Theater Reviews

Moon for the Misbegotten

Susan Granger’s review of “Moon for the Misbegotten” (2006-2007 season)

Imported directly from London’s Old Vic Theater Company, now under the artistic direction of Kevin Spacey, the current revival of Eugene O’Neill’s final play, “A Moon for the Misbegotten,” is a fascinating revelation of humor and heartache.
Set in 1923 in rural, upstate Connecticut, it’s the story of a pivotal incident in the life of a large, ungainly farm woman, Josie Hogan (Eve Best), who cares for her blustering, Irish immigrant father (Colm Meaney), a tenant farmer on land recently inherited by James Tyrone Jr. (Spacey). For years, brash, bumbling Josie, whose total lack of self-esteem has created a promiscuous reputation as the town tramp, has yearned for Jim Tyrone, an acerbic, alcoholic, “ham” actor eager to get back to the fabled lights of Broadway. And one pathos-filled moonlit night, these two lost, lonely souls find some sort of redemption in each other’s arms.
Two-time Oscar-winner Kevin Spacey exudes just the right amount of ineffable charm to entice Josie yet reveal his character’s inherent despair and weakness for booze, while Irishman Colm Meaney makes the stolid father a less threatening but crafty, old goat.
And while slender, fine-boned Eve Best could never be described as an “overgrown lump” (unlike her larger predecessors Colleen Dewhurst, Cherry Jones and Kate Nelligan), she totally embodies Josie’s brute strength and clumsy frustration. Her plaintive cry, “I love him,” reverberates with total honesty. Best’s performance is, quite simply, luminous and unforgettable.
Completing the cast are Eugene O’Hare, as Josie’s brother who bolts as the story begins, and Billy Carter, as the Hogans’ wealthy, arrogant neighbor. Director Howard Davies wisely condenses the play’s original four rambling acts into two streamlined, fast-paced, ferociously dramatic ones and his impressive production is enhanced by Bob Crowley’s ramshackle shack set.

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Curtains

Theater Reviews / Susan

Susan Granger’s review of “Curtains” (Al Hirschfeld Theater)

“Curtains” is a rare kind of hybrid: a murder-mystery musical. It originated in the mind of the late librettist Peter Stone (“1776,” “Will Rogers Follies”), who developed it with composer John Kander and lyricist Fred Ebb (collaborators on “Cabaret” & “Chicago”) before Ebb died. Rupert Holmes (“The Mystery of Edwin Drood”) then took over, teaming with Kander and director Scott Ellis (“And the World Goes Round,” “Steel Pier”).
For this love letter to showbiz and the theater, it’s been a bumpy road to Broadway.
The show opens in Boston, where the talentless leading lady of lackluster new musical-within-a-musical, a wretched Western called “Robbin’ Hood” and set in the Indian Territory of Kansas, is murdered during her curtain call on opening night. When a stage-struck police detective, Frank Cioffi (David Hyde Pierce of “Spamalot” and TV’s “Frasier”), arrives backstage to investigate, he immediately falls in love with the star’s winsome understudy (Jill Paice) and is determined to save the show. Meanwhile, the show’s brassy producer (Debra Monk) wants the lyricist (Karen Ziemba) to take over the star’s role, much to the chagrin of her frustrated collaborator (Jason Danieley), the hapless director (droll Edward Hibbert) and ambitious ingénue (Megan Sikora). Plaguing them all is a ruthless theater critic, the butt of a hilarious number, “What kind of man?”
The creative team includes crotch-centric choreographer Rob Ashford, set designer Anna Louizos, costume designer William Ivey Long, lighting designer Peter Kaczorowski, sound designer Brian Ronan. Although derivative of “Oklahoma,” “42nd Street,” “Kiss Me Kate” and “Annie Get Your Gun,” it’s filled with bouncy numbers, double-entendres and amiable good fun.
But the most memorable song is a plaintive ballad, “I Miss the Music,” sung by Jason Danieley but poignantly evocative of Fred Kander’s loss of his long-time collaborator Fred Ebb.

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The Year of Magical Thinking

Theater Reviews / Susan

Susan Granger’s review of “The Year of Magical Thinking” (2006-2207 season)

