They've Got a Diverse Beat, and It's Mighty Catchy

Review: Head Over Heels

Bonnie Milligan and the cast of Head Over Heels.

On paper, Head Over Heels sounds like a recipe for disaster. A jukebox musical using the music of 80s new wave band The Go-Go's to adapt an obscure 17th century play called The Arcadia, it doesn't sound like the sort of thing Broadway is clamoring for. And yet through some kind of bizarre theatrical alchemy, these seemingly disparate parts coalesce into a show that isn't just a campy good time, but also one of the most refreshingly progressive shows on Broadway.

Set in the land of Arcadia, Head Over Heels opens with the kingdom's residents singing about how their mystical Beat is responsible for their continued prosperity and happiness (a conceit obviously designed to allow the show to open with one of The Go-Go's most recognizable hits, "We've Got the Beat"). All seems well and good until the land's new oracle Pythio predicts the impending loss of said Beat should four cryptic prophecies come to pass, most relating to the romantic couplings of the royal family. When the impetuous King Basilius decides to pack up the court - including his wife Gynecia and daughters Pamela and Philoclea - and go on the move in an attempt to prevent the prophecies coming true, a series of shenanigans and comic mistakes follows (many spurred by that old standby of 17th century comedy, cross dressing).

Pretty standard stuff for a pastoral comedy, made fresh thanks to some wonderfully inclusive story decisions and casting. Elder princess Pamela (newcomer Bonnie Milligan in a breakout performance) is universally acknowledged to be prettier and more desirable than her "plain" sister Philoclea (a winsome Alexandra Socha). Now it just so happens that Pamela is the more full-figured of the two, but never is her size the butt of a joke or played for laughs, nor does the tone of the show indicate that anyone is the slightest bit delusional for finding the big girl more attractive. Milligan, with her razor sharp comic timing and powerhouse voice, is a prime example of the kind of magic that can happen when casting directors are open to performers of all body types in all kinds of roles.

Another inclusive storytelling decision is the fact that Pythio is a gender nonbinary oracle who prefers to be addressed using they/them pronouns. Again, this is not something the show goes out of its way to comment upon or play for laughs, it is merely a fact everyone just rolls, including the use of their preferred pronouns. The role is played quite well by Peppermint of RuPaul's Drag Race fame, the first openly transgender woman to originate a role on Broadway. It is a boundary breaking act of representation made all the more powerful by treating it as no big deal, the way it should be in an ideal world.

Other progressive plot points include a lesbian romance (which prompts a visit to the Isle of Lesbos and a delightfully cheeky rendition of "Vacation"), a shepherd who starts cross dressing to get closer to his beloved princess and later discovers he kind of likes his drag persona, and a general acceptance of the idea that women are just as fit for rule as men, if not more so. It all combines to create one of the most queer-friendly shows to ever get a commercial Broadway run, an achievement to be celebrated and hopefully repeated in the future.

The performances are solid from top to bottom. While Milligan ultimately steals the show, she is given a run for her money by the equally hilarious Andrew Durand as the cross dressing shepherd Musidorus. Rachel York and Jeremy Kushnier do excellent work in the occasionally underwritten roles of the king and queen, with their firmly tongue-in-cheek rendition of "Heaven is a Place on Earth" an Act II highlight. Taylor Iman Jones provides some heart and a lot of vocal pyrotechnics as Pamela's handmaiden Mopsa, and Tom Alan Robbins understands exactly what's needed to make the role of the king's comical viceroy pop.

As the ringleaders of this delightfully campy circus, director Michael Mayer and choreographer Spencer Liff expertly juggle a lot of narrative and tonal balls to keep things moving along at a breezy pace. It helps that the book, adapted by James Magruder from Jeff Whitty's out of town libretto and concept, does a better job grafting The Go-Go's songs onto the narrative than it has any right to. And those numbers that are awkwardly shoehorned into the narrative are so enjoyable to watch thanks to Liff's high energy choreography and the Go-Go's catchy musical hooks that you'll hardly begrudge the show an occasional clunky segue.

There are certainly those who will find Head Over Heels to be too lowbrow for its own good, although those people would be willfully ignoring how bold a statement the show is making by putting underrepresented groups at the center of its narrative with such little fanfare. In a way, the fact that Head Over Heels is largely fluff and camp (and very entertaining fluff and camp at that) amplifies the power of its inclusion by positing a world in which everyone is just accepted as they are, without fanfare or grand proclamations of the value of diversity. For those who yearn for a more inclusive theatre, Head Over Heels is not only an opportunity to put their money where their mouth is, but also a campy night out in a world that could certainly stand an infusion of fun and fabulousness.

50 Years Old and as Fresh as Ever

Review: The Boys in the Band

From left to right: Charlie Carver, Andrew Rannells, Tuc Watkins, Jim Parsons, Robin de Jesus, Matt Bomer, and Zachary Quinto in The Boys in the Bands.

There is a moment in The Boys in the Band, Mart Crowley's groundbreaking 1968 play about a group of gay New Yorkers, where the men dial back their effeminate behavior to avoid upsetting a less-than-accepting party crasher. Watching the star-studded ensemble of openly gay actors subtly modify their body language, mannerisms, and vocal inflections in order to "pass" for straight is both breathtaking in its simplicity and profoundly moving, a wonderfully naturalistic moment that encapsulates everything that is exceptional about Joe Mantello's first rate production. These men - both the characters and the out and proud actors who portray them - are intimately familiar with that particular conflict between being your authentic self and trying desperately not to rock the boat for fear of retribution, and that bubbling undercurrent of internalized homophobia informs every aspect of Crowley's deceptively powerful script.

The premise of The Boys in the Band, like many great dramas before and after it, involves a group of people gathering together, drinking heavily, and proceeding to eviscerate one another while dealing with years of emotional baggage. In this case, the group is a collection of gay men throwing a birthday party for their friend Harold in the opulently appointed apartment of Michael. Initially a joyous if somewhat catty celebration - the men throw shade at one another with pinpoint accuracy thanks to Crowley's caustically funny one liners - things take a dark turn when Michael's possibly closeted college roommate crashes the party and takes offense at the blatantly fay behavior on display. When the mental stress causes a previously sober Michael to fall off the wagon, the claws come out and no one is safe from his unmitigated rage.

It is shocking how immediate and relevant Crowley's script remains a half century after its initial premiere, a fascinating example of both how much and how little has changed about gay culture in the intervening decades. Stonewall, the AIDS crisis, and marriage equality have all seismically altered gay life in America, and yet many of the issues facing the characters in Crowley's play are the same as those that gay men grapple with today. There's the self-loathing that comes from growing up in an environment that states, either implicitly or explicitly, that it would be better if you weren't gay, and the lifelong effect that has on one's ability to connect with other human beings. There's the question of what exactly a loving homosexual relationship should look like: should it mirror the monogamous template favored by heterosexual couples, or is an open arrangement that allows for other sexual partners a viable alternative? Does the constant belittlement gay men experience excuse their tendency to inflict the same kind of taunts on one another, and how is that compounded when discussing queer people of color?

All of these issued are embodied by an impeccably cast ensemble of top tier talent. Jim Parsons is close to a revelation as Michael, the party's host and evening's protagonist. While the play's opening scenes allow the Emmy-winning television star to rely mostly on the skills that have served him so well on The Big Bang Theory, once Michael turns to drink the actor goes into much darker and more surprising territory. The ferocity with which Parsons turns on his supposed friends is astounding, and like the characters in the play you find yourself becoming more and more terrified of the unbridled malice he displays. And when Michael finally crumbles under the weight of what he's done, Parsons bares his soul in a raw and emotionally devastating climax that will leave you stunned speechless.

Two-time Tony-nominee Robin de Jesus also shines as Emory, the most flamboyant and overtly femme member of the group. de Jesus is responsible for many of the evening's biggest belly laughs thanks to his impeccably timed delivery, but it's his gut wrenching monologue about Emory's difficult childhood that leaves the longest lasting impression. Tuc Watkins and Tony-nominee Andrew Rannells bring believable depth and complexity to their fraught onstage relationship as two men with very different ideas of what commitment looks like, a relationship which ends up being one of the more uplifting storylines of the evening. And in a less showy role, Matt Bomer makes a confident Broadway debut as Michael's sometimes-lover and the oft-ignored voice of reason.

