Looking for God and Love

Serious pianists love to study the great composers in order to explore and channel the music they are to perform. Hershey Felder, the writer and star of the solo show Maestro, is a serious pianist and composer in his own right. He is also a gifted and highly successful singer, director, and producer. His one-man show is the natural rumination of one serious musician about another.

Maestro is the story of the larger-than-life phenomenon that was Leonard Bernstein: conductor of the celebrated New York Philharmonic and orchestras worldwide; the second most performed classical composer in the United States, who also wrote the scores for the hit West Side Story and other Broadway shows; the creator of 53 Young People’s Concerts and proselytizer on behalf of the classical music tradition to the millions he reached on TV and in lectures all over the world. In this and other plays, Felder has created a piece of biographical theater. His one-man plays about Gershwin, Chopin, Beethoven, Liszt, Irving Berlin, and now Bernstein, use story, song, and music to probe the lives of great musicians and deepen our understanding of music itself.

Bernstein’s overarching passion was to compose. In Lenny’s voice, Felder explains what lies behind the works he composes: “and in every one of these pieces, I am busy looking for God. And for love. Because as composers, that’s what we’re always doing.” This desire, the desire to compose and all it encompasses, is the spine of Felder’s play. Will Bernstein find God? Will he find love? Will he write the great works he so badly wants to write?

Felder takes on Lenny, the controversies about his life and his music, and looks for the truth behind the noise of his fame. He shows us a man whose betrayal of his marriage and loss of his wife to cancer upended his life. And he shows us a man who, for all of his achievements as a composer, was never embraced by the classical composing establishment, which rigidly favored atonalism. Bernstein not only believed that tonality and melody were at the heart of all great classical music, he wrote successful musicals; brought classical impulses into his popular music; brought popular idioms into his serious classical compositions; and was just too populist in every way to win the seal of approval of that elite club whose tenets he rejected. He paid a heavy price.

Beautifully directed by Joel Zwick, the work uses projection and lighting (Christopher Ashe) as well as audio (Eric Carstensen) in striking, even brilliant ways. Does Felder do justice to Bernstein? Do we know the man more deeply after the play than we did before? These are questions that theatergoers will answer for themselves. But in bringing us a character whose passion and achievements were in music, Felder’s own musicianship, his teaching moments riffing on music that occur throughout the play, and his prowess at the keyboard, bring us more deeply into the soul of Bernstein than this genre might have otherwise permitted.

A solo show is a special feat for any actor. Maestro runs one hour and 45 minutes and includes challenging work at the keyboard, some of it while also singing or speaking. At the same time, is it mean-spirited to say there is a bit too much West Side Story and that, if the final song were cut, the play would end on the more tragic note intended by Felder, without sentimentality? Interestingly, as a baritone, Felder sings in a soft and lilting popular style and also in a steelier, more trained classical style, sometimes combining both, just as Bernstein was forever migrating from one style to the next in unexpected ways. Vocally this usually works—but not always.

Did Bernstein find God and love in his composing and in his life? In the most powerful moment at the end of the play—better experienced than described here—Bernstein combatively turns and asks questions of the audience. Then he recites a poem Bernstein wrote in which he sums up how he views his life in the face of his approaching death. Did Bernstein find God and love in his composing? No, Felder says, not in Bernstein’s eyes. And yes, Felder says, in the eyes and hearts of all of us who listen to his story and, even more important, to the maverick genius and passionate heart of the music that beats beneath it.

Maestro runs through Oct. 23 at 59E59 Theaters (59 E. 59th St.). Evening performances are at 7 p.m. Tues.–Thurs. and at 8 p.m. Friday and Saturday; matinees are at 2 p.m. Saturday and 3 p.m. Sunday. (Additional performances are at 2 p.m. Sept. 29 and Oct. 13. There are no performances on Sept. 24 or Oct. 11 or at 7 p.m. Oct. 2.) Tickets are $25–$70. For more information, call Ticket Central at (212) 279-4200 or visit www.59e59.org.

Liberty for All

Liberty: A Monumental New Musical captures an America not unlike the one we see today: a place where people want to come, but also where many struggle to find work and build a simple but stable life. The story begins when Frédéric-Auguste Bartholdi, a French artist, lovingly completes his statue and sends her to the United States (it's a gift from France to commemorate a century of independence), as if she were his own child. Liberty (played by teenage actress Abigail Shapiro) comes looking for a pedestal on which she can stand to spread her message of hope and freedom.

However, when she arrives at Ellis Island, she is given the same treatment as every other immigrant. She is poked and prodded, and given the twice-over; only to be rejected—after all, what is her purpose here anyway? Hope? That’s not enough. Commissioner Francis A. Walker, who was responsible for the census in the mid-1800s (played with a debonair charm by Brandon Andrus), schedules her to return to France on the next boat. Liberty perseveres. After all, hope is not only for the immigrant, but for everyone seeking freedom and a better life.

The wonderful cast brings life to a variety of characters: an Italian immigrant (Nick Devito), an Irish foreman (Mark Aldrich, who also plays news mogul Joseph Pulitzer), a Russian knish seller (Tina Stafford, who moves gracefully between the Russian Olga, and a wealthy American heiress named Regina Schuyler), a former slave (C. Mingo Lingo), and a native American Indian (Ryan Duncan).

Liberty is a love song to New York—a city that embraces everyone, or at least tries to—but it’s also a history lesson. There’s a great deal of information about Emma Lazarus, played with tight-lipped determination by Emma Rosenthal, who is the most well-drawn character in the play, and the most interesting. She teaches English to Giovanni, an Italian immigrant who seems to hang around the port (is he being deported, or just a loafer?). His improved English increases his betting options: “Ten to one!” he says triumphantly and skitters off. Emma looks after him with a wry smile, clearly amused. This intrigue, however, is forbidden: Emma is from an affluent Jewish family that has been in America for four generations. Hanging around the port and new immigrants is not what a society girl is supposed to do, even if she is a poet, and Regina Schuyler, a wealthy woman who puts her money where it will give her the highest profile, makes sure Emma knows she’s being watched.

With book and lyrics by Dana Leslie Goldstein, there are some laughs along the way. Particularly funny are “The Charity Tango” sung by Liberty, Commissioner Walker and Schuyler, and “We Had It Worse” in which the Russian immigrant Olga and the Irish immigrant Patrick McKay compete to see who had  it worse when they first arrived in America. However, as they crescendo in their comparisons, they also discover they agree on something when they sing: “Kids have no idea what hard work is” (…) “Soft” (…) “like a boiled cabbage,” and do a double-take in each other’s direction; they finish the song with a broad smile.

The production is fun, and kid-friendly, but very uneven. While the libretto is outstanding, the music by Jon Goldstein sounds canned; all the tracks seem to have been created on a synthesizer. The stage also feels small, not only because it is small, but because Evan Pappas's staging lacks dynamics and, at times, deflates the production. Some choreographed movement would have given the actors some breadth and depth and the production real musical-theater flair. Nonetheless, the cast clearly has their musical theater chops, and is led to a hopeful finale by Lady Liberty, who proves that perseverance pays off—a message we know is often true.

Liberty: A Monumental New Musical plays an open run at 42 West, 514 West 42nd St., between 10th and 11th avenues. Performances are Sundays at 2 and 5 p.m.; Mondays and Wednesdays at 3 and 7 p.m.; and Thursdays at noon and 3 p.m. Tickets are $72/$36 (premium/child premium); $63 (adult); $27 (children 4-12) and may be purchased by visiting LibertyTheMusical.com.

 

A Heartsong for Hades

Anaïs Mitchell’s Hadestown, a concept album turned folk opera, adapts the myth of Orpheus by infusing it with American folk and New Orleans jazz music. Now playing at New York Theatre Workshop, Hadestown follows Orpheus (Damon Daunno) to hell and back again in pursuit of his young lover, Eurydice (Nabiyah Be), who has been lured there by the lord of the underworld, Hades (Patrick Page). Being a “folk opera,” the production is almost entirely sung-through, and Rachel Chavkin’s direction carries one song fluidly into the next. Like its classical source, Hadestown is alternatively gorgeous and dark, and the heartfelt commitment of the cast and musical ensemble brings the myth’s paradoxically sad beauty into full bloom.

As an energetic balance of hope and sadness, Hadestown finds light in the darkness and vice versa. The production’s casting reflects this balance: the naiveté of Be’s Eurydice and Daunno’s Orpheus contrasts starkly with the underworldly knowingness of Amber Gray’s Persephone and Chris Sullivan’s Hermes. Sullivan’s portrayal of his character is particularly complicated, as an enlisted messenger for the underworld with a soft heart for the young lovers. The Fates (played by Jessie Shelton, Shaina Taub, and Lulu Fall) are similarly uncommitted in their alliances, singing at times of great love and at others of shattering despair. As the brooding, unrelenting Hades, Page’s reverberating bass vocals figuratively open the doors of hell itself. In voice and movement, this hugely talented ensemble strikes near-perfect harmony in Act I. Act II contains major strengths, including some of the show’s most tear-jerking moments, but overall it lacks the simpatico energy of Act I.

