Theater

I will be honest: I can’t understand why The Addams Family got slammed by so many critics. For a show that provides such a quintessential Broadway experience – spectacular art direction, big-name stars, laugh-out-loud comedy, and crowd-pleasing musical numbers – judging it on anything other than its fun-spirited energy seems beside the point. Forgive me for siding with the masses who have applauded this family-friendly production. (Yes, I, too, snapped my fingers along with those familiar Addams Family theme-song notes in the overture.) When a show provides this much entertainment,  I can’t help but defend it:

Common criticism #1: “The plot is dull and unimaginative.” Gomez and Morticia Addams must face their worst nightmare: Their daughter Wednesday, 18, has fallen in love with a “normal” young man. His middle-America, whitebread family — the complete opposite of their morbid, creepy, kooky clan – are coming to dinner.

No, it’s not a nail-biting dark satire, but when it comes to this iconic franchise, plot is really second fiddle to the more important sell of this show – reconnecting us with familiar characters we have grown to love. For this purpose, the storyline is enough to highlight one of the Addams’ appeals: Beyond their twisted universe, they really are just people with desires and fears like the rest of us.  A daughter discovering first love. A mother feeling the pangs of mid-life crisis. A father learning to let go. For all their oddities, the Addams are strangely relatable.

What the show lacks in plot intricacy, it more than makes up for in artistic design. Death motifs may permeate the show, but the stage features an absolutely living and breathing set. The Addams family’s mansion, set in Manhattan’s Central Park, is a character all its own.  Staircases, windows, walls slide in and out through a menagerie of scene changes. Cemeteries take on an eerily romantic glow under a sprawling tree. Faint city skylines shimmer below a harvest moon. A ghostly chorus of  family ancestors strut in elaborate, period costumes. Innovative puppets add a magical, fantastical flair.  With big-budget Broadway glam, the Addams Family have never been more in style.

Common criticism #2: “Everything from the book to the music/lyrics is corny.” Indeed, the show likes to rhyme. (“Was Napoleon right for Josephine? Was nausea right for Dramamine?”) And yes, much of the music feels almost vaudevillian, allowing the overall effect to seem cartoonish. But what a crime this turned out to be: making Charles Addams’ beloved cartoon characters (first conceived for the New Yorker in the 30s) look like cartoons. That’s just unthinkable.

In a country where the Addams Family has been such an indelible part of our culture, every member of this macabre clan has license to be as much of a caricature as they want to be. This has always been a family of outrageousness. A show that milks their every eccentricity with campy humor – no matter how obvious, “low-brow,” or absurd (like Uncle Fester’s silly love affair with the moon) — isn’t necessarily doing them a disservice. It’s playing to the spirit of a family that has always been off their rocker. Corniness, in the hands of composer Andrew Lippa and writers Mashall Brickman and Rick Elise (Jersey Boys), can feel bizarrely charming. Jokes are funny BECAUSE they’re lame.

Common criticism #3: “Nathan Lane and Bebe Neuwirth squandered their talents on a show like this.” Oh, but these stars “squander” so well. Neuwirth brings a cool, suave, intentionally detached vibe to Morticia and leads those choreographed ensemble numbers with poise and ease. The night, though, belongs to Lane, who makes for one over-the-top, hyper-Spanish Gomez. The man is a master at turning simple things – like pausing in speech or holding a note too long – into comedic gold. Watching him manipulate each mannerism, tone, and line (“What I lack in height, I make up in shallowness”) makes you wonder why he was snubbed for a Tony this year.

He and the rest of this endearing cast – including Jackie Hoffman in a nutty turn as Grandmama – deserve much more credit than they’ve been given. Not seeing this show just because critics panned it … now that would be truly ghastly.

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The Addams Family has an open-ended run at the Lunt-Fontanne theater (46th and 7th). Tickets: $51.50-$126.50

With the 64th Tony season underway, Best Musical nominee Million Dollar Quartet just might be the dark horse come awards night June 13. On the surface, it looks like a musical that grandparents would like — a soundtrack of early rock ‘n’ roll hits by legends Elvis Presley, Carl Perkins, Johnny Cash, and Jerry Lee Lewis. The four stars aligned for one historic, impromptu jam session on December 4, 1956 at Sun Records, and the show lets us peek into their immortalized meeting. Yes, the playlist is dated, though the production (transplanted from Chicago) is anything but. For 95 minutes, the Nederlander Theater is transformed into one absolutely explosive, wildly entertaining concert hall. If this is what grandparents listened to when they were young, then boy did my generation miss out.

Unlike most jukebox musicals, Million Dollar Quartet doesn’t just roll through a roster of songs but actually weaves them seamlessly into a simple but passable plot: Sun Records owner Sam Phillips (Hunter Foster) — the “father of rock ‘n’ roll” — is trying to hold onto the company of young talent he has discovered. He’s already lost Elvis (Eddie Clendening) to RCA Records and doesn’t know that Johnny Cash (Lance Guest), a chart-topper by this point, is about to jump ship as well. Master guitarist Carl Perkins (Robert Britton Lyons), writer of “Blue Suede Shoes,” is bitter that Elvis stole his spotlight and credit and is hankering for another hit. And newcomer pianoman Jerry Lee Lewis (Levi Kreis) is eager to prove himself among these burgeoning recording legends.

