Saturday, June 8, 2013
BROADWAY UNBOUND
Anyway Frank was in my I-phone class at 10 AM this morning, impeccable as always, unbelievably elegant tie and coordinated pocket kerchief, serene as always in spite of life's unrelenting complexities, intensified by all this electronic madness. The tutorial from the very pleasant teacher was infinite, as are the possibilities of the iPhone but you have to have that kind of brain and I don't. To make things worse, I had to renew this blog, when I am not in New York to Blog for Broadway, and it costs plenty, and I have no idea if anyone reads it, and everything I saw when in New York was disappointing to say the least. Have returned to LA to work on my musical, SYLVIA WHO? which may or may not be realized in my lifetime, or indeed anyone else's.
And if all that were not disturbing enough, I received a bulletin that they are bringing The Bridges of Madison County, one of the arch arches of our time, to Broadway as a musical. Is there no mercy from the universe?
Yesterday I had the unexpected fun of running into Sylvester Stallone-- it is Hollywood, after all-- and being able to comment on the musical of ROCKY which is coming to Broadway via Germany, where everybody was ecstatic about it Or Else. But in all good faith, which I have to have, because the book is by Tom Meehan, one of the darling souls on the planet, a man of infinite generosity with a wife who has my same birthday and is beautiful besides, so I have to root for him, which it is impossible not to do (he also wrote the musical of The Producers with Mel Brooks who remains the funniest man alive but still needs help with structure.) Anyway I was able to tell M. Stallone that I understood they went wild for Rocky in Munich, and Sly, which I did not have the temerity to call him and wouldn't even if he asked me to, said he understood not a word besides 'YO' but wept anyway. I have to say with all due respect that I saw the movie of Rocky a few weeks ago while still in New York, and it really holds up remarkably, seeming even better now than it did when I first saw it, maybe because I have become less cynical except perhaps about The Bridges of Madison County.
Anyway, I am sad and frustrated because nothing was accomplished today except I did connect with my darling friend Olivia-- the name alone lends some indication of her elegance-- PR for the Peninsula in Hong Kong, and just to hear that accent makes me feel more intelligent and accomplished, so the day has not been wasted. Her little doggie, Tuki, went missing and never returned (she has as many as 9,) but she sounded the most beloved. The hills around Olivia's place in Hong Kong are filled with enormous wild pigs, which of course the hills here are, too, except here they are in clothes, and often run agencies. (Only kidding, anyone who wants to represent a new old author.) It is Olivia's hope that Tuki, about whom she "fears the worst," a phrase that is most moving and Bronte-ish in that accent, met with a serpent, because that would have been quickest. The parallel does go on, doesn't it? I mean, there is Shakespeare and all, how sharper than a serpent's tooth, etc. but I will not go on about my children.
Oh, I hope it was worth $178.00 to do this damned blog. I hope there is something worth blogging about on Broadway. I hope, if there is a Heaven, and Tuki is there, remembering what a loved life she had in exotic Hong Kong, with exotic Olivia, she will speak in her doggie tongue to the Powers to give me the strength and the skill to carry this through to a joyful finale, or, even better, a joyful continuance. Or at least put some dynamite under the bridges of You Know Where.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS
Last night I went to the theatre and saw what was rumored and spoken aloud of in alleyways(mostly the Shubert one)as the great show of the season, PIPPIN. As my friends know, I came back to this unrelentingly gray(as it was for an elongated winter) metropolis because I have lingering (and occasionally passionate) hopes of getting my musical, SYLVIA WHO? on. Because Pippin was purported to be so wonderful, I thought there might be no selfless exigency in mounting my (it really is) adorable tale, as there would be something already on the disappointing boards that justified the exorbitant price of tickets, to draw in young audiences besides the revival of ANNIE, BOOK OF MORMON, and the dark (and I hear, off-putting) MATILDA.
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
A SEASON WORTH FORGETTING-and now MACBETH/MARY
I have been very remiss about blogging for Broadway, as most of the dreams of my youth that made Broadway the biggest dream have been decimated by less than wonderful plays, if plays they are really at all (I was a Shakespeare major.) So I must begin my apologia with MACBETH, the show-off version, being a one-man display of all Shakespeare's angry brilliance squeezed into one usually super-talented man, to the detriment of both the playwright and the performer.
