Theater Reviews

 Susan Granger’s review of “Debbie Reynolds LIVE!” (Sacred Heart University, CT)

    The Edgerton Center for the Performing Arts at Sacred Heart University delighted Connecticut movie fans by bringing in Debbie Reynolds LIVE! as part of the American Legends on Sunday, April 10th.

    After introducing herself to younger members of the audience as Princess Leia’s mother (referring to her daughter Carrie Fisher’srole in “Star Wars”), Debbie candidly reminisced about her stage, screen and television career, not only answering questions posed by Jerry Goehring, executive director of The Edgerton Center, but also fielding inquiries by members of the audience.

    Topics ranged from her childhood (“I was born in El Paso, Texas, and then my parents moved to Burbank, California; we were very poor”), Girl Scouts (“I still pay dues; I want to be the oldest living Girl Scout”), disastrous marriages (“It may be genetic:  marrying the wrong men”), future romances (“I won’t get married again. I’ve closed up shop”) to overcoming adversity (“I was raised in the Church of Nazarene, and I pray a lot.”) Debbie explained that her son, Todd Fisher, is a cinematographer and in the sound installation business, that her daughter Carrie is manic/depressive and bi-polar and that she herself suffers from arthritis and an increasingly failing memory.

    “It’s a miracle I’m still alive! The fact that I survived all my bad marriages is a miracle.”

    She dismissed speculation about the Debbie/Eddie Fisher/Liz Taylor triangle by quipping, “It was simple. Eddie wanted to screw Elizabeth,” adding how lonely Liz was after Mike Todd was killed and Eddie was there to comfort her – in every way. Years later, she and Elizabeth became friends again.

    Debbie related charming screen memories about “A Catered Affair with Bette Davis, “Mother” with Albert Brooks, and learning to dance for “Singing in the Rain” with Gene Kelly and Donald O’Connor, and why she chose to cancel her short-lived TV sit-com after the network insisted that she be sponsored by Salem cigarettes.  She has a particular fondness for “The Unsinkable Molly Brown,” for which she was nominated for an Academy Award. “I worked very hard and I loved that movie.”

    After avidly buying movie memorabilia for 50 years, Debbie’s extensive collection of over 4,000 costumes and props goes up for auction on June 18 at the Paley Museum in Los Angeles with a subsequent auction scheduled for December.

     An extraordinarily gifted mime, Debbie’s impressions included Bette Davis, Katharine Hepburn, Mae West, Marlene Dietrich, Ethel Merman, Barry Fitzgerald and both Zsa Zsa and Eva Gabor.

    If you love classic movies, I highly recommend the American Legends series at Sacred Heart University.

Susan Granger’s review of “Book of Mormon” (Eugene O’Neill Theatre)

    Biting, bawdy and irreverent, “Book of Mormon” is an outrageously hilarious musical – on the superlative level of “Spamalot” and “The Producers.” Praise the Lord!

    With the Angel Moroni perched high above, two naïve, young True Believers finish their mandatory missionary training in Salt Lake City, are randomly paired up and told they’re shipping out to Uganda for two years to spread the faith. This comes as a great disappointment to arrogant, ambitious Elder Price (Andrew Rannells), who’d much prefer to have been sent to Orlando, Florida. But chubby, rambunctious Elder Cunningham (Josh Gad) is thrilled, not only to be off on an adventure but to be working with wholesome Elder Price. On arrival, they find themselves in a poverty-stricken, war-torn village whose bitter, AIDS-ravaged inhabitants are so discouraged by the sadistic domination of a homicidal General (Bryan Tyree Henry) that their anthem is “Hasa Diga Eebowai,” which roughly translates as a vulgar middle finger to God. Stunned by their blasphemy, the Elders realize their task is close to impossible. Yet, somehow, Elder Cunningham manages to relate to lovely Nabulungi (Nikki M. James). She brings her skeptical neighbors to listen to the inspirational scripture of prophet Joseph Smith, as Elder Cunningham with great bravado roughly translates the Church’s sacred myths into contemporary metaphors, referencing “Star Wars,” “Star Trek” and Disney.

