Art Isn't Easy, as Middling "Sunday" Revival Proves

Review: Sunday in the Park with George

Jake Gyllenhaal and Annaleigh Ashford in the Broadway transfer of City Center's Sunday in the Park with George.

Confession time: Despite Stephen Sondheim being arguably the most accomplished composer/lyricist the musical theatre has ever seen, his Pulitzer Prize-winning Sunday in the Park with George has never been a favorite of mine. I find the show, like its protagonist, to be distant and emotionally inaccessible, preventing me from forming much of a connection with it. In a sense, that is a compliment, as it proves Sondheim and librettist James Lapine were entirely successful at presenting their complicated lead as others view him, but it also an obstacle productions of the show must overcome to allow audiences to experience the full weight of what it has to say. And unfortunately, this latest Broadway revival fails to fully clear that hurdle, resulting in a somewhat cold, clinical examination of art and relationships when a more deeply felt one would be preferable.

For those unfamiliar with Sunday, the first act follows post-Impressionist painter George Seurat as he creates his pointillist masterpiece A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte. The largely fictional narrative imagines lives and backstories for the figures observed in the painting, and posits that the most prominent figure in the work is George's muse and lover (cheekily named Dot). The second act jumps forward 100 years and checks in on George's great grandson - also named George - as he struggles to push the boundaries of art in the modern world, just like his namesake.

The show, like the painting which inspired it, is a series of specific and seemingly unrelated vignettes that when taken as a whole forms something new, a carefully drawn character study as well as a mediation on the often misunderstood existence of artists and other creative types. Essays have been written about Sondheim's use of short, staccato phrases and underscoring to imitate the precise, driven brushstrokes Seurat used to paint A Sunday Afternoon, and the music does hold a great deal of beauty and feeling for those who can adjust to its unconventional form. And Lapine's seemingly sparse libretto contains a great many interesting ideas and surprisingly tight plotting, although it is not the crystal clear juggling of multiple storylines he created for his next collaboration with Sondheim, the more accessible and perennially popular Into the Woods. While Sunday in the Park may not be my favorite Sondheim, it is undeniably a well-made musical.

So if the problem isn't the script, then what keeps this production (which began life as a one night only gala concert for the esteemed City Center Encores series) from reaching the artistic heights it so clearly aspires to? The unfortunately blunt answer is casting, with Jake Gyllenhaal and Annaleigh Ashford failing to provoke much emotion either separately or together. While any George and Dot would struggle to step out of the long shadow cast by the show's original leads, the incomparable Mandy Patinkin and Bernadette Peters, Gyllenhaal and Ashford display a surprising lack of chemistry that greatly hinders this production.

Ashford in particular feels miscast, her Dot lacking the emotional transparency and zest for life to properly counter George's introverted nature. For an actress who has repeatedly shown a gift for comedy, Ashford lands very few of Dot's copious jokes, and comes across as more of a petulant child than an ignored woman who demands our sympathy. It also must be mentioned that Sondheim's admittedly difficult score is a poor fit for Ashford's voice, which here lacks power and sometimes even coherence (several lyrics sound garbled). This is surprising for a production that began life as a concert, but could be forgiven if Ashford's acting was more interesting; despite several emotionally complex, musically exciting solos, you don't ever feel like you have a good handle on what's going on inside Ashford's head. In the actress' defense, she does an excellent job of playing the aging Marie (Dot's daughter and George #2's grandmother) in the second act, and her "Children and Art" is one of the few genuinely moving moments in the show.

Gyllenhaal fares better as George, where a generally impenetrable countenance is more appropriate to the character. For an actor without much musical background he is a surprisingly confident singer, although the upper notes of George's songs do seem to be a strain. And it must be noted that Gyllenhaal fails to find the full depth of emotion in the score's most famous tune, "Finishing the Hat." In the show the song functions as the one real opportunity for Seurat to show the complex well of feelings boiling just beneath the surface, and in the hands of the right actor can be a revelatory showstopper. Gyllenhaal's rendition doesn't really rise above competent, and neither does his climatic duet with Ashford near the show's end, "Move On."

Not all blame can be laid on the feet of the actors, however. Director Sarna Lapine (the niece of librettist and original director James Lapine) doesn't do anything particularly interesting with the staging, and seems at different points oddly beholden or suspicious of the original production. She retains the idea of Dot "stepping out" of her dress during the title song - here accomplished by Ashford removing an overlay in an unnecessary bit of stage business - but seems incredibly hesitant to actually recreate the painting for the final tableau of Act I, something essentially demanded by the text. Lapine also hasn't done much to shape her actors' performances, contributing to the disconnected feel of the entire evening.

There are a great many past Tony winners and nominees rounding out the supporting cast, none of whom are given a whole lot to do in what is essentially a two-character drama with interludes. Both the performers and the director seem much more comfortable with the show's second act, but without the foundation laid by the first half many of the second's emotional beats ring false. Ultimately, this production of Sunday in the Park with George registers as more of an intellectual exercise than an emotional one, something that properly cultured people "should" see but won't necessarily enjoy. To paraphrase one of the show's lyrics, there are worse things than spending time with this George, but there are also significantly more entertaining options as well.

Welcome to Falsettoland

Review: Falsettos

The cast of Falsettos, one of the most hotly anticipated musicals of the fall season.