Shortly before Christmas in 1956, these eventual rock ‘n’ roll greats mesh their personalities and their talents together in Memphis, singing gospel numbers  like “Down by the Riverside,” later released on a record. The show, however, also reimagines their meeting by throwing in many of their greatest hits, like “Hound Dog,” “Walk the Line,” and “Great Balls of Fire.” Elizabeth Stanley, playing the girlfriend Elvis is rumored to have brought to this session, rounds out the cast with memorable covers of her own, including a tastefully sultry “Fever.” The result is a truly captivating production — filled with both high-octane energy and soothing a cappella harmonies — showing without a doubt why such music became so iconic in American history.

As musicians and impersonators, the four leads of Million Dollar Quartet capture the essence of these Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Famers. Clendening as the young Elvis doesn’t quite sound exactly like the King, but channels enough good looks to be swoon-worthy. Guest as Johnny Cash is almost the opposite — not a complete lookalike but a deadringer in that deep bellow of a voice. I was most impressed, however, by Lyons, who tears up the guitar with virtuosic gusto; and especially Kreis, who steals the show by putting some serious steam into that piano AND for playing the likable, flamboyant goofball of the group. (That Tony nod for Best Featured Actor is well-deserved.) When the four pose and reenact the famous photograph taken of the musicians mid-jam, they create one of the most poignant moments on Broadway.

Throughout the production (directed by Eric Schaeffer), we get to know the fab four not only as musicians but as people. We see, for instance, a young unsure Elvis, timid in his singing style until Phillips mentors him. “Sing to me the way you sing to Jesus,” coaches the producer. These characterizations wouldn’t have been possible without a narrative, written by Colin Escott and Floyd Mutrux, that complements the music rather than competes with it. Flashbacks, asides, and scenes slide in and out of the rousing musical numbers easily and naturally, unlike the truncated style of Jersey Boys, which annoyingly didn’t finish songs because of intrusive dialogue. For a jukebox musical, Million Dollar Quartet has the best balance between music and narrative I’ve encountered so far. (And in a season of disappointingly book-less musicals, I was glad to see at least some sliver of humor and dramatic tension mixed in.)

By the end of the show, the four stars throw it all down for an out-of-this-world, glitter-tux encore of greatest hits. My friend and I may have been sitting among a sea of salt-and-pepper hair in the audience, but everything about the atmosphere at this point felt insanely youthful and unbridled. A woman in front of us waved her hands in the air. People clapped and sang along. Jaws hung open at the backwards guitar playing and other crazy shenanigans. In these moments, we see the magic of an era in all its glory — more so than in any other rock musical also nominated for a Best Musical Tony this year (American Idiot and Memphis). Phillips, with the wisdom of a visionary, said it best: “This rock ‘n’ roll thing ain’t a fad — it’s a damn revolution.” Million Dollar Quartet makes you believe every word.

4/5 Stars

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Million Dollar Quartet has an open-ended run at the Nederlander Theater (41st street between 7th and 8th). Tickets: $45-125.

Before Angelina and Brad, Lucy and Desi, Marilyn and Joe, there were Zelda and Scott. The Fitzgeralds were the “it” couple of the Roaring Twenties: young and beautiful, impulsive and idealistic, glamorous and hopelessly restless for a life that even the Great Gatsby might not have dreamed of. Their story, from their passionate love affair to their crumbled marriage, is the focus of the latest literary-themed production from the Culture Project: This Side of Paradise, now playing off-Broadway at the Theater at St. Clement’s.

The musical begins with the elder Zelda, now confined in a sanatorium, recalling her life with Scott to a concerned doctor. Flashbacks bring us to 1918 Montgomery, Alabama, where Zelda, the daughter of a prominent judge, is the belle of the ball — as well as the love at first sight (and later the muse) for F. Scott Fitzgerald, a budding author who is fresh from a tour of duty in WWI. The two begin a tumultuous love affair, staked in large part on whether Scott can make it as a novelist. He succeeds with his debut novel, This Side of Paradise, and the couple catapults into instant stardom and a high-rolling lifestyle. Happiness, however, is elusive; Scott’s drinking and Zelda’s obsessive, often-illusory pursuit of a talent of her own overshadow their fragile relationship. She suffers a mental breakdown, and he dies of a heart attack at age 44.

It’s a story as tragic and alluring as the novels it inspired – and it’s disappointingly under-executed in this production. Accomplished jazz musician Nancy Harrow, who composed music and lyrics (based on her 2003 CD Winter Dreams) and cowrote the book with director Will Pomerantz, takes care to portray the Fitzgeralds’ lives as they lived them. The easy-to-follow plot proceeds with historical faithfulness but falls short of capturing the romantic intrigue and complicated codependant-destructive relationship that lay at the heart of these two legendary figures.