    While superficially sacrilegious, the show’s heart turns out to have been in the right place. This foul-mouthed, fiercely original concept was created by Trey Parker and Matt Stone (TV’s politically incorrect “South Park”) with composer/lyricist Robert Lopez (“Avenue Q”) and it’s exuberantly directed by Parker and Casey Nicholaw (“The Drowsy Chaperone”), who also choreographed. The entire cast, Scott Peck’s scenery, Ann Roth’s costumes and Brian MacDevitt’s lighting are outstanding too.

    Savvy, smart and scathingly satirical, “Book of Mormon” is the hottest helluva ticket in town!

 Susan Granger’s review of “Priscilla Queen of the Desert: The Musical” (Palace)

    Just like the 1994 Oscar-winning film, this is the splashy, sequin-spangled story of three Australian drag queens taking an impromptu road trip of discovery through Outback – except that, somewhere between screen and stage, it lost its heart and soul en route.

    One night, as Tick/Mitzi (Will Swenson) is backstage in Sydney, he receives a call from his estranged wife, Marion (Jessica Phillips), wondering when he’s going to meet their six year-old son Benji (Luke Mannikus and Ashton Woertz alternate in the role). And if he could get to remote Alice Springs soon, he could be the ‘opening act’ for her casino there. So Tick rounds up his bitchy transsexual buddy, Bernadette (Tony Sheldon), and a rambunctious if troubled young buck, Adam/Felicia (Nick Adams), and they pile into a rented RV, dubbed Priscilla. As they romp through the wilderness in wigs, bugle-beads and ostrich plumes, they cavort with rowdy rednecks and cope with a clogged gas tank. A bawdy second-act pit stop includes dragging dazed audience members on-stage for a hoedown. Beyond that, it’s all outrageous gyrating and forced, campy emoting.

    Originally produced in Australia and still playing on London’s West End, it’s been adapted by Stephen Elliott and producer Allan Scott, relentlessly directed by Simon Phillips, awkwardly choreographed by Ross Coleman with music arrangements by Stephen “Spud” Murphy and glitzy, glittering costumes designed by Tim Chappel and Lizzy Gardiner, who won an Academy Award for the movie’s inventive wardrobe. Warbled by a trio of torch divas (Jacqueline B. Arnold, Anastacia McClesky, Ashley Spencer), the ‘60s-‘70s-‘80s disco pop music includes Donna Summer, Dionne Warwick, John Denver, Madonna, Cyndi Lauper, Pat Benatar and The Village People. If nothing else, at least you can bring home a feathery purple or pink boa from the concession stand in the lobby.

Susan Granger’s review of “John Leguizamo: Ghetto Klown” (Lyceum Theater)

    A little of John Leguizamo’s bold, brash, fearless wit and manic energy goes a long way – and in this current Broadway show, he revisits much of what he previously explored in “Mambo Mouth,” “Spic-O-Rama,” “Freak” and “Sexaholix…a Love Story.”

    Conceived and performed as a one-man show by Leguizamo, it’s a self-indulgent, yet entertaining two-and-a-half-hour, five-decade stroll down memory lane – from his early adolescent memories, growing up in a dysfunctional Hispanic family in Jackson Heights, Queens, to his perennial quest for leading-man recognition in Hollywood movies.

    For Latinos, status in TinselTown has not been easy to achieve and Leguizamo often found himself at auditions, competing with Benicio Del Toro and Benjamin Bratt for coveted roles. His show-business anecdotes are – by far – the most interesting additions to his usual bad-boy shtick. With wicked mimicry, he recalls encounters with director Brian De Palm, his frustration with his cocaine-sniffing manager, and the perils of working with Al Pacino, Kurt Russell, Steven Seagal, Don Johnson, Wesley Snipes, Sean Penn and Patrick Swayze. But it’s off-putting to realize that in all this caricatured verbal sparring, Leguizamo insists he’s always been right and his co-stars/co-workers have always been wrong. A dash of humility, even a mere mention of his participation in the disastrous revival of David Mamet’s “American Buffalo” in 2008, would make his plight more sympathetic, although he does credit Pacino with calling him a ‘clown,’ giving him a name for this show which, perhaps, will wind up as a television ‘special.’