Director Joe Mantello has once again worked his magic here, subtly but assuredly guiding his actors' performances so that every bit of stage business further reveals either character or plot. His beautifully understated direction belies the extreme specificity used to usher this work onto the Great White Way - the original production ran for over 1000 performances Off-Broadway, but this is the show's Broadway premiere - amping up the emotion while maintaining the intimacy and even claustrophobia necessary to make the drama really land. Mantello's pacing is first-rate, giving this intermissionless work room to breath without ever letting it drag, and cultivating an ever-growing sense of dread as both the audience and the characters realize they are getting far more than they signed on for. And the way Mantello deploys his actors over David Zinn's spectacularly varied unit set ensures the production is always a joy to look at (Zinn also designed the period-perfect and expertly tailored 1960s costumes).

Given the talent both onstage and behind the scenes, it isn't surprising that The Boys in the Band is one of the hottest tickets of the summer. It isn't even that surprising that the show's Broadway bow is so expertly realized. What is downright remarkable is that in its own way, this small show has as much to say about the gay experience in America as the recently closed and rightfully lauded epic Angels in America. It is a darkly comic drama polished to near perfection, and an absolutely necessary history lesson in gay culture and interpersonal dynamics. If there are still any tickets left for the remainder of The Boys in the Band's limited run, snatch them up quick; this is essential viewing.

How Do You Solve a Problem Like Julie Jordan?

Review: Carousel

Jessie Mueller and Joshua Henry as Julie Jordan and Billy Bigelow in Carousel.

It is said that of all Richard Rodger's collaborations with Oscar Hammerstein, Carousel contained the composer's favorite score. The classic musical certainly has an abundance of soaring melodies, and it greatly develops the now ubiquitous concept of the extended musical scene, something that didn't really exist prior to the famed duo's groundbreaking work. And while the show certainly has artistic and historical merit, the extremely well done revival now on Broadway also fully unmasks the inherent problems in the script, the most glaring of which is the domestic violence issue embedded in the central romance.

*Note: If you aren't familiar with Carousel - I'd never seen it prior to this production - there are spoilers coming. There's no way to discuss the show in the context of 2018 without getting into them.*

There's no way around it: Carousel as written is inherently problematic. Carnival barker Billy Bigelow falls in love with and marries a young mill worker named Julie Jordan, who abandons her job just to get the chance to know Billy better (the mill Julie works at insists their workers maintain a "good girl" image which doesn't allow for late night talks with strange men). Then, in a scene we never see, Billy hits Julie; the town characterizes it as continual abuse, although Billy insists that it was just one time. But the frequency of the abuse doesn't really matter, because either way Julie insists there's nothing wrong with it despite the protestations of literally everyone she knows.

Note Julie never *denies* being hit. She claims people don't know Billy like she does, and that she understands why he hit her. But Julie - and by extension, Rodgers and Hammerstein - never verbalizes those reasons to the other characters or to the audience. In fact, her second act solo "What's the Use of Wond'rin," the song specifically designed to address this concern, essentially boils down to Julie saying she loves him, so what else can she do but accept the situation? And late in the show, when a now dead Billy is asked by a heavenly character called The Starkeeper if he regrets hitting Julie, Billy defiantly responds, "I regret nothing."

Now, obviously Carousel was written during a different time that had different attitudes about what was and wasn't acceptable behavior in a marriage. So while it is disappointing that the fairly progressive Rodgers and Hammerstein - who wrote the anti-racism creed "You Have to Be Carefully Taught" for South Pacific and centered The King & I around a strong, capable female protagonist - created such a problematic portrayal of the abused-but-we-don't-know-how-much Julie, it isn't entirely surprising.

What is surprising is that Tony-winner Jessie Mueller, who can pack a wealth of conflicting emotions into the space between her lines, isn't able to find some way to give more insight or depth to Julie and help us better understand her actions. Given that her last Broadway outing Waitress focused on a character in a similar situation, but with much more complexity and agency, it is downright baffling that Mueller chose this as her immediate follow-up.

Perhaps this disconnect explains why Mueller, normally a firebrand who you cannot take your eyes off of, feels oddly subdued throughout. She sings the role beautifully - is there nothing her mercurial voice cannot do? - and acts it as well as anyone can be expected to, which leaves no choice but to conclude the problem is with the material and not the performer. Put bluntly, Julie just isn't a very compelling character, especially contrasted with the other women in the show.

Julie's best friend Carrie Pipperidge manages to do what society expects of her in a way that makes it clear she's making a choice and not just resigned to whatever comes her way, and she is the first to express concern about Julie's home life. Lindsey Mendez is a delight in the role, beautifully adapting her vocal pyrotechnics to the more legit stylings of Carousel's score and landing the evening's biggest laughs. And opera superstar Renee Fleming is a revelation as the matronly Nettie Fowler; her rendition of the show's big anthem "You'll Never Walk Alone" is a masterclass in dramatic song interpretation, musically impeccable while still feeling spontaneous and unforced.

And despite the problems with his character, it's undeniable that two-time Tony-nominee Joshua Henry has never been better than as carnival barker Billy Bigelow. His natural charisma makes it easy to see why Julie or anyone else would be drawn to him, and his performance makes it clear that his gruff exterior is masking a deep seated inner pain and self loathing. He also sings like a dream, making a famously taxing role seem easy and imbuing every song with a freshness that makes the show's well worn ballads sound new. His "Soliloquy," the seven minute monologue in song that ends the first act, is positively thrilling, his rendition easily among the best there's ever been. Henry's performance is the stuff Tony wins are made of, and a strong argument for the merits of color conscious casting. (The production never overtly references Henry's race, but it subtly informs his interactions.)

Director Jack O'Brien's thoughtful staging and direction is exactly what you hope for when one of these Golden Age musicals is revived. The show feels fresh and alive, almost like new, honoring the material without ever holding it so sacred that it feels like a museum piece. O'Brien wisely avoids any impulse to dress the material up with modern bells and whistles, letting the actors and musicians carry the day. The producers have also wisely employed NY City Ballet choreographer-in-residence Justin Peck to handle the musical's abundant dance numbers, including the patented Rodgers and Hammerstein dream ballet in the second act. Peck's choreography has a complexity and artistic maturity rarely seen on the Broadway stage, and is danced to perfection by the nimble men and women of the ensemble (who also sound fantastic during the group choral numbers).

From a physical standpoint, this Carousel is often breathtaking thanks to the lavish yet unfussy design work. Ann Roth's costumes have an attention to detail and carefully considered color palette that make them look like a million bucks, even though they are largely everyday casual wear. Santo Loquasto's stunning set wonderfully evokes a sleepy seaside town, with his stellar backdrops and multilayered sets giving the production an astonishing amount of visual depth. His take on the titular carousel is particularly striking, an image that will stay with you long after the final curtain falls. Both sets and costumes are gorgeously lit by Brian MacDevitt, whose sophisticated work greatly helps in the evocation of the story's many different moods.

All of the talent and care that has gone into this Carousel makes the show's dubious worldview that much more upsetting. These are clearly smart artists who are doing their absolute best to do justice to this show, but they have not been able to solve the central conundrum of getting us to understand and empathize with such a problematic relationship. The lead female role is basically a doormat, accepting and excusing any negative behavior that comes her way in the name of love, and putting that kind of message into the world in 2018 seems questionable at best. Rather than "fixing" Carousel for future generations, this production may have killed it once and for all by exposing it as inexorably linked to a bygone and now unacceptable social attitude. If O'Brien and company aren't able to satisfactorily address Carousel's problems, then who can?

Period Costumes, Contemporary Issues, and Timeless Theatricality

Review: A Doll's House, Part 2

Jayne Houdyshell and Laurie Metcalf in A Doll's House, Part 2.