Much of the problem has to do with the unremarkable writing, which surfaces most egregiously in the lyrics of the production’s uptempo, elementary-rhyme songs:

We’ve won,

It’s fun

We’re all really beautiful

And we can pay the price

It’s this side of paradise

Other times, songs don’t match the gravity of the situation. When Fitzgerald is in financial ruin near the end of his life, he and his creditors break out in a charming but inappropriate song-and-dance number “Dear Max.”

What’s even more disturbing is that Fitzgerald, played by Michael Shawn Lewis, never ages, while Zelda is portrayed as a young woman by Rachel Moulton and later in life by Maureen Mueller. Moulton injects great vitality into Zelda, epitomizing her as the “First American Flapper” whose greatest fear was living a “sordid, colorless life.” Still, for the most part, the cast, including supporting members Clark Carmichael, Jamie LaVerdiere, and Mandy Bruno in a versatile rotation of roles, are more believable as singers rather than actors.

To be sure, the music in this production can actually be quite lovely. Harrow has an ear for creating luminous melodies, and her more somber pieces, such as “My Lost City,” “My Swan,” and “Until It Comes Up Love,” shine with the support of a sophisticated jazz ensemble. It is in these songs that we catch a glimpse of the tragic weight of genius, the heartbreak of reaching the top early in life and having no other place to go but down. “It’s a terrible time when you realize your triumphs are in the past, so fast,” sings Fitzgerald. If only he knew how immortal his triumphs would truly become.

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This Side of Paradise plays at the Theater at St. Clement’s (46th St. between 8th and 9th) through May 9, 2010. Tickets: $65.

When I first learned Green Day’s American Idiot was opening on Broadway April 20, 2010, I was ecstatic. The rock musical, about young people coming of age in post-9/11 America, looked like it had the potential to be the next Spring Awakening – winner of 2007’s Tony Award for Best Musical. And it certainly seemed to have much going for it. Not only was it based on the eclectic, 2004 Grammy-winning album American Idiot by Green Day, it was co-authored by lead vocalist/guitarist Billie Joe Armstrong, led by Spring Awakening’s director Michael Mayer, and featured one of its breakout stars, Tony-Award-winner John Gallagher Jr.

So when that curtain rose to an absolutely electrifying opening scene, I felt shivers run up and down my spine. Designed with the glam-industrial look that worked so well for Spring Awakening, the high-ceilinged stage setting seemed to rise endlessly into the air with walls of glowing LCD screens flicking a visual/audio potpourri of this country’s collective cultural history. “Don’t wanna be an American idiot. One nation controlled by the media,” sang the talented young cast in the scintillating title number. They never sounded more convincing.

Unfortunately, this dazzling opener turned out to be the highlight of the show. For the rest of the intermissionless, 90-min. rock opera, which originally premiered at the Berkeley Repertory Theater in September 2009, a drastically barebones storyline only loosely coalesced Green Day’s music into a coherent narrative. Three young men hell-bent on breaking out of their suburban lives were angry: mad at the media, disillusioned with the government, raging against the machine. Why exactly? Not important. In light of Green Day’s bent on addressing America’s problems, we needed to take at face value that these rebels without a cause were leaving home to embark on a soul-searching journey.

Two of the guys immediately dropped out of the trip (one stayed behind with his pregnant girlfriend while another joined the military), leaving only Johnny (John Gallagher Jr.), the lone “Jesus of Suburbia.” Alone and adrift, he wondered what would become of him in a quietly dignified rendition of “Boulevard of Broken Dreams,” but quickly let his inner demon trap him in a whirlwind of drugs, lost loves, and self-destructive behavior.

Green Day’s music was undeniably rich for interpretation. Enormous range and lyrical complexity in their recognizable repertoire, from the head-banging energy of its rock numbers (“St. Jimmy”) to the bone-chilling beauty of its poignant melodies (“21 Guns,” “Whatsername”), made it solid material for this jukebox musical genre. Even non-punk fans may find themselves intermittently hypnotized by Green Day’s allure.

The problem was that, without a strong unifying story or even likable characters, the nuances and emotional energy in this music fell through, and the chance to elevate the songs’ significance by weaving them into a plot (like Rock of Ages did with 80s tunes) was disappointingly wasted.  An under-developed script made the show feel more like an exhausting rock concert than a Broadway musical. (I’m grateful, though, that at least some transitions were there, unlike the virtually silent Come Fly Away.)

With a deficit in narrative, American Idiot’s ties to Spring Awakening were strained at best. Aside from a similar choreography style, both shows featured young people grappling with growing pains. But Spring Awakening’s characters (from the justifiably rebellious Melchior to the vulnerably insecure Moritz — the role that won Gallagher his Tony) were believable and emotionally connected with the audience. American Idiot’s characters, by contrast, rebelled in their own world, never quite allowing us to sympathize with their angst. Rather than being antiheroes, they were simply just…antsy for change they couldn’t quite articulate. Johnny acknowledged at one point that he not only never “amounted to anything,” he was “nothing.”