    Director Fisher Stevens makes excellent use of Aaron Gonzalez’s extensive projections (movie/TV clips, photographs, etc.), and Happy Massee’s spare, functional set. Seating only 950 patrons on three tiers, the Lyceum Theater is the oldest surviving Broadway venue (along with the New Amsterdam Theater) in New York City. It’s also one of the most cramped and least comfortable insofar as seating is concerned, and access to restroom facilities is extremely limited. Better to be forewarned.

Susan Granger’s review of “Driving Miss Daisy” (John Golden Theater)

    After winning the Pulitzer Prize and four Academy Awards, Alfred Uhry’s semi-autobiographical character study about his Southern grandmother and her African-American driver in segregated times is not only back on Broadway but this revival is extended through Spring, due to demand for tickets. And it’s easy to understand why.

    Cantankerous Daisy Werthan (Vanessa Redgrave) is a widowed, retired grade-schoolteacher, living comfortably outside of Atlanta in 1948. Her social life consists of going to synagogue and shopping for necessities, but she’s wrecked her Packard backing out of the driveway. That’s why, when her son, Boolie (Boyd Gaines), buys her a new Oldsmobile, he’s determined to hire a chauffeur for her, much to Ms. Werthan’s dismay. Eventually, she reluctantly agrees to amiable Hoke Coleburn (James Earl Jones), who really needs the job. As Miss Daisy’s relationship with endlessly patient Hoke grows from antagonism and paranoia to friendship and dependence, the drama evolves, set against historical civil rights events during the rapidly changing times, as illustrated by Wendell K. Harriungton’s newsy slide projections on the rear wall of John Lee Beatty’s spare set.     

    Under the restrained direction  of David Esbjornson, Vanessa Redgrave, James Earl Jones and Boyd Gaines not only rise to the occasion but their theatrical craftsmanship elevates Alfred Uhry’s spare, occasionally sentimental, vignette-studded script, delving subtly into the complications that a Jewish woman and black man face as perennial ‘outsiders,’ always repressing their anger but perhaps piquing the social conscience in the populist mainstream. First staged off-Broadway at Playwrights Horizons back in 1987, “Driving Miss Daisy” is still a force of nature – and not to be missed.

Susan Granger’s review of “Time Stands Still” (Cort Theater: 2010-2011 season)

    You only have until the end of January to see Golden Globe nominee Laura Linney in what I consider to be the best play on Broadway, because that’s when she must depart to resume her high-profile gig on Showtime’s “The Big C.”

    “Time Stands Still” revolves about the uneasy relationship between an injured female photojournalist and her reporter boyfriend as they cope with the physical and emotional effects of horrific violence and her near-fatal encounter with a roadside bomb in Iraq.

    The domestic drama begins as badly wounded Sarah Goodwin (Linney) and James Dodd (Brian d’Arcy James) return to their upscale Brooklyn loft after she’s discharged from a hospital in Germany. They’d been working together in Iraq until James fled back to the United States in a mental breakdown a few weeks before the accident that’s left Sarah limping and facially scarred. Now they have different agendas: he’s looking forward to resuming a more stable, normal life, while she desperately wants to recover and return to the front lines as soon as possible.

    When their longtime friend/editor Richard Ehrlich (Eric Bogosian) and his amiable, much younger, party-planner girlfriend, Mandy Bloom (Christina Ricci), arrive, they try to dissuade Sarah. And there’s a funny scene as James and Sarah verbally spar with Richard about the appropriateness of good-hearted, if shallow, Mandy, whom acerbic Sarah derisively describes as “embryonic.” It’s also revealed that Sarah had a romantic relationship with her Iraqi interpreter who was killed in the roadside blast.