Based on Mitchell’s celebrated folk album, music is the absolute center of Hadestown.  Indeed, at times this music-forward production feels more like a highly-produced concert than a play—which works well with such a polished songbook. Michael Chorney and Todd Sickafoose’s co-arrangements and Liam Robinson’s musical direction sonically transform the space into a concert-in-the-round, immersing audiences with powerful voices and instrumentals.  

Chavkin puts the space, reconfigured to stadium seating, to great use with entrances and exits from all angles and levels. Visually, Bradley King’s lighting synergizes with the music, especially in Act I’s penultimate “Wait for Me.” In this number, the Fates swing hanging wire lamps to and fro, visually embodying the show’s undulating emotional landscape between hope and uncertainty.

Adapting ancient Greek myths is nothing new for off-Broadway directors, but Mitchell and Chavkin’s Hadestown feels particularly fresh right now. In the “Wedding Song” Eurydice asks her new lover Orpheus how their young, penniless relationship will ever survive with “times being what they are—dark and getting darker all the time.” Eurydice’s ambiguity resonates in a time when the American middle class is dwindling and senseless acts of violence continue to erupt here and abroad. Later in Act I, Hades delivers a timely diatribe in the song “Why We Build the Wall,” echoing the latent xenophobia drummed up by the current election campaign’s fear-based politicking. 

At the same time, amid this darkness, the pure love between Eurydice and Orpheus shines through—even Hades and Persephone's fraught relationship contains a hidden softness. Indeed, the sweet vulnerabilities embedded in the music and performances of Hadestown convey the very joys and hardships that make being human so painfully beautiful.

Hadestown runs through July 31 at New York Theatre Workshop (79 E. 4^th Street between Bowery and 2^nd Avenue.) No late seating. Tickets are available here or by calling 212-460-5475.

Number One or Number Two?

Comedy is a tricky commodity. Many a writer, comedian, and movie has gone down in flames, and it would be too simple to say that it’s all in the writing. Yet, even the best comedic writing in the wrong hands can feel flat and lifeless. Satirical, musical comedy is even more challenging. Some of the best theater has been created by a team, adept at pulling and pushing each other to new heights. Here I Sit, Broken Hearted ... A Bathroom Odyssey is written, directed, and stars Seth Panitch with original music by R. Johnson Hall. It chronicles the world of bathroom graffiti and also stars Ian Anderson, Matt Lewis, and Chip Persons.

The set design, by Mike Morin, is a men’s bathroom with four stalls scribbled with graffiti. The back wall above the stalls is used for projection of corresponding graffiti and photos; given the set design, it is difficult to read the visuals displayed and it quickly becomes annoying. The speakers for the music are keenly hidden in the trash receptacles on either side of the stage.

Coughing and shuffling can be heard behind the stall doors and they open to reveal the actors sitting on the commodes. Spoofing “Taking a Chance on Love,” they begin to sing.

Here I go again,
I hear those trumpets blow again.
Me on my throne again...
Taking a chance on love!

Sadly, the comedy of Here I Sit, Broken Hearted never rises above these lyrics; it misses the mark on practically every level. The saving grace, beyond the short 60-minute length, is the pure joie de vivre of the cast, specifically Anderson and Lewis. If the actors suspect that the material isn’t funny, current, or satirical, they never let on. Purely for trying to make it work they deserve kudos. A cameo appearance by an unnamed young woman is quite cute. Thinking she’s entered the women’s room, she walks in to find four white guys rapping. Incredulous, she asks “Were you guys ... you didn’t happen to be—rapping, did you?”

The fault in this piece lays squarely on Panitch. When one is so heavily entrenched in the creative process, it can be difficult to step far enough away from the material to discern what’s really good and what should be dumped. The monkey mind keeps insisting, ‘This is really good.’ This time the monkey lied.

With "South Park" and The Book of Mormon, not to mention countless movies, bathroom humor, full of innuendo and fart jokes, has been done, and Here I Sit, Broken Hearted feels dated. It takes a deft hand and slightly twisted mind to write new bathroom material. The song choices sound as if they are meant for an older audience, as well as the lyrics. Imagine the Catskills circa 1970. Second, it’s unusual to find a public bathroom like this any longer except at the beach or maybe a highway rest stop, so the references are difficult to pull off in 2016 Manhattan. A giant blow-up condom bit, immediately followed by a scene with two giant blow-up penises, is not even sophomoric enough to relish a laugh.

Given the sexual exploits of politicians and bathrooms, Panitch misses opportunity after opportunity, instead choosing to dress two of the actors to look like Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton who have little, if anything, to do with a public restroom. Gilded, maybe, but a public restroom, hardly. Public restrooms are notorious for sex, yet there is little that is sexy about Here I Sit, Broken Hearted.

While the four actors get on and off the toilets they continually wear some form of underwear. There are countless ways to be coy and funny while teasing some nudity, a la the full monty, with sleight of hand or lighting, and it would seem appropriate for a bathroom musical. Instead, they continue to pull up underwear on top of underwear, stopping short of what could have been quite fun.

The icing on this pile is when Panitch recounts a visit to the Western Wall in Jerusalem when he turned 13, seeing prayers stuffed into the crevices between the ancient stones. “So, when I entered that fateful bathroom stall that day, and saw once again that famous refrain on the wall, I was strangely reminded of the Western Wall.” Attempting to correlate one of the most sacred sites on the planet, holding the prayers of the faithful, to bathroom graffiti is beyond a stretch of the imagination and borders on the profane.

Here I Sit, Broken Hearted… A Bathroom Odyssey runs until July 9 at the Beckett Theatre at Theatre Row (410 W. 42nd St. at Ninth Avenue). Performances are Wednesday through Saturday at 8 p.m. and Sunday at 3 p.m. Tickets are $19.25. To purchase them, call 212-239-6200 or visit Telecharge.com.

à la

Jesters of the Jazz Age

The Marx Brothers—four actual brothers, best known for their timely political commentary, sophisticated puns and physicalized comedy—left no stone unturned. They poked fun at everyone and everything: aristocrats, hobos, history, and especially relationships between men and women. I’ll Say She Is, now at the Connelly Theater, written by Will B. Johnstone, went to Broadway in 1924 and put the Marx Brothers on the map. Their rise was mercurial, and they made many movies that spread their popularity even wider.

But I’ll Say She Is, unlike their other stage shows, never became a film. It centers on a rich heiress named Beauty, played by the lovely Melody Jane, whose problem—“Society Woman Craves Excitement”—headlines the newspapers. The Marx Brothers, actors looking for work, are sent by their casting agent to woo her, and presumably get money from her. After all, her problem seems to be of great local concern. Fabulously rich, she lives with her also very wealthy aunt, Ruby, played by Kathy Biehl, who lends the role the right amount of stentorian authority. When the Brothers arrive at Ruby and Beauty’s door, the butler, played comically by C.L. Weatherstone, asks: “Gentlemen, did you come by appointment?” to which Chico responds, “No, we came by subway.”

The literal use of language is what made the Marx Brothers so brilliant. When Chico asks Harpo to cut the cards, he takes out an ax and chops them up. However, their comedy doesn’t completely rely on fast-paced antics. Instead, there are many quieter, more theatrical moments, as well as moments that showcase the array of talent the Marx Brothers had. Harpo was a gifted harpist, and Chico learned to play the piano with a special one-handed technique, and the actors successfully capture these talents.

When actors play famous personae, we want to see exactness, but what we really should be looking for is likeness. The four actors who play the Marx Brothers do a fantastic job of capturing the broader aspects of each of the brothers’ personas. And personas they were. Matt Roper captures Chico’s tight-lipped, one-sided grin, casts the sideways glances that made Chico seem both wary and earnest. Seth Shelden plays Harpo’s muteness with energy. Harpo was a pickpocket of sorts, and to recreate this theatrically takes a certain kind of magician’s ability. In one scene, Ruby suspects that he has stolen some cutlery, but she then backs off her claim. At the same time, several forks, spoons and knives fall out of Harpo’s sleeve. Shelden masters the great physical control needed to play Harpo’s mute but mischievous character.

Groucho was surprisingly successful in romance. The older women adored him for his quasi-romantic nature, and sharp humor. During a scene while courting Ruby, she calls, “Ah! My dear! At last I’ve found you.”

Groucho: “Yes, my darling, here I am.”
Ruby: “I was referring to my niece.”
Groucho: “Well, I’ll have you on your niece in no time.”

However, his exaggerated black eyebrows, painted thickly above his own, the long waistcoat, and cigar dangling from the side of his mouth make him also the most comical-looking. Noah Diamond does a wonderful job of getting Groucho’s famous walk just right with the back bent forward, and knees in a deep plié that often made Groucho look like he was gliding across the room.

And last but not least, Matt Walters plays Zeppo with all the leading-man charm reminiscent of those classic film stars Cary Grant and Clark Gable. Beauty falls in love with him at the end of the play and realizes that “there is no greater thrill than the thrill of love.”

