How you feel about a movie version of Cats is probably dependent on whether or not you enjoyed Cats on Broadway (or on any stage). I was indifferent; I wasn’t completely immune to its certain charms (the otherworldly Betty Buckley’s incandescent performance, to be precise), despite the flimsiness of the score, sets and costumes. So, considering the source material, the film will probably be better by fiat. I’ll also surmise that the screenwriter, Lee Hall (who also wrote the screenplay for the film Billy Elliot as well as the book for the stage version, both wonderful), who co-wrote this screenplay with director Tom Hooper, has structured some sort of plot out of a book-less musical.
However, Jennifer Hudson, who portrays Grizabell, and looks like she spent some time in a litter box at Chernobyl, sounds pretty dreadful singing “Memory” (Hudson’s chest register is still non-existent, and the “…touch me…” is purely anti-climactic), and the eternal nuisance that is Rebel Wilson continues to annoy, even if briefly in a short trailer. Also, must. James. Corden. Be. Fucking. EVERYWHERE?!?!
That said, the choreography is by the brilliant Andy Blankenbuehler (three-time Tony winner for “In The Heights,” “Hamilton,” and “Bandstand”), and Dame Judy Dench as Old Deuteronomy, Sir Ian McKellan as Gus, The Theatre Cat, and Idris Elba as Macavity, will probably be worth the price of admission alone (or at least the eventual VOD rental), even if the names Jason Derulo and Taylor Swift are enough to cast some serious doubts. (Not to mention Hooper, who ruined the film version of Les Miserables with inept direction.)
But what the fuck do I know? This will probably make a fortune.
If we’re lucky homo sapiens, every few years a splendid anomaly occurs in the usually vapid space-time continuum of television awards shows that negates the basic dreary tropes and widens eyes with something that is, if you’ll excuse the cliché, purely magical.
The last time we were borne witnesses to such a thrilling spectacle was on June 8th, way back in 2013, and it was the opening number of the 67th Annual Tony awards. Renaissance man – and future Tony winner – Neil Patrick Harris (he would win the following year for Hedwig and the Angry Inch), performed the original song “Bigger,” written by Tony Award winners Lin-Manuel Miranda (In The Heights) and Tom Kittening (Next To Normal), and choreographed by Tony/Emmy winner Rob Ashford, and the number remains, (in?)arguably, the greatest opening number in any awards show history. Starting off with an ode to the 2012s Best Musical, Once, while alluding to the smaller Beacon Theater, where the awards took place the prior two years, Harris slowly morphs from intricate Irish troubadour…
I can break your heart with a work of art. And a song that’s quiet and small. But we’re back where we began it all. Radio City Music Hall.
So tonight we might go bigger…
…to full-on song & dance Master of Ceremonies, with a razzle-dazzle, lollapalooza EIGHT minutes of pure Broadway heaven. Saturating the stage of Radio City, Harris not only pays tribute to that year’s nominees, he also jumps through Pippin‘s circus hoops, gets hoisted in the air as a flyer for the cast of Bring It On, then landing without a beat, and even performs a classic, still confounding magic trick, all while continuing singing Miranda and Kitt’s brilliant ode to the theater, breathlessly and exuberantly.
It’s exhilarating to behold, and despite the spectacle of it all, with all its grandiosity, never once does it feel scattered, or discombobulated – it is overwhelming in the most wonderful way, never inundating the senses yet always dazzling them. You just sit there, mouth agape, taking in the beauty and wonder of it all. It defines the true essence of “Bringing down the house.”
Anna Kendrick and Debra Messing are ALL of us!
There are so many great lyrics in “Bigger” that it’s worth repeat viewings just to not miss them. From, “And you could bounce a quarter off the ass of Billy Porter. Lord he does eight shows a week in eight inch heels!” (Kinky Boots would go on to win 6 Tonys that night, including one for Porter) to “Hats off to Berry Gordy. He runs Motown like a boss. He dominates Top Forty and he banged Diana Ross!” (Gordy produced and wrote Motown: The Musical which ran that season, and was up for numerous awards) to poking fun of the ersatz movie version of Les Miserables (“Can I have my Tom Hooper ‘Les Miz’ closeup please? See, on Broadway we don’t need extreme closeups to prove we’re singing live. We sing live eight shows a week. Check it!”). Even Kathy Lee Gifford gets a lighthearted jab: “Mamma Mia, Lion King, The Jersey Boys are tappin’, Kathie Lee’s a Broadway lyricist so anything can happen!” (Gifford wrote the books and lyrics for Scandalous: The Life and Trials of Aimee Semple McPherson, which ran briefly that season to some surprisingly favorable reviews.)