The ending redeemed the show somewhat, as these American idiots came to terms with their own “idioicy.” But by then, it was clear that, despite great potential, similar premises, and familiar rockin’ energy, this musical was no Spring Awakening.

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American Idiot plays at the St.James theater (44th St. between 7th and 8th). Tickets: $32-$127.

As Act I stretched on, a daunting reality set in: These people are never really going to talk, are they? Sure, the choreography to Come Fly Away, Twyla Tharp’s new jukebox “musical” based on the Frank Sinatra songbook, was undeniably high-caliber, and the romantic moonlit stage atmosphere transported audiences to the magic of a bygone era. But none of this will quite make up for the surprise that may befall newcomers to Tharp’s work. This is, for anyone out there who likewise expected a show to be more than just dancing, a plot-less, unconventional, jazzy ballet masquerading as a Broadway musical.

There are those, of course, who will not be bothered by the near-total lack of narrative and will praise the show on inherent artistic grounds. I’m certainly not discrediting the enormous amount of sweat, creativity, and spirit that obviously went into this production, the latest in Tharp’s unique line of dance theater, including the Billy Joel musical Movin’ Out and her signature 80s ballet Nine Sinatra Songs. The dancers in Come Fly Away are seasoned professionals in the truest sense. They flew across the stage with effortless ease, twisting and turning their sinewy, acrobatic bodies with lyrical grace, fluid lifts, and animalistic energy. It was a modernist spectacle that’s ripe for interpretation and imagination.

But let’s get real here. Stripping a meaningful story from a so-called musical made it far less entertaining than it could have been. Even the purest, most wordless dance theater needs some inkling of dramatic substance to propel it forward, and Come Fly Away’s abstract, cursory portrayal of “love affairs” offered no urgency, no motivation for the audience to want to know what happens next.  It was beautiful dancing, yes, yet also unshakably similar from scene to scene. And it couldn’t squelch that nagging question: “So what?” Tharp, who has choreographed to Sinatra since the 1970s, may have reinvented the definition of “musical,” but at the end of the day, I still can’t help siding with Webster: “musical numbers and dialogue based on a unifying plot.” No story, no problem? Um, no.

To be sure, this show was not entirely devoid of a “premise.” With a live band playing along with an enchanting but exhausting stream of Sinatra recordings (intermeshed with covers by Hilary Gardner), we followed four couples as they embark on a journey of infatuation and flirtation, jealousy and obsession, heartbreak and reconciliation — all portrayed in the realm of movement and (sometimes gleefully sterile) facial expressions. Of these, the most delightful was the youthful and playful arc captured by Laura Mead and Charlie Neshyba-Hodges, whose humorous antics were the closest thing to acting in this production. None of the other relationships in this show featured chemistry as strong as theirs, an inadequacy that undercut the entire “love affair” concept of the show.

For a production to bill itself in this way, there has to be an emotional connection between the characters as well as with the audience. While these dancers portrayed romance and sultriness onstage, they never quite came across as characters we care about and root for. Dance as a medium can certainly tell stories and channel unspeakable feelings, but in the case of Come Fly Away, we were simply left with too many fancy lifts, too little believable passion.

Die-hard Sinatra fans should enjoy this production (the audience featured a markedly older crowd). So will many dance enthusiasts with the trained eye that will allow them to most appreciate technique. Heck, I can even see a market in non-English-speaking tourists. Nevertheless, calling Come Fly Away a Broadway musical would be denial at best, deception at worst. I’m left let down by what appears to be a growing trend of scriptless productions so far this season. (Come Fly Away actually made the razor-thin plot of American Idiot look like a saga.) Come on Broadway, beef up your books.

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Come Fly Away plays at the Marriot Marquis (46th St. between Broadway and 8th Ave.). Tickets: $65-$125.

When Leslie Goshko describes the struggles of her youth in her new solo show Vodka Shoes (directed by Kyle Erickson), it helps for the sake of a compelling tale that she grew up in a wacky family where everyone battled a different set of problems.  But what sets this show apart from others is how masterfully and economically she handles every single sentence, building up entertaining subplots that flush out a grand epic filled with looming failures and quiet victories.  She milks each moment for maximum enjoyment so that the audience can laugh with her now at episodes that were certainly heartbreaking and painful when they occurred.

Notes:

•    This is not Leslie’s first foray into storytelling.  Ardent Goshkoholics will recognize her from her previous solo show S.C.A.B.s Stick Together, as well as her frequent performances in The Liar Show, Speakeasy and her own monthly gig Sideshow Goshko.

•    The characters in her story begin as broad comical tropes but grow and develop over time, with intriguing histories that inform their denouements.

•    Try to avoid reading any promotional material for the show, as it gives away some of the plot, and it’s more fun to experience it right as she tells it to you.  Just trust in Goshko and go to the show.

•   FYI these following points do not give away any actual spoilers.. They are just teasers:

•    Usually when you hear about molestation within a family, it’s cause for concern, but here, it’s described as a fun game.

•    She puts on a pair of stunning ruby red slippers that whisk her off to a place much more wonderful and frightening than any fantasy world.

