Christmas 2007, day 6

MATINEE: Is He Dead?, at the Lyceum. This is a totally ridiculous play, both as conceived by Mark Twain and as rewritten (David Ives), directed (Michael Blakemore) and acted (by a bevy of NY's finest, led by the great Norbert Leo Butz). And I smiled pretty much non-stop. I understand the criticisms of those who didn't get on board with this silliness, but I can't join them: well before NLB went into high gear, I was seduced by the antics of the likes of Michael McGrath, John McMartin (he's just always fabulous; I don't know how he does it at his age), Byron Jennings, Patricia Connolly and Marylouise Burke. I guess this says something bad about the state of NY theater, that all these wonderful people were available for something as absurd as this, but lucky the audiences that reap the benefit. I ate it all up.

EVENING: Romeo et Juliette at the Met. This was my 2nd New Year's Eve there, and I was much happier this time around. (The previous occasion was Die Fledermaus a couple of years back, which was underwhelming but partially redeemed by the stunning high notes of Sondra Radvanovsky and Marlis Petersen.) Anna Netrebko was on her best behavior, which means the voice sounded pretty free and very beautiful, she managed the Waltz decently, and she phrased more sensitively than is her wont. For that last, I credit Matthew Polenzani, her superb Romeo: unlike the shrill and phony Roberto Alagna (who shared the telecast a couple of weeks ago), his tone spins and shines, and he commands gorgeous pianissimo, diminuendo and long-line phrasing. It was worth it to hear him soar through "Ah, leve-toi, soleil!" (with an amazing morendo on the final B-flat) and sustain his longest spans while lying prone and supine in his death scene.

Christmas 2007, day 5

AFTERNOON: squeezed in Atonement before my show (and I mean squeezed: see below). I didn't know much about this going in, apart from the sheaf of raves, so I was ready to be surprised, and I was, pleasantly. I loved the fascinating layout of the story, with the occasional rewind and the ever-present typing in the score, inviting the audience to wonder why the point of view is shifting, and where all the typing may lead. The payoff was worth it: having read that the finale would be a 5-minute appearance by Vanessa Redgrave (I AM Vanessa Redgrave), I pushed my luck time-wise and was treated to a brilliant resolution, pulling the whole movie together to devastating effect.

EVENING: Alas, this meant I was scrambling to get to my 7:00 show, and I think I missed the first 120 seconds of it. This was Die Mommie Die!, at New World Stages, and it was only my 2nd live experience with the great Charles Busch that left me disappointed. Usually -- a Christmas 2001 Times Square Angel, twice at Shanghai Moon, an all-star Auntie Mame reading and last summer's revival of The Lady in Question -- he fills me with love of life in general and the theater in particular. But this time (as at a second Auntie Mame, that one a fully rehearsed and staged production), I giggled a few times and admired his skill but felt that he was playing solitaire while the actors around him screamed or flailed or in general blundered toward the style his best people command effortlessly. I don't know whether to blame the director (longtime CB collaborator Carl Andress) or the casting agent or the holiday frenzy, but ... the hit-and-miss movie version was funnier.

Christmas 2007, day 4

MATINEE: Cymbeline at the Vivian Beaumont. Funny that for years there was talk of a "Vivian Beaumont curse," because I wondered recently: have I ever been unhappy with a show here? Henry IV . . . Barbara Cook's Broadway . . . The Light in the Piazza . . . Dinner at Eight . . . The Coast of Utopia -- all things I'm thrilled I saw and heard. Even The Frogs was not without its charms, as much a mess as that was (and I saw it in previews, with Chris Kattan, God help me). Well, Cymbeline was pretty impressive too. Mark Lamos' direction merits the biggest praise: this bizarre, difficult flight of Bardic fancy was laid out with maximum clarity and economy; I never felt lost for an instant, though my only reading of the play was 17+ years ago. And a strong, well-balanced group of actors: no one perfect (Martha Plimpton very appealing but not in ideal command of the verse, for example) but only one major flaw among the leads (Phylicia Rashad's ludicrously campy Queen, drawled in a bizarre blend of Cruella de Vil and Dynasty's Dominique Devereaux). Enchanting.