Although Vanessa Redgrave is undoubtedly one of the greatest stage actresses of her generation, “The Year of Magical Thinking” can only be called troubling theater.
Joan Didion has adapted her eloquent, best-selling memoir about the death of her husband, writer John Gregory Dunne, and daughter, Quintana – two heart-wrenching events which occurred within a period of two years. Yet the theatrical version never achieves the emotional catharsis of its literary antecedent. Perhaps that because the triumvirate of Didion, Redgrave and director David Hare concentrate on some sort of sorrowful, grief-filled Everywoman plight, albeit with generous dollops of humor.
The evening begins with the dire, doomsday-like admonition: “This happened on December 30, 2003. That may seem a while ago, but it won’t when it happens to you.”
But it has happened to me – and probably to you. By the time you reach an age when you can actually afford a ticket to a Broadway play, inevitably, a tragedy or loss has occurred in your life – at least once, perhaps twice. There are the tense hospital encounters, often grotesque funeral arrangements and a detached, sanity-preserving numbness that permeates your consciousness. While I understand the cathartic value of theater, once you’ve lived these real-life experiences, why would you want to re-visit similar ones as an audience member trapped in an uncomfortable seat without even the mercy of an intermission during which to make a surreptitious escape?
Having said that, I must also tell you Vanessa Redgrave delivers a stunning performance. Clad in Ann Roth’s simple pale skirt and blouse, she dominates the austere 90-minute production, comfortably seated on Bob Crowley’s set, accented by Jean Kalman’s lighting with her monologue clarified by Paul Arditti’s sound. But is this really the way you want to spend an afternoon or evening on Broadway?

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Talk Radio

Theater Reviews / Susan

Susan Granger’s review of “Talk Radio” (Imperial Theater 2006-2007 season)

Liev Schreiber delivers such a riveting performance in Eric Bogosian’s “Talk Radio” that it can only be described as a virtuoso tour-de-force.
Schreiber plays Cleveland’s controversial nighttime radio personality Barry Champlain who abuses everyone around him but cannot get his own life together.. Striding into the studio, he’s furious about the traffic, vowing to buy “one of those Dirty Harry Magnums” and blast away at inconsiderate drivers. His ambitious station manager (Peter Hermann), pot-smoking producer (Michael Laurence) and assistant/sometimes bed partner (Stephanie March) hover in uneasy anticipation of the hours ahead.
Once the hostile, misogynistic Champlain grabs both his microphones, vitriol reigns. Callers are almost always insulted and summarily dismissed. Chain-smoking, Jack Daniels-swilling Champlain takes no prisoners. Among the nut jobs, hate mongers and genuine eccentrics, a transsexual is told her dilemma is a boring cliché; a tearful teenage girl is reprimanded that her recently discovered pregnancy by an out-of-work bum who drives a pick-up with the license plate “Stan 3” is her own fault; a disabled veteran is barely tolerated; and a stoned, testosterone-propelled teenage punk (Sebastian Stan), who has lied to Barry, is invited to drop by and appear as a guest.
Under the direction of Robert Falls, gravelly-voiced Schreiber exudes subtle anxiety and sinister angst while his co-workers deliver soliloquies explaining why they’re so loyal to him. Richard Woodbury’s superb sound design is an integral ingredient.
For those who remember, back in 1988, Oliver Stone directed the screen adaptation starring Eric Bogosian as the obnoxious Barry Champlain.
With contrived reality programming dominating the airwaves, this revival of “Talk Radio” is as pungent and relevant as it was back in 1987, when it first stunned Broadway audiences.

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Intelejunt Dezyne

Theater Reviews / Susan

Susan Granger’s review of “Intelejunt Dezyne” (Fairfield Theater Company in CT & National Arts Club in Manhattan)

If you’re looking for deliciously witty, sophisticated comedy, you can’t beat E. Katherine Kerr’s wickedly skewed Creationist concept of man’s being formed in God’s image – and its outrageous, unexpectedly fun-filled ramifications. Spanning a time frame from the dinosaurs thru the Old Testament to the present moment, it’s set in God’s office in Heaven. There’s God (James Noble of TV’s “Benson”), a somewhat befuddled and volatile fellow who has a terrible problem with spelling; his loyal, long-suffering assistant, Ernie Eternity (Chilton Ryan); and BZ, a.k.a Beelzebub (Bill Phillips), a young, hotshot executive who’s been recruited to help with the Creation, bringing in innovative ideas like homo sapiens, whom he embellishes with free will, consciousness, sin and religion. Rarely does a play so effortlessly combine the hilarious with the insightful. It’s so expertly – and perversely – poised that audience members find themselves constantly amused at the quirky absurdity of the human condition. James Noble is flat-out amazing with a veteran’s expert instinct for timing; he’s equally convincing with reflexive rage and gleeful wonderment. Chilton Ryan is engaging as the cleverly comical straight-man, while Bill Phillips slyly relishes his calculated subterfuge. With fresh, completely disarming naturalness, writer/director E. Katherine Kerr pulls off a minor miracle, keeping the smart one-liners bouncing while introducing cunningly-constructed, thought-provoking possibilities. Even the most jaded will get a surprise or two. You’ll laugh, guffaw, giggle, chuckle and smile. It’s absolutely impossible not to enjoy this warm, wacky and wondrously inventive comedy.

