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Mary Testa, Michael McGrath, Talene Monahon, Michael Urie

Mary Testa, Michael McGrath, Talene Monahon and Michael Urie – Photo by Carol Rosegg

There’s an anecdote about actor Edmund Gwenn on his deathbed. You can Google what his final words actually were but the popular simplification of the tale goes that his visiting friend said, “This must be very difficult for you,” and Gwenn replied, “No. Dying is easy. Comedy is hard.”

Well, how hard it is depends on a lot of factors, and in the theatre, a primary one is who’s doing the funny. To appropriate and widen an analysis from the film Funny Bones: There are two kinds of comedians: Funny Bones comedians and non-Funny Bones comedians. The first one is funny. The second one tells funny. They’re both funny. But the worst thing you can encounter in the theatre, where comedy is concerned, is a production created and/or populated by people who are neither. (Involved people calm down, this will be a good review; I’m just building toward a point in your favor.)
If a play is genuinely funny and written natively in English, there’s at least the chance, even in bad company, that an ear for natural cadence, a sense of rhythm, however crude, can save the day somehow, because we share the language with the playwright; but it can all go awry if the enterprise is  classical comedy from a foreign land. First of all, the script cannot just be a literal translation. Not that there’s any such thing anyway, really, but colloquial language changes from generation to generation, so the translation from one era  may not sound right to the ears of another. Second, since comedy depends so much on the aforementioned rhythm and cadence,  the translation would really have to be an adaptation, because it has to reframe cultural references and idioms in terms that will make sense to English-attuned ears. Third, the adapter needs to be a true dramatist, with an understanding of how comedic situations need to translate over the years and across cultures. Finally, the adapter has to know funny.  Not amusing, not humorous, not verbally playful, but genuine goddamn funny. Anything short of that,  especially if you add to it  a cast whose members are not intrinsically funny, and a director who doesn’t understand the difference between acting funny and playing comedy for serious stakes, and you can wind up with one of those deadly academic exercises in capery and japery.
The genuine  rarity is the classic comedy that has been adapted by a comedy pro,   and cast with genuine funny bones and non-funny bones comedians, who are under the guidance of a director who ”gets” the sweet spot that balances authentic drama  with extreme characterization and possibly also frantic physical activity.  It comes along so infrequently that you kind of want to hug it when it appears.  So it’s no surprise  that farms have been open wide for Red Bull’s production The Government Inspector, which has transferred midtown to New World Stages from a West Village limited emgagement.
Nikolai Gogol’s classic comedy about a corrupt Russian town and the roguish, deadbeat minor clerk, just passing through, that they mistake  for the high ranking official of the play’s title  has been put through an über-hip filter by playwright Jeffrey Hatcher, who has abandoned any pretense of being faithful to anything other than a general outline and the spirit of subversion; his equally insidious partner in collusion is director Jesse Berger. On a two-level set (Alexis Distler),  their unlabored labors are carried out  my such divinely madpersons as  Michael McGrath (the Mayor),  Mary Testa (his wife), Arnie Burton (the town mailman and the rogue’s servant), Stephen DeRosa (the hospital director),  William Youmans (the school principal),  Mary Lou Rosato (various insane cameos), Talene Monahon (the Mayor’s daughter) and others just as clinically disturbed.
The revelation of the production, however, as if it needed one on top of all this, is Michael Urie as the misapprehended interloper who becomes increasingly opportunistic.  That he was a comic actor capable of carrying a show was clear enough to any who saw the solo actor play Buyer and Cellar. But That proves to have been no preparation for seeing him as a master of physical comedy who can hold his own against Bill Irwin or Dick Van Dyke. All the while delivering a unique spin on his character that, to use that phrase again, perfectly fits the sweet spot between innocent befuddlement  and calculated deviltry.
So all things considered,  I’d put The Government Inspector on my “to see  before it closes” list for the summer,  just so that you can have it in your head that such a triumph in the classic comedy game is actually possible. Because there’ll be another crappy production, seemingly bent on disproving the assertion, soon enough.
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Derek DelGaudio

Derek DelGaudio Photo by Frank Lorch

Magic of an entirely different sort—the kind performed by an actual magician—is a component of In and Of Itself, written and performed by Derek DelGaudio at the Daryl Roth Theatre off Union Square. But the magic is only a component, and occupies less of the show than you might expect. The magic supports a darkly funny, measured rumination on the meaning of existence.