Alternatively messy and engaging, the first Broadway revival of William Finn and James Lapine's Falsettos highlights the core strengths and weaknesses of the piece in sometimes unexpected ways. Originally premiering on Broadway in 1992, the show is composed of two one act musicals (which debuted Off-Broadway in 1981 and 1990 respectively) that chart the growth of gay protagonist Marvin's unorthodox family over the course of two years. While some of the narrative specifics are deeply tied to the late '70s/early '80s setting, this production thankfully proves the show's core themes of love, family, and identity are universal and still relevant despite the huge advances in gay rights and the advent of marriage equality. Unfortunately, this production also highlights how the William Finn who wrote March of the Falsettos, the basis for Act I, is a far inferior writer to the William Finn who wrote Falsettoland, the basis for Act II.

In Act I, we are introduced to Marvin, who has left his ex-wife Trina and their son Jason to live with his male lover, Whizzer. The breakup of Marvin's traditional family unit has left all three in various states of distress, leading each to seek the help of Mendel, a therapist with questionable professional ethics who ultimately becomes involved with Trina. The second act moves the action forward two years and sees everyone obsessing over the planning of Jason's upcoming bar mitzvah, while also introducing the specter of the AIDS crisis.

Act I proves to be a rather disjointed affair, more of an impressionistic character study than a coherent narrative. The young Finn has yet to refine his signature off-kilter sensibility, which comes across as manic here and lacks the thematic coherence which connects his later flights of fancy. Musically the writing isn't anywhere near as complex or interesting as Finn's later work, and as a result both the performers and director James Lapine (who also wrote the book) seem slightly adrift as they struggle to sell the material. The songs don't build the way you want them to, and Lapine attempts to compensate for this lack of emotional momentum by having the performers constantly rearrange the pieces of David Rockwell's jenga cube of a set. Layer onto this Spencer Liff's awkwardly flailing choreography - which often hinders the performer's ability to enunciate their lyrics - and the first half of Falsettos becomes an exhaustively busy journey with characters that aren't particularly likable or compelling.

Act II is a much richer and more rewarding experience, as it's clear that in the nine years between writing March of the Falsettos and Falsettoland Finn vastly matured as a songwriter and storyteller. Centering the act on Jason's impending bar mitzvah gives Finn and Lapine a stronger foundation to build their characters' quirky behavior around, and Finn becomes much more adept at tempering his characters' off-putting neuroses with humanizing qualities. Even with the introduction of two additional characters - Cordelia and Dr. Charlotte, the "lesbians next door" - everyone feels more nuanced and alive in the second half, and the show does a better job of balancing its wry cynicism with deeply felt emotion. With stronger writing to work with, Lapine and the cast are able to relax; the busy choreography is all but abandoned, and Lapine's staging is less self-consciously showy. The two halves are integrated enough that it would rob Act II of some of its impact to completely throw out Act I, but the jump in quality is pronounced.

The best unifying element of this revival is the strength of its cast, all of whom range from good to great. As Marvin, Christian Borle abandons the scenery chewing that has defined his last two Broadway outings to deliver a more nuanced, believable characterization. Unfortunately, the first half of the show really highlights Marvin's self-serving qualities, something you wish Borle was able to undercut with some tenderness to make him a more likable protagonist. The second act gives Borle a lot more opportunity to show different sides of Marvin, and ultimately your heart breaks with him during the show's final scene (which also features the most striking image of Lapine's staging).

Andrew Rannells is a competent foil as Whizzer, although you wish the show afforded him more of a chance to show off his comedic chops. Brandon Uranowitz brings much appreciated authenticity to his portrayal of Mendel, and young Anthony Rosenthal's innate charm makes the temperamental Jason feel like a real preteen rather than an adult author's caricature of one. Tracie Thoms and Betsy Wolfe are a welcomed presence as the next door neighbors, with Thoms notably in very fine voice throughout.

But the cast's biggest standout is Stephanie J. Block, back on Broadway for the first time since her Tony-nominated turn in The Mystery of Edwin Drood. As Trina, Block blossoms into the most compellingly drawn and engaging character in the show, to the point where she often feels like the lead in what is ostensibly Marvin's show. Block is certainly its emotional center, which makes her effortless delivery of "I'm Breaking Down," one of the most broadly comedic songs in the show, all the more impressive. Block offers a fascinating peak beneath Trina's determinedly perfect facade, showing us a woman not wholly prepared to deal with the curveballs life has given her and yet soldiering on anyway. It is a marvelously accomplished performance which is endlessly watchable and yet never overstated.

Overall, there is both good and bad to be found in Falsettos, and it's unfortunate that the less successful elements are concentrated in the first half. By the end of the night, Falsettos proves to be an engaging and even moving portrait of an imperfect yet loving family, with the talented cast doing much to smooth over the rough patches at the beginning of the show. When the show stops being concerned with novelty and showiness, it truly sings, illustrating how the trials and tribulations of love and family are the same no matter what your sexual orientation.

I Never Thought I'd Be So Happy (With This Film)

Movie Review: Into the Woods

James Cordon as the Baker and Meryl Streep as the Witch in Disney's Into the Woods.