When you major in Shakespeare, at what was and I hope always will be one of the great women's colleges, Bryn Mawr, and have a teacher who himself was a student of Kittredge, supposedly the scholar/teacher/editor who made it all accessible, there are some things you hold dear: like poetry, plot and character. To have the Three Witches wonder when Will We Three Come Again? in the voice of the lunatic performer(the part, not a judgment of the man) in a madhouse, initially casts a spell, though I would warrant not the one the playwright intended.
I have long been a fan of Alan Cumming, whose versatility extends from Cabaret to the Good Wife, arguably the best show on television, to the recent surprise of seeing him on a re-broadcast of Romy and Michelle go to a High School Reunion or something like that, in which he played Sandy, the rich graduate who comes back in a helicopter and dances with both funny airheaded stars. The stunning question, for me at least, was how Hollywood had found him at such a young time, since most of the Brits or even Scots have their basic training and additional plumage brushed in theatre on that edge of the sea. He was likely in his early or middle twenties in that movie, so it was an impressive puzzle.
But to have all of that great play compressed into one man's rendition and depiction was not only unsettling, but unsatisfying. Especially as his least impressive depiction was that of Lady MacBeth, whom all of us who were hoping that a woman's place was in the theater, held as perhaps the best chance an actress had to show her dark side. If there is a dark side to Alan Cumming it is only that he bit off more than the most talented of actors can chew, much less spit out.
I suppose my disappointment is exacerbated by a plethora of unnecessarily naked bodies in this season's parade of less-than spectacles, and that Alan Cumming's was among them, taking a bath that one would be correct in describing as gratuitous, although that word may be too polite. I had the pleasure of attending a private tribute to the great stage designs of Tony Walton, and could not help thinking how much it would add to the ever-escalating price of sets, to have to have a portion of the stage that one could actually sink into and emerge from covering what are ever-increasingly less-than-private parts.
To my actual horror, as not only a student of theater but a lover of many hopes and dreams and visions of a spiritual nature, Jesus Christ's mother showed up as turbeulently depicted by Fiona Shaw, in a one woman show called The Testament of Mary, and she, too, took a bath. Before the opening curtain which there wasn't one of really, she more or less held out her interesting but very tight mouth as though to kiss the vulture she was holding bravely, which, by the way, disappeared and was never a part of the actual overwrought proceedings. We have all heard of a different kind of bird tease, but never, to my knowledge, a vulture tease.
On the way to the theater I had overheard someone say "I would go to anything Fiona Shaw was in," and wondered as the evening unfolded along with her clothes if that would include a bathtub. Where are we headed, if anywhere? I shudder to think what might happen to the statue of Shakespeare that stands so royally in Central Park. Its legs are really good. I hope no one tries to investigate what might be the rest of him.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
DEAD ACCOUNTS, I'LL SAY
Saturday, July 9, 2011
HOT TICKETS, ALLEGEDLY
The most fascinating thing about Catch Me if You Can is why all those gifted people would want to make it into a musical. The movie on which it is based was an episodic caper about a charming young con man, played by Leonardo di Caprio, and was redeemed by the idiosyncratic Christopher Walken as his father and the always weighty imprimatur of Steven Spielberg. But a musical needs to unfold, not be explained.
The gargantuan comedic talents of Norbert Leo Butz as the pursuer of the young culprit, are here squished into an uncomfortable wrinkled suit and a scowling demeanor. The bad boy himself, Aaron Tveit, is cute but nothing to build a show around. His 'takes' as he gets yet another darkly bright idea make one long for the original production of How to Succeed and the inimitable Bobby Morse. Mark Shaiman is a gifted composer and arranger, but nothing here shines except for his autobiographical program notes, which are wittier than anything in the show.
A few blocks away is The Book of Mormon. I was successful in getting a ticket last week, a cause for congratulations from all I knew, since it is unquestionably the biggest hit in eons. But except for one song that moved me, the show seemed what I would have to characterize as 'Ka Ka' humor.