•    There’s one part where you may suddenly find yourself crying when you least expect it.

•    The show clocks in at a full hour’s length, but when she took her final bow, it felt as though it had only been around 20 minutes.  I heard other audience members say this as well.  The show moves at a very fast pace and covers a lot of ground, and it definitely leaves you wanting more.

Vodka Shoes runs Thursday, February 25, 2010 through Sunday, March 07, 2010 in Under St. Marks (94 St. Marks Place in East Village) as part of the FRIGID New York Festival.

Purchase Tickets.

All photos by Craig Ruttle.

Andrew Singer performs all over the NYC as comedic rapper “soce, the elemental wizard.” He has toured Europe and the U.S., and been featured on numerous media outlets, including MTV, VH1, Here TV, Logo, The Source, Out, Howard Stern and Sirius Shade 45.  His music is available on iTunes, and you can catch him performing at a weekly stand-up comedy show with Abbi Crutchfield called Positively Awesome.

Ultra-Orthodox Jews.  You see them all around New York City.  Walking around with their black hats, black coats, beards and peyot (curly sidelocks of hair by their ears).  You may often wonder what they’re like as people.  Yisrael Campbell is not one of them, but he’s the closest most people outside the fold will get to meeting one.

“You can tell I’m not Ultra-Orthodox because I’m wearing a blue button-up shirt and not a white one.” He comes across as very warm and friendly, loving coffee as well as the chance to share his journey from being a drug-addicted Catholic to an Orthodox Jew, which he happens to do currently in his wildly successful Off Broadway one-man show Circumsize Me.  City Scoops had the chance to ask him additional questions about his life experiences and the performance world in general in a multi-part interview.

City Scoops: When looking for a deeper religious experience, why not become a more devout Catholic or switch to a different religious?  Why choose Judaism in particular?

Yisrael Campbell: Christianity didn’t speak to me.  That could’ve been because it was the religion of my childhood, and it was given to me by people who weren’t particularly happy with being Catholic either.

When I met Judaism, I met it as an adult, and I met it from a lot of people who were strong proponents of it.  Then again, I had met numerous Christians in my 20s; a mix of Catholics, Lutherans and other branches.  I was not impressed with their version of confession.  Sometimes they didn’t even speak with a priest; they simply said it in their prayers alone.

One of the things I liked so much about Judaism was the idea that G-d didn’t want to forgive my sins until I had spoken to the person I’d harmed here on Earth.  That seemed a much better way to work things out.  I may not understand all tenets of Christian theology, but after several attempts to make Christianity my spiritual practice, it just never ultimately spoke to me.  Whereas Judaism did, and my connection with it grew and grew.  It’s not a perfect system either by any stretch, but it works for me.

Another facet I enjoy is how the Talmud (the written-down oral law) contains a mix of contradictions.  It presents both sides of opinions about various matters, and it doesn’t label either the majority or the minority statements as right or wrong.  I find in general that Christianity tends to have a more strict sense of right and wrong, where you either got it, or you didn’t.  I like how in Judaism, it’s up to you personally to read both sides and decide for yourself.  I find that to be much more true to life.

That definitely ties into your own name Yisrael (”One Who Wrestles With G-d”).  Even if G-d himself states something, you still might disagree with it.  Tell us how that relates to the original title of the show, “It’s Not in Heaven”.

That’s a quote from the bible (”Lo Ba’Shamayim He”).  In the Gemara (part of the Talmud containing rabbinical commentaries and analysis), there’s this argument between one rabbi and a bunch of other rabbis.  None of the rabbis will say that this one rabbi’s right, even though he performs a series of greater and greater miracles to prove his point.

Finally, a voice comes out from heaven and says, “He’s right!” but even then, the rabbis won’t concede, stating that they are the ones on earth with the Torah, and it’s not up to those in heaven to tell them what to think.  Arguing with G-d is so not Christian but very Jewish.

I think it’s a great story, but telling it in the middle of my show would make everybody’s eyes glaze over, and then they definitely would want to literally circumsize me.  But it’s a very important theme of the show.

Why did you go through three conversions?  Why not just immediately become Orthodox (instead of becoming Reform and Conservative first)?  Or even just stick with being Reform?

When I first started, I had no idea that I was doing Reform / Conservative / Orthodox.  I met a group of people, and I thought I was converting to “Judaism”.  It was only after the first conversion that I started to flesh out that this was a reform conversion and not everyone accepted it.  And I realized that as Reform Jews, we didn’t even do all of the activities that everybody else was doing.  Some of the prayers we did weren’t the whole prayers.

A lot of it was in English, I imagine.

And then it was a natural progression.  I was in a couple of situations where Orthodox people told me that I wasn’t Jewish.  So when I wanted to put on tefillin (arm bindings worn during prayer), I realized I needed to take more steps, so I went to the Conservative synagogue.  They were welcoming, but then they did kind of guide me to do a beit din (a rabinnical court of Judaism), which I hadn’t yet done.