After what seems like an eternity, Disney's highly anticipated film adaptation of Stephen Sondheim's Into the Woods has finally arrived in theatres. The good news is that the internet's concerns about the film's fidelity to the source material are almost entirely unfounded; this is an incredibly faithful and respectful adaptation of the beloved stage show. Even better news is that the movie is a very good and at times even great film in its own right, featuring an excellent cast and a suitable dose of movie magic to make this fractured fairy tale truly sing on the big screen. Purists will no doubt have their complaints, but for most fans and the uninitiated this is an excellent representation of a contemporary classic from one of musical theatre's undisputed masters.

For those who don't know, Into the Woods weaves the well-known fairy tales of Cinderella, Jack and the Beanstalk, Little Red Riding Hood, and Rapunzel together with an original tale about a childless Baker and his Wife. Early in the film, the Baker discovers that his family has been cursed by the village's resident Witch, and the only way to lift the spell is to collect four magical objects before the impending blue moon. What follows is a series of misadventures that ultimately subverts the notion of "happily ever after" while also exploring what happens when you get exactly what you want, only to find that it wasn't at all like you expected.

The musical's original librettist James Lapine adapts his own script into a very smart condensation of the stage show. Into the Woods has always been a marvel of tight pacing, so the fact that Lapine managed to trim things in way that doesn't sacrifice plot is truly impressive. Cut musical numbers are replaced with scenes that cover the same story beats, and the bridging of the musical's two distinct acts is handled about as well as conceivably possible. Sondheim has tweaked some lyrics where necessary, and listening to Jonathan Tunick's symphonic arrangements is like hearing this score afresh. Even the musical numbers that didn't make the film are represented via underscore in their same approximate locations, and truly sharp-eared fans will catch a surprising reference to one of Sondheim's other Tony-winning musicals.

Speaking of the fans, those afraid Disney would sanitize the musical's darker edges can rest easy. Pretty much everything that happens onstage happens in the movie, with the difference being the film tends to only imply things the stage version made more explicit. There's even a surprisingly sexual "Hello, Little Girl" that somehow slipped past the censors, proving that director Rob Marshall and company weren't lying when they insisted they were doing a very faithful adaptation.

Rob Marshall's direction is somewhere between his Oscar-nominated work on Chicago and his more questionable choices on the underwhelming Nine. His kinetic camerawork certainly keeps things interesting, although the constantly revolving camera sometimes distracts from the storytelling rather than enhances it. Marshall smartly limits his use of special effects to some key moments, which keeps the magic feeling magical without overwhelming the characters. His production team has lovingly designed the film with lavish sets and costumes, although the film tends so dark it can be difficult to make out the details.

One thing Marshall and his team have absolutely nailed is the casting, with nary a weak link among the story's dozen or so principal and secondary characters. Oscar-winner Meryl Streep is clearly having a blast as the Witch, making a veritable feast out of the "Witch's Rap" and chewing the scenery in the best possible way. Streep also sings like a dream, ranging from breathy intimacy to full throttle belting over the course of her musical numbers. Her tour de force performance of "Last Midnight" meets even the loftiest expectations and definitely proves that whether or not he intended to, Sondheim wrote a genuine showstopper when he added the song after the musical's out of town tryout.

The always enjoyable Emily Blunt is excellent as the Baker's Wife, a natural comedienne with a surprisingly strong voice and effortlessly natural line delivery. Her chemistry with James Corden's Baker is palpable, with the latter also doing a fine job with his character's more emotional scenes during the movie's second half. Anna Kendrick continues to prove adept at just about anything she sets her mind to, even if the more intimate medium of film highlights that some key points of Cinderella's emotional growth occur off screen. Her "Steps of a Palace" is a knockout, aided by Marshall's brilliant decision to play the entire song as a split second decision that occurs while Cinderella is being chased by the Prince.

Speaking of the Prince, Chris Pine isn't quite as at home in a movie musical as many of his costars, but that doesn't stop him from being a perfectly aloof foil to Kendrick's introspective Cinderella. Pine and Billy Magnussen's gloriously campy "Agony" is nearly perfect in its beefcake-skewering brilliance, second only to Streep's "Last Midnight" on the list of the film's standout moments. Lilla Crawford makes for a hilariously deadpan Little Red, and Daniel Huttlestone brings a genuine boyish glee to the role of Jack. Tracey Ullman, Christine Baranski, and Johnny Depp all make strong impressions despite limited screentime, and the uniformly excellent cast is one of the movie's strongest assets.

Into the Woods is ultimately about as good an adaptation as one could hope for. Purists will certainly find things to nitpick, and fans will no doubt miss some of the cut songs (I'm particularly sorry we lost the Witch's "A bear?/Bears are sweet..." segment from the Act II opening), but overall this is an incredibly faithful adaptation in spirit, tone, and execution. The plot and themes remain virtually unchanged from the stage version, with Marshall and his game cast embracing the opportunities offered by the big screen without abandoning what has made this such an enduringly popular property in the first place. It won't replace the invaluable recording of the original Broadway production, but it is an excellent companion piece and definitely worth seeking out.

A Musical Comedy Stuck in 2nd Gear

Review:  Little Miss Sunshine

Stephanie J. Block, Rory O'Malley, and Will Swenson prove why they're all Tony-nominated actors as they struggle mightily to overcome Little Miss Sunshine's shortcomings.