Derek DelGaudio

Derek DelGaudio Photo by Frank Lorch

Mr. DelGuadio is a youngish fellow (30ish) who seems almost too baby faced and charming to be so broody, but he himself personifies the show’s fascinating concepts of identity, expectation and contradiction. Indeed, the magic itself is arguably the least provocative thing about the show, manifesting in sleight-of-hand card manipulation, scenic illusion and good old fashioned mentalism. If you have no grounding in magic at all, you’ll find the magicianship at least fairly impressive, if not mind-boggling. If you have some, you’ll recognize by the end that he hasn’t rewritten the (secret) book technically, but follows in the great tradition of appearing to, adding his own unique details to presentation, and linking presentation to story. But unusually—even for a magic show that is themed—he makes that linkage about as close to touching (in an emotional sense) as a magic show has ever been. And that’s where the real magic is to be found.

I’m loath to describe more than that, which, I’m sorry, can leave you with only an abstract impression of what awaits you, but I think it’s best not to spoil anything about In and of Itself. All I’ll add is that it’s a very full and satisfying 75 minutes, no ‘mish, and you need to get there on time, for there is no late seating…and this is one of those rare occasions where there’s good reason for that. There’s even some reason to arrive early. So stop reading this. I don’t want to delay you…

David Spencer is an award-winning composer-lyricist, lyricist-librettist, author and musical theatre teacher. He has written music and lyrics for the Richard Rodgers Development Award-winning musical The Fabulist, which also contributed to his winning a Kleban lyrics award and several Gilman & Gonzalez-Falla Theatre Foundation grants. He is also lyricist-librettist for two musicals with composer Alan Menken: Weird Romance (WPA 1992, York 2004) and The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz, which had its sold out, extended world premiere in Montreal in Summer 2015; cast album release soon. He made his professional debut in 1984 with the English Adaptation of La Bohéme at the Public Theatre; and he has since written music and lyrics for Theatreworks/USA’s all-new, award-winning Young Audience versions of The Phantom of the Opera (1996) and Les Misérables (1999) (book and direction for both by Rob Barron). Currently he is writing book, music and lyrics for a musical based on the iconic Russian novel The Golden Calf. Spencer’s published books are the Alien Nation novel Passing Fancy (Pocket, 1994), The Musical Theatre Writer’s Survival Guide (Heinemann, 2005, a regularly reprinted industry standard) and the script of Weird Romance (Samuel French, 1993). He is on faculty and teaches at the BMI-Lehman Engel Musical Theatre Workshop and has taught at HB Studio, the Workshop Studio Theater and Goldsmith’s College in London. His primary professional affiliations are BMI, The Dramatists Guild and The International Association of Media Tie-in Writers.

Off Broadway

Off Broadway Girl Talk Madwomen of the West

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Right now at the Actors Temple Theatre, 339 West 47th Street is the New York premier of Sandra Tsing Loh’s Madwomen of the West. The show in a way reminded me of the 1996 play Love, Loss, and What I Wore, where celebrities joined on stage. Here you have Caroline Aaron, Brooke Adams, Marilu Henner, and Melanie Mayron, all actors who have performed on film, TV and stage. They are like long lost friends, they are so familiar.

Caroline Aaron, Marilu Henner, Melanie Mayron, and Brooke Adams Photo by Carol Rosegg

The four have gathered together for Claudia’s (Mayron) birthday. It is being thrown at the Brentwood home of Jules (Adams) and Marilyn (Aaron) has decorated. Enter the long lost Zoey (Henner) and what you think you know about these friends, isn’t what it seems. As a matter of fact, this birthday brunch is about to turn into the brunch from hell. These Baby Boomers, are also feminists admiring Hilary Clinton and Gloria Steinem, though not always on the same side. They break the 4th wall, as they banter back and forth to themselves and to us, the audience. They confront, encourage, justify and talk about transgender, health, the horror of Trump and those “pussy hats”, sex and so much more. Think “girl-talk” to the max.

