Theater Reviews

Susan Granger’s review of “Mary Poppins” (New Amsterdam Theater)

It’s “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious”!
This lavish musical extravaganza begins in Edwardian London at 17 Cherry Tree Lane, where, according to Bert, the cheerful chimney sweep narrator, the dysfunctional Banks family – Mother, Father, Jane and Michael – are desperate because yet another nanny has quit in disgust. Suddenly, inexplicably – before they can place an advertisement in the newspaper – Mary Poppins appears, without proper references but with such a positive attitude that the unruly, unhappy family immediately falls under her spell. After all, with her bottomless carpetbag and ubiquitous parrot-headed umbrella, she’s “Practically Perfect,” as the fantasy goes.and, before she departs, so is the family.
But it’s Mary’s soaring, eye-popping adventures that weave enchantment – like bringing marble statues in the park to life, re-assembling a catastrophic kitchen and exuberant kite-flying. Yet nothing tops Bert’s show-stopping, gravity-defying tap dancing – up, down and across the ceiling of the stage!
As the enigmatic nanny, Ashley Browne is delectable, while grinning Gavin Lee exudes an irresistible charm as jolly Bert. Daniel Jenkins and Rebecca Luker bring drama to the parents’ dilemma and the child actors who rotate in performances are adorable.
Basing the show on P.L. Travers’ children’s classic and Julie Andrews’ 1964 movie – with songs by Richard M. Sherman and Robert B. Sherman, Disney’s decision to team up with producer Cameron Mackintosh is “a spoonful of sugar,” with flashy contributions from writer Julian Fellowes (“Gosford Park”), director Richard Eyre and choreographer Matthew Bourne, assisted by Stephen Mear, production designer Bob Crowley, orchestrator Bill Brohn, lighting expert Howard Harrison, sound man Steve Canyon Kennedy and musical supervisor David Caddick. Whimsical new songs by George Stiles and Anthony Drewe fit seamlessly into the stratosphere.
For children and their parents, it’s a dazzling, magical Broadway experience.

Susan Granger’s review of “The Threepenny Opera” (Broadway’s Studio 54)

Mack the Knife’s blade goes dull in this clumsy, seriously flawed reworking of Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weill’s musical masterpiece, “The Threepenny Opera,” with a lengthy (three-hour), new translation by playwright/actor Wallace Shawn.
“I wanted to get a group of people together who were really interesting and led really interesting alternative lives,” explains Roundabout Theater director Scott Elliott.
That he did. There’s Alan Cumming, formerly of “Cabaret,” who plays the murderous, opportunistic Macheath as a naughty, playful, bisexual sprite sporting a Mohawk, chirpy pop star Cyndi Lauper, PETA activist and cabaret singer Nellie McKay, “Saturday Night Live” alumna Ana Gasteyer, several downtown performance artists (David Cale, Brian Butterick), the cross-dressing nemesis of Star Jones, Flotilla DeBarge (a.k.a. Kevin Rennard) and Carlos Leon, best known as Madonna’s trainer and father of her daughter Lourdes. The tacky costumes are designed by Target diva Isaac Mizrahi, who obviously scoured sex shops for fetishistic touches like black vinyl leggings.
Problem is: cynical, caricaturish vulgarity rules the entire production, perhaps in a provocative attempt to match the bitter, anarchic shock value of the original back in 1928. The fabled Lucy Brown, for example, turns out to be a man in drag (Brian Charles Rooney) who, literally, flashes his genitals. And that much obvious, cartoonish debauchery alienates the primarily middle-aged audience, many of whom either leave or fall asleep, despite having paid more than $100 a ticket. Which is too bad since 70 year-old Jim Dale (“Barnum”) delivers the most memorable turn as the criminal mastermind of Victorian London, Mr. Peachum, particularly when he warbles tongue-twisting numbers like “The Song of Inadequacy of Human Striving.”
Bottom line: this incarnation of “The Threepenny Opera” is boring and interminable. Save your money.

Susan Granger’s review of “Faith Healer” (Booth Theater)