Perhaps it's fitting that Little Miss Sunshine, the latest collaboration between director/librettist James Lapine and composer William Finn, fails to live up to expectations.  The new tuner, just like the 2006 independent film on which it is based, examines how a dysfunctional family deals with the dashed expectations of their rather run-of-the-mill lives.  And just like in real life, it is borderline painful to watch hard-working and talented people (in this case, the mostly excellent cast) struggle to overcome the bad hand they've been dealt, which here takes the form of a poorly constructed and tonally confused one-act musical.  Not since 2010's deeply flawed Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown has a show sounded so good on paper and so thoroughly failed to deliver on stage.

Like it's filmic counterpart, Little Miss Sunshine tells the story of the unassuming Hoover clan and their cross-country road trip to get 9-year-old Olive (Hannah Nordberg) to the titular beauty pageant.  Family matriarch Sheryl (Stephanie J. Block) works long hours to support her family since her husband Richard (Will Swenson) was laid off of his job.  Richard is hoping to sell the publishing rights to his self-help blog, much to the derision of his foul-mouthed, lascivious father, known only as Grandpa (David Rasche).  Meanwhile Sheryl and Richard's son Dwayne (Logan Rowland) has taken a vow of silence until he achieves his goal of joining the Air Force, and Sheryl's suicidal gay brother Frank (Rory O'Malley) is staying with the family while he recovers from his latest "episode."  When the family finds out that little Olive has been chosen as a last minute contestant, they all pile into the family's VW bus in hopes of making it to the pageant on time.

The source material presents several challenges, none of which are successfully addressed by the creative team.  With the exception of Olive, the family members all seem to barely tolerate one another, giving off the impression they'd rather be anywhere but stuck in a van together.  Yes, the narrative is designed to show these people come to realize how much they love each other, but without even a glimmer of kindness or affection to begin with the first half of the show is a rather miserable experience.  There are hints of interesting and dynamic pairings during the opening scenes, and the show would be better served by expounding on these so there was at least some joy in the opening segments.  For instance, Grandpa may have total disdain for the rest of the Hoover clan, but playing up his affection for Olive would have gone a long way towards making him more bearable (he's easily the show's most insufferable character).  There is an odd bond caused by the shared existentialism of Frank and Dwayne that would be great to see explored further and sooner.  If each character seemed to like at least one other person at the musical's outset, then there would be something to help offset the snarkiness and general misery of what is advertised as a musical "comedy."

Even more devastating is the writing team's inability to settle on a workable tone.  There is a lot of drama and angst on display, but it isn't presented or examined in enough detail for the show to effectively work as serious character piece.  Yet there is enough heavy subject matter - including undertones of marital strife, the burdens of unemployment, and the disappointment of unrealized ambition - that the attempts at comedy never really take off.  The razor sharp wit and gonzo sense of humor so apparent in Lapine's libretto for the duo's last collaboration, The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, is inexplicably absent for much of the show.  The scenes set during the "Little Miss Sunshine" pageant have this self-aware cheekiness in spades, and are so effective that it makes you retroactively wish the entire production was an equally over-the-top farce. 

Finn's score is easily the least memorable aspect of the show, which is especially disappointing given the composer's sterling work elsewhere.  There are some fine bits of ensemble music scattered throughout, but these sections are few and far between and unfortunately bookended by fairly clunky solo numbers.  Even worse, almost none of the songs have a clear purpose, lessening their dramatic impact.  There is an extended sequence where Frank encounters the man who prompted his suicide attempt, and though Frank claims to have moved on he continually sings about the other man's physical beauty.  Rather than coming across as a believably mixed set of emotions, the song makes Frank seem bipolar and lacks any kind of internal logic.  There is a flashback to before Sheryl and Richard got married that appears designed to show the love they once felt for each other, but consists of the characters being incredibly ambivalent toward one another until suddenly they aren't.  What are intended to be revealing character moments come across as muddy and confused instead, and leave the audience even more confused about who these people truly are.

The cast struggles mightily to rise above the writing's shortcomings, and do a good enough job that you can't help but wish they had better material to work with.  Stephanie J. Block shows a subtleness and range she hasn't often been asked to use, while still finding moments to show off her comedic chops (if only the score allowed her a better showcase for that phenomenal voice).  Rory O'Malley does some of his most affecting work yet as the deeply troubled Frank, and sounds fantastic on his two main duets.  Richard's straight-laced nature robs Will Swenson of the chance to use the utter fearlessness that made him so beguiling in Hair, but it's nice to see such a talented actor push himself in new directions.  Young Hannah Nordberg is cute as a button as Olive, and Logan Rowland conveys plenty of character despite remaining mute for over half of the show.  There are also two scene-stealing turns by Jennifer Sanchez as Linda the "Bereavement Consoler" and as the reigning Miss California, which point to the show that could have been had the authors chosen to fully embrace the quirkiness that turned Spelling Bee into a surprise hit.  The only actor who fails to make much of an impression is David Rasche as Grandpa, who is saddled with the worse material of the bunch and does little to disguise its shortcomings.

Lapine the director comes across better than Lapine the librettist, managing to keep the staging fresh and interesting despite the fact that over half the action takes place in the confines of an old VW bus.  He somehow manages to make actors running in place and miming the pushing of a van exciting, and knows just how to use Beowulf Boritt's deceptively simple set to maximum effect.  There are also fun touches by costumer Jennifer Capiro (who thankfully gets to costume both a swimsuit and eveningwear competition for the 9-year-old pageant girls) and lighting designer Ken Billington.