Do not let the somewhat intimidating title fool you. While A Doll's House, Part 2 is technically a sequel to Henrik Ibsen's groundbreaking 1879 drama, this razor sharp new play requires next to no knowledge of its predecessor. Nor is the play some stuffy period drama; this is a wholly contemporary work which combines both comedy and pathos in its blistering examination of the institution of marriage and a woman's place in a patriarchal society. They are the same themes Ibsen tackled in his original work over 100 years ago, and Broadway newcomer Lucas Hnath proves that there's still so much to say about them.

The setup is brilliantly simple. Nora Helmer returns home 15 years after she walked out on her husband Torvald, their kids, and their marriage at the end of A Doll's House, scandalizing much of 19th century society. But Torvald never actually filed for divorce after Nora left, and without his help ending their marriage she risks losing everything she's built for herself since. (The irony that the strong-willed and independently minded Nora needs a man's help to get what she wants doesn't escape anyone.)

Hnath's perfectly structured one act is divided into five scenes, sharply delineated by harsh lighting cues and yet seamlessly flowing into one another. In addition to Nora's point of view, we get major insight into how her leaving has affected Torvald, their daughter Emmy, and their housekeeper Anne Marie (who ended up raising the children in Nora's absence). A hyper-literate polemic, A Doll's House, Part 2 manages to expertly articulate each character's point of view so you find it difficult to disagree with any of them, even though they rarely agree on anything. It is also striking just how much the issues initially raised by Ibsen are still shockingly relevant today, particularly when it comes to the options that are and are not afforded to women.

What makes the play rise above mere intellectual discussion and become truly compelling drama are the carefully nuanced performances of the four person ensemble. Leading the charge is Laurie Metcalf in an absolutely sensational (now Tony-winning) performance as Nora, the fiercely independent woman at the center of everything. Matcalf's Nora barrels through the play like a bull in a china shop, a lifetime of frustration radiating off her in righteous anger. Her exasperation is palpable, as is her intelligence and determination.

Metcalf makes it abundantly clear that Nora was born in the wrong time, a strong and independent woman in a world that has little use for her. And while Nora makes no apologies for her decision to leave her family, Matcalf beautifully communicates just how much the decision cost her, especially during a heartbreaking monologue in which she describes what it's been like to be cut off from her children. The role allows Metcalf to showcase her full range as an actress, from the comedy chops that won her 3 consecutive Emmys on TV's Roseanne to the deeply felt emotion which has made her a favorite of the New York theatre scene.

Equally exciting work is provided by Metcalf's costars, Jayne Houdyshell and Condola Rashad. Houdyshell initially seems like comic relief as the somewhat bumbling, soft-spoken maid Anne Marie, but as the play progresses you discover she has been as shaken by Nora's decision as anyone. Anne Marie's geniality hides a deep seated resentment for the scandal Nora caused, and Houdyshell plays both sides of her character to the hilt. Rashad is thrilling as Nora's now grown daughter Emmy, who was so small when her mother left she barely remembers her. Her opinions on Nora's actions are perhaps the most surprising, and Rashad's shimmering intelligence and carefully measured line delivery make her consistently fascinating to watch.

If there is one weak link in the cast, it is Chris Cooper's understated portrayal of Torvald. The Oscar winner isn't so much bad as he is underwhelming, delivering a characterization that is clearly calibrated for film while the rest of the cast is giving overtly theatrical performances. One wishes director Sam Gold had been able to bring Cooper up to the level of his costars, but otherwise the evening is flawlessly directed. Gold's subdued staging, combined with the low key but well executed costumes and lights, allows the focus to remain where it should, on the excellent writing and acting.

A Doll's House, Part 2 manages to accomplish just about everything you could want during its lean, brutally effective 90 minute runtime. An intelligent drama that tackles big ideas, Hnath's script allows ample opportunity for both comedy and drama, which the gifted ensemble seizes upon and fully exploits. Who would have imagined that a play which on paper sounds like an overly pretentious writing exercise would turn out to be one of the freshest, most engaging new works of the year? Those with even the slightest interest should make it a point to see A Doll's House, Part 2; you are guaranteed to leave the Helmer household much more satisfied than Nora ever was.

A Lush Historical Fairy Tale

Review: Anastasia

Derek Klena as Dimitri and Christy Altomare as Anya in Anastasia.

As someone who has never seen the 1997 animated feature film Anastasia, I bring no preexisting expectations to the musical version currently playing the Broadhurst Theatre. Which is perhaps for the best, as the songwriting team of Stephen Flaherty and Lynn Ahrens have been very upfront about the massive amount of changes their work has undergone in the transition from screen to stage. Entire characters have been jettisoned (no villainous Rasputin and his anthropomorphic bat sidekick), many of the songs have been reordered and/or recontextualized, and the tone of the piece has been shifted towards something more complex than the typically black and white morality tale of a Disney-esque animated film.

Whether this "maturing" of the story amounts to actual and improvement is open for interpretation. There is no denying the Flaherty and Ahrens' score (which includes the Oscar-nominated "Journey to the Past," here relocated to the end of the first act) is a work of beauty, a grand collection of both old and new songs that have a sweeping melodic artistry. This beauty is occasionally betrayed by the relatively modest ensemble size, which doesn't always have the vocal heft the music seems to call for. This is no fault of the very talented performers, just a result of the economic reality that paying for dozens of chorus members is a luxury most shows cannot afford. 

And while Terrance McNally's book does a fine job of weaving the various songs together, the more adult tone invites a more critical look at the narrative than it can quite sustain. In telling the story of the lost heir to the last Russian czar, Anastasia attempts to milk a lot of drama from the question of whether the amnesiac Anya is actually the presumed dead title character. But a show called Anastasia with no Anastasia wouldn't make much sense, and the repeated flashbacks Anya has of her slain relatives leave little doubt she is in fact the missing Grand Duchess. (This narrative issue is successful solved in the second act, when the question becomes not "Is Anya Anastasia?" but "Will her grandmother, the Dowager Empress, recognize her?") It also feels odd that a show which puts so much effort into at least the semblance of historical accuracy leaves the issue of why the Russians killed Anastasia's family almost wholly unexplored.

Thankfully, the gorgeous physical production and fine collection of performances makes it easier to look past these logical issues. Alexander Dodge's physical set is perhaps a tad shallow, but it is brought to vivid life by Aaron Rhyne's stunning projections. Rhyne's work adds depth and detail to the show's many physical locations, finding stage equivalents to cinematic techniques like pans and dissolves which look like nothing else on Broadway. And Linda Cho's stunningly ornate costumes are showstoppers in and of themselves, glittering ensembles of saturated color that grant the entire affair an air of wonderfully grandiose fantasy. 

In the title role, Christy Altomare is excellent as a thoroughly modern Broadway heroine. Her utter commitment to the role brings a level of authenticity and dramatic stakes to the character that frankly isn't there in the writing, and even though it's obvious she's the missing Grand Duchess, Altomare's palpable doubt almost makes you question that assumption. And while her voice is quite lovely, the true secret to her success with Anya's many songs is her ability to convey every nuance contained within Ahrens' words and Flaherty's music. 

As Dimitri, a street hustler initially wanting to pass Anya off as Anastasia for the reward money, Derek Klena has a dashingly chiseled visage that looks as if it jumped out of an animated storybook. Dimitri begins the show as a bit of a jerk, but Klena slowly wins you over as his character becomes less interested in money and more invested in helping Anya realize her destiny. Klena also possesses a soaring tenor the score doesn't utilize right way, but really springs to the fore by the time of his rousing solo "My Petersburg" in the middle of the first act. And John Bolton is a delightfully endearing clown as Dimitri's partner in crime Vlad, whose past connections with the Russian royal family are key to helping our leads meet their goals.

