Unpopular With The Populace

Happy New Year, everyone. There's a more extensive post coming later tonight, but for now, a quick thought:

In high school, I was a huge, obsessive fan of Stephen Sondheim. I bought every CD I could get my hands on. I obsessed over every song. I thought every single thing he ever touched was pure gold. I probably drove everyone I knew crazy with my obsession.

And I still love his music, but eventually, well, I had it pretty well memorized. Listening to a cast album hundreds of times pretty much ingrains it in your head. And as a result, I haven't listened to some of his shows in years. I still love his work, and will defend it to anyone, but I don't relate in nearly so obsessive a way. I'm even capable of recognizing that some of his songs aren't the greatest things ever written. It's probably a healthy development.

But as a result, that means that I haven't listened to some of his shows all the way through for literally years. They're still in my head somewhere, but I haven't actually experienced the music in a long time. Which is understandable, but still a shame.

But over my commutes last night and this morning, I listened to Anyone Can Whistle. And I had forgotten how stunning it is.

It's probably the most egregious example of a common occurence in Sondheim's career: books that undercut the score's brilliance at every turn. Arthur Laurents' book is, no question, a disaster zone: a terribly scattered satire that doesn't hit nearly enough targets, which clashes with the human love story being told within. And I'm not just saying this based on its reputation: I was lucky enough to see it when Pegasus Players produced it in 2004. While the production was variable in quality, it was still clear that no revival could make this show really work.

But the score...just wow. To choose just two moments in a string of brilliant pieces: in "Me and My Town," the opening number, the corrupt mayoress (Angela Lansbury in the original, brilliant as always) sings a jazzy lament over her town's dire situation. And then her backup singers come out, and it turns into a deranged dance number about a small town affected by economic depression. It's impossible to explain how demented the effect is, but I was walking down the street with a goofy smile plastered on my face at the sheer delightful audacious lunacy of it.

The first act ends with a sequence called "Simple". In brief, it centers on a doctor who claims that he can determine who in a mixed group is crazy and who isn't. He does so, perverting logic and confusing everyone around him, through 13 minutes of increasing musical and mental derangement. It's quite impressive as it goes along, building to a crescendo of lunacy. Then the music cuts out, the doctor tells everyone "You are all mad," and, in a burst of circus music, the entire cast appears onstage, wildly applauding and laughing at the audience. Even coming from a pair of earbuds, it sent chills up my spine.

So the moral, if there is one, is this: you know that CD you love, but haven't listened to in years? Pull it out and listen to it again. You'll remember why.

Also, you should really get a copy of Anyone Can Whistle.

And Stephen Sondheim is still God.

Another Quote on the NY Times Theatre Blog

And now for a moment of shameless bragging:

The New York Times periodically offers the chance to ask questions of a theatre-related figure, some of which get answered. I was fortunate to get a question answered by Charles Isherwood back in February, and I've been fortunate enough to do so again. It was one of three questions answered yesterday after the three he answered Tuesday. 

You can read the whole piece over at the site, but here's the question I asked:

Is there any figure — writer, performer, director, designer — who you feel has not been given enough credit for his or her influence on musical theater, or the quality of his or her work? Similarly, is there anyone you think gets too much credit? — Zev Valancy, Oak Park, Ill.

He answered as follows:

Too little credit? Yes, but may I call attention to a category of show contributors rather than to any one figure? I speak of the musicians who create the sound of Broadway. These are the more or less unknown men and women who take the work of a show’s songwriter(s), usually written at a keyboard, and flesh it out instrumentally (and sometimes even compositionally) to arrive at the way we hear it in the theater.


Among orchestrators I’d single out for starters Hans Spialek, Don Walker, and Jonathan Tunick; among arrangers, Genevieve Pitot and, above all, Trude Rittmann. Leonard Bernstein once referred to such musicians admiringly as the “subcomposers who turn a series of songs into a unified score.”

He's completely on-target in the assertion that orchestrators and arrangers are wildly underappreciated. It's easy to give the composer all of the credit for the way a show sounds, but listen to different versions of the same song to realize how untrue this is. Jonathan Tunick's huge orchestral arrangement for the original cast of Sweeney Todd gives a powerfully different impression from Sarah Travis' lean chamber version in the 2005 revival. The different sounds are one aspect of powerfully different experiences. (The contrast of Tunick's gorgeously varied orchestrations for the original production of Nine with the painfully generic ones by Doug Besterman for the misbegotten film version are a more unpleasant example of the same principle.)

I find Stempel's phrasing a little awkward and unclear (which doesn't bode well for the book itself), and would certainly add many names to his list, but it's a wonderful thing that he's helping orchestrators and arrangers get the attention they so richly deserve.

Passing Strange on PBS Tonight!

Passing Strange, the 2008 musical by Stew and Heidi Rodewald, closed after a too-brief run on Broadway. (In fact, it closed only a few days before I visited New York, to my great distress.)  The rock musical was based on Stew's life, growing up with his mother in a bourgeois African-American community in LA, then bolting for Europe and trying desperately to find his identity and his art. The plot outline is familiar from many coming-of-age stories, but the show is lifted into a higher realm by a really exceptional score. It's real rock music, at times melodic, at times electrifying, with an exceptionally smart and penetrating set of lyrics. To my mind the score sits with Caroline, Or Change and The Light in the Piazza among the very best of the decade just past.