They sit on couches, as a backdrop of palm trees, and a lone piñata take center stage, thanks to set designer Christian Fleming. The play has no money, so the production is bare bones…. so they say. Everything about this show is tongue and check and is well directed by Thomas Caruso.

Each actor here shines and in an out of the way aside, each has pieces of their real selves written into the roles they play. Not having seen Aaron on stage before, I was impressed by her vocal quality and humor. Adams brings sophistication and Mayron adds that knowing, we are all in the same messed up boat. Henner will make you want that body and her sex appeal.

These women knocked down doors for the women to come, but I was surprised that the one issue they missed out on was that women are still not equal in this country. It takes 1, count it 1 state to approve this and yet plays about feminism leave this vital information out.

The show ends with “The Bitch is Back.” they sing in glee. I guess it is ok when we call ourselves that.

Madwomen of the West: The Actors Temple Theatre, 339 West 47th Street through December 31.

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Off Broadway

“Stereophonic” at Playwrights Horizons Sings Solidly

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It’s July 1976, in a recording studio in Sausalito, CA and we are being invited into a space that only a select few get to visit, let alone witness. This is art in the making, pure and simple, with ego and love, getting mixed and faded in through the process most musically. In Playwrights Horizons‘s magnificent new play, Stereophonic, written most delicately by David Adjmi (The Blind King Parts I and II), a band on the cusp of greatness has assembled, and they are tasked, casually and with great intent, to something magnificent and meaningful, a lasting piece of musical art, to follow up their last album that has become, over the timeframe, a breakout hit.

Andrew R. Butler, Sarah Pidgeon, Chris Stack, and Juliana Canfield in Playwrights Horizons’s Stereophonic. Photo by Chelice Parry.

The play is exceptionally well framed and constructed; both musical and meandering, in the best of all possible ways, yet somewhere inside Adjmi’s engaging Stereophonicand its three-hour running time, a deeper level of contextual art formulation is unpacked quite beautifully. It saunters forward, with a complicated level of exhaustion, angst, and inspiration, unearthing something that almost defies expectations and compartmentalization. It’s a 1970s rock saga, clearly modeled on the legendary Fleetwood Mac and their dynamic backstage friction, that leans into and plays with the problematic relationships within this unnamed band as they try to create magic behind a glass wall, while also trying to fulfill their emotional needs in the confines of the studio and real life.

It’s all emotional breakups and reconciliations, with a layer of bored and sleep-deprived banter; around a broken coffee machine and the annoying reverberations of (not only) the drum. It’s electric and conflictual, playing havoc on every one of these characters’ insecure hearts, while offering up no grand solutions or final product. Stereophonic is all about the tiny details and the little frustrations that grow and become emotional cannonballs bent on destruction, leveled and defused out of an undercurrent of love and need for creation. It is incandescent in its artful construction, displaying and writing about a realm few of us can understand. It’s the agony and ecstasy that lives and sings inside the magnificent creative process of musicians, arts, singers, and writers, who hear aspects that most of us can’t understand, let alone hear or comprehend. And we have been invited in, to bear witness to its creation, in all its meticulously dull and exhausting detail. Giving light to the darkness of the process, and how art can both create and destroy those involved in its coming to life.

Eli Gelb and Andrew R. Butler in Playwrights Horizons’s Stereophonic. Photo by Chelice Parry.