There’s good news and bad news about the current revival of Irish playwright Brian Friel’s “The Faith Healer,” a formidable meditation on the nature of love, faith and truth,
The good news is that the talented trio of actors is unsurpassed anywhere in theatrical world today. Making his first Broadway appearance since “Hamlet” more than a decade ago, Ralph Fiennes is charismatic as Frank Hardy, the titular Faith Healer, a seedy, self-doubting Irish charlatan who has spent many years touring the tiny villages of Scotland and Wales attempting to “cure” the afflicted. Cherry Jones is captivating as Grace, his anguished, long-suffering companion/wife who is trapped in an emotionally abusive relationship. Last but not least, Ian McDiarmid (best known as the Emperor Palpatine in “Star Wars”) almost steals the show as Teddy, Frank’s loyal Cockney manager, offering welcome comic relief as the third member of this bizarrely dysfunctional family.
The bad news is that sitting through the four lugubrious, 30+-minute monologues is an endurance challenge. Unlike movies, where the director yells, “Cut,” or the editor sighs, “Enough, already,” no one seems to realize that an audience, however attentive, can be dulled not only by seemingly endless repetition but also by the actors’ static stance. Under the seamless direction of Dublin-based Jonathan Kent, only Ralph Fiennes makes any use of the length and breadth of the stage.
True, the “Rashomon-like” concept requires that each of the three characters reveal pivotal revelations from his/her point-of-view – and, within the exposition, the contrasting and conflicting versions are where the drama lies. However, these disclosures ramble on and on and on.
“The Faith Healer,” starring James Mason, first premiered on Broadway back in 1979.

Susan Granger’s review of “The History Boys” (Broadhurst Theater)

Set at a provincial secondary school in the north of England in the mid-’80s, Alan Bennett’s “The History Boys” examines the role of the educator as eight precocious, hormone-propelled sixth-formers (high school seniors) prepare for their Oxbridge examinations in history.
Set in the 1980s, the plot hinges on the competition between two very different teachers for the emotional and intellectual loyalty of their students. There’s rumpled, rotund Hector (Richard Griffiths, best known as Uncle Vernon from the Harry Potter films), an unconventional, idealistic maverick who tries to imbue a thirst for pure knowledge, even as he covertly gropes his charges on after-school motorcycle rides. Then there’s his pragmatic rival, Irwin (Stephen Campbell Moore), who has been specifically engaged by the ambitious, bureaucratic headmaster (Clive Merrison) to instruct the boys how to formulate their upcoming presentations from the glib, provocative angle of a tabloid journalist – with hopes that they’ll be able to bluff their way into top-notch schools like Oxford or Cambridge. Leveling the playing field is a dour third teacher (Frances de la Tour), who has spent years imparting cold, historical facts.
In a flash-forward that opens the play, Irwin is now a verbally dexterous spin doctor advising the British government how to promote a bill that will abolish the legal presumption of innocence. “Paradox works well and mists up the windows, which is handy,” he says. “The loss of liberty is the price we pay for freedom ‘type of thing.”
Originally staged by Nicholas Hytner at the National Theatre of Great Britain with the same superb cast, “The History Boys” has been transported to Broadway with its same cheeky candor and unflinching verve. As an added fillip, flashing videos by Ben Taylor disguise the scene changes within Bob Crowley’s sly production design. It’s the first time an entire production has been moved across the Atlantic intact – with every actor coming from abroad. Thank you, Actors’ Equity! And there’s a “History Boys” film coming too.

Susan Granger’s review of “The Wedding Singer” (Al Hirschfeld Theater)

If you’re looking for campy, exuberant fun – like “Mama Mia” and “Hairspray” – don’t wait for an engraved invitation, just get in line for “The Wedding Singer.”
Based on the popular film of the same name, it’s about a vulnerable, soft-hearted wedding singer, Robbie Hart (Stephen Lynch) who’s jilted at the altar by tempestuous Linda (Felicia Finley) and soon falls for a sweetly quirky waitress, Julia Sullivan (Laura Benanti), who’s engaged to an arrogant, self-absorbed Wall Street jerk (Richard H. Blake). Robbie and Julia are right for each other, even though they don’t realize it simultaneously and must meander into matrimony. But you know that.
The catchy opening number, “It’s Your Wedding Day,” expertly choreographed by Rob Ashford, sets the celebratory tone, as the nostalgic book by Chad Beguelin and Tim Herlihy (who wrote the screenplay) with vintage, often vulgar lyrics by Beguelin and music by Matthew Sklar pulls out every ’80s pop culture reference – from Ferris Bueller to the McRib sandwich. There’s even a subtle dig when the stockbroker advises against buying shares of a Seattle coffe shop that’s going public selling $3 cups of java.
Filling Adam Sandler’s shoes, Stephen Lynch is a competent comedian while lovely Laura Benanti takes the dewy Drew Barrymore part. Rita Gardner is engaging as Robbie’s eccentric grandma, and Amy Spangler, Kevin Cahoon and Matthew Saldivar strut their stuff in the ‘best friend’ parts.
Directed by John Rando, the glossy chorus maintains the high-energy pace, while Scott Pask’s set evokes suburban New Jersey and Gregory Gale’s costumes are suitably garish and gaudy. And it’s an amusing fillip when celebrity impersonators transport Billy Idol, Cyndi Lauper, Tina Turner, Ronald Reagan and Imelda Marcos to a Las Vegas wedding chapel. “The Wedding Singer” is a light-weight, captivating, crowd-pleasing musical romp.