I’m not sure it would’ve worked out the same if I’d gone straight to the Orthodox.  The idea on a theological, philosophical level is that you pull the convert closer with their right hand, which is your stronger hand…

And then they push you away with their left hand.

Which is your weaker hand.  So the idea is that the pull is stronger toward and weaker against, but in my experience, it appears to be that more people either push you away with both hands or at least push you away with the right hand.

In retrospect, I’m kind of glad that by the time I started meeting that heavy resistance, I already considered myself a Jew on several levels.  I had already built up a level of Jewish experience.

Stay tuned for Part Two of this interview, coming soon!

Circumsize Me is performed weekly from Wednesday through Sunday at Bleeker Street Theater on 45 Bleeker St in NoHo.  The show is currently running at present through May 16.  Purchase Tickets.

All photos by Carol Rosegg.

Andrew Singer performs all over the NYC as comedic rapper “soce, the elemental wizard.” He has toured Europe and the U.S., and been featured on numerous media outlets, including MTV, VH1, Here TV, Logo, The Source, Out, Howard Stern and Sirius Shade 45.  His music is available on iTunes, and you can catch him performing at a weekly stand-up comedy show with Abbi Crutchfield called Positively Awesome.

A year ago this month, Barack Obama was inaugurated President of the United States. Over the past 12 months, the celebratory fervor for this country’s first black President has ebbed and flowed along with the ripples from the stock market, the unemployment rate, and the endless political mud-slinging that has perhaps become most symbolically visible in Obama’s rapidly graying hair. But tonight, watching Memphis on Broadway and its exuberant and heart-aching portrayal of race relations in the 1950s during the birth of rock ‘n’ roll, I found myself with a renewed appreciation for the road this country has taken – more so than even during Obama’s inauguration. Onstage, race could dictate everything from music on the radio to whom you could love; offstage we have an African American in the White House. I couldn’t help but feel moved that the former was theater, the latter reality, and until relatively recently, this was far too easily the other way around.

Even if you’re not an Obama lover and could care less about race dynamics in this country, you’d be hard pressed to not have a good time at this show. Memphis isn’t just a story about the first white DJ to play “race music” on the radio, shaking up not only the nation’s notions of rock ‘n’ roll but also of interracial love; it’s also quite simply the most hair-raising, can-I-get-a-Hallelujah musical-and-dance extravaganza on Broadway right now.

Joe DiPietro and David Bryan (creators of the hilarious Toxic Avenger) have done it again: They’ve written and composed a musical that is dazzling from start to finish. But unlike Toxic, which some have accused of being “cheesy” (how dare they; the cheese was the best part), Memphis probes darker waters on how love and career can be constrained by the color of your skin. Has this been done before? Absolutely. But what’s not cliché is that all of this is told with one jaw-dropping show-stopper after another. If the story and the racial significance of this musical don’t do it for you, the music – from sultry rhythm and blues to rollickin’ gospel to toe-tapping pop harmonies to sizzling early rock – surely will. It’s Broadway does soul, and who cares if it’s not authentic – this is the kind of musical fusion that often made me want to get up and wave my arms like I just didn’t care.  Add to this mix an ensemble of expert, athletic dancers who pump not only energy but passion into each vibrantly choreographed number, and you’ve got a production that is every definition of what a Broadway show should be.

Chad Kimball is charismatic and perfect as Huey Calhoun, a white high-school dropout in 1955 Tennessee who adores African American music. He doesn’t know much about the music business, but does know how to follow his instincts with a loopy but dogged knack for impromptu. After ambushing a local radio station (by locking himself in a DJ booth while the real DJ stepped away for a moment), he introduces the people of Memphis to “Negro music” – and becomes an instant hit. Though he climbs up the industry ladder, eventually hosting his own R&B television show, he’s less successful in publicizing his love for Felicia, a phenomenally talented and ambitious black singer he features on the radio.

Felicia is much more cognizant of the limits of their relationship and her career if she stays in Memphis instead of moving to the less conservative North. “You can be white any time you want to be,” she tells Huey, noting that her “choices” are far less possible. When the couple is clubbed and beaten for a public display of affection, we know that this is a love story that is anything but boy-meets-girl.  Montego Glover brings spunk to Felicia (“A woman can tell when a man is lying – he opens his mouth”), and while she can be a little affected during the more serious scenes, her powerhouse vocals more than compensate. Both she and Kimball have absolutely inspirational, goose-bumps-worthy moments in the spotlight: For her, it’s “Colored Woman” in the first act; for him, “Memphis Lives in Me” in act two. If ever there was an anthem for digging down into your roots, this is it.

Kimball and Glover are supported by a fantastic cast with not a single weak link among them. As Felicia’s sibling Delray, J. Bernard Calloway is super tough and mistrustful of Huey’s intentions – the overprotective older brother I certainly wish I could’ve had growing up. Cass Morgan is ruthlessly racist as Huey’s mother, and though her transformation in the second act is unconvincing, it is also impossible not to laugh at her campy gospel vocal runs. My favorite is Bobby (James Monroe Iglehart), a radio station janitor Huey later invites to perform on his show. All I can say is, the man has GOT MOVES.