But ultimately, all of the talent in the world cannot save bad writing, and unfortunately Little Miss Sunshine features some very bad writing by people who should really know better.  Lapine and Finn have been responsible for some of the most innovative small-scale musicals of the past 20 years, not to mention Lapine's incredible collaborations with musical theatre genius Stephen Sondheim.  How Lapine and Finn managed to drop the ball so completely remains a mystery, and unfortunately their talented cast and crew are left to pick up the pieces.  Even diehard musical theatre fans can find a better use of their time this fall, given the wealth of innovative and inventive new musicals both on Broadway and Off.

Best Shows of 2012: #8

Best of 2012

#8 – Annie

Anthony Warlow and Lilla Crawford are the two stellar stars of James Lapine's handome new Annie.

 

When it first opened on Broadway in the spring of 1977, Annie received near-universal acclaim and became so prolific that even people with zero interest in musical theatre knew it by name.  The show about the little orphan with the big heart has since become synonymous with the sun-drenched optimism that typifies classic musical comedies, and in an increasingly cynical world that earnestness has made it a subject of scorn and derision.  It’s easy to forget that behind that relentlessly positive outlook lies a solidly constructed tuner just waiting for the right production to reveal its multitude of charms.

James Lapine’s splashy revival is just such a production, shedding the decades of baggage and expectation Annie brings with it to emerge as one of the year’s freshest pieces of escapist entertainment.  By focusing on the text and the truth of the show’s world, Lapine and his actors have reached a level of earnestness that makes the many songs about hope and positivity feel both genuine and necessary.  The show’s version of Depression-era New York is unabashedly naïve, but that viewpoint is wholly appropriate to the musical’s child protagonist and its message about the value of looking on the bright side of life.

Lapine has found an extremely talented group of young women to embody Annie and her orphan pals, and their unbridled enthusiasm proves to be infectious and one of the show’s strongest assets.  In a performance sure to result in a Tony nomination, Anthony Warlow’s Daddy Warbucks is sublime perfection, with his growing fondness for Annie creating some unexpectedly moving moments.  Two-time Tony-winner Katie Finneran may not be doing her best work as the villainous Miss Hannigan (and the show does suffer because of it), but the comedic actress brings plenty of raucous energy and a particular gift for physical comedy to the scene-stealing role.

Annie’s family friendly nature ensures it will be many children’s first exposure to the wonders of live theatre, and from the opening chords of the overture until the final curtain young audiences are sure to be utterly enchanted.  But fun has no age limit, and anyone who remembers (or would like to remember) the joy and limitless possibilities of youth will find plenty to appreciate in this handsome staging.  Here’s hoping that this Annie has many, many tomorrows in its future.

For my full review of Annie, click here.

Sunny Days are Here Again

Review:  Annie

Lilla Crawford and Sunny the dog in the Broadway revival of Annie.

For better and for worse, the 1977 Tony-winning smash Annie has become synonymous with the words “Broadway musical.”  Its eternal cheerfulness and broad comedy represent the pinnacle of the musical-as-escapist-entertainment, allowing audiences young and old the chance to laugh away their cares for a few hours.  However, the show’s saccharine sweet reputation has caused an entire generation of potential theatregoers to avoid musical theatre like the plague, assuming the entire genre is nothing but smiling moppets singing shallow paeans to all that is good and right in the world.  Any modern revival must contend with staying true to the show’s roots while trying to appeal to the jaded cynics that make up a sizeable portion of the country’s population.

Director James Lapine’s handsome revival attempts to solve this conundrum by adopting a more grounded approach to the material, and while not always successful, his interpretation does allow the show’s enormous heart to shine bright.  Little orphan Annie’s search for a family of her own is as emotionally involving as it’s ever been, even if some of the more overtly comedic elements of Thomas Meehan’s book and Charles Strouse’s score suffer due to Lapine’s new focus.  While there are still plenty of laughs, they are not as hearty as they might have been, though the show as a whole remains thoroughly entertaining.  The young and young-at-heart will find it impossible to resist Annie’s many charms, and even this jaded critic found himself quite taken by the entire affair.

Lilla Crawford, the young actress who the New York Times dubbed “pretty much perfect” in the title role, was unfortunately absent from the performance I attended.  However, I am happy to report that her understudy, Taylor Richardson, is supremely charming as the street-smart orphan with the unwavering optimism.  There is enough sass in Richardson’s performance to keep the character’s sweetness from becoming sickening, and an innocence about her that keeps you on her side throughout the show’s entire runtime.  Her impressively bright belt makes even the oft-mocked “Tomorrow” sound fresh, and the young actress imbues the part with such sincerity that she proves impossible to resist.

Although they don’t get nearly the same amount of stage time as Richardson, the rest of this Annie’s orphans are equally talented and possibly even more adorable.  Ranging from seven to eleven years old, these precocious balls of energy sing and dance with an infectious, reckless abandon that lights up the cavernous interior of the Palace Theatre.  Lapine and choreographer Andy Blankenbuehler play up the girls’ cuteness factor without seeming gratuitous, provoking the evening’s biggest belly laughs in the process.  And while all of the orphans are standouts, tiny Emily Rosenfeld threatens to steal the show as Molly, the littlest orphan with the biggest personality.