Susan Granger’s review of “Jersey Boys” (August Wilson Theater)

The jukebox musical genre expands with “Jersey Boys,” a tuneful chronicle of the rise and fall of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons.
Back in the ’60s, set against the hardscrabble streets of Belleville, a working-class Italian neighborhood in North Jersey, swaggering guitarist Tommy DeVito (Christian Huff) and a “silent” bassist Nick Massi (J. Robert Spencer) decided to form a band. They added Frankie Valli (John Lloyd Young) with his angelic falsetto and prolific songwriter Bob Gaudio (Daniel Reichard) and – eight or nine name changes – “put Jersey on the map.”
Librettists Marshall Brickman (co-writer of “Annie Hall”) and Rick Elise tell their story, from their sojourns in jail (“the Rahway Academy of the Arts,” as they refer to the slammer) to their camaraderie, offset by their marital and money squabbles. Director Des McAnuff makes the most of their musical songbook, including catchy show-stoppers like “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You,” “Big Girls Don’t Cry,” “Walk Like a Man,” “Sherry” and “Working My Way Back To You.”
The set by Klara Zieglerova, pop-art projections of Michael Clark, the jazzy lighting of Howell Binkley, choreography of Sergio Trujillo and the period-perfect costumes of Jeff Goldstein add to the fast-paced fun.
Scuttlebutt has it that John Lloyd Young’s powerful upper register is enhanced by two warbling cast members (Michael Longoria, Sara Schmidt) who, standing in the wings, sing along, occasionally hitting the high notes for him. Longoria understudies Young and doubles as little Joe Pesce. Schmidt is a soprano. Actually the multiple-voice technique was pioneered on the original Four Seasons records and is an integral part of the show. As the Four Seasons put it, “Oh, what a night!”

Susan Granger’s review of “Grey Gardens” (Playwrights Horizons)

Tapping into America’s endless curiosity about Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis, “Grey Gardens” examines the lives of the former First Lady’s eccentric aunt and cousin, Edith Bouvier Beale and her daughter, Little Edie, a former debutante. The concept was inspired by the Maysles brothers’ 1970’s film documentary.
Taking its musical cues from the popular songs of the Twenties, Thirties and Forties, the first act, set in 1941, imagines what the Beales’ life was like, including bits with pre-teens Jackie and Lee Bouvier, as well as a party celebrating Little Edie’s engagement to handsome/ill-fated Joe Kennedy Jr., a union which was later called off. The second act, filled with Seventies tunes, depicts both decrepit Edies in all their squalid glory in 1973, still ensconced in the rancid, cat-infested East Hampton mansion called Grey Gardens, conveyed by Allen Moyer’s set, supplemented with projections.
Doug Wright’s book, Michael Korie’s lyrics and Scott Frankel’s musical compositions include many of the Beales’ famous bons mots, such as “If you can’t get a man to propose to you, you might as well be dead” and “The relatives didn’t know that they were dealing with a staunch character, S-T-A-U-N-C-H.”
While director Michael Greif has assembled a top-notch cast, including Christine Ebersole, Mary Louise Wilson, John McMartin, Bob Stillman, Sara Gettlefinger and Matt Cavenaugh, without better book/lyrics/music, examining the mother/daughter dynamic, it adds up to little more than a bizarre, campy curiosity about weird hothouse socialites who had absolutely no conception about how to fend for themselves when their fortune vanished. But 84 year-old Little Edie gave this project her blessing just before she passed away in 2002. And – for those who care – Grey Gardens was bought in 1979 by Washingtonians Sally Quinn and Ben Bradlee, who claim that it’s haunted.

Susan Granger’s review of “The Property Known as Garland” (Actors Playhouse)

So much is known about legendary Judy Garland, one of the most charismatic performers of the 20th century, that it’s hard to come up with new material – and that’s the problem faced by Billy Van Zandt in this boring Off-Broadway bio-play, based on a ghoulish recording of the diva’s ramblings before a performance.

Directed by Glenn Casale, the drama takes place backstage in Copenhagen in 1969 on the night of Judy’s last concert. After she’s roused by a Danish “go-fer” (Kerby Joe Grubb) who is told to fetch mashed potatoes and green beans, memories and anecdotes come spilling out. There are rants on her mercenary mother and M.G.M.’s kingpin Louis B. Mayer, who once referred to her as a “hunchback.” She complains about being fired from “Annie Get Your Gun” and replaced by Betty Hutton and losing the Oscar she felt she deserved for “A Star Is Born.” There’s a running joke that has Judy referring to every actor she mentions as a “drunk” while she’s sitting at her dressing table imbibing Blue Nun. She even has vitriol for her audience, accusing her loyal fans of exploiting her like everyone else.