Memphis could’ve pushed the envelope a little further in exploring the actual history and consequences of white appropriation of African American music, something that is only voiced in Delray’s occasional accusations of Huey (e.g. “My soul doesn’t want your soul stealin’ our music.”) But in the context of this story, did Huey really benefit from his appropriation? That’s something that is questioned in the surprisingly bittersweet final scenes of this show. Here is where Memphis becomes less satisfying but more realistic than other shows of this nature. Hairspray unabashedly celebrated how music breaks down racial barriers; Memphis takes a much more subdued, less feel-good approach – acknowledging music’s transgressive powers while also hinting at the emotional costs involved in such cross-overs.

The complicated sentiments that run through the end of Memphis speak to the often unspoken but nevertheless controversial race relations that continue on into today. (The upcoming census survey, for instance, has riled some up over the inclusion of “Negro” on the same line as “African American” in the “check your race” box.)  At the end of act one, the cast poignantly brings to life “Change Don’t Come Easy,” a song that carries unique emotional resonance in light of a campaign of hope that became more than just a dream. Memphis didn’t make me believe that this country is anywhere near as colorblind as it often pretends to be, but it did lead to a dramatic juxtaposition – of past prejudices and present-day Presidents – that has given me more perspective on just how far we’ve come.

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Memphis plays at the Shubert Theater, 225 West 44th Street (between Broadway and 8th Ave.). Tickets: $41.50-$126.50.

It’s the twentysomething Catch-22: You can’t get experience without a job. You can’t get a job without experience. But in the throes of the worst economic recession since the 1930s, this crisis gets all the more menacing for young adults. No job (or trustfund)? No apartment. No relationship. No survival. And maybe for some, the scariest consequence of them all:  Moving back in with the ‘rents.

These are some of the scenarios in The Great Recession, a series of six 10-minute plays that explore how the recession has impacted the younger generation. Produced by the Flea, one of the leading off-off-Broadway nonprofit theaters in the city, and performed by their talented resident young company the Bats (a repertory that annually attracts more than 1,000 aspiring actors to audition), the plays are by turns surreally disturbing, delightfully comedic, and endearingly bizarre. Some exaggerate the recession to apocalyptic proportions, while others subtly study how relationships and emotions fluctuate in time with the stock market.  All are imaginative depictions of how humans handle hard times:

Classic Kitchen Timer, written and directed by Adam Rapp — An absolute jolt that starts off the evening,  this contemporary tale pits a desperate, uninsured, 26-year-old laid-off meat cutter against a gruesome offer: Kill a baby and earn $25,000. Whoever stops her (i.e. anyone in the audience) will earn $25,000 instead — but must face another deadly catch. Tense and provoking, this nightmarish drama gives a new disturbing meaning to “human resource” as well as food for thought on just how far people are willing to go when they have nothing.

Fucked, by Itamar Moses, directed by Michelle Tattenbaum – By far my favorite work of the night, this was welcome comedic relief after the intensity of the previous play. A young woman plans on joining her boyfriend on a trip that’s funded by his Wall Street father.  Little does she know that he wants to go alone and use this chance to gain some distance and  “clarify things.” The ensuing “are-you-breaking-up-with-me” drama is some of the most realistic and entertaining couple banter I’ve seen, thanks in no small part to impeccable chemistry between Jessica Pohly and Dorien Makhloghi. As they say, you don’t know a good thing until it’s gone.

New York Living, by Thomas Bradshaw, directed by Ethan McSweeney — Young actors deal with lost apartments and sexual frustration while trying to win a Tony Award. While not as sharp and biting as Fucked, this is an amusing tongue-in-cheek comedy on how the recession impacts the economics of love.

Severed, by Erin Courtney, directed by David McCallum – My second fave of the night featured an unlikely romance that springs up in the waiting room before an interview. At one point, the young woman (Amy Jackson) wears a giant eunuch head and breaks into a song/dance number. It’s kind of like that Friends episode when Monica sticks her head into a turkey — hysterical. We’ve all heard how it’s important to stand out from the pack in an interview. Oh, does she stand out.

Recess, by Sheila Callaghan, directed by Kip Fagan – After intermission, we were back in the recession’s doom and gloom again. And it doesn’t get darker and more desperate than the tiny studio shared by 11 out-of-work young New Yorkers.  Here, the recession is at its most cataclysmic, as people are reduced to zombie-like skeletons subsisting on mere morsels of food. None of these survivors are all that likable, but each will make your stomach churn with hunger during their hair-raising “dinner scene.”

Unum, by Will Eno, directed by Jim Simpson – The least accessible of all the six plays, this drama about the power of the dollar takes us from the board room of a diaper factory to the lunch room of a government currency printing facility. Storylines feel scattered, but may be relatable for anyone who’s felt innocently victimized by this recession.

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The Great Recession plays at The Flea Theater (41 White between Broadway and Church) through Dec. 30, 2009. Tickets: $25.