As the Dowager Empress, Mary Beth Peil initially seems underused, with a brief appearance in the show's prologue her only stage time in Act I. But once the action moves to Paris, and convincing the Dowager Empress that Anya is her long lost granddaughter becomes the main plot, Peil comes alive, packing an enormous amount of emotional variety into her scenes (which happen to feature some of McNally's best writing). Watching the range of emotions that wash over Peil's face in the climatic scene, from bitter rage to stubborn disbelief to overwhelming joy, is one of the highlights of the evening.

There's a lot to like about Anastasia, especially if one can get past the fact that this stage adaptation uses the animated film as more of a jumping off point than an actual blueprint. The writing ranges from good to excellent, even if the direction by Tony winner Darko Tresnjak allows the show to drag more than it needs to. The upside of this sometimes slower pace is you have ample time to appreciate the opulence of the physical production, the lush melodies, and the winsome performances of the cast. It's refreshing to see a family show that is willing to trust in its audience's appreciation of stagecraft rather than beat them over the head with spectacle, even if a tad more flash would be appreciated.

A Small Show with a Big Heart

Review: Come From Away

Tony-nominee Jenn Colella (left) and the cast of Come From Away.

There are essentially two routes Broadway shows can go these days to justify their ever-growing price tags: elaborate spectacle that puts the money onstage, or theatrical craft so elevated its clearly the result of years of skill sharpening. Come From Away, the deeply moving and gloriously uplifting new musical now playing Broadway, thankfully opts for the latter, arriving in New York as a highly polished gem of a musical with the added bonus of not being based on any preexisting source material.

Written by Broadway newcomers Irene Sankoff and David Hein, Come From Away is inspired by the amazing true story of Gander, Newfoundland, which saw 38 planes and their accompanying 7000 passengers diverted to the small Canadian town when US airspace closed after the terrorist attacks of September 11th, 2001. And while this ensemble driven show doesn't shy away from the horrific aftereffects of that fateful day, it is also overflowing with inspiring stories of human kindness and mankind's capacity for love. The residents of Gander welcomed 7000 strangers into their homes without a moment's hesitation, feeding and clothing their multicultural visitors for 5 days until the planes were cleared to fly again. Yes, you will probably shed a few tears of sadness, but you will shed just as many at the sheer beauty of the simple human kindness on display.

What Sankoff and Hein manage to do so successfully is juxtapose moments of darkness with ones of hope. A particularly moving passage halfway through the intermissionless show illustrates how the many different faiths of the travelers allow them to cope with their grief, just after a Muslim traveler has been harassed during his midday prayers. The scenes seamlessly transition from spoken dialogue to the folk-influenced score and back again, balancing the specificity of the individual characters' journeys with the narrative's overarching themes. Sankoff and Hein have spent years honing the show prior to its New York debut, resulting in a work with nary a word out of place and a single story beat that feels forced or rushed. This is a musical that earns the emotions it elicits rather than manipulating them out of you.

The town of Gander is brought to life by an amazing ensemble of twelve actors, each playing multiple characters with little to distinguish them except changes in accent and some relatively minor costume pieces. So great is the entire cast's skill that not once during the show do you wonder who is playing who, even when they adopt a new persona onstage in front of your eyes. (Dialect coach Joel Goldes deserves special mention for guiding the cast to spot on Newfoundlander and multinational accents.)

While the entire cast is outstanding, Jenn Colella is particularly memorable as Beverley, the first female American Airlines captain and our window into the airlines' perspective on the entire ordeal (her rendition of "Me and the Sky" is a genuinely inspiring girl power anthem and one of the production's highlights). Sharon Wheatley and Lee MacDougall are adorable as a Texas divorcee and English businessman who find love amidst their awful circumstances, and Q. Smith is quietly heartbreaking as a mother waiting to hear from her first responder son. Although they are sometimes only given a line or two of dialogue to establish a character, each actor makes sure you know and care about everyone in the tale, to the point where you are genuinely curious about their fates after the final curtain.

Director Christopher Ashley is the assured captain of this streamlined ship, deftly guiding cast and audience through the show's many emotional highs and lows. With little more than some tables and chairs, Ashley takes us from a plane's cramped interior to a small town recreational center to the crowded confines of the airport's customs office. His directorial approach to the show is minimalist but far from simplistic, as the staging never fails to hold visual and emotional interest (greatly aided by Howell Binkley's outstanding lighting design). There is a kinetic energy that flows throughout the piece even when the characters are standing still, which makes the evening fly by.

Come From Away is a perfect example of the healing power of theatre, a cathartic and uplifting show centered around one of the darkest days in modern US history. Polished to a high sheen by a team of theatrical artisans working at the top of their game, this is must see theatre at its most pure. Do not let the 9/11 ties scare you away; you will cry, yes, but you will also laugh, cheer, and find yourself moved by humanity's ability to lift one another up when we truly need it. Given the dark and sometimes defeated political climate we find ourselves, Come From Away is just the sort of inspiring show Broadway needs right now.

A Musical In Need of a Do-Over

Review: Groundhog Day

Barrett Doss and Andy Karl in Groundhog Day at the August Wilson Theare.

The plot of Groundhog Day revolves around a weatherman forced to live the same day over and over again until he finally gets it right, breaking the loop and allowing him to move on. The creative team behind this new Broadway musical, many of whom were also involved in 2013's wildly inventive Matilda, seem to have encountered a similar conundrum in their writing. The show doesn't really start to click until well into its second act, and once it finds its narrative voice the musical promptly ends. And while it feels somewhat wrong to criticize a show built around the concept of repetition for being, well, repetitive, one has to imagine that some of the invention and creative spark of the last 20 minutes could have been brought into the proceeding 2 hours.

The show opens with the cantankerous Phil Connors (Andy Karl in full leading man mode) being forced to take an assignment covering the Groundhog Day festivities in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania. Shipped off to a small town he detests with a fairly green associate producer named Rita (Barrett Doss offering the right combination of sass and sympathy), Phil finds himself snowed in by an unexpected blizzard. The big city forecaster can't wait for the day to be over and be on his way, but to his horror when he awakens the next morning it is still February 2nd. No matter what Phil does or doesn't do during the day, every morning the loop resets, leaving him to ponder the unpleasant possibility that he may relive this day forever.

The high concept setup allows Groundhog Day to tackle some surprisingly dark material. Stuck reliving the same day on repeat, Phil goes through every imaginable reaction to the news, from horror to hedonism to depression and more. Yet rather than fully embracing its darker instincts or satirizing them with biting comedy, the show seems stuck in the same kind of limbo as its main character, unable to satisfactorily reach either tonal destination despite multiple valiant attempts. Danny Rubin's book is structured like a warped romantic comedy, but both the romantic and comedic aspects are only present is short bursts during an otherwise dull affair. (Rubin also wrote the screenplay for the beloved Bill Murray film on which the musical is based.)

Tim Minchin's score is equally confused, unable to settle on what it wants to be. The verbose songs are arranged and harmonized in such a way that the lyrics are often difficult to understand; the first three songs in particular are sung multiple times throughout the evening and I'm still not sure I caught all the words. Yet the songs also aren't melodically interesting enough to hold your attention without comprehending the words, so every time a musical number appears it seems to interrupt the narrative rather than enhance it. Minchin also devotes several numbers to minor characters we neither know nor care about, the most egregious example being the Act II opener "Playing Nancy." If Nancy were providing some commentary on the show's overarching narrative or themes it might prove to be a nice change of pace, but the song is entirely about her journey even though she has little to do or say either before or after.

Further compounding the show's narrative woes is Matthew Warchus' hyperactive direction, which rarely allows the actors time to stand still and focus on the emotion of their scenes. Although to be fair, standing still on Rob Howell's overly elaborate set is clearly a safety hazard, with so many set pieces moving in and out on the five(!) turntables that staying in place too long is a sure way to get injured. All of this technical wizardry might be impressively complex, but like many a British megamusical before it Groundhog Day ultimately becomes about the set rather than the story or characters.