Diamond lovingly restored the lost script by working with Johnstone’s rehearsal notes to adapt the play to the Connelly Theater, a historic venue dating back to the mid-1800s. Director Amanda Sisk, choreographer Shea Sullivan, and musical director Sabrina Chap do a marvelous job of capturing the voluptuousness of a Broadway revue during the age of vaudeville. The play, produced by Trav S.D., includes an array of 10 chorus dancers who are a triple threat: they dance, sing, and act. And of course, they all tap-dance. In their sparkly art deco dresses they bring an additional vibrancy to the stage that makes the play all the more fun in its reminiscence of a vaudeville spectacle.

I’ll Say She Is runs through July 3 at the Connelly Theater (220 E. 4^th St., between Avenues A and B). Evening performances are at 8 p.m. Thursdays through Saturdays and at 7 p.m. on Sunday; matinees are at 2 p.m. Sundays. Tickets are $35 ($25 for students and seniors), available at 212-352-3101 or www.illsaysheis.com.

Fine, Blame It on the Woman

August Darnell and Vivien Goldman’s new musical Cherchez La Femme, based on Darnell's 1976 hit song of the same name, opens with “Let’s Dance.” It is rhythmic and hot, and the beat permeates the house. The music is recorded, but the singing is live and jumpin’—the party is in full swing. The scene is 1980s New York, just as Caufy Keeps, played by Isaac Gay, is about to launch a much-anticipated tour with his backup singers, the Lemon Drops. The story is loosely based on Kid Creole and the Coconuts and their extraordinary influence on disco—fusing it with Caribbean, Latin, and a whole lot of Cab Calloway.

The book by Darnell and Goldman follows Caufy from New York, where his girlfriend has left him, as he heads for Haiti. Heartbroken, Caufy skips the tour. Instead he takes his sidekick Stingy Brim (CB Murray), often referred to as “brother,” along with his personal assistant to find her in Haiti.

The plot-heavy story includes a young woman who has been stalking Caufy in New York and announces that she is his daughter from a tryst in Oslo 20 years earlier. The Lemon Drops, furious with his decision, head off on their own to become the toast of Paris. The many threads of the story require a suspension of disbelief—all the events appear to happen within days. Scenes in Haiti and Paris could just have easily taken place in a variety of clubs and heavily ethnic communities in New York.

Other aspects are also less than credible. A scene at Customs in Haiti is superfluous and made little sense in that Caufy’s illegitimate daughter shows up at the same time and is able to sway the argumentative Customs agents. With “Baby Doc” Duvalier in power, he has taken issue with Reagan and the U.S.—the Customs agents are more than happy to take a heavy hand with Americans. Act II opens with an odd cheerleader number that seems to have nothing to do with the story. The mother of Caufy’s daughter has an accent that is anything but Scandinavian, not to mention that, for some reason, she is also in Haiti.

The music is where the juice is, and credit (then, as now) goes to Darnell and Stony Browder Jr. Their commitment to the original style they created for Kid Creole, as well as the additional numbers written, completes the show. Add ’80s-inspired choreography by Kyndra “Blinkie” Reevey, and the energy is palpable. Showcasing the talented Kristina Hanford, the reprise of Cherchez La Femme with the full company brings down the house.

Cherchez La Femme belongs to Gay and Murray. As Caufy Keeps, Gay has the sex appeal, certitude, and chops to carry a musical. Stingy Brim, played by Murray, has the best lines of the show. Yet he seems to be challenged by the 2½-hour run time and too many story lines; hence, his delivery is rushed.

Angie Kristic is the director of Cherchez La Femme and, while it’s evident she brought a lot to the production, some editing of the extraneous stories is needed, along with smoother transitions between scenes and more tech rehearsals. The sound, more than anything, is a problem. There are too few speakers and they are poorly placed, with a heavy bass track producing unbalanced harmonies. For as much work as was put into creating and staging this production, the sound and the vocals deserve better.

Costuming (Adriana Kaegi) is pure ’80s, but a bolder color palette would work better, especially for the Lemon Drops. The baggy, zoot suit style of the period is correct; however, Stingy is in need of a good tailor. The choice of using necklaces as bribes for the Lemon Drops was a mistake given the lavalieres each is wearing, as they were difficult and too noisy to put on. Set design (Aaron Mavinga) is bare-bones and a tad too "high school musical"—spray paint, plastic martini glasses, and a cheesy room divider. The village set in Haiti is on point, but it is so far upstage that the distance from the audience has the actors scrambling to fill the space. The lighting (Joe Beahm) in Haiti is a little too soft, and the disco scenes missing the big ’80s flair; however, the fog is a cool touch in those scenes.

It’s rumored that the French meaning of Cherchez la femme—literally, “Look for the woman”—is sexist, meaning no matter what the problem may be a woman is often the cause. In this case, it’s more the lack of a stronger hand editing and some distance from the material, albeit male or female, to know what to keep and what to let go of. Cherchez La Femme has some really good bones—just a few too many to give it the long run it deserves.

Cherchez La Femme continues in The Ellen Stewart Theatre at La Mama (66 East 4th St., Manhattan), through June 12. Tickets are $35 for adults; $30 for students and seniors either online at www.lamama.org, by phone at 646-430-5374, or at the La MaMa box office: noon-6 p.m. daily.

High on the Buy

Shoes and Baggage is a wildly entertaining one-woman show that explores shopping, and life. Written and performed by stage veteran Cheryl Stern (whose Broadway credits include La Cage aux Folles and The Women) and directed by Joe Barros, both actor and director do a marvelous job of using the cell theater, a small space that is more of a theater in the rectangle than the round. Nonetheless, all seats are good, and musical director John Dipitino’s soundtrack, performed by a two-man band with drum, keyboard and guitar, adds pizzazz and drive to the performance, but don’t overwhelm the diminutively sized actress.

Stern hits the nail on the head when she reveals her conflicted relationship to shopping. She manages a delicate balance between revealing the inner turmoil as well as the ameliorating effects of shopping during some of life’s more difficult moments. The dialogue is intimate but not, as kids today say, TMI (too much information). A self-confessed connoisseur of clothing, shoes and baggage, she recalls her experiences buying her first Louis Vuitton bag and to “buy, or not to buy” a pair of Louboutins that cost as much as her weekly paycheck.

Weaving in past experiences that go all the way back to childhood with more contemporary experiences, Stern does a fantastic job. She touches on relationships that have influenced and informed her appreciation for clothing. Two in particular are with Rena and Karen, whom she remains fast friends with in life and shopping. When Stern first meets Rena in a college acting class, she is completely taken by her. Dressed in a rabbit fur coat, Rena is “urban-sexy in a Bianca Jagger sort of way.” It turns out Rena can’t act but the two form a bond. Akin to this relationship is the one she forms with Karen while out walking her dog one day. Karen is a former Ford model and disco queen and, when they meet, the ad director of Vogue. They embark on many shopping excursions and Karen verses her in the world of couture.

Stern’s play is also an autobiographical account of her experience as an actress. She hilariously renders her experience as a cast member of The Women, a Broadway production that included Cynthia Nixon, Jennifer Tilly and Kristen Johnston. She forms an unlikely bond with Tilly, who has a great appreciation for unusual jewelry and fashion. When Stern compliments Tilly on some rings she’s wearing, she captures Tilly’s relaxed and off-the-cuff cadence with her reply: “Super-cute, right?” They become friends with an appreciation for fashion, and after one particular shopping spree, nearly miss curtain call.

It’s not only the wild forays into shopping that Stern captures, but the addictive nature of it. While trying to return a sweater at a high-end retail store, she ends up leaving with a pair of pants and a top, in addition to the sweater she initially goes in to return. When she sings: “High, totally high from the buy…,” it explains the thrill of going home with new purchases. But then, when she feels compelled to hide them in the closet so her husband won’t see them, there’s the shame in knowing that they exceed her budget, and she failed in returning a sweater that wasn’t really perfect after all.

Stern outlines the way shopping can alleviate some of the stress that occurs in life. When friends get sick with cancer, or lose their jobs, or her father is in the hospital after a heart attack, shopping and an appreciation for clothing, shoes and baggage somehow make the moments more bearable. Yet, as Stern grows older, she comes to recognize that shopping is an addiction as serious as any other. She sings “High, totally hooked on the high, take another hit, like breathing air, oh the lure of what to wear.” Through Debtors Anonymous and self-help books filled with daily affirmations she comes to terms with the fact that shopping is only a high, and not a real antidote to life’s problems. It’s uncertain how she will live without the “high of the buy,” she says, but it seems like it’s time to try and face the music of her addiction, and let that “good buy” go.

Shoes and Baggage, is playing at the cell, 338 West 23^rd St. (between 8^th & 9^th avenues) through June 3.^. Take A/C/E train to 8^th Ave at 23^rd Street. Evening performances are at 7 p.m., Wednesday through Sunday, with matinees at 2 p.m. on Saturday and Sunday. No late seating is permitted. Tickets are $35. For more information, call (646) 861-2253, visit www.thecelltheatre.org.

A Stroll Down Memory Lane

The Marvelous Wonderettes, a 2008 jukebox musical that is being revived at Theater Row, shows how far women have come since the days of the Drifters, with naive bobby-socksers at the high school gym lost in crinolines and pink. Roger Bean’s playful show features a nostalgic storyline that spans the decade 1958-68 as it focuses on the lives of four women in high school and then, in the second act, at their 10-year reunion.