In contrast to the uniform excellence of the child actors, the adult roles are more of a mixed bag.  On the positive side, Anthony Warlow is sublime perfection as Oliver Warbucks, the curmudgeonly billionaire who initially invites Annie to his 5^th Avenue mansion as a publicity stunt.  As Warbucks slowly falls for the plucky orphan, Warlow convincingly sheds his gruff exterior to create the most multifaceted and three-dimensional characterization of the entire show.  His gloriously sung “Something Was Missing” turns the sappy ballad into the evening’s uncontested highlight, serving as the perfect encapsulation of the unadulterated love a parent feels for their child.  In the thankless role of Warbucks’ chief secretary Grace Farrell, Brynn O’Malley is also quite lovely, though not quite on the same level as her costar and onstage boss.

Gifted with the production’s showiest role, two-time Tony-winner Katie Finneran is a slight disappointment as the evil Miss Hannigan.  A more developed variation of her Tony-winning Marge from Promises, Promises, Finneran’s take on the orphanage maven is an example of the downside to Lapine’s more grounded take on the material.  In trying to make Hannigan more sympathetic, Lapine and Finneran have lost the character’s comedic bite, leaving the show without the clear-cut villain it needs to fully succeed.  The performance is often hysterical, and the actress is especially adept at slapstick and physical comedy, but Finneran is simply too nice in the role.  By shying away from her character’s inherent meanness, she prevents her Hannigan from being the tour de force it was in the hands of Dorothy Loudon in the original or Carol Burnett in the 1982 film version.

Yet Finneran’s minor shortcomings are nothing compared to the complete ineptitude of Clarke Thorell and J. Elaine Marcos as Rooster Hannigan and his bumbling accomplice, Lily.  While not large roles, both characters are essential to the show’s plot, and in the right hands can become riotously funny scene stealers.  Thorell and Marcos seem completely unaware of this, offering up self-indulgent and decidedly unfunny portrayals of the two small time crooks.  It should be noted that Thorell makes out slightly better than Marcos, although both seem so completely out of their element that it hardly matters.

Aesthetically, David Korins’ storybook-inspired set gives the show a unique look without differing wildly from what audiences have come to expect from this classic show.  Susan Hilferty’s costumes similarly avoid reinventing the wheel, but the lovingly constructed garments look gorgeous nonetheless.  When Annie finally dons her iconic red dress late in Act II, the young actress looks truly beautiful, thanks in no small part to Hilferty’s efforts.  Andy Blankenbuehler’s choreography is a more radical departure from the norm, bordering on too contemporary for this Depression-era tale.  Blankenbuehler also needs to abandon his signature hip-hop inspired scene transitions, which have brought him diminishing returns since they first appeared in In the Heights and are wholly inappropriate here.

Overall, this production looks and feels enough like the classic Annie to avoid offending purists while offering enough subtle twists to hold the interest of those who have seen the show many times over.  This is not a radical reinvention of the material, but its enduring popularity over the past 35 years proves that the show doesn’t really need reinventing.  Under Lapine’s assured hand, this production feels fresh and offers up a bevy of top-notch performances, ensuring that the show’s target audience of young girls will absolutely adore it.  Thankfully, there is plenty for the adults to appreciate as well, and in these trying times it’s nice to have such a sparkling reminder that the sun will indeed come out tomorrow.

Satisfaction in the Park with Sondheim

Review:  Into the Woods

Donna Murphy in a performance that would surely be Tony-nominated if it were eligible (here's hoping for a transfer!)

After a troubled preview period riddled with rain delays, cancelled rehearsals, and at least one Twitter scandal, the star-studded Shakespeare in the Park production of Into the Woods has finally opened at Central Park’s Delacorte Theatre, and the results are worth the wait.  While not perfect, this reimagining of the Stephen Sondheim-James Lapine musical avoids the long shadow cast by the beloved Broadway original and establishes the work as a modern classic capable of withstanding wildly different interpretations without losing its sizeable charm.

For those unfamiliar with the show’s premise, Into the Woods tells the story of a childless Baker (Tony-winner Dennis O’Hare) and his Wife (Oscar-nominee Amy Adams) who are tasked with gathering four mystical items by the mysterious and semi-malevolent Witch (Tony-winner Donna Murphy).  If they can find the items in three midnights’ time, the Witch will lift the curse she has placed upon them and grant them a child.  Along the way, the Baker and his Wife cross paths with famous fairy tale figures like Cinderella, Little Red Riding Hood, Jack (and his beanstalk) and Rapunzel.  And while all of the characters eventually get what they wish, the actions taken during their journeys come with unforeseen consequences that raise the question of what happens after Happily Ever After.

Based on a 2010 production at the Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre in London, this Into the Woods is a wholly contemporary take on what has previously been treated as a timeless tale.  Director Timothy Sheader, repeating his work from the London production, has added a framing device in which a runaway child (played by an accomplished Jack Broderick) assumes the role of the story’s Narrator and enacts the Baker’s story.  Having a child in such a pivotal role highlights the underlying themes of what parents teach their children and the loss of innocence, while also justifying the very contemporary mannerisms of the key players.  Emily Robholz’s costumes emphasize the updated setting with an appealing hodgepodge of modern dress and timeless clothing.

Sheader takes his concept and runs with it, letting it and the outdoor setting influence every aspect about the production.  Seamlessly blending in with the Central Park setting, John Lee Beatty’s multi-tiered set provides an excellent canvas for Sheader to work with, and the director deploys his actors onto the various crosswalks and ladders with assurance and style.  He also eschews modern stage trickery for something more simplistic and ultimately more satisfying, with his representations of Jack’s beanstalk and Giant proving particularly striking (both drew audible gasps at the performance I attended).