The one constant among the show's disparate elements is the sparkling class, who are effortlessly winsome and entirely believable despite reenacting the exact same scene multiple times each night. Anchoring the production is newly minted Olivier Award winner Andy Karl, whose Phil Connors transforms slowly and seamlessly from a self centered ass into a warmhearted philanthropist. Karl's utterly charming performance has an ease about it that never betrays just how hard he is working, and the only knock against it is the role doesn't allow much of the overt comedy he's proven so adept at in the past. He is perfectly commented by Barrett Doss as the spunky Rita, and their chemistry makes even some of the clunkier scenes breeze by.

But ultimately, their alluring performances cannot fully salvage a show that doesn't really justify the need for musicalizing the beloved Bill Murray movie. In the interest of full disclosure, I must admit that I have never seen the Groundhog Day film, but a truly great adaptation of any source material should not rely on one's fondness of the original. It should stand on its own, entertaining newcomers while providing fans with an added layer of appreciation, something this incredibly busy stage adaptation doesn't quite manage.

Cate is Great, but "The Present" is Average

Review: The Present

Richard Roxburgh and Cate Blanchett in Andrew Upton's The Present.

In her long awaited Broadway debut, Oscar-winning actress Cate Blanchett proves every bit as formidable and entrancing onstage as she is onscreen. Able to tap into coquettish charm and window rattling fury with equal authority, Blanchett possesses such a magnetic stage presence you can scarcely take your eyes off her, even when she sits silently fuming at a table in the background. Without trying, the actress absolutely dominates any scene she's in while remaining fully in service of both character and story. Unfortunately, the role of Anna Petrovna in Andrew Upton's new work The Present doesn't quite demand or deserve an actress of Blanchett's stature, which undermines Blanchett's Broadway bow despite her undeniable talent.

The play is loosely adapted from Anton Chekhov's Platonov, chronologically the first play written by the celebrated dramatist but not produced until well after his death. The fact that Platonov is rarely performed is the first indication of underlying issues with the material, as is the fact the author himself considered the play unfinished. The basic outline involves Russian widow Anna Petrovna gathering friends and acquaintances at a dilapidated country estate to celebrate her birthday, most notably the sardonic tutor Mikhail Platonov. Over the course of the long weekend various inner demons and repressed romantic feelings come to the fore, ultimately upending everyone's lives. Upton's adaptation, which moves the action forward a century to 1990s Russia, makes a decent attempt at unifying the narrative's disparate threads, but ultimately feels confused and conflicted in both tone and style.

The first act hews most closely to what classic Chekhov, in that it introduces a bevy of well-to-do members of Russian society obsessing over the past and the unerring progression of time. Act II takes a hard left turn into completely unexpected territory involving shotguns and dynamite, making it the play's most memorable but also the most bizarre. This darkly comic act heavily centers on Blanchett's character, showcasing the actress' many gifts and the manic energy provided by the script's comedic impulses; if the whole show maintained the tone and pace of Act II, it would be often insane but also compulsively watchable. Unfortunately, Act III changes tones once again to become a dreamlike succession of two and three character scenes, before the play returns to something more recognizably Chekhovian in the final act (along with paying off the literal Chekhov's gun introduced in the show's opening moments).

As mentioned, Blanchett is superb throughout, although those buying a ticket primarily for her may be disappointed to learn the real protagonist is Richard Roxburgh's Platonov. And while The Present would definitely benefit from featuring Blanchett more prominently, Roxburgh is quite a treat in his own right. His rakish performance perfectly highlights why the other characters find Platonov both intoxicating and infuriating, and yet Roxburgh is also capable of portraying deep anguish and regret. His Platonov emerges as a deeply conflicted man, a passionate soul stymied by his quiet country lifestyle whilst simultaneously drawing great comfort from said lifestyle. The most interesting scenes highlight the complex interplay between Blanchett and Roxburgh, who share excellent chemistry and a high mastery of their craft.

The rest of the cast provides fine support in roles with murkier character arcs than Anna and Platonov, often giving performances far better than what is on the page. Particularly strong are Chris Ryan and Toby Schmitz as Platanov's former students Sergei and Nikolai, both on the verge of settling into midlife with partners who may or may not be right for them. And in the pivotal role of Sophia - Sergei's wife and a past lover of Platanov - Jacqueline McKenzie makes such seamless sense of her character's abrupt shifts in affection you almost don't notice how poorly they're integrated into the plot (Sophia's actions seem primarily dictated by story needs, rather than character motivations).

Director John Crowley mostly stays out of the way of his actor's performances, which keeps the staging from feeling unnecessarily flashy but occasionally leaves the action feeling unfocused. Alice Babidge's scenic design isn't particularly impressive, except for how quickly it manages to transition from act to act. Similarly, the costumes (also by Babidge) and lighting (be Nick Schlieper) avoid calling attention to themselves in favor of letting the performances and script do the heavy lifting.

For gifting Broadway with the immense talent that is Cate Blanchett, The Present is to be commended, even if it is an imperfect vehicle for such an accomplished performer. Hopefully Blanchett will find the time in her busy film schedule to return to the New York stage in one of the truly great theatrical roles; she has tackled both A Streetcar Named Desire and Hedda Gabler in her native Australia, either of which would offer her far more material to work with should she choose to reprise them. Until then, The Present will have to do, even if Blanchett's star presence isn't quite enough to make you forget you're watching an awkwardly formed but well-acted play.

Let's Talk About Sex (18th Century French Sex)

Review: Les Liaisons Dangereuses

Janet McTeer and Liev Schreiber in the Donmar Warehouse revival of Les Liaisons Dangereuses

There aren't many plays like Les Liaisons Dangereuses, the highly verbal and erotic drama currently being revived at the Booth Theatre. Period costumes and flowery language help elevate this tale of calculated seduction in 18th century France, making a script where virtually every scene is about sex seem like one of the classiest plays around. And while there are some interesting ideas to be found hiding underneath the deliciously decadent dialogue, this import from London's Donmar Warehouse ultimately feels like more style than substance despite some truly compelling performances.

Playwright Christopher Hampton's 1987 drama - probably best known as the basis of the Oscar-winning film Dangerous Liaisons - centers around ex-lovers Le Marquis de Merteuil and Le Vicomte de Valmont, wealthy members of Paris' elite who entertain themselves by seducing others for sport. In an act of revenge, Merteuil has asked Valmont to seduce the virginal Cecile, who has been promised to the only man to ever to break off a relationship with Merteuil before she was ready to end it. But Valmont has his sights set on Madame de Tourvel, the strictly conservative wife of an absent husband. Merteuil and Valmont agree to help manipulate both women into compromising positions, while also having their own reasons for wanting to rekindle their own relationship (she seems to actually love Valmont, while he seems mostly interested in the sex).

It's a complex web of motivations which seem even more alien given the use of French titles in place of actual names, but Hampton's plotting is razor sharp and provides everything an attentive audience member needs to follow the action. It also helps to view the play with the assumption that practically every line of dialogue is intended as a double entendre, many of them dressed up by the playwright's wonderfully verbose dialogue. The characters may be French, but their command of the English language makes listening to them speak entertainment unto itself. If there is any fault to be found with Hampton's script, it's that he places the story's climax (pun very much intended) at the end of a rather long first act, which makes Act II feel more scattershot and less impactful by comparison.

The performances range from serviceable to very good indeed, with the divide being split almost entirely down gender lines. Tony-winner Janet McTeer is entrancing as Le Marquis de Merteuil, an incredibly complex and modern woman struggling against the social confines of her gender. McTeer's understanding of the power of stillness makes her an almost regal presence, with her expressive eyes conveying an immense amount of information behind Merteuil's carefully controlled visage. McTeer oozes sex appeal, and seeing her character turn that appeal on and off at will underscores how much Merteuil's considers her sensuality not just a source of pleasure, but a weapon. Watching McTeer peel back the various layers of her character is the most thrilling aspect of the evening, ultimately revealing a vulnerability that is quite tragic despite her sometimes monstrous actions. She's also quite funny, especially when the Marquis is forced to deal with those unable to keep up with her vast intellect, adding even more depth to a truly fascinating figure.