Best known as the heroine of horror/action movies like “The Fog” and “Return to Escape from New York” and, most recently, HBO’s mini-series “Carnivale,” Adrienne Barbeau (a.k.a.: Mrs. Billy Van Zandt) plays Garland. Curiously, she doesn’t even attempt an impersonation. Rather than imitating Judy’s distinctive speech patterns, Ms. Barbeau sounds more like aristocratic Katharine Hepburn.

While the play is lacking, voluptuous Ms. Barbeau isn’t. Remember that she originated the role of Rizzo in “Grease” on Broadway three decades ago. With strong bone-structure and sensational looking at 60, she gave birth to twins just nine years ago – at age 51. Neverthless, a Star Is Not Born with this venture.

Susan Granger’s review of “The Pajama Game” (American Airlines Theater)

For the most delightful romp on the Broadway, you can’t beat the revival of Richard Adler and Jerry Ross’s classic “The Pajama Game,” based on Richard Bissell’s novel “7½ Cents,” starring handsome Harry Connick Jr., lovely Kelli O’Hara and deliciously dictatorial Michael McKean. It’s the hottest ticket in town!
Making his Broadway debut, Harry Connick Jr. has the looks, the charm, the charisma and the voice to play Sid Sorokin, the new superintendent at the Sleep-Tite pajama factory, where garment workers, under the leadership of the union’s grievance committee’s rep Babe Williams (Kelli O’Hara), are striking for a seven-and-a-half-cent an hour raise back in 1954. Connick’s silky tones enliven “A New Town is a Blue Town,” as well as crooning “Hey There,” and Kelli O’Hara (fresh from “Light in the Piazza”) brings down the house with him in “There Once Was a Man.” Their sexual energy ignites! But the show-stopper is when Connick hits the keyboard in “Hernando’s Hideaway.”
Contributing greatly to the sweet smell of success is director/choreographer Kathleen Marshall, who is responsible for many of the updates, including having the musical’s famous “Steam Heat” number done not by flirtatious Gladys (Megan Lawrence) but by lovestruck Mae (Joyce Chittick) with two nimble dancers (David Eggers. Vince Pesce). That’s the famous Bob Fosse number catapulted Shirley MacLaine from Carol Haney’s understudy to Hollywood since MacLaine caught the eye of producer Hal Wallis and an agent for Alfred Hitchcock who were in the audience.
Derek McLane’s set and Martin Pakledinaz’s costumes suit the mid-’50s perfectly.
Movie lovers may remember the 1957 screen version starring John Raitt, who originated the role, as Sid and Doris Day as Babe as Babe with Barbara Nichols as “Poopsie.” But this version is the best of all. It’s giddy, great fun!

Susan Granger’s review of “Festen” (Music Box Theater)

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. Based on a 1998 film by Thomas Vinterberg, Mogens, Rukov and Bo Hr. Hansen, part of the cult-like Dogme 95 movement, “Festen” revolves around the bizarre homecoming that marks the celebration of a wealthy Danish patriarch’s 60th birthday.
Helge (Larry Bryggman) and Else (Ali MacGraw) have three children; there were four but one recently committed suicide. As the assembled revelers, their partners and extended families gather ’round, tended by trusty servants, the elder son Christian (Michael Hayden) delivers a stark and startling toast, revealing all the abuse and anger that has bubbled below the surface for years. Repression is subsequently discarded by everyone else as the long-kept secrets of this dysfunctional family are aired.
Since “Festen” was so successful in London, it’s remarkable how unconvincing the American cast is, particularly when forced into performing perverse rituals like singing and dancing amid the disturbing emotional chaos. While seasoned stage actors Larry Bryggman and Michael Hayden struggle to maintain some calm semblance of veracity, television performers Julianna Marguilies and Jeremy Sisto, playing other siblings, verge on hysteria, while Ali MacGraw’s obvious trepidation about making her Broadway debut results in a stiff, self-conscious recitation of her lines, few as they are. Like several of her screen characters, she’s mainly required to look attentive and attractive.
Director Rufus Norris augments the sinister austerity of David Eldridge’s adaptation, while designer Ian MacNeil, costumer Joan Wadge, lighting designer Jean Kalman and musician Orlando Gough keep the audience enveloped in real and figurative shadow, gathered around a long banquet table that’s reminiscent of The Last Supper. While the London play was described as “shocking,” the only shocks here are the tasteless racial epithets hurled at a black guest. The question of the patriarch’s guilt or innocence, which was prevalent in the film, has been lost in translation, resulting in a decidedly dull party that one would rather not attend.