Christina Bianco plays the bossy, fiery Missy, who is in love with their teacher, Mr. Lee. Kathy Brier is Suzy, happily in love. Jenna Leigh Green is the vamp, Cindy Lou, and Sally Schwab portrays the ever-duped-in-love Betty Jean. Each character represents a different aspect of women’s issues, whether it’s marriage, work, or loyalty, and the story follows the evolution of women’s rights. As the girls weave their narrative of life since the high school prom around the lyrics of the old favorites straight from the American Bandstand Top 10 charts, the audience gets a sparkling overview of women’s struggles to make their dreams come true.

Under the direction of Tom and Michael D’Angora, the top-notch cast share a glimpse at that journey as they deliver the lyrics of the oldies but goodies, such as “Leader of the Pack” and “Son of a Preacher Man.” The production is full of color and glitz; it feels like memory—the way the mind’s eye makes it pretty and delusional about how simpler the times were then. It is not a thought-provoking, deep show, even though Bean hits on some serious themes, such as women coming together in sisterhood rather than being pulled apart by the social forces that have often oppressed them, though the themes are not fully realized yet.

The women sing with superb harmony (the musical director is William Wade) and dance, perfectly synchronized, to the choreography of Alex Ringler. The well-rehearsed moves work beautifully as the women swirl in their jelly-bean-colored prom dresses, created by Bobby Pearce. All the chiffon and crinoline in rhythm with the music makes an audience sway and bask in the joy of more innocent times. 

William Davis has designed a crisp, clean set of right angles and Day-Glo colors—exactly what is remembered of those halcyon days. With family-friendly slapstick, the direction is perhaps a bit too over-the-top in its pantomimed physicality, but at the same time it is faithful to the period variety shows like those of Red Skelton and Jackie Gleason.

The high school competition between Cindy Lou and Betty Jean over the unseen, two-timing Johnny has the potential to make some important points about women and how they are pitted against one another because of society’s codes, but as yet isn’t strong enough. This becomes more obvious in the second act, when the girls come back to perform at the 10-year high school reunion. A very pregnant Cindy Lou, crying her woes over a faithless husband, embodies the issue of staying committed to a marriage and raising a family in an unhappy union.

Meanwhile, Missy, who is still trying to catch Mr. Lee and yet hold onto her own identity, is a clear reflection of the issues of independence women faced during this period. As the girls rally around her and berate the unawares Mr. Lee (played by an audience member brought on stage), reminding him that “He doesn’t own her,” the ladies improvise terrifically.

This is a classy production with a group of very talented young women. Although it’s a fun blast from the past, we really have come a long way, baby.

The Marvelous Wonderettes is playing at the Kirk Theatre (410 W 42^nd St.) in an open-ended run. Evening performances are at 8:15 p.m. Wednesday and Thursday; matinees are at 2:30 p.m. Wednesday 3 p.m. Sunday. For tickets and information, visit http://www.theatrerow.org/kirknowplaying or call (212) 239-6200.

Tongue, Meet Cheek

Follow Nasty Drew (no not a typo) and the Harder boy (well, there is only one after all) as they attempt to solve The Mystery of the Family Jewels, a fun, sexy, raucous evening of tongue-in-cheek comedy, a little drag (hello, family jewels?) and some outrageous burlesque. What burlesque has to do with a spoof of the teen-mystery-novel genre is a good question, but somehow they seriously pull it all together and take it all off. 

The mystery is set up by Franklin W. Dixon and Carolyn Keene, respective authors of the super sleuths’ series, The Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew. Tigger! as Dixon and Fancy Feast as Keene are as colorful as their names, in a Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid kind of way, and create a playful, publishing-world rivalry. When Dixon attempts to engage Keene in a dialogue about the Hardy Boys, she dismisses him with, “Those two boys, always carousing around in that flashy convertible, always seeking to emulate and please the Hardy patriarch. Such strong father issues.” Dixon, not to be outmaneuvered, refers to Nancy Drew’s “questionable relations with those lady ‘cousins’ of hers…” The evening is filled with double entendres (“It’s even more colossal than my ‘Case of the Mysterious Hole in the Wall’”) and early Batman/Boy Wonder dialogue (“Jumpin’ catfish, what is it?”) Laughter, mixed with a ton of silliness and a whole lot of skin, will certainly chase the workday blues away.

Dixon and Keene introduce Nasty Drew (Nasty Canasta) and That Harder Boy (Chris Harder) who take on solving The Mystery of the Family Jewels, which is written and directed by Harder. In the course of the investigation, they meet with the buxom Lady Sussanah LaVeux De Cock; her bawdy cousin Mona Crackers; randy Police Chief McDaniels; the mechanic with lesbian tendencies Nadina North; and Cecilia “Sissy” LaVeux De Cock, Lady LaVeux De Cock’s estranged “twin” sister, among others. (The characters are played by a rotating cast of performers based on the show’s schedule.)

In The Mystery of the Family Jewels the puns, sight gags and extraordinary burlesque keep coming. Pearls Daily as Mona Crackers, who is purportedly from the wrong side of the tracks, delivers a 1920s style flapper number in a wonderful homage to the queen of burlesque, Gypsy Rose Lee. Nasty Canasta follows with a funny and entertaining undercover number employing a fake nose, glasses and mustache, which at first glance seems silly, but just wait.

Feast, who also plays North, Brookeville’s “semiretired, show-stopping sensation of stage and screen,” performs a most bodacious burlesque piece and steals the show with dialogue in the manner of legendary Mae West. Not to be outdone, the men have their own time baring all in the limelight. Ben Franklin as Police Chief McDaniels pulls off “You’ve gotta have a gimmick” burlesque that is straight—in this context used loosely—from Gypsy with hula hoops, the unbelievably limber Tigger! takes it down to a sock puppet, and Chris Harder woos the fans in his unforgettable, charming style, sock garters and all.

The show is sponsored in part by a few local businesses, and commercials are written into the script to promote them. It’s a fun gimmick that needs more attention to detail in the venerable, radio announcer style. Although issues with the show's sound and lighting may be attributed to the slightly random performance schedule, the biggest drawback is that some comic lines can’t be heard and sound levels overpower a few of the songs.

It’s evident that the Mystery of the Family Jewels has a following with a rowdy, adoring audience in attendance, and it’s easy to see why. The cast, taking their lead from Harder and Canasta, has a blast giving their all and baring all. If they break character or a prop doesn’t appear as expected, don’t be surprised, it just adds to the frivolity.

Performances of Mystery of the Family Jewels are 10 p.m. April 29 and  May 13 and 9:30 p.m. May 1 and 15 at the Laurie Beechman Theater inside West Bank Cafe (407 West 42nd St.at Ninth Avenue). The theater is accessible from the A,C,E,N,R,V,F,1,2,3 trains at 42nd Street. Tickets are $22, plus a $20 food/drink minimum. A $35 VIP ticket includes reserved seating, a gift bag and a meet-and-greet. To purchase tickets, call 212-352-3101 or visit www.SpinCycleNYC.com.

Young, Scrappy and Hungry

In the musky glory of The Kraine Theater, the March family spits crazy rhymes and self-professedly drops beats like a smooth silk ribbon. Although jaunty violins welcome us inside, it is the quick enticement of Lil' Theatre Company's hip-hop musical that soon settles us into our seats. Lindsay Taylor and Sara Stock are the writers of Lil' Women: A Rap Musical, which was inspired not just by Louisa May Alcott's novel but also by a certain popular rap musical that sends all who see it into fits of religious praise: Hamilton. The influence is too obvious to go unnoticed—sometimes to the production's occasional weakness. In an effort to reconcile the massive success of its progenitor with its own relative obscurity, Lil' Women drops hints of its inspiration while trying to break new ground with reasonable success. 

Originally from the show streets of Orlando, Taylor's production is one of the more standout shows at this year's FRIGID NY festival—she is credited as the director and producer of Lil' Women. Its concept invites apprehension and interest in equal measure: taking a beloved classic and subverting its white, all-American tradition is no easy task. Many already know the story: Meg, Jo, Beth and Amy March weather crises of faith, friendship and love as they grow up under the benevolent eye of their parents, mischievous Laurie (the boy next door) and John Brooke (his tutor). It reads like a soapy, sweet tale, promising an uncomplicated ending. But somehow Taylor's hilarious spin on the March family makes it easy to forget the all too well-known plot, and enjoy the droll, nudge-nudge moments of musical inspiration that slips and slides from the pens of Taylor and Stock.

Beth pulsates with witty energy; she isn't the dowdy, quiet angel that Alcott canonized in her book. Megan Borkes renders her active, self-aware and irrepressibly engaging. Croix Provence's Amy begins as a childish caricature of Alcott's character, but by the end of the play, she is brimming with womanly wit and charm. Even mature Meg, played by the highly entertaining Toni Bonaccorso, sneaks in some character development even as the show speeds through the plot. Her meet-cute romance with John (a disarmingly funny Gregory Coleman) is a delight to watch, and her command as a rapper, while seemingly incongruous for a dimpling redhead, is especially astonishing. But by and large, the play is carried on the very able shoulders of Rebecca Siegel, who plays the glorious spitfire that is Jo March. Siegel is perhaps the best rapper of all her sisters (although Meg might disagree; the two have a fantastic rap battle— mediated by her mother, played by writer Sara Stock—that helps the audience settle who the better rapper is), and her singing voice is quite agreeable too. Her most poignant, Jo-like moments come during her interactions with Beth, Laurie (a rib-ticklingly wonderful Adam DelMedico) and Friedrich Bhaer (played by a superb Justin Aldridge), the three most important agents in her life. 