Liev Schreiber is more problematic as the womanizing Valmont. For an actor who has demonstrated immense sexiness in other roles, his lack of sex appeal in the role is not just disappointing but a detriment to the story. Valmont is constantly engaged in secret trysts with a whole host of characters, many of whom willing throw themselves at him, and without that kind of inescapable charisma it's difficult to comprehend exactly why everyone is so willing to bend to his every whim. Schreiber's choice to play Valmont as at least slightly intoxicated at all times doesn't help, although the decision is certainly justified by the large amount of stage business involving glasses of alcohol.

In supporting roles, Elena Kampouris provides welcome comic relief as the almost impossibly naive Cecile, and Mary Beth Peil makes the most of her limited scenes as Valmont's world weary aunt. But the true standout is Birgitte Hjort Sorensen making her Broadway debut as the intensely pious Madame de Tourvel. Sorensen's eyes and body language speak volumes, projecting an immense strength and inherent goodness that makes it appropriately difficult to watch her being seduced. You feel the pain her burgeoning attraction to Valmont causes her, and the character's eventually fate is perhaps the most moving aspect of the production.

Director Josie Rourke stages the piece with an eye towards the surreal, using highly choreographed scene changes combined with haunting original music by Michael Bruce to draw you into the bewitchingly exotic milieu. Tom Scutt's deconstructed set design, which reimagines the sprawling houses of the aristocracy as aging villas with exposed plaster and brick, further contributes to the otherworldly quality of the production. (Scutt also designed the ornate costumes.)

Those unfamiliar with Les Liaisons Dangereuses will find plenty to appreciate in this current revival, while at the same time probably becoming aware that it isn't always successful in realizing the lofty ambitions of the piece. Hampton's dialogue and his script are quite good, if a tad long by modern tastes, and this production has two truly captivating performances by Janet McTeer and Birgitte Hjort Sorensen. If only Liev Schreiber were able to match these two ladies' performances, this could be a truly electric production, rather than the entertaining but somewhat inconsequential one it is.

The Great Comet Arrives

Review: Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812

Josh Groban (r) and the company of Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812

After a sensational run Off-Broadway in 2013, Dave Malloy's wildly inventive, boundary pushing musical Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812 arrives on Broadway with a production which does its best to recreate the magic of that original, supper club set run. Scenic designer Mimi Lien has gone all out in reconfiguring the spacious Imperial Theatre into something approximating the joy of her fully immersive original design, and director Rachel Chavkin uses every ounce of her seemingly boundless talent to create a fluid staging the utilizes every possible inch of the stage and the audience. And while much of the show is undeniably brilliant, there are moments where it appears Chavkin and company have become so concerned with amping the show up for Broadway they sometimes undercut the effectiveness of their storytelling.

The show adapts a mere sliver of Leo Tolstoy's epic novel War and Peace, focusing on the attempted seduction of the young, beautiful Natasha by the rakish Anatole. Natasha's betrothed is off fighting in the war, so she moves to Moscow with her godmother Marya and cousin Sonya. The gorgeous newcomer soon becomes the toast of Moscow society, eventually catching the eye of the womanizing (and married) Anatole. And what about Pierre? The nobleman, an old friend of Natasha's fiance and Anatole's brother-in-law, serves as the evening's narrator, watching his contemporaries' passions while wistfully longing to experience a similar sort of fervor.

As cheekily acknowledged in the show's "Prologue," the details of the plot can be a bit complicated to the uninitiated, but Malloy's excellent writing and Chavkin's direction do such a good job of focusing your attention that the synopsis in the program proves largely unnecessary. Through his eclectic, complex, and constantly surprising score, Malloy ensures that the mood and emotions of the story are always crystal clear even when the details of the narrative get convoluted. The score borrows from a host of influences, from traditional Russian folk songs to electronica to opera, all interwoven so seamlessly that none of them feel out of place. Malloy has made some additions to the score since the show's Off-Broadway premiere, which has pushed its runtime *just* past what it really wants to be. Calling the show bloated or self-indulgent would be too harsh, but a couple of sequences do overstay their welcome (especially the extended "Balaga" song and dance in the second act).

The cast remains largely the same as the Off-Broadway production, barring two notable exception. With original lead Phillipa Soo gone on to post-Hamilton fame, the role of Natasha is now played with winsome charm by Denee Benton. Benton expertly portrays Natasha' girlish enthusiasm and wonder as she becomes caught up in the excitement of the big city, and her handling of the character's big solo "No One Else" is exquisite. She navigates the deceptively difficult vocal demands of the role with aplomb, and despite a tendency to play the comedy a bit broad she grounds the show with her emotional honesty.

The other major new cast member, and arguably the reason this boundary pushing show was able to secure a Broadway berth at all, is multi-platinum recording star Josh Groban as Pierre. Gamely wearing a fat suit and sporting quite an impressive beard, Groban is admirably committed to telling the show's story without hijacking the narrative to make everything about him. He makes quite the accomplished Broadway debut, and if his Pierre could stand to be a tad more world-weary it is hardly detrimental to the show. Malloy has written a new song specifically tailored to show off Groban's instantly recognizable voice, which is thrillingly sung and definitely increases Pierre's presence in the show's first act.

The rest of the cast does fine work, although many of them have adopted the same tendency towards overplaying that Benton has. It's never enough to really hurt the show, and all of them are smart enough to trust in the power of stillness when it really matters, but there's a tad too much indicating as opposed to embodying emotion. The worst offender is Lucas Steele as Anatole, who becomes such a cartoonishly pompous preener it can be hard to understand why Natasha is so drawn to him. On the flip side, Brittain Ashford has only improved since originating the role of Sonya, with her quietly devastating "Sonya Alone" one of the emotional highlights of the evening. Amber Gray is a welcome fiery presence as Anatole's sister Helene, and Grace McLean's Marya is at turns both funny and frightening. McLean is particularly effective during the one-two punch of "In My House" and "A Call to Pierre," which also marks one of Malloy and Chavkin's most sustained sequences of brilliance.

Design-wise, the show is a sumptuous feast for the senses. In addition to Lien's set of gorgeous red velvet walls with gold accents, Bradley King's absolutely phenomenal lighting design is essential to the show's visual impact. King lights both the stage and the audience with laser-like precision, and all of the production's most striking images owe a huge debt to his work. Nicholas Pope's immersive sound design captures of the feeling of being in the middle of the action even for those not lucky/wealthy enough to be seated onstage, adding to the sonic landscape created by Malloy's music and orchestrations. Paloma Young's costumes for the leads are also gorgeous, although her ensemble outfits tend towards being overly busy.

Lest there be any confusion, Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812 is an excellent work of theatre, and exactly the kind of challenging, boundary pushing production Broadway needs more of. The critiques above are nitpicks that only stand out because the rest of the show is so well done, and will likely go unnoticed by those experiencing the show for the first time. But those who saw and loved the Off-Broadway incarnation may be a tad disappointed that the Broadway mounting doesn't quite equal the previous production's artistic success, even though this richly detailed mounting still has plenty to offer.

Welcome to the 60s

Review: Hairspray Live

The cast of Hairspray Live, led by Maddie Baillio (center)

When NBC announced The Sound of Music Live would premiere on December 5th, 2013, no one was sure what to expect from a contemporary company resurrecting a long dead entertainment format. The resulting telecast wasn't particularly well liked (I maintain it isn't as bad as many people claim), but it was a ratings smash that guaranteed a follow-up. 2014 brought Peter Pan Live, a much better production of a much worse show, while 2015 gave us the often charming but structurally bizarre The Wiz Live. 

Then early this year, Fox's attempt to blatantly cash in on this live musical craze shockingly produced the legitimately wonderful Grease Live, all the more impressive considering it was the network's first attempt at the format. Not wanting to be outdone, NBC doubled down by picking a legitimately great musical comedy in the Tony-winning Hairspray, and smartly (some would say shamelessly) aped Grease Live's biggest innovations: the use of a studio backlot and a live studio audience. Hairspray Live is fittingly NBC's most entertaining live musical to date, although it doesn't quite have the focus or technical precision of Fox's venture.