Stereophonic, as directed solidly by Daniel Aukin (LCT’s Admissions), is relentless, casual, and wonderfully detailed, giving us the band experience of trying to organically create music, supplied by the immensely talented musician and composer, Will Butler (Arcade Fire’s The Suburbs). It all plays out over a long period of time, driving each other mad with their internal and external struggles and ego manipulations. The set, miraculously well designed by David Zinn (Broadway’s Kimberly Akimbo), with the solid help of sound designer Ryan Rumery (PH’s Placebo) and lighting designer Jiyoun Chang (Broadway’s The Cottage), delivers the dichotomy of the control room in the foreground and the soundproof recording space in the back, separated by a wall of glass, where different elements unfold with deliberation. It’s a fantastic formulation, that resembles and plays with the making of ‘Rumours‘ whole also paying tribute, (I am told – this detail flew over my head), to albums by Todd Rundgren, Talking Heads, Pink Floyd, and Elton John.
The unnamed Stereophonic band before us seemingly has a hit album that is climbing the charts as they start recording, and their record label is becoming more and more generous as they become more and more famous. All the actors find their fantastically unique space within that iconic construct, with the two couples taking center stage, along with nods to those around them. It’s a compelling narrative, with their body language giving off the boredom and exhaustion that comes with all the late-night partying and endless recording and re-recording. Dominated by an American guitarist and singer, the aggressive Peter, played strongly by Tom Pecinka (TFANA’s He Brought Her Heart Back..), and his insecure songwriting girlfriend, Diana, beautifully portrayed by Sarah Pidgeon (Hulu’s “Tiny Beautiful Things“), they act out a dynamic that is as raw and rocky as one would imagine when two artists collide, both with faltering egos and needs. The cling to one another in desperate need, while also mistreating and hurting one another endlessly. It’s electric and disturbing, while being entirely believable and dynamic.

Tom Pecinka and Sarah Pidgeon in Playwrights Horizons’s Stereophonic. Photo by Chelice Parry.

There is also, almost more fascinating, a trio of Brits, two of which are struggling to connect within their explosive marriage; namely Holly, magnificently embodied by Juliana Canfield (ATC’s Sunday), who sings and plays the piano, and Reg, brilliantly portrayed by Will Brill (Off-Broadway’s Uncle Vanya), who plays the bass and drinks and snorts so much that he can barely walk, at least at the beginning of this play. There is also the captivatingly complicated Simon, played well by Chris Stack (ATC’s Blue Ridge), who plays the drums while trying hard to manage the mess that slowly and almost lazily unravels around him.
Staying firmly on the control side of the glass, we are also given a peek inside those who live in the background; the young sound engineer Grover, meticulously unpacked by Eli Gelb (RTC’s Skintight), and his hilariously well-constructed assistant, Charlie, wonderfully played by Andrew R. Butler (Ars Nova’s Rags Parkland Sings…). Their drive and infatuation with the band and their creative power play strong and true, especially at the beginning, but as the mystique of the band’s unity begins to unravel and explode into chaos and compulsion, their determined connection to the musicians shifts from worship to irritation as the weeks turn into months and years. Or does it, in the end?

The creative energy and compounded exhaustion that live inside every brilliantly performed song cause Stereophonic to sing, most magnetically and is clearly as real and authentic as one could hope for, drenched in authentic swagger, courtesy of the costuming by Enver Chakartash (Broadway’s A Doll’s House). Even as the clock ticks forward, for them and for us, the pitfalls of collaboration and the art of creation mingle and mix like only musicians can, hurting one another while also elevating their craft in order to create that piece of art that makes all of us sit back in wonderment. They riff and talk rough to one another, accessing imagery of the hotness of Donald Sutherland and the bonding of artists, regardless of gender. The music in the background soars, thanks to the beautiful songwriting work done by Arcade Fire’s Butler, but it’s more in the magical interpersonal dynamics that elevate this experience into something special, powerful, and utterly unique. Aggressiveness and control hit hard against love, creation, and connection, playing with loyalties and solo careers in a way that unlocks chaotic relationship complications that echo far beyond the room. Sudden fame does wonders to the energy within, and in Stereophonic, we are gifted with the fly-on-the-wall syndrome, watching magic develop out of thin air and focused minds, even when clouded by love, pain, and that big bag of white powder.

Will Brill and Chris Stack in Playwrights Horizons’s Stereophonic. Photo by Chelice Parry.

Playwrights Horizons’s Stereophonic.