The reigning star of the show is the music: rhymes and dialogues flow seamlessly from the actors. The cast does not for a second call into question its rapping abilities. A particularly enjoyable song (and one that refused to stop playing in one's head) is "Commander in Chief" sung by Mr. March, played by the supremely talented Jason Blackwater. The partnership between Taylor and music writer Isaac Folch renders even the most mawkish episodes from Alcott's book (namely Mr. March's return from the war) side-splittingly funny. If there is one avenue where they falter, it is in the story. For a tale as often told as Little Women, it might take more than a rap musical to refresh its well-known denouements. But even as the show whizzes past key scenes (Beth's passing, John and Meg's married life, Jo's publications and Amy's brush with death), the production leaves us quite content in its attempt to refurbish a beloved story. 

The costuming is subdued yet appropriate; it doesn't seem anarchic or anachronistic, as most period costumes do in intimate settings (costume is by Borkes, Siegel and Taylor). The set is an empty black box, and in some ways makes the action in front of it all the more colorful. The main star of the show, however, is the music. Hip-hop is a nascent musical medium, especially on the Broadway stage. Hamilton has made rap music palatable to the largely white, upper middle-class audiences of New York, with the same brand of spine-tingling newness that Lil' Women has successfully emulated. One could say that Miranda's juggernaut endeavor has just spawned the first (of its undoubtedly many) children, and no-one's complaining. Lil' Women, for all its overt obeisances to Lin-Manuel Miranda's genius, borrows the same penchant for envelope-pushing musical entertainment.

The last performance of Lil' Women: A Rap Musical at The Kraine Theater (85 East 4th St. between 2nd and 3rd Aves.) was March 5. As part of Orlando International Fringe Theatre Festival, Lil' Women will run from May 19-29 at the Orlando Shakespeare Theater (812 E. Rollins St.) in Orlando, FL. Tickets are $11 with the purchase of the Fringe button starting April 14 at www.orlandofringe.org.

A Queer Wonderland

Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland and Prohibition-era speakeasies in New York City may not seem like kindred worlds, but Danny Ashkenasi blends them together in his new musical Speakeasy: John & Jane’s Adventures in the Wonderland. Indeed, both Carroll’s wonderland and Ashkenasi’s queer underworld in Speakeasy are ruled by chaos, intoxication, and frenzy. For better and for worse, director Lisa Moira’s production of this new musical is similarly chaotic; but in spite of technical glitches and some awkward performance moments, the cast of Speakeasy offer some sparkling moments of musical theater.

The standout performances in Speakeasy often offset the production's technical creaks. Kayleigh Shuler as Jane and Matias Polar as John are the heartbeat of the show; they are the flawless young lovers, never missing a note or a cue. As Jane’s best friend, hooch-maker, and possible extramarital love interest, the fiery Bevin Bell-Hall charms the room as Roberta White. The characters of Duchess Bentley (Camille Atkinson) and Julian Carnation (Tim Connell) represent the struggles of Julian Eltinge and Gladys Bentley, queer denizens of Prohibition-era New York City. Atkinson and Connell portray their gender-bending historical characters with sensitivity and humor. 

Finally, absolutely knocking the Ziegfeld-girl aesthetic out of the park are Alice Radice and Anne Bragg as Dora and DeeDee Tweedle. Just try to keep from smiling as Radice and Bragg shuffle around the stage in their blonde bobs and lobster-claw hands. With their stellar comic, dance and musical skills, this vaudeville duo steals the show.

One moment of great synergy in Speakeasy is the song “All Hail the Maidens,” which most of the ensemble performs in drag. While the blocking in many of Speakeasy’s scenes fail to fill the large theater space, J. Alan Hanna’s choreography for “All Hail the Maidens” is exuberant and fun. Torian Brackett, Cody Keown, Sylvester McCracken III, Nick DeFrancesco and Brandon Mellette are gorgeous and fabulous in drag. This moment of the show gives a rare glimpse of the hidden safe spaces made available to queer and non-gender-normative people in Prohibition-era New York. 

Speakeasy tries to do a lot in three hours. It is at once a fantasy adventure, a sexual coming of age, a straight love story, a piece of historical fiction, a gay play and a musical. Songs like “Once I had a Friend,” “Shadow and Light,” and several other numbers probe human sexuality and the tension that exists between status quo and queer desire.  

Speakeasy gives short shrift, however, to the racial tensions that loomed large during this historical era (and in many ways, still loom today). In the song “Harlem,” the all-white ensemble sings of slumming uptown. Slumming was the practice of middle- and upper-class white people venturing into poor neighborhoods of New York to dance, drink, and have sexual encounters with people of color. As the ensemble for “Harlem” cavorts, Brandon Mellette sweeps up their mess upstage (and is the only person of color visible). The song gestures towards a larger issue of racial inequality, and the appropriative politics of slumming; but after “Harlem,” the issue is not further explored. With a bevy of songs exploring queer sexuality, it seems that historical racial tension deserves more attention from a show entitled Speakeasy.  

Finally, as a brand-new musical, Speakeasy needs a polishing of its more technical points. For whatever reason, there are many moments when Bri Malloy as Chet Cheshire is not off book, and his voice gets lost upstage. Furthermore, though Darcy Dunn’s powerful voice as Caroline Chrysalides can compete with the pianist, many other solo voices are lost in the din. Line flubs and costume malfunctions also threaten to take an audience member out of the experience. This is no surprise, because the show is huge in scope—with more than 30 musical numbers and a lot of scenic transitions. Perhaps a scaled-back version of Speakeasy, with fewer plot offshoots and shorter musical numbers, would result in a more polished final product.

This is not to say that Speakeasy lacks charm; it simply lacks polish. Speakeasy satisfies many interests, and might be enjoyed by fans of drag, lovers of Alice in Wonderland, and history buffs interested in Prohibition-era New York. It is a marathon of a show, but contains performance gems that are worth the wait.

Speakeasy: John and Jane’s Adventures in the Wonderland runs through March 13th at Theatre for the New City. Evening performances are Wednesdays through Saturdays at 8 p.m.; matinees are Saturdays at 2 p.m. and Sundays at 3 p.m. Tickets are $18. Visit TheaterForTheNewCity.net or call SmartTix at 212-868-4444.

Fairy Tale With a Thump

Energetic and well sung, with an electrifying rock score, The Wildness at Ars Nova is undermined by a book that cobbles together elements that don’t always blend fluidly. Written by Lauren Worsham and Kyle Jarrow (the latter composed the score), the story involves a group of millennials who come together every year for an event called “The Wildness” in order “to purge our doubts and fears,” says the bandleader, Kyle. (The character Kyle is played by Jarrow; all the actors use real first names for their millennial roles.) At this gathering the band and singers, a Brooklyn group called Sky-Pony, enact a fairy tale first related by one of their group, Michael.

This year, the fifth of “The Wildness,” Michael is not present. He has disappeared without explanation. His sister, Lilli, therefore, must play the part of Princess Ada in the fairy tale, which has 12 chapters. (Apparently Michael cross-dressed for the part.) Worsham plays Lilli’s friend Lauren and Ada’s “handmaiden,” Zira; other band members play characters in the story-within-a-story. For instance, David Blasher, a cellist, plays David and also the Ruler, Princess Ada’s father, who forbids the villagers to leave their city and enter the surrounding forest, a.k.a. the Wildness, because of dragons living there.

But the city also faces a crisis: the drinking water has turned brackish. (If this plot element existed before the events in Flint, Mich., it plays awkwardly now.) According to the ruler, “The spring turns foul when our faith falters/Only the blessed heir can make it pure again./On sunrise of the second day of the third week/of the fourth moon/Ada will lead us into a rapturous new era.”

If this sounds silly in the description, it is less so under Sam Buntrock’s excellent direction, using a traverse stage with terrific club lighting by Brian Tovar. Still, the script feels disjointed as it echoes a variety of sources. For instance, lyrics from the first song—“New to the city, nothing going how you planned/You’re lost and kind of artistic/So…you start a rock band”—may pinpoint millennial angst, but they also hark back to the Lost Generation of the 1920s, only with a more adolescent vibe.  

Venturing into the forest, Ada and Zira find an empty cabin with six “magical” objects: candy, a knife, a mirror, a gift-wrapped book, a boot and a coat. The cabin is empty, but they revisit it periodically to wonder about the Builder, apparently never having learned the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears.