    Along with the timeliness, Pulitzer Prize-winning Donald Margulies’ multi-dimensional characters and witty, insightful observations, particularly about the moral ambiguities of the press in covering atrocities, add to the appeal, enhanced by director Daniel Sullivan’s superb staging and John Lee Beatty’s set. In brilliant performance, Laura Linney captures impatient Sarah’s ambitious drive and sharp intelligence, while Brian d’Arcy James adroitly reflects his character’s guilt/anger and desperation at the idea of losing the woman he loves. Eric Bogosian embodies male mid-life angst, as bubbly Christina Ricci, making her Broadway debut, exudes bewilderment about why Sarah and James thrive on conflict. This taut production rings with emotional truth.

Susan Granger’s review of “The Pee Wee Herman Show” (Stephen Sondheim Theater 2010)

    Banished for almost two decades, Paul Reubens, clad in a tight gray suit and trademark red bow tie and beloved to millions as the man-child Pee Wee Herman, is back in his cartoonish, surrealist element. As an inventive performance artist, now 58, he commands the stage from beginning to end, introducing the secret word along with familiar characters from Pee Wee’s Playhouse, a vintage fantasyland that’s been recreated by veteran scenic designer David Korins.

   TV’s original Miss Yvonne (Lynne Marie Stewart), Mailman Mike (John Moody) and Jambi the Genii (John Paragon) blend seamlessly with newcomers playing Bear (Drew Powell),, Sergio the Handyman (Jesse Garcia), Firefighter (Josh Meyers), Cowboy Curtis (Phil LaMarr, succeeding Laurence Fishburne who has gone on to bigger things) and King of Cartoons (Lance Roberts) –  aided by Basil Twist’s phalanx of puppeteers.

    Director Alex Timbers (“Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson”) keeps the sunny, slightly subversive pace fast, deftly choreographing the rapid succession of goofy guests with their wacky routines, and Reubens’ co-writers, Bill Steinkellner and John Paragon, lean heavily on warmly-welcomed 1950s nostalgia, epitomized by an educational film clip about good manners and a disastrous venture into contemporary computerland. 

    For those who don’t recall, Reubens was arrested in 1991 at a Sarasota, Florida, porn theater for allegedly exposing himself. But that’s all in the past now, unless you count a few snarky innuendos and the introduction of an abstinence ring, which would pass right over the heads of those not in the know. And the Reubens revival continues with a new Pee Wee Herman movie in the works for 2011 with Judd Apatow producing.

    Bottom line: A candy-colored childhood delight, a real audience-pleaser – on a limited Broadway run through January 2, 2011.

Susan Granger’s review of “Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson” (Bernard B. Jacobs Theater 2010)

    Part irreverent history lesson, part raucous rock musical, it purportedly traces the rise and fall of Andrew Jackson, the hot-tempered seventh President of the United States. Beginning with an exploration of his bitter roots deep in the Tennessee hills, it traces how his mom and dad died and how young Andrew loathes his life. As he ages (but never matures), his rancorous wrath is aimed primarily at arrow-wielding Indians, those pesky Native Americans who protest having their native land stolen from them. Meanwhile, he’s fallen in love with Rachel who, inconveniently, is married to someone else. As a military leader, General Jackson distinguishes himself at the Battle of New Orleans, banishing the British and earning a groundswell of popular support as an ‘outsider.’ While his initial quest to overcome the establishment in Washington, D.C., is defeated, he prevails, founding what is now known as the Democratic party.

    Developed by the New York-based experimental Les Freres Corbusier, it had several workshop productions before premiering in Los Angeles in 2008 and opening in concert version at the New York Public Theater in 2009. Many in that off-Broadway cast reprise their roles, including energetic Benjamin Walker in the title role, along with Jeff Hiller, Maria Elena Ramirez and Lucas Near-Verbrugghe.

    Taking is cue from the “Rock Star” theme song, Walker childishly struts around the stage in tight black jeans, while the rest of the cast looks as if it was assembled from a sophomoric high school production inspired by a satirical “Saturday Night Live” skit.

    With a pop score by Michael Friedman and profanity-laden book by Alex Timers, who doubles as director, it’s far more interesting to look at than to listen to since scenic designer Donyale Werle has assembled a myriad of Andrew Jackson memorabilia.