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Off Broadway

Vineyard’s “Scene Partners” Gets Stuck Between Floors

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This is exactly how it happened “ we are told, followed by a big wide screen opening that descends upon us, but it does not quite land where it, and our leading lady’s character, most likely intended it too. Finally escaping the 11th floor on a folding chair and faulty pulley system, Meryl Kowalski, as portrayed as only the magnificently gifted Dianne Wiest (Broadway’s All My Sons; “Purple Rose of Cairo“) could, finds flight and falter inside this fascinating exploration of some sort of demented dream. Giving the “correct response“ to abstract questions and assignments, Wiest delivers a befuddled and determined performance that elevates a play that fractures realities every chance it gets. As written with a wild wandering spirit by John J. Caswell, JR. (Wet Brain), the play is an absurdity of utter invigorating complexity, playing with and sometimes delivering itself forward in a fascinating but distancing dementia. Is it a post-traumatic disassociation of epic proportions or a fractured descent into grief and mental illness, played for a laugh or a tug at the heart? Or is it something quite else that was lost on this avid fan of this Oscar-winning actress? And I don’t even know if there is a clear correct answer to this. But that is half the fun in this half-fun exercise in abstractionism and determination.

It’s big on ‘concept’, directed with a strong forward vision by Rachel Chavkin (Broadway’s Hadestown), obviously enjoying the ride and the wandering with glee. The visuals ride and slide in and about, thanks to the incredibly detailed and smooth work of video and projection design by David Bengali (Broadway’s The Thanksgiving Play), lighting designer Alan C. Edwards (Vineyard’s Harry Clarke), and scenic designer Riccardo Hernández (Broadway’s Indecent), giving depth and clarity to this otherwise meander into fractured and fantastical thinking. Supported by clever extravagances by costume designer Brenda Abbandandolo (Broadway’s The Sign in Sidney Brustein’s Window), the effect is a fevered dive into the mind of a woman beaten down hard to the ground by a now-dead husband whose death has freed her to her desire; her dream and determination to be a big famous movie star, and she’ll point the barrel at anyone who might stand in her way or say otherwise.

Josh Hamilton and Dianne Wiest in Vineyard Theatre’s Scene Partners. Photo by Carol Rosegg.

Scene Partners feels anything but safe and secure, as we join Wiest’s 75-year-old widow from the Midwest as she steadily abandons her needy mess of a daughter, played with clever calculations by Kristen Sieh (Broadway’s The Band’s Visit), to jet, train, or sled herself off to Hollywood to become a big gloriously famous movie star even before her now-dead violent abusive husband has been buried six feet under. The framing is slanted, with efforts to keep us off balance. Finding a flavor in its madness and splitting. The name of Wiest’s woman is Meryl Kowalski, and she’s not to be ignored. She is told quite clearly and quickly that she must change it if she really wants to be an actress, as that first name of hers has already been taken by that other, already famous and award-winning actress with the same first name that we all know and love. But this Meryl holds firm, inside and out of her first acting class somewhere out there in Los Angeles. It’s there, when confronted by her over-the-top acting teacher, played with wild abandonment by the perfect Josh Hamilton (Broadway’s The Real Thing), that she reveals another level of strong abstractionism. This particularly twisted Meryl’s dead husband was named Stanley Kowalski, and her Streetcar husband made Tennessee Williams’s character seem like quite the gentle nice guy.

At this point, the play stands shakily in some abstract parallels that are fun, clever, complicated, and a bit distancing, playing with fragments of trauma and grief that don’t fully come together. It pulls and pushes at about the same level of conflicted engagement, until Johanna Day (Broadway/MTC’s How I Learned to Drive) as Meryl’s half-sister comes into play, shifting the formula with a centered grounding that makes us sit back and question what’s really going on. When a doctor also enters the picture, played well by Eric Berryman (RT’s Primary Trust), a medical diagnosis once again adds a different framework that could alter the whole process. Where are we with these two half-sisters and their shared knowledge of a non-collaborated trauma of abuse? Especially after a (pre-recorded) interview with a very well-positioned Sieh asking pertinent questions that illicit praise from Hamilton’s pompous character and a disappearing act of a half-sister who might never been. It plays with the head, in both an engaging and disassociating manner that works, and doesn’t.

Johanna Day and Dianne Wiest in Vineyard Theatre’s Scene Partners. Photo by Carol Rosegg.