The cast is such an embarrassment of riches it’s difficult to know where to start, but Donna Murphy is particularly impressive as the Witch.  Filling the vast Delacorte Theatre with the presence of a true star, Murphy is transcendent in the role, from her mesmerizing first entrance until the final curtain.  Her initial wow factor is due in no small part to the ingenious make-up design of Joe Dulude II, which transforms her into a gnarled old crone on the verge of becoming one with the forest that surrounds her, but Murphy is too good an actress to let the costume do all the work.  She contrasts her frightening appearing with a deft comic delivery that mines the humor in Lapine’s book while remaining an imposing antagonist, and even after her transformation into a more conventional form Murphy remains transfixing.  And when she sings the haunting “Last Midnight,” Murphy propels the song to the showstopping heights it has always aspired to but never quite achieved.

Few could hope to equal Murphy’s brilliance, but that doesn’t mean the rest of the cast is anything less than incredibly compelling in its own right.  Amy Adams’ inherent charm serves her quite well as the put-upon Baker’s Wife, and although it takes her a while to find the show’s rhythm she becomes quite compelling by the end.   She certainly earns her right to perform alongside such accomplished theatre stars, and her singing voice is quite strong for someone with little formal training. 

Unfortunately for Adams, her main scene partner is the woefully miscast Dennis O’Hare, who proves to be the one weak link among an otherwise fine cast.  O’Hare, so adept at playing insane and/or eccentric characters, struggles in the everyman role of the Baker, often coming across as harshly sarcastic or obnoxiously neurotic.  He and Adams lack the chemistry needed for the audience to fully invest in their characters, and it is telling that O’Hare’s strongest moments occur when Adams is offstage.  The fact that the original Baker, Chip Zein, plays the Mysterious Man and often appears onstage with O’Hare serves as an unintentional reminder of the latter’s shortcomings, and you can’t help but feel the pair would be better served by switching roles.

Recent Tony-nominee Jessie Mueller does a fantastic job as Cinderella, convincingly conveying a mix of school-girl giddiness and underlying sadness that makes her the most grounded of all the major players.  Gideon Glick fully commits to the enthusiastic but dim-witted nature of Jack in an endearing portrayal that is central to the show’s underlying theme of children growing older.  As his female counterpoint, Sarah Stiles’ Little Red Riding Hood is hilariously daffy, but avoids the role’s tendency towards obnoxiousness by offering glimpses of the scared and confused young woman beneath the cloak.

The production’s few missteps occur when the director and cast favor the overt rather than the subtle.  Cinderella’s two Stepsisters are so over-choreographed that it becomes distracting, especially given their tangential importance to the plot and the lack of any real dance among the other characters.  Sheader and his cast play up the sexual undertones in the Little Red Riding Hood story to the point where they feel imposed on the tale rather than an essential part of its meaning, which undermines the work’s brilliantly subtle subversion of fairy tale tropes in the first act.  And the show runs into tonal problems at the start of its second half, when things awkwardly shift from straightforward musical comedy into more serio-comedic drama (to be fair, this is also the one area where James Lapine’s book could use some tweaking).

Overall, the only people who won’t find anything to enjoy about this Into the Woods are the purists who insist that all mountings of the show be perfect duplicates of the original production.  For everyone else, this version offers a fascinatingly new take on the material that stays true to its intention, complete with a top-tier cast and a towering central performance by the incomparable Donna Murphy.  Into the Woods is some of the best theatre of the summer, and that fact that it remains free to anyone willing to brave the long lines is added icing on the cake.  Go see it before it’s gone.

Even Flops Deserve an Encore

Review: Merrily We Roll Along

Celia Keenan-Bolger, Collin Donnell, and Lin-Manuel Miranda in the Encores staging of Merrily We Roll Along

I hope that Stephen Sondheim’s Merrily We Roll Along, running this weekend and next as part of the Encores! concert series at NY City Center, receives that oft-speculated about Broadway transfer. Not because the show (or this production) is perfect; far from it, as there are many problems plaguing this 1981 flop musical about a group of friends dealing with life’s many disappointments. But the show is so close to being the grandly affecting theatrical revelation that we *want* it to be, and I firmly believe that it could achieve those lofty heights with just a bit more work.

A brief history lesson for the uninitiated: Merrily was the sixth collaboration between Stephen Sondheim and Hal Prince, an artistic partnership that gave the world shows like Follies, Company, and Sweeney Todd. It tells the story of Franklin Shepard, a songwriter and film producer who is estranged from virtually everyone, including his longtime lyricist Charley Kringas and their novelist friend Mary Flynn. The story unfolds backwards, slowly revealing how these three inseparable friends ended up hating one another. The musical was such a critical and commercial failure when it opened on Broadway that it not only ended the Sondheim-Prince collaboration, but almost caused the gifted composer to retire from the theatre altogether.

But the show was preserved on a glorious original cast album, one which I have been in love with for many years. This Encores! concert, the latest in a decade-long, city wide fascination with all things Sondheim, was my first chance to see the show on its feet, and judge for myself whether the show (heavily revised by Sondheim and bookwriter George Furth since its initial Broadway run) was as bad as history would have you believe.