For those unfamiliar with the original John Waters film, the Broadway musical adaptation, or the 2007 musical film, Hairspray tells the story of Tracy Turnblad, a bighearted and full-figured girl in 1960s Baltimore. Tracy manages to score a spot dancing on her favorite TV program, the Corny Collins Show, much to the chagrin of the show's produce Velma von Tussle and her daughter, Amber. But Tracy soon finds herself drawn to a higher calling as she fights against the racial discrimination of the TV station, all while wooing its resident heartthrob Link Larkin. Cached within the candy colored sets and 1960's nostalgia is a powerful and unfortunately still timely message about fighting racism and bigotry, which lends this feel good fable a huge amount of relevance in the current political climate.

One thing that is readily apparent watching Hairspray Live is what a truly great musical it is. The score by Marc Shaiman and Scott Whitman is one of the finest collections of showtunes from the past 20 years, combining supremely catchy hooks with deft lyrics and harmonic complexity. The showstopping numbers just keep coming, and while the book (adapted for television by Harvey Fierstein) doesn't have quite enough room for both the large number of subplots and jokes, it's so much fun you rarely care. Next to The Sound of Music, this is the sturdiest musical to be mounted on live TV, and that solid construction goes a long way towards keeping everything entertaining.

Hairspray Live is also incredibly well cast, utilizing a combination of marquee names and relative unknowns to create a delightful ensemble of quirky characters. Newcomer Maddie Baillo is charming as Tracy, although an understandable amount of nerves seem to hamper her for the first 15 minutes. Harvey Fierstein recreates his Tony-winning role as Tracy's mother Edna, and it is a treat to watch this veteran musical comedy performer reprise one of his most iconic roles. Martin Short comes across as slightly manic playing Tracy's father Wilbur, but its easy to forgive the excesses of such a giving performance from a such seasoned comic.

Pop singer Ariana Grande throws herself into the role of Tracy's best friend Penny, and while she doesn't quite nail the part's comic timing her earnestness is infectious (and as expected, she can really wail). Ephraim Sykes is supremely confident and charming as Seaweed J. Stubbs, the black dancer responsible for opening Tracy's eyes to the need for a fully integrated Corny Collins Show. And while Dancing with the Stars alum Derek Hough is suitable smooth as the show's host, Disney Channel star Garrett Clayton falls flat as Link. Clayton exhibits exhibiting zero charisma or chemistry with any of his costars, and that lack of star power probably explains why the number "Ladies Choice" was taken from Link and given to Hough, who uses it to really show off his dance skills.

As the villain of the piece, Kristin Chenoweth shines playing ex-beauty queen and unapologetic racist Velma von Tussle. A former pageant girl herself, Chenoweth brings every ounce of her comic might and singing prowess to the role, chewing the scenery in the best way possible during her standout "Miss Baltimore Crabs." Dove Cameron, another Disney Channel star, is also wonderful as Chenoweth's daughter, showcasing an appropriate mean girl vibe and surprisingly strong singing chops. And while she has a relatively minor role, Andrea Martin is hilarious as always as Penny's conservative mother Prudy. (The presence of Chenoweth, Martin, and Fierstein convinced the producers to include the excellent "Mama, I'm a Big Girl Now," a number from the stage show that was cut from the film.)

The true standout of the evening, however, is Jennifer Hudson as Seaweed's mother, Motormouth Maybelle. The Oscar and Grammy-winner doesn't appear until almost halfway through the evening, and her entrance is the jolt of energy the show needs just as it's beginning to flag. Hudson has always been more of a personality than an actress, but her particular brand of sass is exactly what the role calls for, and she subsequently knocks it out of the park. She sounds phenomenal during her first number, so much so that you don't even mind that she is far to svelte to be singing about the joys of being "Big, Blonde, and Beautiful." And her rendition of the power ballad "I Know Where I've Been" late in the second half is simply outstanding, the showstopping highlight of the evening.

With so much talent on display, it's doubly disappointing that the camerawork rarely offers a good view of the action. While cutting between multiple cameras during a live broadcast cannot be easy - especially when the actors are singing and dancing through multiple sets on a sprawling studio backlot - one would expect NBC to have figured out a better way to do it by now, especially since Hairspray Live's director Kenny Leon helmed last year's musical outing as well. The continuous quick cuts often detract from Jerry Mitchell's slickly polished and energetic dance routines, as well as obscuring much of the first class scenery chewing being done by supporting players like Chenoweth. The camera often arrives on a moment either slightly too soon or too late, which combined with the overly dark lighting makes it difficult to really see what's going on.

Overall, Hairspray Live is a highly enjoyable affair, and easily the best overall live musical production to come out of NBC. But four years in it still doesn't feel like the network has entirely nailed the format, which is both disappointing and frustrating. These live musicals are a worthy pursuit for the network, and I honestly hope they continue to be annual events. Hairspray is definitely a move in the right direction, but there's still room for improvement.

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.

Old-Fashioned Comfort

Review: Holiday Inn

Corbin Bleu, Lora Lee Gayer, and Bryce Pinkham lead the cast of Holiday Inn at Studio 54. Not clearly pictured: fabulous Easter bonnets!

Holiday Inn is a curious concoction of a show. Pointedly subtitled The New Irving Berlin Musical, this old-fashioned musical comedy has never been seen onstage before but is adapted from a relatively well known 1940s movie musical. That Golden Age Hollywood pedigree proves both a blessing and a hindrance for the show, which is a refreshing throwback to the musicals of yesteryear that also highlights some of the storytelling shortcomings of the era. But those who can look past the plot contrivances and focus on the joyously staged musical numbers will find plenty to love in Roundabout Theatre Company's latest Broadway production, one of their rare forays into the world of "original" musicals.

The titular Holiday Inn is a converted farmhouse that only hosts guests on holidays, giving patrons a one night only musical extravaganza themed to the date's festivities. It is operated by Jim Hardy, a former entertainer and songwriter who initially wanted to give up show business but hatched the idea as a way to pay the bills after a failed attempt at farming. Joining him on this endeavor are his best friend, famed dancer Ted Hanover, and local schoolteacher Linda Mason, who herself once had dreams of performing.

The biggest problem with Holiday Inn's new book by Gordon Greenberg and Chad Hodge is that it takes an inordinately long time to set all this up. The creation of the Holiday Inn feels like the inciting incident of the story, but doesn't occur until at least 45 minutes into the show. The time before then is spent attempting to develop the characters and their backstory, which is admirable and yet misguided for this type of breezy musical comedy. The entertaining yet awkwardly slotted production numbers of the first half hour seem to suggest the bookwriters also don't trust their characters to hold the audience's attention, attempting to keep the energy up with multiple big dance sequences set to Irving Berlin's timeless tunes.

As with many musicals from the 1940s and 50s, the plot of Holiday Inn is secondary to the musical numbers and doesn't hold up to much scrutiny. The tension mostly stems from Jim Hardy's stubborn selfishness, and yet we are obviously meant to empathize with him as the kindhearted everyman. Many character actions are obviously motivated by the need to set up the next musical number, with several secondary characters disappearing and reappearing as needed with little explanation. The show's attempts at more weighty emotional stakes also fall flat, as there is never any real question about how the love triangle between the three leads will turn out. And yet it feels unfair to judge Holiday Inn too harshly for these structural faults, as it has no pretensions of being Shakespeare (or to use a more appropriate musical theatre reference, Sondheim).

In fact, the incredibly engaging cast and cavalcade of top notch production numbers override any narrative misgivings one might have. Bryce Pinkham brings the same easygoing charm to Jim Hardy as he did to the rakish Monty Navarro in the Tony-winning A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder. Corbin Bleu proves to be a consummate song and dance man, endowing Ted Hanover with charisma and star quality to spare. Lora Lee Gayer exhibits a refreshingly modern, self assured take on the classic ingenue archetype, while also managing to sneak in some subtly hilarious bits of sardonic humor. And Megan Lawrence is a reliably hilarious standout as Louise, the inn's caretaker and Jim Hardy's confidante.