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Frost/Nixon

Theater Reviews / Susan

Susan Granger’s review of “Frost/Nixon” (2006-2007 season)

Playwright Peter Morgan has had an incredible year. He wrote acclaimed TV drama “Queen Elizabeth I,” was Oscar-nominated for “The Queen,” co-wrote “The Last King of Scotland,” now this fascinating fictional docudrama about media and power, set in 1977.
Staged like a verbal sparring match, in one corner, there’s ambitious British talk show host David Frost (Martin Sheen), who paid $600,000, outbidding Mike Wallace and CBS for a series of “no holds barred’ interviews. In the other, disgraced former American President Richard Milhouse Nixon, forced to resign to avoid empeachment over Watergate and pardoned by his successor, Gerald Ford. Until this time, Nixon had never admitted blame or apologized to the American people for abusing executive privilege.
Director Michael Grandage mounts this seminal series of gripping encounters with style and panache, utilizing a fragmented bank of 36 small, vintage TV monitors which hang over the set like a third eye, enhancing the credibility.
Michael Sheen, who played Tony Blair opposite Helen Mirren in “The Queen,” quintessentially captures the effervescence, hesitancy and determination of David Frost, while Frank Langella (“Good Night and Good Luck,” “Superman Returns”) nails the persona of Richard Nixon, a man looking to rebuild some of his former reputation. His affable performance is a perfect piece of work, mature and composed: stainless steel with just a hairline crack in it. Their potent confrontation emerges as ferociously exciting.
The stalwart supporting cast imported from the London Donmar Warehouse includes Stephen Kunken, as political author/researcher Jim Reston, and Corey Johnson, as Nixon’s chief-of-staff Jack Brennan. Stephen Rowe is impressive as both uber-agent “Swifty” Lazar and television interrogator Mike Wallace.
It should come as no surprise that Ron Howard is looking to make this into a film.

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Spring Awakening

Theater Reviews / Susan

Susan Granger review: “Spring Awakening” (Eugene O’Neill Theater: 2006-2007)

Teenage sexuality takes center stage in Duncan Sheik and Steven Sater’s terrific musical adaptation of Franz Wedekind’s edgy, once-banned play, set in a provincial German town in the 1890s.
The story, developed in various vignettes, revolves around three hormone-propelled teenagers: a promising yet rebellious student (Jonathan Groff), the innocent girl who adores him (Lea Michele), and his geeky, sexually confused friend (John Gallagher Jr.). Evading the watchful eyes of the authority figures (Stephen Spinella, Christine Estabrook), they explore masturbation, sadomasochism, unbridled lust, unwanted pregnancy, suicide and illegal abortion – all in a pre-Freudian era that’s filled with repression.
Utilizing Steven Sater’s book and lyrics and Duncan Sheik’s music, director Michael Mayer and choreographer Bill T. Jones have the youthful characters express their feelings of bewilderment, confusion and sexual alienation through a pop-rock vernacular, assuming familiar rock star poses, whipping out hand-held microphones and erupting into MTV-style dancing. Because of that artificial conceit, their characterizations take on a cartoonish stereotype, albeit infused with vital, unstoppable energy, particularly during the show-stopping “Totally Fucked” number, which serves as an adolescent anthem.
Kudos to Christine Jones for the scenic design and Susan Hilferty for the costumes.
I’ve heard that the most coveted tickets in town are the 26 ‘on-stage seats,’ selling for only $31.50; that’s a ‘real steal’ compared with the $100+ seats in the audience. From the on-stage perch, you’re, literally, part of the show with members of the cast sitting beside you and singing in your ears. To purchase them, go to the theater’s box-office at 230 E. 49th St., or www.telecharge.com.

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Mary Rose

Theater Reviews / Susan

Susan Granger’s review of “Mary Rose” (Vineyard Theater: 2006-2007 season)

In its first major U.S. revival in half a century, J.M. Barrie’s “Mary Rose” is a spellbinding ghost story about love, loss and lingering memories.
Set in a country house in Sussex, England, it’s about a wistfully engaging teenager, Mary Rose (Paige Howard), who agrees to marry her stalwart childhood suitor Simon (Darren Goldstein). But before her parents (Betsy Aidem, Michael Countryman) give their approval, they tell Simon about a strange, disquieting incident that occurred many years earlier, one that Mary Rose is blissfully unaware of. It seems that on a family holiday on a tiny Outer Hebrides island, Mary Rose vanished. Inexplicably, she reappeared 20 days later, believing that barely a few hours had passed.
Undeterred, Simon eagerly claims Mary Rose as his bride, only to have her disappear a few years later while they’re vacationing on that same Scottish island. She returns once again – but it’s 25 years later, although Mary Rose, curiously, hasn’t aged a day.
Director Tina Landau cleverly turns Barrie’s clarifying stage directions into the omnipresent character of the Narrator (Keir Dullea of “2001: A Space Odyssey”), who deftly weaves the tantalizing threads of the poignant, enigmatic tale together.
An NYU theater student, vivacious Paige Howard (daughter of actor/director Ron Howard) makes an unusually auspicious stage debut as the epitome of eternal youth, a haunting theme that obviously intrigued J.M. Barrie (creator of “Peter Pan”) throughout his writing career.
Michael Countryman and Tom Riis Farrell amusingly banter as old friends, while Betsy Aidem, Noah Bean, Susan Blommaert, Ian Brennan and Darren Goldstein lend convincing support. Cleverly designed, James Shuette’s period living-room set has a back wall that dissolves into a grassy beach; Kevin Adams’ foreboding lighting is evocative.
Enchanting and intriguing, “Mary Rose” is a haunting Off-Broadway drama that shouldn’t be missed.