Scene Partners doesn’t play easy with our unpacking, leading us down blind endless alleyways decorated with an abundance of movie imagery that either leads us to brick walls or bottomless pits to fall into. Wiest’s Meryl has necessarily immersed herself in these vintage cinematic panoramas, probably to unconsciously avoid the abusive reality she found herself trapped in, and in that trauma response, Wiest has found the perfect embodiment for Mrs. Kowalski, bringing feisty and forceful complexities to the forefront as she shuffles and stabs herself into frame. And even if it doesn’t, in the end, add up to much, this Vineyard Theatre production is flavorful in its twisted construction and projections. The “Doctor Zhivago” impressions and pop-culture references overwhelm, not just our heroine, but also our connections to emotional clarity and authenticity, leaving us hanging halfway down and in between floors waiting for something to fully make an impact.

Dianne Wiest in Vineyard Theatre’s Scene Partners. Photo by Carol Rosegg.

For more go to frontmezzjunkies.com

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Off Broadway

Make Me Gorgeous Tells Of One Man’s Authenticity

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Make Me Gorgeous! playing at Playhouse 46 in a nut shell is about the life and times of LGBTQ+ trailblazer Kenneth Marlow. Embodying Marlow is Wade McCollum, who tells us how he was born in 1926 in Des Moines, Iowa, and how he became a hustler, private hairdresser, stripped in mob-controlled nightclubs, became a female impersonator, a madam of a gay prostitution ring, until in the 70’s when he became Kate, throwing a “Ball to End all Balls” to fund gender-affirming surgery. We learn how she documented her life in books. In between he was a private in the U.S. Army; a Christian missionary; a mortuary cosmetologist and a newspaper columnist.

Wade McCollum Photo: Maria Baranova

In a sense Marlow was raised to be who he was dressed in girls clothes as a child, then became drawn to feminine clothes and his female relatives encouraged him. In high school he ran around in drag. in Iowa in the 30’s took some kind of guts. His father never showed him love and left, his mother was a raging alcoholic. He took to the cinemas populated by men to find what was missing in life, then to the church. When he is shipped off to California, he meets and hangs out with the transgender prostitutes finding feeling at home. He ends up with a sugar daddy who is unattractive, ends up in Chicago, ends up as a hairdresser and then a stripper in Calumet City as “Mr. Keni Marlo, Exotic Queen of the Boys” and that takes us to the 40’s.

Wade McCollum Photo: Maria Baranova

In the end he ended up becoming the hairstylist to Phyllis Diller, Lucille Ball, and Gypsy Rose Lee, among others. His side job need up being documented in Mr. Madam: Confessions of a Male Madam, Cathouse Mother, Male Oral Love, and Around the World with Kenneth Marlowe.

Wade McCollum Photo: Maria Baranova

I have loved McCollum’s work ever since Ernest Shackleton Loves Me. This man is a consummate actor, whose rich voice and glamours gams make him perfect to tell this story. He brings everyone he is talking about to life. You feel as if you know each character. McCollum’ has oodles of charisma, so the tawdry tale he is telling comes off less crass. With lines like “I liked that men paid to have sex with me. And those who appealed to me usually didn’t have any money…so I did a lotta pro-bono work” if you are not exactly open this may not appeal to you. A couple walked out the night I went. McCollum is a natural with Sally Rand’s Fan Dance and glorious performing a song Marlow wrote with jazz pianist Reggie DuValle. The most pignut part of the story comes when he is drafted and is raped by 14 men. There is however a disconnect as on a book cover he wrote “He was raped by fourteen men in his barracks — and enjoyed it!”

Wade McCollum Photo: Maria Baranova

The theater is styled like a cabaret, with velvet curtains and bistro tables. Black and white photographs of drag queens hang on the walls. On the stage Walt Spangler’s set looks like a cross between Barbie’s house and cotton candyI really want the black dress designed by Jeffrey Hinshaw and the lighting by Jamie Roderick’s and sound by Ien DeNio’s really help to enjoy the evening

Wade McCollum Photo: Maria Baranova

Smartly directed and written by Donald Horn, I was on the edge of my seat the whole performance and definitely learned a thing or two or three about this culture.