Unfortunately, that wasn't enough to sustain a Broadway run. Despite enthusiastic reviews, it never caught on. The show was too unusual perhaps--it was hard to explain why a rock concert/musical with singer narrating his autobiography while another actor played a younger version of him was worth seeing. It also didn't help that the entire cast was black (still all too rare on Broadway) and that the best songs were either too profane or too long to excerpt well on television (the performance on the Tonys was an excellent example of this--it just came off as lots of jumping around). Or maybe two vibrantly original musicals about minorities starring the composer was one too many, and everyone went to see In The Heights (which is also a wonderful play).

Whatever the reason, the show closed too soon. Luckily, there was a cast album made--which has quickly become one of my most played--and for the last few performances, Spike Lee was there. Apparently Lee had seen the show and loved it, and when the closing was announced he sprung into action, filming the last three performances so that more people could see the show. It was screened at Sundance last January, had a brief theatrical release, and was available for a while on Video On Demand. Yesterday saw the release of the DVD, and tonight it's been shown as part of PBS' Great Performances.

For those in Chicago, it's showing on WTTW from 9-11:30 PM this evening, with a replay on Friday at 2:30 AM. Make sure to see it or set your VCR/DVR for it! I'm DVRing it to watch this weekend, and I'll bring back a report. Make sure to comment with your thoughts when you see it!

Also, I'm seeing three shows in the next three nights: Private Lives at Chicago Shakes tonight, Killer Joe as Profiles tomorrow, and The (edward) Hopper Project, done by WNEP Theatre at the Storefront downtown on Friday. Just like a real critic! Look for reviews early next week.

New Review Posted: The Light in the Piazza

This past Wednesday I turned 24, and Marriott Lincolnshire gave me a great present--opening night of The Light in the Piazza. Adam Guettel's score is one of the best of the past decade, and I had not yet gotten the chance to hear it live. The script has flaws, and the production isn't perfect, but there were moments that were truly thrilling, and the show as a whole had a real emotional pull. If you care about serious musicals, it's definitely worth a trip.

The link is here and the text of the review is below.

That "The Light in the Piazza" was a Broadway success must be one of the miracles of contemporary theater. Adam Guettel's score is absolutely ravishing, but also far more complex than the usual Broadway score. Audiences proved hungry for beautiful music, though, and it ran for over a year.

American Margaret Johnson (Mary Ernster) and her daughter Clara (Summer Smart) are vacationing in Florence, where Margaret once honeymooned with her husband Roy (Michael Accardo). Clara meets, and falls for, the young Florentine Fabrizio (Max Quinlan). But, as one character says, "happiness can also scar," and the play is concerned with both the danger and the beauty of love.

Joe Leonardo's production stumbles in places, but the emotional tug is still there. Since it also has a few excellent performances and some genuinely thrilling musical moments, the show is a must for those who care about musicals. Ernster's Margaret is the center of the production, and she is magnetic. She believably shows both the humor and pain of a woman for whom managing, fixing and avoiding have become a way of life, and the painful process that just might let joy back in. Add in her luscious alto, and her songs become simply heartbreaking.

Smart and Quinlan act the lovers convincingly, but they seem to be trying too hard when they sing; their vocal performances are technically accurate, but far from effortless. The supporting cast is studded with flavorful performances, especially Paula Scrofano, as Fabrizio's mother, and Jennifer T. Grubb as his sister-in-law.

The book has clichéd sections, certainly, and the staging and design don't fully capture the beauty of Italy. The nine-piece orchestra, while artful, still lacks the lushness of the original orchestrations. More quibbles could surely be found. But when song after song sends a chill up the spine, who cares?

Brother, Can You Spare The Time Of My Life?

So the stage version of Dirty Dancing opened its Chicago run (the American premiere) on Sunday night. I was fascinated by Chris Jones' review in the Trib and even more so by the comments after (39 as of this writing.)

For those who haven't read the review, the point is that the play aims to be nothing more than a direct reproduction of the movie. It goes to extreme length to replicate every song, every line, every shot, even the montages. The point of the play is to be "The Classic Story Live On Stage" as per the tag line. It never seems to acknowledge that theatre and film are different media with different demands, and that it might be a good idea to have a musical in which the two leads actually sing.

The question is, why replicate it with such slavish fidelity? I will confess that I have never seen the movie, so I don't really understand the love some people have for it. But still, why would they pay up to $95 (!) to see a Swayze-less reproduction of something they could watch for free at home?

I'm not against stage adaptations of movies. Often, they have something real to offer to the film. The Full Monty, for instance changes the original's British setting to Buffalo, NY, and has smart, tuneful songs that let us inside the characters. The premise is the same, but the execution is unique. Musicals that take familiar movies and adapt them in memorable and interesting ways are wonderful. It's musicals that seem like nothing more than cynical ways to cash in on the audience's fond memories of movies that seem beside the point. I just don't understand why it's worth it to watch a pale imitation that has nothing of its own to add.

This is why the comments are so interesting: they are evenly mixed between people who agreed with Chris--that the show is painfully unoriginal and weirdly untheatrical--and those who disagree vociferously--saying that any deviation would be blasphemy, so this is the only way to do the show. Their sense of ownership of this movie is so intense that changing anything would be a sin. But I repeat--why put it on stage if it aspires merely to be a replica?

Can anyone explain this to me? Has anyone actually seen the show? I'm really curious to understand this phenomenon, and any help would be greatly appreciated.