Shuffling through daily life in an often anonymous city, we may tend to forget that behind all those impassive faces on the subway, each person has their own story…their own anxieties, troubles, and fears. In Albert Tapper’s Sessions, the life struggles that we normally never see or hear are endearingly humanized as we eavesdrop on the group therapy meetings of Dr. Peter Peterson (Robert Newman), a well-meaning New York therapist who lends an ear to a myriad of distresses.

Among his patients: a man who suffers from 15 years of unrequited love, a bickering older couple who wonders where romance in their marriage has gone, a woman who can’t leave her abusive husband, and a vixen Peterson (guiltily) finds attractive. What binds them together is their common hope that therapy — “this science and this art” — will do them some good, and in the process, they instill faith that human resilience can go a long way.

Though an evening of psychological soul-baring might sound serious, Tapper’s sweet, catchy, melodious score makes this off-Broadway musical far from a pill-popping sob story. So many of the songs are moving (“Feels Like Home”) if not downright infectious (the Gospel-choir-inspired “The Sun Shines In”); the lone piano gives this production a classic-musical feel. The characters are likable, and an occasional flat joke not withstanding, they rein in some genuine laughs. Most of all, even if you don’t have any of their realistically portrayed problems, you somehow feel they are relatable: “We are all just struggling to make a path through life. That’s what makes us human.”

One of the most unique aspects about this musical is that, unlike other psychology-themed productions that focus only on the patients’ torment (i.e. Next to Normal, Distracted), we get a peek into the private world of those on the receiving end of such grievances. Ever wonder what your shrink thinks of you? Sessions reveals what might go through your doctor’s head after hearing your problems – and no, not all of these people are playing Sudoku or staring blankly while you talk. Dr. Peterson can be just as flawed as his patients: He advises, but also learns a great deal from them.

Below, the doctor grants a session to City Scoops. Two-time Emmy nominee Robert Newman (The Guiding Light) shares his experience on the show — and what happened when his own therapist came to a performance.

City Scoops: You’ve done a terrific job portraying therapist Dr. Peter Peterson. How did you come to this role?

Robert Newman:  My good friend and colleague Ron Raines, who played Alan on Guiding Light, called me one day and told me about a play he had seen.  He knew that I was looking to get onstage in the last couple of months of shooting GL and felt that the role of Dr. Peterson was right for me.  I met with the producers and director of Sessions a couple of days later.  I read the script, liked the role, and we were off to the races.  I joined the show in late May.

CS: What has it been like working with the cast and crew?

RN:  It has been a joy.  They are all so talented, so good at what they do.  Some wonderful voices and great actors.  They are also such good people offstage.  Everyone onstage and off has been wonderful.  I couldn’t ask for a better work experience.  They have become like family to me.

CS: For those who have never seen the show, why should they see it?

RN:  I think there is so much in this show for everyone.  We are a society that is so broken and beat up by our various demons and our unique pasts that we go to therapists, individually and in group, to find understanding and hope.  Al Tapper has put together in this piece a good grouping of different struggles.  A woman who grew up with an alcoholic mother, a man who is very successful yet cannot please his own father, a woman abused by her husband, a couple married forever yet who hate each other.  Several others with different issues, and then Dr. Peterson himself, who is in a sort of mid-life crisis mode.  On the brink of an affair with a patient that would ruin his own marriage and possibly his career.  He is at a point of wondering if what he does has any meaning or value.  Throughout the play he somehow helps his patients and they help him.  It’s really quite a wonderful journey.  There’s quite a bit of humor, as in life, but we often have a very weepy audience throughout the night.  It’s time well spent and quite therapeutic in its own right.

CS: You’ve been on CBS’s The Guiding Light for the past 28 years. What are your secrets for longevity?

RN:    You mean physically or in terms of career?  Physically I’m just lucky.  Strong Norwegian genes, I guess.  Career-wise I’d like to think I’m just good at what I do and work hard at it.  And lucky, blessed, fortunate, whatever you want to call it.  It’s been and continues to be a great ride.  Hey, I get paid to play make-believe.  What a great job.

CS: In Sessions, you play a therapist who acknowledges that he’s only human. Has acting as a therapist helped influence any of your own views on life?

RN:  I suppose so.  In some ways.  I’ve been through a lot of therapy in my own life.  I believe in the process if you have the right match of therapist and patient.  One of the most surreal nights was having my own therapist in the audience.  She came about two months into the run, so she’d already heard quite a few stories from me in session about the play and the people I work with.  We talked for quite a while afterward.  She liked the play overall and felt it a pretty accurate reflection of that vocation.  Except the singing and dancing part, of course.  I guess those things don’t really happen much in real sessions.

CS: What’s next on the horizon for you?

RN:  I’ll be with Sessions till at least the end of the year.  We have hopes of moving it to a bigger house so we’ll see how that pans out.  My general plan is to stay on stage for the next couple of years.  I need a break from television, and stage is where I feel at home and at peace.  It has always been home for me.

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Sessions plays at the Algonquin Theater at 123 East. 24th St. (between Park and Lexington). Tickets: $20-$50.