And unfortunately, this production doesn’t quite work. But it is so maddeningly close that I can’t help but think that with more time, it could become a truly transcendent theatrical event. The notoriously short Encores! rehearsal period hasn’t provided the performers with enough time to crack these complex characters, leaving us with a show that has its moments but is ultimately unsatisfying.

The book is partially to blame, but there’s no easy way to fix it. The same choice that makes the show fascinating – telling the story in reverse chronological order – also creates a host of challenges. It requires the actors to start the show at such an intense emotional level, where the depth of their bitterness and disappointment should be emanating from their pores, that few would be up to the task even in a traditional setting, let alone the abridged rehearsal period allowed here. Rather than having the entire evening to work up to that level of angst, the characters start at their emotional peak and slowly shed layers of regret to become the hopeful youths seen in the play’s final scene. The reverse narrative also requires the audience to absorb an incredible amount of back story early on, as we try to piece together the various relationships and how they got that way.

I honestly feel that Furth’s book does this in the most economical way possible; the rest is up to the actors and director. Helmer James Lapine and his cast are headed in the right direction here, but have obviously run short on time. More rehearsal, and a longer preview period, would certainly provide all of them with the chance to deepen their own understanding of the text and how to best illustrate that to the audience, which is why I would love to see the show transfer to Broadway and be able to revisit it after they had had a solid month or more to explore it. And everyone knows that Sondheim’s songs (which are at their most heart-wrenchingly beautiful here) can reveal new meanings on each subsequent listening, again making a convincing case for more rehearsal time.

As is, none of the three leads have a strong handle on their characters, although all are respectable actors who have solid moments throughout. As Franklin Shepard, Colin Donnell is so charming that you end up rooting for him even as the character makes some truly repugnant choices. Donnell has a gorgeous singing voice, and enough intelligence to be able to convey the inner conflict that underlies all of Shepard’s actions without ever being voiced. But at least two numbers require Shepard be absolutely reamed by other characters without chance for rebuttal, and Donnell misses the opportunity to really demonstrate the emotional toll it takes on Shepard.

Lin-Manuel Miranda is more problematic as Charley. Though a Tony-nominee for his performance in In the Heights, Miranda is not a singer, and seems to be outside of his natural range for most of the show. Occasionally his acting abilities allow him to compensate, but he is usually too concerned with hitting the right notes to be fully convincing. Yet all this doesn’t stop him from delivering a strong rendition of “Franklin Shepard, Inc,” an incredible piece of musical theatre writing that is one of the greatest gifts Sondheim ever gave a male actor.

But Miranda utterly botches Charley’s other big number, “Good Thing Going,” although I’m not sure he is entirely to blame. A song from Frank and Charley’s work-in-progress show that they sing at a backer’s audition, on the original cast album it is a solo wherein you see Charley’s dawning realization that he is losing his friend to the soulless entertainment industry. Contrasted with some technically dazzling counterpoint from the backers, who are discussing anything but the song they’re hearing, it’s an utterly heartbreaking moment. But in this production the song is a duet for Charley and Frank (mostly Frank) that serves no purpose; it no longer illustrates Charley’s increasing isolation, and the fact that these backers have no interest in making the “art” Charley and Frank aspire to has already been well-established. Now, this may be a rewrite done by Sondheim and Furth (though an ill-advised one), but it reads as if Miranda simply couldn’t sing the song and the music director hastily added Donnell in to compensate. Either way, it kills what could have been one of the most gut-wrenching scenes in the entire show.

Completing the trio of leads is Celia Keenan-Bolger, who does her best with the ill-defined Mary. The show never does a great job of establishing Mary as a character in her own right; she functions purely as a mediator between the bickering Charley and Frank. But given the amount of stage time Mary has and the serious dramatic ambitions of the show, she really should be given more depth than “mediator” and “occasional comic relief.” Keenan-Bolger does a decent job with the one-liners and makes a very convincing drunk in the opening scenes, but can’t overcome the limitations placed on her by the book.

The performer that comes out the best in all of this is Elizabeth Stanley as Gussie Carnegie, the star of Frank and Charley’s Broadway hit and Frank’s second wife. Although Gussie’s function in the story is clear – she’s the temptress that prompts most of Frank’s bad decisions – unlike Mary she is given enough personality and idiosyncrasies to evolve beyond that. Stanley is fantastic in the role, effortlessly capturing the glamour of a bona fide star and the neuroticism that all too often accompanies it. Although she gets plenty of stage time, I found myself wanting more of her, since the show tended to flounder when she was offstage. And as Frank’s first wife Beth, Betsy Wolfe sings and acts well enough, although her rendition of the show’s big ballad “Not a Day Goes By” needs more time to deepen into the emotional sucker punch it can be when sung by someone like Bernadette Peters (who has made it a staple of her concert performances).

Again, this is a show I dearly love, and so part of my disappointment with the Encores! production may stem from lofty expectations. But this production and this cast is clearly headed in the right direction, which makes it even more upsetting that they don’t have the luxury of more time to tackle this behemoth of a show. I suspect the difference between the first and second weekends will be enormous, and who knows what could be achieved with even more time to settle into these roles. Hopefully the reception for the concert staging will be warm enough that some producer risks bringing the show to Broadway, where I think the extra rehearsal time will result in a first rate staging of this important but problematic work.