Occasionally the fairy tale is interrupted for “oversharing” by cast members or two people chosen beforehand from the audience. The latter, dubbed the “Brave Ones,” spill the beans about some personal crisis as if they were in a psyche-building therapy session. When the performers overshare, they mopingly recall the missing Michael with a good deal more anguish and feeling than the audience can muster. At the end of each oversharing, the audience is encouraged to respond: “You’re not alone.” (It’s an echo that invites unfavorable comparison with Sondheim’s “No One Is Alone” from Into the Woods, which also involves magical objects and forays into a creepy forest.)

At other times the language takes on a strangely Christian revivalist tone, as when Kyle urges a call-and-response.

Kyle: “As Zira and Ada doubted themselves, haven’t we all?”
Audience: “Yes, indeed.”
Kyle: “As they struggled with temptation, haven’t we all?”
Audience: “Yes, indeed.”

The eclecticism of adolescent angst, millennial disaffection, team building, and fundamentalist Christianity gets a further twist from the punk outfits—miniskirts, frilly stockings with garters, and sparkling bodices—that Tilly Grimes has designed for the women.

Yet another shift in tonality occurs as Ada confronts her father with the truth that there are no dragons in the woods, and the fear he has instilled in the populace is just a form of control. In a trite scene, the king acknowledges the deception, but contends that the people can’t handle the truth. After Ada defies him and discloses the lie and the existence of the cabin, the violent uproar that ensues justifies her father’s view that a dictatorship along Stalinist lines is more stable than a democracy.

Topping it all off is a finale with the lyrics: “Everyone will end up with nothing, and though I don’t know why, it makes me feel better.” Seemingly intended as a communal affirmation, the song comes across rather as eleventh-hour millennial Schadenfreude. It only makes one wish that the collage-like book could match the quality of the music and performances in this respectable, if muddled, effort.

Ars Nova (511 W. 54th St., between 10th and 11th avenues) in collaboration with the Play Company presents The Wildness: Sky-Pony's Rock Fairy Tale through March 26. Evening performances are at 8 p.m. Monday-Saturday; with select Fridays at 7 and 10 p.m. Tickets are $35, with special $10 tickets for the 10 p.m. performances. Tickets are available by calling (212) 352-3101 or visiting Arsnovanyc.com.

Writer Madness

The Golden Smile by Yaakov Bressler and directed by Joey Stamp is an absurd, hilarious and energetic play that is sure to break the winter funk. The play opens with a group of characters, patients to be more exact, in a mental institution. The patients try to create a play that will save their privileges in the recreational room. Some patients have an ulterior motive to win the heart of their beloved Claude–who is never seen but heard about in songs. Theatergoers enter the patients’ world, which is filled with twists and turns, and witness what the patients will do to write their play.

The cast is fun and filled with energy. The audience gets to see a glimpse of the characters’ mental conditions and personalities. However, their personalities can be more diverse and more nuanced as the play provides the space for this type of character exploration. One actor that stands out is Sofiya Cheyenne (Group Leader). Cheyenne is captivating and delivers a strong and engaging performance. Cheyenne really puts a punch to the witty and sarcastic lines. The entire cast, Andy McCain (Writer), Jody Doo (Sarcastic Actor), Flynn Harne (The Messenger), Robert DiDomenico (Loathing Actor) and Isaac Boorstin (Angry Actor) are talented and versed in both acting and musical theater.

The songs are playful, graphic and wacky. Composer and Musical Director Zach Stamp matches the music with these wonky characters. The music moves along with the tone and nature of the play. Costume and Prop Managers Rivkah Spolin, Shelly Ben-Yshay and Carrie Pieper designed the set and costumes accordingly. The set and costumes coordinate with the vibrant personalities on stage. They do an excellent job alongside Stamp’s direction. The creative team piece this insane world together for audiences to be hooked for a whole hour!

There are two plots in this play: one of the actual play and the other of the characters’ creative play. The big plot flows and the audience clearly understands the wants of each character. They all collectively want to write this play but they have different ideas and direction on how to go about it. How they figure it out is the fun part for the audience. Eventually, the group comes to an agreement and they have a play. Their play’s plot gets a little sloppy when they begin their quest for the Golden Smile. Then again, they are mental patients so their level of coherence may be off. Bressler has to be very clear with his intention at this point. The patients show strength, courage and determination, and represent much of who they are as a group.

In the end, they create a tender story about preservation and happiness, which by the same token is ironic considering their circumstances. They find their “golden smile” as many writers or artists in general find theirs. Bressler seems to be drawing connections to how insane the writing process is for writers and what better way to show this than to have mental patients trying to write a play. It is a wonderful premise and one that many writers would agree with. This is Bressler’s first play–he has a knack for humor and sharp dialogue. Audiences will be excited to see how his work evolves.

The Golden Smile serves to be an exhilarating night at the theater. Watch it for the humor, energy, witty lines and music. It is sure to get everyone walking out with a smile and maybe even a golden one.

The Golden Smile is part of the Frigid Festival, which is showing over 150 performances in two theaters and over the span of three weeks. The festival is founded on the idea of providing theater artists the opportunity to produce their own work.

The Golden Smile runs until March 5 at The Kraine Theater (85 East 4 St. between 2 and 3 Aves.) in Manhattan. Tickets are $15. To purchase tickets, call (212) 777-6088 or horsetrade.info.

Tales of the Road to Freedom

Frederick Douglass said, “Slaves sing most when they are most unhappy. The songs of the slave represent the sorrows of his heart; and he is relieved by them, only as an aching heart is relieved by its tears.” It felt like the spirit of Douglas was downtown at the Gene Frankel Theatre, inspiring all who hear the call to go see Pappy on Da Underground Railroad. This heartrending one-man show, developed by cabaret performer Richard Johnson, under the direction of Keith Allan with musical accompaniment by Terry Wallstein is in honor of Black History Month. Johnson soulfully weaves the tales of trials and tribulations on the trail to freedom with Harriet Tubman on the Underground Railroad. With honest, down to earth direction and staging, this charming piece found its perfect venue at the Gene Frankel Theatre.

Raw, vulnerable, intuitive, fiery, wise, and out smarting, Pappy is the culmination of all the heroes of that dark time in American history. Soulfully singing some of the old classic spirituals such as “Wade in the Water” and “Steal Away” Johnson, as Pappy, explains how Harriet Tubman used song to guide runaway slaves to freedom. Through Johnson’s characterizations, we learn about the spirit of a people who were willing to pay the price for freedom and how it takes courage and determination to continue to fight for it.

Long-time cabaret performer Johnson authentically brings to life a part of our past that should never be forgotten. In the storytelling tradition of Haley’s Chicken George or Walker’s Celie, without overacted characterization, Johnson shows us the passion of a powerful survivor in his magnetic Pappy. With pathos, he comically impersonates his giggly first love, Mary, who pined for another. He mimics her obsession for, “Jacob! Jacob! Jacob!” and then tenderly reveals she killed herself by drinking lye after her lover was beaten to death for killing the master’s son who raped her. What hits to the core is how Johnson weaves Pappy’s memory with his heart-rending vocal of “Balm in Gilead,” accompanied by the mournful piano rendering of musical director Terry Wallstein.

Johnson’s subtle interpretation of Harriet Tubman is truly inspired. There is never doubt that Pappy is an authority on Tubman. He tells of his first meeting with the sassy Tubman and how she convinces him to come with her on the freedom trail. With hands on his hips, and a molasses sweet voice, he mirrors her command, to go back south to get her mother.

With assistance from technical crew, Stephon Legere, Luis Rivera and Cesar Perez, Allan uses a minimal set, allowing Johnson’s own energy to create the time and place. Small wooden platforms transform from tree stump to safe house cellar doors to a boat on the river, to train tracks to the north. Johnson guides us by the North Star and the sounds and signals along the riverbanks to freedom. The use of haunting sound effects enhances the menace in the moment, further heightening the historical significance of Pappy’s story.

As Johnson sings the doleful spirituals of those times and interweaves the stories of survival and escape to the Promised Land of Canada, he paints a clear picture of those heroes and villains he deals with along the way. Speaking to the audience as if they were his new group of runaways, Johnson creates the suspense and urgency of the time and place in a very internal and organic way, making his audience feel very much the eminent dangers of the ghostly swamps, in the pitch black night.

Perhaps one of the most suspenseful moments was when Johnson transforms into the racist slave hunter and his dog. As the slave hunter reveals his reasons for hating runaway slaves so much—his favorite boyhood mammy was sold off because of her runaway son—the crescendo of his anger rises with the sound of the barking of his dog. This brilliant direction really enhanced the danger of that moment in the journey to freedom.

Johnson really draws in his audience as his partners on the Underground Trail. When Johnson illuminates on the hidden meanings of the railroad terms, he also sheds light on how significant the building of the railroads were to the emancipation of slaves. Sitting comfortably Indian style, Pappy decodes the meaning of the symbols of the quilts and reveals the ingenuity and sophistication of a people intend on gaining freedom. With the eerie sounds of the river flowing in sync with Johnson’s rich vocalization of the classic, “Follow the Drinking Gourd,” he elucidates on how each symbol will be signs along the way to guide his motley runaways to safety in Canaan, which Pappy declares is the name for Canada. On reaching the Promised Land of Freedom, Pappy leaves us with a sense of hope for the future, as long as we never forget those champions of the past.