EVENING: Stoppard's Rock'n'Roll. OK, I was excited about this, but nervous too, since at this point I'd racked up 7 shows in 3+ days and was flagging energy-wise. Not to worry: about 10 minutes in, I'd rallied completely. Roused by the energy of the writing, performances and staging, I got on board and enjoyed the ride. Sometimes Stoppard's clever combinations are commendable and interesting but keep the viewer at arm's length; at his best, of course (Arcadia and The Invention of Love), the conceit brims with feeling and passion, and you're swept along by intellectual excitement AND deep emotion. That was the case here: politics, rock music and Greek lyric poetry are interconnected by the intensity of feeling behind them all. Brian Cox, Rufus Sewell and Sinead Cusack were all glorious, she especially in Act I as a dying classicist equally capable of invoking the emotional side of things and playing the serious intellectual with a student.

Christmas 2007, day 3

MATINEE: Daniel Sullivan's revival of The Homecoming, with a glittering cast. This was very interesting, and probably as good a first-time in-house Pinter experience as I could find. Even so, the Pinter pauses and half-stated menace come off as at least a mite pretentious; you have to be willing to do the intellectual legwork yourself to connect the dots, and depending on your mood, that's either bracing and stimulating or frustrating and irritating. Even so, all props to the production for a high performance standard from this strong ensemble: Ian McShane and Raul Esparza both the right combination of fascinating and repellent, Eve Best appropriately opaque and magnetic, Michael McKean contributing a dash of charm and grace for contrast. James Frain, handed the hardest role to make sense of (Teddy), didn't quite solve it; as the punch-drunk Joey, however, Gareth Saxe could smack me around any time he likes.

EVENING: Young Frankenstein -- well, what to say? Ego and self-indulgence on parade for 2 1/2 hours. Sutton Foster, Andrea Martin, Christopher Fitzgerald and Shuler Hensley escape more or less intact, reputation-wise. I have never liked Roger Bart much, and this performance -- screechily convinced of its nonexistent comic genius -- pushed me away from his camp for good. Megan Mullally is equally disastrous: doubtless encouraged by all concerned, she avoids all contact with Madeline Kahn's model and just plays it like Karen Walker on steroids. Not one measure of Mel Brooks' "score" comes near the best items in The Producers (which I loved at its 2nd NY preview, even -- especially? -- without Matthew Broderick), and he and Thomas Meehan have taken a delightful film (Brooks' best by some margin) and cheapened and coarsened it in every conceivable way. (If there was a missed opportunity for the insertion of FUCK or SHIT or a tits/dick/ass joke, I can't see where.) Depressing.

Christmas 2007, day 2

Matinee: Make Me a Song, the delightful new William Finn revue imported (with one cast change) from Hartford. (Alas, this closed on New Year's Eve, but apparently the CD, recorded live in early December, is coming out soon.) Anyway, the four gifted performers were all well-suited to the material: nice voices, clear words (despite frustrating sound design in the tiny theater), engaged presence. I liked Sally Wilfert most (she was especially moving in "Any Time," in which she invested so deeply that she could barely get out the last few quiet lines), but all were solid. I was also glad to collect three Finn songs I'd never heard before: "You're Even Better Than You Think You Are," "I Went Fishing with My Dad" and "Song of Innocence and Experience." I hope they all make the CD! (The show ran close to 90 minutes, so I assume there will be a few casualties.)

Evening: The Glorious Ones at the Mitzi Newhouse. I love this little space (I treasure memories of a superb revival of The Time of the Cuckoo, with Debra Monk at her best, and the original production of Elegies: A Song Cycle) there. So I'm sorry to report that this was a disappointment. The premise -- watch a commedia dell'arte troupe onstage and off-, and witness the Birth Of Comedy -- is interesting but ultimately unwieldy, especially since the actual "performances" we see the troupe do are pretty boring. (John Kassir pulls off some virtuoso business on his own, but otherwise, snoozeville.) The score is typical Flaherty & Ahrens -- some absolutely lovely pieces, with pretty music and skillful lyrics ("Absalom" and "Opposite You" in particular), alongside a good amount of blandly professional writing. I'll buy the CD, and I liked Marc Kudisch and Erin Davie, but this didn't gel, alas. (Maybe it's time for F&A to get a sharper director than Graciela Daniele?)