The biggest surprise on the Great (and expensive) White Way is Sister Act. The musical adaptation of the Whoopi Goldberg movie, I went expecting nothing. To my astonishment it is riddled with wonderful songs by Alan Menken and Glenn Slater, a dynamite and dazzling leading lady in Patina Miller, who rocks and discos with the best of them -- maybe even better than the best, and the pure and touching soprano of Victoria Clark as the Mother Superior. For those who missed the movie, Patina plays a singer who saw a murder and is hiding out in a convent. The device and its movie past aside, this is flat-out entertainment at its sequined best. Exhausted at having been so disappointed with what people were saying was good, I, like the woman at the center of the show, was redeemed.
HOT TICKETS, ALLEGEDLY
The most fascinating thing about Catch Me if You Can is why all those gifted people would want to make it into a musical. The movie on which it is based was an episodic caper about a charming young con man, played by Leonardo di Caprio, and was redeemed by the idiosyncratic Christopher Walken as his father and the always weighty imprimatur of Steven Spielberg. But a musical needs to unfold, not be explained.
The gargantuan comedic talents of Norbert Leo Butz as the pursuer of the young culprit, are here squished into an uncomfortable wrinkled suit and a scowling demeanor. The bad boy himself, Aaron Tveit, is cute but nothing to build a show around. His 'takes' as he gets yet another darkly bright idea make one long for the original production of How to Succeed and the inimitable Bobby Morse. Mark Shaiman is a gifted composer and arranger, but nothing here shines except for his autobiographical program notes, which are wittier than anything in the show.
A few blocks away is The Book of Mormon. I was successful in getting a ticket last week, a cause for congratulations from all I knew, since it is unquestionably the biggest hit in eons. But except for one song that moved me, the show seemed what I would have to characterize as 'Ka Ka' humor.
The biggest surprise on the Great (and expensive) White Way is Sister Act. The musical adaptation of the Whoopi Goldberg movie, I went expecting nothing. To my astonishment it is riddled with wonderful songs by Alan Menken and Glenn Slater, a dynamite and dazzling leading lady in Patina Miller, who rocks and discos with the best of them -- maybe even better than the best, and the pure and touching soprano of Victoria Clark as the Mother Superior. For those who missed the movie, Patina plays a singer who saw a murder and is hiding out in a convent. The device and its movie past aside, this is flat-out entertainment at its sequined best. Exhausted at having been so disappointed with what people were saying was good, I, like the woman at the center of the show, was redeemed.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
SPIDERFREUDE
But I had NO idea. Only as a vague sense of terror descended on me with the mounting cost of musicals, and the success of mirthless unfrolics like Spring Awakening, as my ears strained for real music, did I begin to feel what I loved was lost forever. So when the announcements started coming about Spiderman- Turn Off the Dark, that a theater was to be renovated to make room for the areial acrobatic, and a show was to cost $65 million i threw in my spiritual musical towel.
Having lived many years in Hollywood, the capital of Schaadenfreude, where one is mostly sustained by the failure of others, it is with a heart full of song that
I read today Ben Brantley's wittily negatived and admittedly early(although in terms of original scheduling, late) review of Spiderman, Turn Off the Dark. Any bad advance feelings I had towards the show had been exacerbated by the positive enthusiasm lately exhibited by the hysteric Glenn Beck, who endorsed it as if it were the musicalized philosophy of Sarah Palin. So to have a genuine theater critic from The New York Times see it at last, and express his tasteful disdain gave
a lilt to the day. The Gershwins hummed in my ears. Jerome Kern flooded my veins. I think the song he played was "Look for the Silver Lining."
Is it possible in this horribly confusing world where daily the values we once clung to are swept away, that virtue can still triumph? That Good-- that is to say not the comic book victory of masked hero over masked villain, but something of actual value, like a melody you can actually hum and words you can understand-- can prevail? Oh, God, I hope so. Are You there? Are You watching this? Or are you just trying to get out of the way before some more scenery falls?