    Bottom line: This raw, vulgar, boisterous blast is – so far – the greatest disappointment of the season.

Susan Granger’s review of “Women on the Verge” (Belasco Theater 2010)

    Based on Pedro Almodovar’s internationally acclaimed film, “Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown” (1988), this new Broadway musical by composer/lyricist David Yazbek and book writer Jeffrey Lane (who collaborated on “Dirty Rotten Scoundrels”) and director Bartlett Sher (who helmed the Lincoln Center revival of “South Pacific”) – with some assistance from Almodovar – is, basically, a screwball farce, set in late 20^th century Madrid and dominated by hysterical Spanish women deranged by love. 

    It begins in a state of high anxiety with Pepa (Sherie Rene Scott), an actress specializing in voice-overs, trying to track down her duplicitous lover, Ivan (Brian Stokes Mitchell), who dumped her via a message on her answering machine. Meanwhile, Ivan’s furious, estranged wife Lucia (Patti LuPone) is also looking for him after being incarcerated for the past 19 years in a mental institution. So are their geeky grown son Carlos (“American Idol” runner-up Justin Guarini) and his demanding fiancée Marisa (Nikka Graff Lanzarone). Laura Benanti is sensational as the ditsy fashion model Candela who’s inadvertently hooked up with a terrorist (Luis Salgado), plus there’s De’Adre Aziza as Lucia’s lawyer, Mary Beth Pell as the landlady and Danny Burstein as the ubiquitous taxi driver. After the trashing of several telephones, a surreal burning bed and innumerable Valiums, somehow things seem to work out – differing from the conclusion of Amodovar’s movie.

    Heavily influenced by its Latino roots, Yazbek’s string-driven score intersperses brassy numbers with gentle ballads. Yet it’s the garish production design that sticks in the memory: Michael Yeargan’s sets in bold primary colors, Catherine Zuber’s pastel candy-colored costumes and Sven Ortel’s evocative projections showing Madrid architecture and other images of the Mediterranean capital.

    Bottom line: “Women on the Verge” is flashy and splashy but far too frenetic.

Susan Granger’s review of “The Scottsboro Boys” (Lyceum Theater)

    John Kander and Fred Ebb revolutionized Broadway’s musical theater, adding their own unique razzle-dazzle style to the decadence and squalor inherent in “Cabaret,” “Chicago” and “Kiss of the Spider Woman,” so perhaps it shouldn’t be such a surprise that they’d tackle controversial, highly political subject matter like a shameful racial incident in American history and stage it within the minstrel show format.

    Back in 1931, nine black teenagers – the “boys” of the title – were falsely accused of raping two white women near a train station in Alabama. They’re immediately convicted and remain in prison, despite the fact that one of the women later recants her testimony.

    John Cullum, Colman Domingo and Forrest McClendon play the stock characters in the 19^th century minstrel show: the Interlocutor/narrator and the buffoonish Mr. Bones and Mr. Tambo. In addition, Domingo and McClendon play the absurdist ‘white’ roles, like the sheriff, the attorney general and the liberal Jewish lawyer, while Joshua Henry is outstanding as the most vocal, muscular and memorable defendant. 

    According to librettist David Thompson, the minstrel tradition began in the 1840s as a collection of sentimental songs, dances and sketches meant to be a depiction of Southern black life. It was staged by white men wearing blackface until after the Civil War, when black people began performing it. “Minstrel shows were a part of the national culture,” 83 year-old John Kander explains. “We didn’t think about how offensive that was. Now, looking back on it, and having researched it a lot, you know what it really meant.”

    Meticulously directed and toe-tappingly choreographed by five-time Tony winner Susan Stroman, the injustice resonates within the rousing, ragtime framework of lively, satirical songs and intriguing, inventive backstories, audaciously reflecting America’s insidious bigotry.  As the momentum builds, the haunting, sardonic significance of the singular, silent African-American woman (Sharon Washington) is only revealed at the symbolic conclusion. This subversively challenging Broadway musical is a must see!