Christmas 2007, day 1

I launched this year's marathon -- the craziest yet, by far, and it's not even over yet -- with the new Conor McPherson play The Seafarer. I can't decide whether I came in poised to like this (I love magic realism) or dislike it (Irish whimsy and Irish drunkenness are borrrrrrrrrring to me most of the time, especially when combined). Net result: not crazy about it. It's really well-acted: everyone seems to feel Jim Norton is poised to grab the supporting Tony come June, but they're all good, including non-"native" David Morse in the difficult lead. But the rambling structure and surprise-ending-cum-redemption didn't click for me.

That evening, by contrast, brought one of the trip's high points: Edward Albee's new-old Peter and Jerry at Second Stage. Nearly 4 years ago, I saw the world premiere production of this (an audacious pairing of the classic Zoo Story with a brand-new Act I called Home Life) at Hartford Stage, which had the same director (Pam MacKinnon) and female lead (Johanna Day) but different guys (Frank Wood, fine but non-special as Peter; Frederick Weller the ideal Jerry). I agree with those who've said that Zoo Story doesn't "update" perfectly. But it's worth it, because Home Life is really gripping, and a fascinating set-up for Zoo Story. Odd that Johanna Day was the one holdover -- she's very in-and-out as Peter's wife Ann, as she was in Hartford. But though I missed Frederick Weller, Dallas Roberts is excellent as Jerry, once you get past the lily-gilding of his appearance. And Bill Pullman's work nearly matches his unforgettable performance as Martin in The Goat, or Who Is Sylvia? (the first preview of which I won't soon forget).

The Coast of Utopia MARATHON (Saturday, 4/7)

Yes, I went for it! Three elaborate, ambitious plays about 19th century Russian intellectuals, beginning at 11:00 a.m. and ending 12 hours later, with lunch and dinner breaks. Thanks to a dazzling staging, a lot of wonderful acting and some brilliantly conceived writing, it's an experience worth having.

Now (to borrow from Walter Kerr) ask me if I liked it. I thrilled to Jack O'Brien's brilliant stage pictures and fluid direction, keeping everything moving and crackling with all the wit and panache at his command. (Is there anything the man can't do? I've adored his productions of The Invention of Love, The Full Monty, Henry IV and Hairspray; talk about running the gamut.) I thought there was a lot of sensational acting -- Jennifer Ehle (not a favorite of mine ere now) in three sharply differentiated roles, Ethan Hawke (over the top to be sure, but the audience is thrilled every time he resurfaces, and justly so), Billy Crudup (extremely appealing and charming; a shame his character dies halfway through Part 2, and he has no additional role in Part 3) and Richard Easton (wonderful in his biggest role, in Part 1, and welcome back in small contributions in Parts 2 and 3). And it was fascinating to learn about all these people and events I barely knew about coming in.

The event's limitations for me center on Brian O'Byrne, both role and performance. We're told quite clearly that Alexander Herzen is central to the trilogy; the same amazing stage picture (Herzen atop a column, holding his head in one hand and a glove in the other, while a sea rages beneath him) opens each play, and his role is the largest in Parts 2 and 3. But as written and performed, he's not nearly compelling enough. Bakunin (Ethan Hawke) and Belinsky (Billy Crudup) are quirky and funny and crazy; it's easy to see why they get our attention every time they appear. Herzen, by contrast, is churning on the inside, and neither the text nor O'Byrne's performance drew me fully into that experience.

Combine that with the feeling (ever stronger as the day advanced) that Stoppard's rushing to fit all this time into the trilogy, and it's hard not to share Charles Isherwood's view that there's a Cliff's Notes quality to all of this. Where I part company with Isherwood is that he said this about Part 1, which structurally is much richer than that suggests. Then again, the first play is in a sense the easiest to pull off: introduce characters, themes and images, get our attention, etc.; the harder part is to sustain that with full success. They don't. But as a feast of staging, acting and fitfully exciting writing, it's irresistible still. I'm glad I made it.