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The Apple Tree

Theater Reviews / Susan

Susan Granger’s review of “The Apple Tree” (Studio 54 – 2006-2007 season)

Glorious Kristin Chenoweth is the reason to see “The Apple Tree,” the Roundabout Theater Company’s revival of a flimsy musical by Jerry Bock and Sheldon Harnick that opened on Broadway in 1966. Even back then, it depended on its stars – Barbara Harris, Alan Alda and Larry Blyden – to overcome its inherent weakness of simply being a collection of comic sketches, based on stories by Mark Twain, Frank R. Stockton and Jules Feiffer with additional material by Jerome Coopersmith.
Act I, “The Diary of Adam and Eve,” opens in the Garden of Eden, where befuddled Adam (Brian d’Arcy James) and enticing Eve (Chenoweth) are discovering the wonders of the world, not to mention each other, despite the devilish duplicity of the snake (Marc Kudisch). Its outstanding musical moment occurs when she sings “What Makes Me Love Him.” Overall, it’s a delight, particularly when you recognize Alan Alda’s voice as God.
Then comes the thudding two-part Act II: a goofy rendition of “The Lady or the Tiger?” fable, set in “a semi-barbaric kingdom a long time ago,” and “Passionella” about a drab chimney sweep (Chenoweth) who yearns for Hollywood, warbling “Oh, To Be a Movie Star.” With the help of a fairy godfather (Marc Kudish), she’s transformed into her glittering, glamorous heart’s desire – with certain restrictions.
Tony-winner Kristin Chenoweth (“Wicked”) has proven herself to be a delightfully adept comedienne – with exquisite timing – as well as a classically trained soprano. Her co-stars, Brain d’Arcy James and Marc Kudish, are terrific too.
Director Gary Griffin (“Encores,” “The Color Purple”) has problems with inconsistent pacing which drags considerably as the show progresses. John Lee Beatty’s sets and Jess Goldstein’s costumes are minimally inventive, primarily because of budget restrictions, I’m sure.

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Tryst

Theater Reviews / Susan

Susan Granger’s review of “Tryst” (Promenade Theater)

Intrigue! Mystery! Excitement! Karoline Leach’s “Tryst” has it all.
Set in 1910 in Edwardian London, this psychological thriller revolves around handsome George Love (Maxwell Caulfield), a suave, self-confessed con-man, d Adelaide Pinchin (Amelia Campbell), a modest, meek spinster who makes hats in the back room of a millinery shop.
“I’m what you’d call a careful person. Organized,” he says. “I know what I’m after. I know what I want. And I get it. I live by my wits and my charm. And I do quite nicely.”
What George wants is Adelaide’s bank book and valuable brooch. What Adelaide wants is to feel cherished and loved. That’s George’s specialty. He’s flattered, wooed and wed many a lass. But when their courtship moves to a dilapidated Oceanside boarding house, there are suspenseful twists and turns as a power struggle unexpectedly erupts.
Playwright Karoline Leach has some slick surprises in store as her melodrama unfolds with both style and substance, although the surprising conclusion lacks the dramatic justification it deserves. Director Joe Brancato slyly reveals the poignant menace through subtle nuances that may pass at first glance.
David Korins has created an inventive set, while Alejo Vietti’s costumes, Jeff Nellis’s lighting and Johanna Doty’s sound evoke the place and period perfectly.
Neither Maxwell Caulfield nor Amelia Campbell has a hit TV series, although movie buffs may remember Caulfield’s warbling in “Grease 2” and “Empire Records.” Caulfield’s distractingly sculpted physique with six-pack abs is far too contemporary, but he’s acquired a solid theatrical background in England and, most recently, he’s been featured on the long-running BBC medical drama, “Casualty” and has been married to actress Juliet Mills for more than 25 years, while Campbell has racked up an impressive roster of theatrical credits around the country. Together, they ignite the stage at the Promenade Theater in one of the most provocative plays of the current theater season.

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