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.

Despite the Star Power, It's Only a Play

Review: It's Only a Play

Rupert Grint, Megan Mullally, Matthew Broderick, Nathan Lane, and Stockard Channing anxiously await their opening night reviews in Broadway's It's Only a Play.

There is no lack of star wattage over at the Schoenfeld Theatre, home to the smash hit revival of Terrance McNally's 1978 comedy It's Only a Play. It's hard to recall the last time so many film and theatrical heavyweights were gathered on one stage, with this production's cast having collectively earned 5 Tonys, 6 Emmys, and 1 Oscar (not to mention dozens more nominations and plenty of widespread acclaim). But despite an unquestionably high level of talent, this mighty ensemble struggles and ultimately fails to elevate McNally's heavily updated script into something greater than what it is: an overlong and only haphazardly funny pseudo-farce.

The premise seems rife for comedic gold: at the opening night party, playwright Peter Austin (Matthew Broderick) is anxiously waiting for the reviews of his latest Broadway play, financed by first time producer Julia Budder (Megan Mullally) and directed by British wunderkind Frank Finger (Rupert Grint). Also on hand are Austin's best friend James Wicker (Nathan Lane), who turned down the play's lead role due to his television commitments; booze-addled leading lady Victoria Noise (Stockard Channing); legendarily harsh drama critic Ira Drew (F. Murray Abraham); and a coat check boy who landed this gig on his first night in New York City (newcomer Micah Stock, who probably doesn't have to dig too deep to portray his character's starry eyed admiration). We learn very early on that despite his outward praise, Wicker hated Austin's play - aptly titled The Golden Egg - and is secretly hoping for validation of his feelings from the press, including the all important Ben Brantley from The New York Times.

McNally's setup easily lends itself to off the wall characterizations and more theatrical in jokes than you can shake a stick at; Bernadette Peters, Liza Minelli, and Tommy Tune are just a few of the many theatrical personalities that are mentioned and mocked to varying degrees. However, the ultimately thin premise struggles to fill the production's two-and-a-half hour runtime, and you can't help but think everyone would have been better served by condensing the play down to one act. While some of McNally's barbs are truly hilarious, others feel weirdly out of place in a show that never lets you forget you're watching theatrical royalty. This production embodies many of the theatrical movements it rails against, with complaints about celebrity led revivals and digs at the artistic wasteland of Hollywood ringing false when spoken by such a famous cast widely known for their film work. Such observations are clearly meant to mirror McNally's own feelings, leaving the author looking something like a hypocrite as he happily perpetuates these trends on his way to the bank.

The production also feels oddly censored despite the proliferation of four letter words (anyone who's ever wanted to hear Stockard Channing drop the f-bomb will more than get their money's worth). There is a cranky-old-man undercurrent running through the work that you wish McNally and director Jack O'Brien had more fully embraced, because when they do the play is downright hysterical. Certain jokes seem to have been toned down out of fear of offending the myriad celebrities mentioned in the play, especially since the cast and creative team know many of them personally, but most theatre folk have a sense of humor that surely could have withstood some well-intentioned ribbing. There is a particularly pointed bit about Harvey Fierstein, but you just know the gravely voiced actor would be laughing as loudly as anyone because ultimately, the joke is both hilarious and true. Between the watered down jokes and bloated runtime, It's Only a Play too often produces mere chuckles when belly laughs are called for.

The cast, for all of their talent, runs the gamut from very good to oddly misused. Lane, one of the most reliably excellent actors around, comes across the best, although even his normally boundless energy feels tamped down. Still, every actor could learn from Lane's ability to skirt the line between milking a joke and mugging; no matter how long he draws out a beat it never crosses the line into self indulgence, and when called for he can summon deep wells of emotion. Channing also does fine work as the washed up film actress hoping to make her comeback, although the character is too thinly written to allow her to really cut loose. In his Broadway debut, Grint plays the temperamental director archetype with aplomb, proving as easily accessible on stage as he is on film. And Oscar-winner Abraham is woefully underused in what is ultimately an inconsequential part as the one critic who doesn't seem to have an actual opinion about The Golden Egg.

Mullally, so assured in her previous stage appearances, seems lost as the ditzy first time producer. Employing a weird pigeon-toed shuffle whenever she moves across the stage, Mullally seems unsure just how dumb to make Budder, and appears self-consciously aware of how little sense her character's arc makes. As the playwright of the hour, Broderick is better than he's been in a long time, displaying genuine emotion during a climatic fight with Lane's character. Some of his line readings still feel stilted and forced, but his performance serves as a reminder of the qualities that made him a star in the first place. And saddled with the most ill-defined character of the lot, young Micah Stock struggles to find a signature characteristic to latch onto; like Mullally, Stock would have been better served by embracing his character's stupidity rather than trying to redeem or explain it.

Jack O'Brien, one of the most accomplished and versatile directors working today, fails to bring his signature energy and comedic precision to this piece. Like all of his actors, O'Brien is hamstrung by the weak material, and seems afraid to push the absurdity too far. He doesn't even make particularly good use of Scott Pask's beautiful and well designed set, which is packed with the kind of detail only a Broadway budget can sustain. Ann Roths' costumes are suitably gorgeous, although her most stand-out pieces aren't actually worn; they are the parade of coats Stock collects from unseen celebrity party guests, each one an almost perfect distillation of its owner.