In these tumultuous times, Johnson’s exploration of the past is very significant. It encourages us to be as brave and determined as people like Harriet Tubman and all the unsung heroes of that time. In order to change history, we must learn from it. Johnson, in his poignant characterization of Pappy, leaves us with the great message that the heroes of yesterday can inspire the heroes of tomorrow. As Alice Walker said, “Harriet Tubman was not our great-grandmother for nothing.”

Pappy on Da Underground Railroad's last performance was Feb. 27 at the Gene Frankel Theatre (24 Bond St. between Bowery and Lafayette St.) in Manhattan. For more information, visit brownpapertickets.com.

81 and Still a Bawdy Broad

As the lights illuminate the scant set design on stage—a keyboard, table, chair, a white and gold embellished frock on the wall and ukulele—a man appears and begins to play an overture of music on the keyboard while a petite, 81-year-old woman arrives in a gold sequined beret adorned with an Eiffel tower sewed on top. This cabaret duo of singer D’yan Forest and her longtime friend and pianist Richard Danley then begin the one-woman cabaret stand-up comedy show, A Broad Abroad!

Forest’s show is a compilation of her personal memoirs. She jokes that she tells her age at the beginning of the show “just in case I don’t make it to the end.” She is not the typical, cookie-baking, grandmother figure. Instead, she recounts her travel experiences across the globe and “studies in men, life and pantomime.” Forest tells you every dirty detail down to cunnilingus and warbling about dying her hair and her lady bush that reflects her “I ain’t 20 either and I don’t care neither. And I dye my hair not just here, but there," mentality. As for her thoughts on the horizontal mambo, she says, “Most of my friends have given up on sex. Not me, my rule is it ain’t over until the fat lady is dead.” 

The solo entertainer is energetic in her delivery on stage. She strums the ukulele quite impressively as she sings in French, German and Italian. She shows off her still nimble body when laying down on stage and getting up with ease while telling the story of her escapades in a Turkish bath. When she sings the song, "La Vie en Rose," her eyes twinkle with emotion and vigor.

Forest is a skilled artist who delightfully played musical renditions of nostalgic classics. However, some of the jokes that she and her co-writer, Eric Kornfeld, have written as transitions are predictable and stale. These include references to the old joke (“My parents went to China, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.") and the inevitable math problem that happens when an older person hooks up with a younger person (“One thing I know for sure 25 goes into 76 many more times than 76 goes into 25.”). 

The out-of-date script shows Forest's lack of a fresh perspective on the common-life experiences of women. Instead, she teaches you the age-old lesson, “Nobody told you life would be easy but it doesn’t mean you can’t have fun.” In topics of divorce and her perceived inability to make her mother happy, Forest appears heartfelt and authentic. Despite this, the audience's biggest takeaway is that she runs off and avoids the problems at hand. She would much rather be having sex and learning a new language than diving into life lessons.

Clearly, Forest doesn't seem to care whether or not the audience is laughing with her or at her. Her pure love of cabaret is illustrated in her command of the stage. Although she has lived her life with gusto, perhaps it’s time for some deep philosophical reflection?

A Broad Abroad! is running in the 10th annual FRIGID Festival at The Kraine Theater (85 East 4th St. between 2nd Ave. and Bowery) in Manhattan. Remaining dates and times: Wednesday, March 2 at 5:30 p.m. and Friday, March 4 at 8:30 p.m. Tickets are $15 for adults and $10 for students, seniors and the military. Visit www.horsetrade.info to purchase tickets.

The Steps Before Marriage

For any couple—gay or straight—the road to marriage can be filled with potholes, breakdowns and driving down one-way streets in the wrong direction. David Auxier-Loyola’s semi-autobiographical The EnGaygement, follows the evolution of his relationship with Carlos (Seph Stanek) from dating to getting engaged in New York City. The EnGaygement was originally written to be a musical and is still being further developed. Its current version is being directed by Duncan Pflaster and performed as a cabaret show at the Metropolitan Room.

The production opens with the group song, “Just Another Night,” and David singing about spending another evening at a gay bar and longing for a soulmate. Carlos sings about looking for sex at a gay leather bar called the Eagle. David appears awkward, lonely and indecisive, and Carlos is determined and focused. After the group song, David cannot decide if he should call his diary a journal because “journal” sounds more masculine for a 35‐year‐old man. Instead of reading from his diary-journal entries, David suddenly performs the song, “Like a Perfect Song.” David sings about finding true love after having his heart broken and then being alone again in the end. There are 17 songs in this show with 12 A. being a reprise of “Like a Perfect Song.” Musical director and arranger, Mark York, plays the piano beautifully throughout this performance.

In scene two, Carlos starts by saying, “Once upon a time” and then distinguishes that he is not telling a fairy tale but a "manly tale" about a princely, handsome man. Carlos then sings about his many failed relationships and how he is content with dating himself in the song, “Single and Lovin’ It.” Next, David has dinner at the apartment of his friend Colleen (Colleen Harris) and her “southern, liberal, bisexual, agnostic, PC‐hating, musical theater lovin' son of a bitch” husband, Jason (Jason Whitfield). Lastly, cast members Chris-Ian (Chris-Ian Sanchez) and Elliott (Elliott Mattox) provide comic relief.

The value of this production is its characterization of gay culture and its ability to have the characters’ personalities relate with theatergoers. The cast brings high energy and makes the text come alive. Within this space, Sanchez’s remarkable singing and acting talents stand out brilliantly.  Sanchez’s facial expressions and his ability to naturally dive into his character makes this show worth watching. On the other hand, the characters and their challenges seem outdated—like they are all still stuck in the '90s. It is unclear if this production is supposed to take place during the 1990s in New York City. The legalization of same-sex marriage or the popular use of dating apps are not present in David and Carlos’ world.

The ensemble also does not effectively represent the ethnically diverse lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) community in New York City. In doing so, The EnGaygement feels more like it takes place in New Jersey or Long Island. A more conceivable representation of New York City’s LGBT community would be the addition of a transgender character. Colleen and Jason seem more like good friends, siblings or cousins than a married couple in love. Likewise, one of the weaker scenes is when Carlos divulges that a rock hit his neck and he was a victim of gay bashing on Gay Street and Christopher Street.

The larger challenge with the current evolution of this production is its inability to powerfully stand for something extraordinary. Much of the material in this production revolves around superficial antics and heartache that is shared between two grown men who are supposedly in love with each other. It is like spending an evening watching two gay men break up, get back together, break up again, and then sing about why they cannot find love. Some of the cast members also appear to be reading their lines from the script and it gives the impression that the production is more of a public reading. At times, The EnGaygement feels more like a vanity project than a potentially new, bold musical. This limits the production’s ability to travel outside of the New York City market and reach future audiences who are seeking this material. More dialogue between the songs can further develop the plot and characters. Most importantly, Auxier-Loyola can make a bold choice and commit to either having The EnGaygement live in New York City’s cabaret world or as an Off-Broadway musical. Right now, The EnGaygement lives somewhere as a work in progress—like a house that is starting to lose its original floor plan because it is always in a state of renovation.

The EnGaygement is recommended for theatergoers who enjoy listening to live singing while having a drink at a plush venue. It is not recommended for those seeking an accomplished musical or an innovative cabaret show that will leave them transformed. There is no doubt that this production has vast potential and a very talented cast, but its holes are showing because its overall aim and direction fall short.

The EnGaygement runs until June 22 at the Metropolitan Room (34 West 22 St. between 5th Ave. and Ave. of the Americas) in Manhattan. Evening performances are April 21, May 24 and June 22 at 7 p.m. with no matinee performances. Tickets range from $20-$115 (plus a two-drink minimum). To purchase tickets, call 212-206-0440 or visit metropolitanroom.com.

A Band of Big-Top Singers

The Extraordinary Fall of the Four Legged-Woman, a new musical being shown at the 10th annual FRIGID New York festival, is based on real-life human marvel Myrtle Corbin, a woman with four legs, two of her own and the other pair belonging to a Siamese twin sister, who was fully formed only from the waist down. The show does not go into a detailed historical account of Corbin, but one suspects that the creators have been inspired by Side Show, the Broadway musical about the Hilton sisters, who were conjoined twins.

Extraordinary Fall focuses only on a small part of Corbin’s story, during which she is a member of a traveling circus sideshow. On opening night, a mysterious man comes to see it. Corbin (Madeline Bugeau-Heartt) reveals her extra pair of legs in a sly manner, lifting the outer layers of her skirt slowly. The man, Dr. Clinton Bicknell (Justy Kosek), falls head over heels for Corbin and returns every night to pursue her romantically. 

The other characters have individual acts, though what they are and what oddities make these characters “freaks”—or even if all these characters are freaks. It may be that they just have unique talents to perform. The character of Oswald (Marcus Herndon), for example, has chosen to stop performing, but the reason for his decision is never made clear, nor is the type of act he used to perform. Is he the strongest man in the world? In a choreographed movement (by Kory Geller), during one of his solos, the actor makes circles on the floor with his foot. It's not clear whether it represents Oswald becoming some sort of man-bull when he gets angry or something else.