The Year of Magical Thinking (Friday 4/6)

Reservations (both before and after) aside: fundamentally, I had to have this. Vanessa Redgrave's turn as Mary Tyrone several seasons ago remains one of the great performances I've seen onstage -- heartbreaking, maddening, intense, chillingly still, everything I could want. I don't know how many chances I'll have to see her again (I missed the apparently hideous Hecuba a couple of years ago), so ... I was there, row K on the aisle, at the Booth last Friday. (So was Ralph Fiennes, which was hilarious, since last summer I saw Miss Redgrave in the audience in that theater when Mr. Fiennes was being sensational in Faith Healer!)

Anyway, the play. Well, it's not much of a play. I've not read Miss Didion's book, but she's not exactly a born dramatist. What may well be compelling and fascinating as a read hasn't been fully reconceived as a dramatic experience. And as many reviewers have already pointed out, Miss Redgrave is a different animal: big, intense, emotional. Making that intersect with Didion's hypercontrolled, self-aware style and observations produces something only fitfully impressive. But there are wonderful moments, some of them verbal (when the big feeling flashes through) and many of them visual (when she stands and turns, presenting us with a book or a bracelet). Beautifully lit and sound-designed. Worth it, in the end.

NY part 2

I'll get to the earlier part of my visit eventually! For now, today's events:

MATINEE: Paul Rudnick's new play Regrets Only at City Center. Maybe it's best to see new plays -- comedies in particular, I find -- with expectations lowered by mixed reviews. I expected to enjoy the glittering cast and a few choice one-liners; I walked out thinking this was the best Rudnick play I've seen or read, an opinion unquestionably facilitated by the aforementioned fabulous cast. Three wonderful women -- Christine Baranski, Sian Phillips and Mary Testa (replacing Jackie Hoffman for a few weeks for some reason) -- with solid support from David Rasche and Diane Davis; gorgeous set and costumes (the latter by William Ivey Long); skillful direction by Christopher Ashley (who else?). Best of all: George Grizzard, cast against type as an aging designer whose lover has recently died. He remains the only actor whose performances *always* make me think that yes, I'd pay to hear him read the phone book. (I'd previously seen him in Nicky Silver's disturbing Beautiful Child [2004] and two sensational Albee revivals: Seascape [2002, I think, at Hartford Stage, not the subsequent Broadway version] and of course his Tony-winning appearance in A Delicate Balance [1996].)

EVENING: Met revival of Bellini's I puritani di Scozia, the 1976 production (Sutherland/Pavarotti/Milnes/Morris) that's resurfaced in ways that might define "diminishing returns" -- Sutherland back in 1987 alongside the likes of Salvatore Fisichella, Edita Gruberova (in a 1991 apparent house farewell) paired with the unpleasant Chris Merritt, and a 1997 run starring an overstretched Ruth Ann Swenson with Stuart Neill (no thanks), Thomas Hampson (not his rep) and Alastair Miles (zzzz). (And whatever you do, DON'T check the Met archives for 18 April 1991. Your blood will FREEZE.)

So into this tired, ill-starred production comes the diva of the moment, Anna Netrebko, who'd better have something going on to get this show going. Her scheduled tenor (promising young Eric Cutler) has bronchitis, so Gregory "my voice may be leathery and bone-dry, and all the C-sharps are chancy at best, but I WILL take that F in the finale, goddammit" Kunde steps in as Arturo. Franco Vassallo (as Riccardo) can handle the little notes in "Ah, per sempre" and belts out interpolated high endings in "Bel sogno beato" and "Suoni la tromba"; still, who cares? And John Relyea (= Giorgio) is -- as always in my experience -- solid, accomplished, not distinctive.

Well, Miss N certainly looks great, and there's no question but that she possesses a major voice. It's the closest thing, sound-wise, to prime Freni: a rich, well-placed "juicy lyric" (thanks, Miss Price), effortlessly carrying to the top of the house (I sat in the Family Circle) at whatever dynamic level she chooses. That was exciting to hear live. And bless her heart, she'll run all over that stage given the chance (God knows whether Sharon Thomas even tried to control her); she sang the opening of "Vien diletto" lying supine, with her hair flowing into the pit! What she needs is more discipline and focus, both dramatically and vocally. All florid passages were smudged at best. She has no trill, nor any interesting ideas about ornamentation. Her best moments -- and they were very good -- were the climax of "Ah, vieni al tempio" (yes, she follows the orchestra up to C and D, very strongly) and all of "Qui la voce" (some nice phrasing and lovely soft singing). So, a mixed bag, but I'm glad I heard her, however much I pray for more refinement ...