But the real stars of Holiday Inn are choreographer Denis Jones' glittery musical numbers, sharply executed with an abundance of wit and charm. Expertly danced by one of the most appealing ensembles on Broadway, Jones' dances cover a wide array of period-appropriate styles and moods, with just enough modern razzle dazzle thrown in to hold the interest of contemporary audiences. Jones makes particularly clever use of the ensemble women during Ted's "You're Easy to Dance With" at the top of Act II, and stages a rousing patriotic spectacle for the inn's Fourth of July spectacular (including a fantastic tap showcase for Bleu). Most impressively, he has created a showstopper in the truest sense of the word for "Shaking the Blues Away," a glorious Christmas-themed extravaganza that sees Lawrence's Louise leading the entire ensemble in an athletic, multi-part tap marathon which culminates in some truly jaw dropping tricks involving a lot of garland. The number brings the house down and practically justifies Holiday Inn's existence on its own.

The show's holiday pastiches are greatly helped by Alejo Vietti's non-stop parade of themed costumes. Whether Vietti has the ensemble decked out in Thanksgiving themed leotards with accompanying turkey tails, red-white-and-blue striped nautical outfits, or the most glorious Easter bonnets seen on Broadway in quite some time, the costumes never look less than stunning. The production is also blessed with one of the most elaborate sets in Roundabout's history courtesy of Anna Louizos, all lovingly lit by Jeff Croiter. And bookwriter Gordon Greenberg pulls double duty as the production's director, keeping everything moving at a pace fast enough that you don't have time to focus on the structural flaws without ever having the show feel rushed.

In a world increasingly rife with political and social turmoil, it's nice to have a lighthearted musical like Holiday Inn around to keep the mood festive. Irving Berlin's timeless melodies reaffirm his position as one of the great American songwriters, and form the backbone to a series of wonderfully entertaining production numbers choreographed by Denis Jones. The hardworking, immensely appealing cast wins you over even when their material is less than stellar, and only the most curmudgeonly on audience members won't find at least something to enjoy. Like most actual holidays, the deeper feelings behind Holiday Inn may get glossed over in favor of festive spectacle, but that's part of the appeal.

A Confused but Intriguing Musical History Lesson

Review: Shuffle Along

Brandon Victor Dixon as Eubie Blake and Audra McDonald as Lottie Gee in Shuffle Along.

Shuffle Along, Or The Making of the Musical Sensation of 1921 and All That Followed is an unwieldy title for an unwieldy musical. Like its title, Shuffle Along is both innately intriguing and a tad too long-winded to wrap your head around. It is simultaneously a character-driven backstage drama, a sprawling historical panoply about the history of black entertainment, and a metatheatrical rumination on the transient nature of fame and influence. And yet it isn't really any of those things, and that tonal disparity is what ultimately stops Shuffle Along and its hugely talented cast and creative team from achieving the success you'd expect.

The original Shuffle Along is remembered as little more than a footnote in musical theatre history, primarily famous for being the first Broadway musical written, produced, and starring people of color. Tony-winning writer/director George C. Wolfe obviously wants to change that, having turned his attention towards the people behind the show's runaway success (it ran for almost 500 performances at a time when most shows struggled to reach 100). Wolfe has kept most of the original Noble Sissle and Eubie Blake songs, but has written an entirely new libretto shifts the focus behind the scenes of Shuffle Along's rocky road to Broadway, examining how its success impacted the lives of the many strong personalities involved in its creation.

Wolfe's interests are many and varied, and while that certainly keeps the show engaging it doesn't always keep it coherent. Wolfe can't decide whether he wants the show to function as an elaborately staged history lesson or a more traditional book musical, one which hits many of the same beats as countless backstage tales before it. Try as he might, the gifted dramatist can't have things both ways, resulting in a show with some great moments and searing one-liners but which lacks a unifying structural or thematic element to tie the disparate pieces together. Wolfe also hasn't quite covered up the holes left by the many cuts made during the show's extended preview period, where it originally clocked in at over 3 hours. It now lasts a more manageable 2 hours 45 minutes, but there are multiple instances where ideas or scenes seem underdeveloped or artificially shortened.

While Wolfe the Writer hasn't quite ironed out all of Shuffle Along's kinks, Wolfe the Director has so expertly staged what's there that you only realize the show doesn't quite track in hindsight. It opens on a bare stage as the evening's players slowly appear, materializing out of the mists of history to tell their story; it almost suggests the entire evening takes place in some kind of metatheatrical dreamscape, an interesting theatrical conceit that is largely dropped during the middle section only to reappear towards the finale. Santo Loquasto's many set pieces travel on and off the stage at a dizzying pace, with some scenes taking place in front of fully realized environments and others only suggested by the simplest piece of furniture. Wolfe choreographs this dance of performers and scenery like the master he is, and individually every moment of the show works on a guttural level. Only when you try to figure out how the previous moment relates to the one that follows do the cracks and leaps in logic start to show.

Whenever things start to move beyond Wolfe's ability to maintain interest, he wisely lets Tony-winning tap legend Savion Glover's choreography take over. Glover's routines are dynamic and thrilling, innately theatrical in their surprising and precise rhythms. His ability to deploy dancers on a stage is awe-inspiring, with ever-shifting formations of talented tappers commanding both your attention and respect. Glover's choreography for the opening "Broadway Blues" sets a bar the rest of the show never quite clears, although it comes awfully close during the train station montage "Pennsylvania Graveyard Shuffle" and the "Rang Tang/Chocolate Dandies" dance battle.

Shuffle Along also features the starriest collection of Tony-winning and nominated performers Broadway has seen in quite some time, an embarrassment of riches all given their time in the spotlight. Headlining the cast is six time Tony Award-winner Audra McDonald as the show-within-a-show's leading lady Lottie Gee, and as always the theatrical legend delivers a sensational performance. This is a decidedly different McDonald than we've seen during her past few Broadway outings, allowing the acclaimed actress an all-too-rare chance to show her lighter side and flex her comedic muscles. She also gets the chance to show off every color imaginable in her heaven-sent soprano, from her toe-tapping "(I'm Just) Wild About Harry" to a jazzy rendition of the title song to an exquisitely sung and utterly heartbreaking "Memories of You." As with everything, McDonald applies herself 110% here, creating yet another richly realized and utterly believable performance.

No one else gets the same amount of stage time as McDonald, but that doesn't stop the many supporting players from making strong impressions. Past Tony nominees Brandon Victor Dixon and Joshua Henry make for a fine vaudeville pair as composers Eubie Blake and Noble Sissle, with Henry in particular doing his best work to date as the proud, dignified Sissle. Meanwhile, Tony winners Brian Stokes Mitchell and Billy Porter play bookwriters F.E. Miller and Aubrey Lyles with panache. Mitchell's easygoing command of the stage acts as a nice counterbalance to the antics of the other three, leading the rousing a cappella "Swing Along" in the middle of the first act. Porter's flamboyant performance recalls a bit more of his Lola from Kinky Boots than is strictly necessary - that particular brand of fierceness comes across as anachronistic here - but the actor is certainly charismatic and has the most overtly showstopping number with his "Low Down Blues." And relative newcomer Adrienne Warren makes quite the impression in the dual roles of the outlandish Gertrude Saunders and future star Florence Mills, especially with her transfixing performance as the later discovers her own star power under Lottie's tutelage.

As this Shuffle Along so deftly illustrates, creating a Broadway show has always been hard work, and given the increasing sophistication of the medium it's probably even harder today than it was back in 1921. So in many ways the shortcomings of George C. Wolfe's book are understandable, and this production shows the kind of unadulterated ambition that should be encouraged and applauded even when it doesn't fully succeed. A messy, interesting show like Shuffle Along is preferable to a well executed bland one, and seeing so much Tony-worthy talent on one stage is a rare opportunity that should definitely be savored. The show may not quite equal the most famous works of the accomplished cast, but with artists of this caliber even their less successful efforts are still mighty fine.