Writing a negative review of It's Only a Play is difficult, because one thing the play does very well is demonstrate how much bad reviews can hurt the individuals who poured their blood, sweat, and tears into a project. So let me be clear: while this production is not the best work of anyone involved, they are all extremely talented and capable artists who have been responsible for some of the most memorable pieces of film and theatre of the past 30+ years. There is an undeniable thrill of seeing them all onstage at the same time, and while the material often lets them down there are still plenty of reminders of what formidable performers they all are. And ultimately, any review of the production is a moot point. It is already a sold out hit, and will likely continue breaking box office records until the end of its limited run in early January. But if you can't afford the $200+ tickets, there's no reason to stress. After all, it's only a play.

The Glorious Music of Something Beginning

Review: Ragtime in Concert

Ragtime concert director Stafford Arima with stars Norm Lewis, Lea Salonga, and Manoel Felciano

 

There were many stars on the stage of Lincoln Center’s Avery Fisher Hall during last night’s concert presentation of the Stephen Flaherty-Lynn Ahrens-Terrance McNally musical Ragtime, but over the course of the evening it became clear that the biggest star was the work itself.  A staggering masterpiece virtually unequalled by anything in the musical theatre cannon, Ragtime juggles its interweaving narratives with a breathtaking assurance that is a feat unto itself, with the Flaherty/Ahrens score serving up an unending parade of some of the most soul-stirring music ever composed for the Broadway stage.  When the writers joined the cast onstage for the final bow, the unassuming trio fittingly received a thunderous ovation befitting a work of this magnitude.

Ragtime’s score draws upon a host of distinctly American musical genres, all of which were excellently rendered by the 36-piece orchestra under the baton of conductor Sheilah Walker.  Few musicals manage to have the breadth and musical variety of Ragtime while remaining a sonically coherent whole, but between Flaherty’s writing and the orchestra’s excellent playing nary a note sounded out of place.  In addition to the principals, many of whom were past Tony winners, the ensemble was rounded out by veterans of various other Ragtime productions and a hundred-strong chorus which gave the sumptuous score with even more oomph than usual.  The cast’s rendition of the sprawling opening number was positively electric, as was their take on the soaring ballad “New Music” and the triumphant final reprise of “Wheels of a Dream” that serves as the show’s finale.  But the truly transcendent moment came during the Act I closer “Till We Reach That Day,” which steadily built from a mournful solo sung by the sensational NaTasha Yvette Williams into a roof-rattling crescendo with an emotional intensity that shook the audience to its very core.

Among the principals, Tony-winner Lea Salonga made the strongest impression with her gloriously sung and exceedingly well-acted Mother.  After a somewhat tentative start which perhaps stemmed from overplaying the character’s reserved nature, Salonga steadily grew in confidence and intensity throughout the night to deliver a stunning sucker-punch of a performance.  By the time she reached Mother’s big ballad “Back to Before” near the end of the second act, Salonga’s command of the stage and inner strength fully enveloped the cavernous hall, creating a genuine showstopper which was appropriately greeted by rapturous applause.

As Tateh, a poor Jewish immigrant pursuing the American dream, Manoel Felciano (Tobias in the John Doyle-helmed Sweeney Todd) brought tremendous warmth and a soothing tenor to his many ballads, with his rendition of “Gliding” proving particularly moving.  Felciano also shared a genuine chemistry with Salonga that made their two duets (“Nothing Like the City” and “Our Children”) immensely satisfying.  The gifted actor held everyone in rapt attention whenever he was onstage, and it’s a shame New York audiences haven’t had more chances to appreciate this gifted actor’s many talents.

Rounding out the show’s central trio was Norm Lewis as Coalhouse Walker, Jr., the black piano player from Harlem struggling to rise above the many indignities he faced at the hands of intolerant bigots.  Lewis seemed less assured than Salonga and Felciano, failing to fully convey Coalhouse’s quiet dignity and occasionally struggling to meet the demands of Flaherty and Ahrens’ score. Despite these problems he still managed to sell the rousing ballad “Make Them Hear You,” even if the performance failed to fully eclipse the ghost of Brian Stokes Mitchell in the original Broadway company.

Michael Arden did excellent work a Mother’s Younger Brother, communicating the restless aimlessness of youth while using his piercing tenor to effortlessly reach the back of the balcony.  As Father, Howard McGillin remained true to his character’s racist tendencies while simultaneously showing Father’s softer side, thereby keeping the character from descending into cartoonish villainy.  Tyne Daly was a veritable force of nature as real-life anarchist Emma Goldman, and young Lewis Grosso made for a charmingly precocious Little Boy.

Unfortunately, there was one obvious weak link in the cast, and that was the Sarah of Patina Miller.  Any actress tackling the role of Coalhouse’s doomed lover has the unenviable task of living up to the memory of Audra McDonald’s legendary Tony-winning performance, but even grading on a curve the Sister Act star failed to impress.  Her voice is ill-suited to the role, as the belting on which Miller’s made her name is stylistically inappropriate to classically-influenced show, and in attempting to avoid that trap she became too preoccupied to give a good performance.  “Your Daddy’s Son,” one of the show’s most gut-wrenching songs, fell oddly flat when Miller sang it, although the actress mostly regained control of the role after that initial (and major) misstep.

As the inaugural production of Manhattan Concert Productions’ Broadway Series, this Ragtime has set an exceedingly high bar for any future installments.  Hopefully the organization will continue producing star-studded mountings of shows whose size and/or subject matter make them risky commercial ventures but that don’t necessarily fit the obscure Golden Age offerings City Center’s Encores! specializes in.  Even with a few hiccups, the evening was a resounding success, and yet another example of the unfettered brilliance of Flaherty and Ahrens’ most famous work.