NY week, Part 1

I'm back (he posted, to abundant disinterest). Let's see whether I can do a better job of getting this blog off the ground this time ...

I'm about halfway through my latest NY week, so I'll report on the theater-, movie- and opera-going in a few posts. Rather than begin at the beginning, I'll do today's items:

1:00 MATINEE --> Met Die Zauberfloete. This was the prima of the Met's abridged, "family friendly" version. This means English translation (and not a bad one, yay! -- but *with* titles, ick ick ick). This also means lots of cuts, some of entire numbers (the Overture, the Pamina-Papageno duet, the chorus "O Isis und Osiris," the Pamina-Tamino-Sarastro trio and -- saddest of all -- Pamina's scene with the three boys), some within numbers (Sarastro's and Papageno's solos lose verses wherever possible; ugly snips in the Act I ensembles featuring the Three Ladies; deletion of the Armed Men's duet; Tamino's aria is essentially gutted, jumping to the end at the first harmonic opportunity). This keeps things moving but also makes the plot even stranger (my companion, a theater-savvy opera novice, was pretty confused). My future spouse Nathan Gunn was in top (!) form as Papageno: musical, charming, acrobatic, touching and (yes) sexy as Hell. Matthew Polenzani sounded gorgeous in Tamino's music (except for the damage to his aria, he got to sing pretty much all the rest of it). Met debutante Ying Huang started weakly but grew to a not-too-bad "Ach, ich fuehl's"; still, her part was damaged most by the cuts. Erika Miklosa totally underwhelming as Astrafiammante, soft-grained, smudgy in coloratura, 3 out of 5 of the high Fs in place.

3:15 MOVIE: Volver, which wound up being worth the ride despite some of my early misgivings. I AM Carmen Maura -- it was great to see her back in Almodovar's clutches, in a fascinating role -- and the other ladies (yes, including Penelope Cruz) all did well. I want to see this again. I bet I'll like it better the second time, but it wasn't at the Talk to Her or Bad Education level, for me. (Then again, few recent movies are ...)

7:00: The Apple Tree at Studio 54. The reviews on this were generally love letters to Kristin Chenoweth (which she deserved) that made a point of dismissing the show as a weak brew of sketch material, with a second-rate score, etc., etc. Shame! It may not be a deep evening at the theater, but as fun/light/"frothy" (pick your favorite) entertainment, it's to me vastly preferable to ... well, fill in the blank. Bock & Harnick's score is a series of delights, some agreeable, many more than that. Few out and out showstoppers here, but every item rich in intelligence, charm and wit. What's not to like, especially in the hands of these stars? Chenoweth, Brian d'Arcy James and the divine Marc Kudisch (get that man a Tony, and get it to him NOW) all look great, sound glorious and move superbly. They play off one another effortlessly and just make the whole thing *work*. Who cares if there's no glitzy scenery? Overproducing this material would have strangled it. Yes, it would be nice to have a full orchestra playing the original charts, but a reduction to 13 pieces playing new Tunick charts isn't the worst imaginable alternative, now, is it? And I won't even mention my personal delight in seeing a high school classmate's name under "choreography by"; he didn't get to do a lot, but his ensemble does him proud, and I hope it leads to bigger and better opportunities ...

Claire Danes Must Die

I've just slogged through Richard Eyre's STAGE BEAUTY . . . what to say? Billy Crudup is fetching throughout and lots of fun in the early scenes, creating a stylized physical vocabulary that makes some sense for the period. A shame the movie doesn't support this enthusiastic "recreation"; the entire arc winds up being yet another Ode To The Method, unappealingly made to go hand in glove with Heterosexual Assimilation.

And dear Billy's guide away from the aesthetic appeal of presentational acting (to say nothing of that of Ben Chaplin's torso) is none other than Claire Danes, on my short list of irritating actresses. I'll admit I rather liked her at the end of THE HOURS: her embrace of Julianne Moore was moving and helped the finale "land." But I can't think of anything else in which she hasn't annoyed me more than anything else, with her goggle gaze and oozing neediness.