Make Me Gorgeous! Playhouse 46, 308 W 46th Street, through Dec. 31st.

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Music

Here We Are Or The Search For The Meaning of Life

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Let me just state that I love the Stephen Sondheim/David Ives musical/play Here We Are. It’s as if the genius, known as Sondheim was trying to resolve his life. The first act is cynical and the characters are hypocritical, while the second act is about coming to with grips with life’s choices and surrendering to the inevitable.

Micaela Diamond, Amber Gray, Steven Pasquale, Bobby Cannavale, Rachel Bay Jones and Jeremy Shamos Photo by Emilio Madrid

The music is like playing Sondheim jeopardy. His motif’s from other shows are blended into new songs that make you want to have a pen and paper to play the game. I can’t wait until the CD comes out. I’ve been told that it is being recorded in January.

The cast and Rachel Bay Jones Photo by Emilio Madrid

The show is highly surreal, with life’s journeyIn question. Think “The Outer Limits” or “The Twilight Zone,” very Rod Serling.

Jeremy Shamos, Tracie Bennett, Amber Gray Photo by Emilio Madrid

Based on two Luis Buñuel films “The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie” (1972) and “The Exterminating Angel” (1962). Act one has Leo Brink (Bobby Cannavale) a entitled tycoon whose opinion is the only one that matters, his wife Marianne (Rachel Bay Jones) who lives for beauty and is a bit on the vaped side, their friends Paul Zimmer (Jeremy Shamos), a plastic surgeon celebrating his 1,000th nose job, his wife, Claudia (Amber Gray), an agent who lives for the celebrity of it all, Raffael Santello Di Santicci (Steven Pasquale), an ambassador from  Moranda who lives for the number of notches on his belt and Fritz (Micaela Diamond), Marianne’s younger sister, who wants a revolution, while also wanting to live the good life, searching for brunch. It turns out Leo, Paul and Raffael run a drug cartel. As the day goes down the hill Marianne keeps asking Leo to “buy this perfect day for her.”

Amber Gray, Jeremy Shamos, David Hyde Pierce, Bobby Cannavale, Steven Pasquale Photo by Emilio Madrid

Act two is a little more dark. While they finally find food,  the consequences of their choices keeps them trapped in purgatory. Enter a colonel (Francois Battiste) whose parents were killed for $26.15, a soldier (Jin Ha) who has feelings for Fritz due to his dreams and a bishop (David Hyde Pierce) who wants another job, has a shoe fettish, and plays piano, until there is no more music. This act is very reminiscent of Steambath. I love the homage to “The World According to Garp” and the bear.

Jin Ha, Micaela Diamond Photo by Emilio Madrid

Playing butlers and maids and assorted restaurateur’sare the incredible Tracie Bennett and Denis O’Hare. Kudos has to go out to the wigs by Robert Pickens and Katie Gell and the neon various establishments. white box set and costumes by David Zinn.

Jeremy Shamos, Amber Gray, Bobby Cannavale, Denis O’Hare, Rachel Bay Jones, Steven Pasquale, Micaela Diamond Photo by Emilio Madrid

Joe Mantello’s staging is exquisite, allowing for each of these brilliantly talented performers to take center stage. This is true ensemble acting and I hope when the Drama Desk is giving out awards this wins.

Where many have criticized the lack of music in the second act, it makes perfect sense. The music stops. The concept very much reminds me of Davids Cromer’s Our Town, when Emily dies and suddenly things are in color and have smells. It makes complete sense that once you are trapped the music would die.

Natasha Katz’s lighting really helps the shinny set take shape, Tom Gibbons’s sound makes the inner world come to life and Sam Pinkleton’s choreography is just enough to make this move seamlessly.

Alexander Gemignani, and Jonathan Tunick, make Sondheim’s music an art and I for one appreciate the subtlety and musicality. Many may not know that Sondheim was a game master and in this it is like he won the final game of “putting it together”.

Here We Are, is intelligent, witty with so much to say and if you ponder the meaning of life you to will walk away extremely fulfilled.

Here We Are, The Shed, 545 West 30th through January 21st

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