 100% sure. I knew that voice. During intermission, I verified, and I was right. That was indeed Robert Cuccioli on the stage. Side note: he is currently playing the Green Goblin in "Spider Man: Turn Off the Dark." I would go see him, but I wouldn't see that show again, not even if you paid me. 

Anyway, back to Jekyll & Hyde, the show. They recently restaged it, and put the new production on Broadway (in the Marquis Theater, in the Marriott) for a limited engagement. Starring Deborah Cox (who I have been told is a famous R&B singer) and Constantine Maroulis (who I guess was on American Idol), this production is trying a little too hard to be cool, which surprised me, considering it always seemed like a "cool" musical to me. What more could you want in a musical to make it exciting? Jekyll & Hyde has drugs (sure, medicinal, but they have surprising effects), sex, prostitutes, murder, horrific transformations, beautiful music, a person being set on fire, etc. It might have seemed over the top to me had I been a little older, but this new version took everything to a new extreme. 

The production opened in the mental hospital with Jekyll's father (a song called "Lost in the Darkness," Jekyll's heartwarming ballad to his father about how he will cure him at all costs), except instead of a simple man on a hospital bed, the father was stretched out across a metal board, held up facing the audience by a straight-jacket. The border of the stage lights up, and he screams. I guess it would have been scary to the eight-year-old me, but so was the Earthquake ride at Universal Studios. To the 23-year-old me, it was ridiculous. Who needs that? No wonder these tickets were so expensive! All that for just the first thirty seconds? And to make matters worse, "Lost in the Darkness" wasn't particularly recognizable. Maroulis sang well, he had a beautiful voice, but what had they done to the song? Then, they added one. For me, that was the last straw—why are they changing everything? This would be the question I would ask for the following three hours. "Murder, Murder" was barely recognizable (the addictive division of the standard 4/4 meter into two groups of three and one of two was eliminated); "Dangerous Game" had become a pop number, a shadow of the intense foreshadowing of the murder that would follow; and the worst part, "Confrontation," the song in which Jekyll and Hyde, portrayed by one man alone, battled it out on stage in front of you, resorted to the use of special effects to facilitate what would have otherwise required an impressive feat from the lead actor. 

I can see now why people hate Wildhorn musicals. I can see now why critics would complain about Jekyll & Hyde being too showy and not having enough substance. But what I cannot see was why the new director took these criticisms (which, as far as I can remember from something I saw when I was 8, were not really valid—sure, there were special effects, but they were necessary for the plot) to their logical extremes. The truly frightening scenes in the original were not overdone. The first transformation of Jekyll into Hyde was accomplished by a simple injection, followed by a clever development of the lead actor's mannerisms, voice, etc. The voice got deeper, the music became more intense, and finally he was hunched over the table, hair everywhere, and the entire theater went silent except for the clock. Using his left hand to write in his journal (whereas before, Jekyll had been right handed), Hyde writes: "4:00, and all is well." Then, he exclaims: "Free" in a voice that was no longer human. That is how I remember it, as a man writhing onstage seemingly in agonizing pain, being overcome by his darker side. In the new production, Maroulis has a line of green test tubes which turn red one by one, he straps himself into a strange contraption that fills him with this strange fluid by his arm and by his head. It is absurd, and result: not in the least bit scary. Same with "Confrontation." While the original was as simple a staging as possible: one man, center stage, fighting with himself, turning rapidly from one character into another, a constant reminder to the audience that they are indeed two parts of one whole, the new one is nothing like that. Projected fire everywhere, a digital Hyde threatens Jekyll, who sits helplessly in his living room, surrounded by these graphics. 

And the worst part is, I honestly believe that Maroulis could have done it. When he wasn't trying desperately to give these songs new life—something that didn't need to be done—he portrayed an obsessive Jekyll, a tortured soul who just did not know where to draw the line. And he portrayed him well. On the other hand, Deborah Cox was a delight, and I'm not just saying that because she very rarely strayed from a more traditional interpretation of her show-stopping numbers. The only main character who really perfected her British accent (Maroulis should take some lessons from the American children in Matilda, all of whom never lose the accent for even a second, not even while they sing), Cox brought life to an otherwise dull and stereotypical character. Her extraordinarily versatile voice, while not a traditional one for Broadway, fit nicely with the numbers, and her musicality was phenomenal. I almost considered buying one of her CD's, but it really wasn't my style of music. 

Overall, what I learned from the experience was that Jekyll & Hyde can still captivate, even in this new form. I saw it with my friend Alexandra, who knew absolutely nothing of the show or the story going in, and who immediately bought the new cast recording in the train leaving NYC. She didn't know the original, so she didn't know what she was missing. But I guess that reaction is just indicative of something timeless and gripping that is buried deep in this extremely under-appreciated and often-poorly-done musical (think of the filmed version, which is a good two and a half hours of David Hasselhoff shaking like a scared puppy as he tries to sing with vibrato...while the only thing he really knew how to do was rip his shirt off). That something—whether it be the original Robert Louis Stevenson tale, the music which, no matter how much you hate Frank Wildhorn, is still quite lovely, or just the fluidity with which the tale is translated into a piece of theater—is still there in this new production, but you clearly can't be too critical if you want to find it.