At one point in the musical the character of Lola (Lindsey Ackerman) explains to the character of Simon-Elizabeth that she finds it easier to expose herself fully to the audience each time that she performs. Again, it is not clear what Lola is referring to. In her act she seems to be a sword swallower and tightrope walker, and she also does a striptease. Does she mean exposure relating to the striptease act? Is Simon-Elizabeth exposing himself as a hermaphrodite or a transgendered male to female? Although the show has holes in it, the way it examines what it means to be “other" is powerful. 

Although the setting is Arizona—“The light was dark one night in Arizona./The brittle stardust sunk down low" goes a lyric—Michelle Rickert’s design doesn't really evoke the terrain. It's up to the dialogue to refer to dust, to the clear nights when stars can be seen for miles and miles, and to heat that warms the days in the cooler months but turns brisk at night. 

Lily Ali-Oshatz, who plays M the Ringmaster, also wrote the show’s book, music and lyrics. This 55-minute musical, sung a capella in its entirety, is an impressive endeavor. There are haunting melodies that are hard to forget. The cast of five all have a strong musical sense and individual singing styles and vocal qualities.They have been costumed by TDF Costume Collection with stunning clothes that give the show a sense of the 1800s time period. Especially notable are the ringmaster’s striped cropped pants.

The minimalist style of set design and props also works well for the show. Bright-colored umbrellas with interior lined white twinkle lights serve many uses. Not only are they umbrellas, but they become other elements in the musical. When spinning around they are train wheels. When the actors line up with them, they act as a “theatrical flat” to create a sense of privacy as the lovers Corbin and Bicknell sing their intimate love song. Stacked on top of one another, the umbrellas become logs in a campfire, as cast members sit around them to listen to Oswald’s storytelling.

Despite the flaws, the overall concept, vision, and music are good enough to win plaudits for Ali-Oshatz's maiden effort. 

The Extraordinary Fall of the Four-Legged Woman is playing at the Kraine Theater (85 E. 4th St.). Remaining performances are Feb. 22 at 8:50 p.m.; Saturday, Feb. 27 at 1:40 p.m.; and Wednesday, March 2, at 8:50 p.m. Tickets are $10-$18 and are available online at www.frigidnewyork.info or at the Kraine Theater box office.

A Classic Coming-Of-Age Tale

We all want to know what happened to Tiny Tim, don’t we? Did he grow up healthy and strong? What was his relationship with Scrooge? Did he meet a girl and live happily ever after? The award-winning combination of playwright Alan Knee and lyricist Andre Catrini behind The Astonishing Times of Timothy Cratchit create their concept of what might have happened to Tim and it is magically “astonishing.” Knee and Catrini have a unique and darkly ethereal view of the possibilities of our favorite childhood characters and what happens when they (and we grow up). With a beautiful set, seamless score, perfect casting, and truly inspired direction by Thomas Coté, this thoughtfully written musical brings us back to our favorite Christmas story. It is the grown-up version of the classic tale that reflects the real spirit of life with an authentic Dickens' flair. It is the tale of the true value of our lives and loves and the many lessons learned as we follow our destiny. 

As soon as attendees walk into the cozy, intimate Workshop Theater, we are transported into the era of Dickens. The set, designed by Craig Napoliello, was so specific in detail and every piece had its significance in creating the mood and tone of the play. Under the musical direction of Nathaniel Beliveau, a three-piece orchestra settled into their designated stage area. Consummate in their musical skills, the trio was very much a part of the story. One could imagine them accompanying Nancy in "Oliver Twist." It was a pure joy to watch them involved in the characters’ lives as much as we were, while also playing Catrini’s score beautifully. The costumes designed by Kimberley Jean Windbiel were eerily accurate from the colors to the flow of the fabric. Each costume fit the character perfectly.

While it is a big play in a small space, Coté's direction cleanly created a space for the actors to move and tell their story. It never lagged or wandered; we were always caught up in the moment and delighted by the revelry and magic. He let the actors play. Nathan Gardner was just what one expected Tim as a young man to be. Optimistic and hopeful—a mesh of Pip and Oliver. His wide-eyed wonder at the world and his vulnerability in contrast with his confident repartee with the audience make us believe in Tim. We want him to follow his dreams. His is a delightful yet painful coming-of-age story. Having been taken in by Scrooge after his father’s death, Tim has the option to take over his mentor’s business or go off in search of his own destiny. Of course, he chooses the latter, breaking the heart of Scrooge. While we are sad for Scrooge, we root for Tim in his journey and applaud his success as he grows from his experiences into a more mature young man who realizes his potential as an artist.

Robert Stattel was magnificent as Scrooge. We empathized with him in his sorrow over Tim’s departure. In his perfect timing as he banters with Mrs. Linden (Joanie Schumacher) in the charming song, "A Cup of Tea," he endears us and wins our affections. Through Stattel’s interpretation of Scrooge, we are provoked to think of issues for the elderly in this age, so often cast aside. The relationship between Scrooge and Tim really reflect these timely moral issues. A son must leave and a parent must feel the emptiness of being left behind with just the memories. This bittersweet lesson is enhanced by Stattel’s poignant and moving performance. For example, when Tim confesses, “I feel like a blank piece of paper/like an emptiness echoes inside me." Scrooge entreats: “Empty? How can you feel empty when everything about you is alive?” With these insightful lyrics and lines, we feel the young man’s lust for life and impatience for adventure, in contrast with the old man’s awareness of how fleeting it all is and his desire to just be with the person he loves.

Once Tim leaves the safety of Scrooge’s home, he finds himself in a cheap tenement—a real Dickens' Hot L Baltimore, complete with a dancing parade of characters played by a small ensemble who were hysterically versatile in their segue from role-to-role. Under the skillful choreography of Madeline Jaye, the rhythm and timing of move-to-move made transitions smooth and sleek. Mrs. Poole (played by Virginia Roncetti) as she bossily assures Tim in the song “A Clean Establishment"; Mr. Goldsmith (played by John Martello) always looking for his teeth; and Miss Tulips (played by Kendall Rileigh) pining seductively for her far away lover—all stay true to the spirit of Dickens, in a soiree of song that is classic yet relevant and original. We are as mesmerized as Tim at his new surroundings as they frenetically frolic around him and make him feel at home.

And, of course, there is a girl. When Tim shows interest in the maid, Lucy (played saucily by Hanley Smith), she retorts in her song to him, "Boys Like You": "Silly predictable boys/thinkin' 'cause they know books and art/that makes 'em grown 'n makes 'em smart." The chemistry between Smith and Gardner is felt right away and we look forward to watching their young love blossom. 

As Tim goes off to search for fame and fortune, he stumbles upon the rare opportunity to become the assistant to the great clown, Grimaldi. D.C. Anderson as Grimaldi was sublimely humorous and light on his feet. He was reminiscent of Bernardo Bertolucci in "Children of Paradise" with a bit of the Cowardly Lion comically sashaying around. The supporting cast were Federico Fellini-esque in their playful and skillful swirl of enticement—a fusion of all the motley bunch so wonderfully created by the imaginative lyrics and score. Smith with her lyrical twirling as the flirtatious Aria and Kendall Rileigh as the slinky and flexible Mo-Mo delighted us along with the rest of the quirky troupe (Andy Ingalls and Jeff Paul) in the song, “A Modest Man.”

A powerful musical incites an emotional tilt-a-whirl in the audience. From the heights of excitement at the possibilities of Tim’s success, the story takes us down to the dark abyss of loss as well. It is crushing when Tim returns to an ailing Scrooge. In the song, “The Attic,” Stattel sings reflectively,"The world had given up/but I saw you and I knew/in an endless sort of ways/when all my days are gone/my world could live on in you." His words to Catrini’s music hit at that universal core, really touching that place in our hearts where we feel how precious life and love are. 

While there is room for the expansion of characters—one was left a bit dissatisfied with the writer’s thin explanation to Tim’s family, nor was there any reference to Scrooge’s nephew and his wife. They could have been added to the story although Robert Meksin does a noteworthy job of bringing Bob Cratchit to life in Tim's flashbacks. There were sections in the play where Tim told us the story when we would have preferred to have seen the action, but economy of space was clearly mandatory, and the ensemble talent of the cast with an impressive setting made it work. Gardner’s finale song, “My World,” leaves us with hope for life and all it brings us, both sad and joyous. We see the possibilities of a wonderful world like we always dreamed of as children when we were reading or watching "A Christmas Carol."

This should become a yearly classic on Broadway for sure. Or at least a Tim Burton film. With a bigger cast and stage, it will entertain audiences for a long time to come. It will be one of the “to do for Christmas” traditions for any who have the pleasure of seeing it.

The Astonishing Times of Timothy Cratchit is running at The Workshop Theater (312 West 36th St., 4th Fl. between 8th and 9th Aves.) in Manhattan until Dec. 19. Performances are at 7 p.m. on Thursday and at 8 p.m. on Friday and Saturday; matinees are on Saturday at 2 p.m. and Sunday at 3 p.m. Ticket prices: $18 for general admission and $15 for students and seniors. For tickets, call OvationTix at 866-811-4111 or visit www.workshoptheater.org.