But it’s not all comedy. By the time Harris sing/raps…
There’s a kid in the middle of nowhere, Who’s sitting there living for Tony Performances, Singing and flipping along with the Pippins And Wickeds and Kinkys, Matildas, and Mormanses. So we might reassure that kid, And do something to spur that kid, ‘cause I promise you, All of us up here tonight,
We WERE that kid!
…we are all already screaming, or crying, or both.
“Bigger” nears it’s finale by filling up the aisles and stage of Radio City’s with countless Broadway gypsies, singers and dancers from nearly every show running that season. And when this miraculous extravaganza reaches its climax, not only does Radio City’s audience roar with a thunderous, beatific ovation lasting more than 60 seconds (a lifetime for a live TV awards show), but we at home are doing the same, emotionally drained, exhausted and intoxicated.
When Audra McDonald and Zachary Quinto walked out on stage to present the first award, Quinto wisely says to the still recuperating audience, and to a smiling, agreeing McDonald, “That’s the definition of a tough act to follow!”
Indeed, Mr. Quinto. And to paraphrase Harris’s womanizing sitcom character Barney Stinson, “This Tony performance is legen…wait for it…DARY!”
Too many changes pissed me off: Ne-Yo is curious enough, but Ne-Yo writing an original song FOR this? Ugh. Removing “I Was Born On The Day Before Yesterday” and replacing it with a song not even good enough to make the cut of the dreadful movie version, called “You Can’t Win”? Feh. (Though, I do know it was originally written for the stage, but never used.) Queen Latifah and Mary J Blige? As much as I love them, both are ubiquitous. Enough. Now I’m not really adverse to change, but sometimes I’m guilty off being too much of a traditionalist, particularly when it comes to something I cherish. Oh well. Sue me.
Still, my anticipation was – and is – very high, as THE WIZ was the very first Broadway musical I ever saw, and it remains an indelible part of my very heart. And then I saw this. Now, I’m a religious-free man, but…oh my god. Oh. My. God. OH. MY. GOD!!!!! This sent tremulous shivers pirouetting down my spine.
I first saw the off-Broadway production back in February, at the Public, as a birthday present to myself. It was a staggering achievement then, but even more so now.
Every so often a work of art descends upon us from the heavens, via the musical theater gods – so breathtaking, towering in its scope, vision and execution – to dazzle us, to thrill us, to exalt us, to inspire us, to perplex us, to educate us, to illuminate us, and ideally, to transform us. Welcome to that pantheon, Hamilton.
Believe the hype. It’s one of the – if not THE – greatest musical I’ve seen in a decade or more, and ranks with the mightiest of all time.
Below is a clip sent to various networks and outlets to use as promos – a partial of “Yorktown (World Turned Upside Down),” which excludes the into, and it’s thrilling. I’m going back in a few months, and I’m sure to make various visits over the next few years.
I’ve seen “Les Miserables” countless times on Broadway since its opening back in 1987, with various actors playing Jean Valjean. I saw the brilliant Colm Wilkison twice during his original run, and his replacement, the great Gary Morris – yes the Country singer – who was outstanding in a complete 180 of his usual metier. I sat (slept?) through the 2006 revival, saved only by the performances (with Alexander Gemignani as Vlajean and Norm Green as Javert) – and, of course, Hugh Jackman in the sadly disappointing movie version. (Oh, and, I used to kill this song at karaoke.)
But it wasn’t until I saw Ramin Karimloo late last year that I witnessed the greatest “Bring Him Home” in the history of my Les Miz-experiencing life, and the most emotionally startling portrayal of Valjean. This video, while breathtaking, doesn’t even do justice to just how transcendent Karimloo was, as absolutely tremendous as his voice is here. To see him was to see Les Miz – and Jean Valjean – as a rebirth, rather than merely a renaissance.
I only wish that I had gone back to see him again, as I promised myself I would, but unfortunately, tonight is his last performance after a year and a half in the role. I’m not usually a proponent of “bootlegs” but I have to admit to being thankful that someone flipped out their iPhone to capture this genius performance.
Bravo for a monumental run, Karimloo. Can’t wait to see you on stage again.
How do you mourn a legend who’s lived more than you and me combined? At the ripe old age of 89, the great Elaine Stritch has taken her final bows. To see her in a show was to expect the expected AND unexpected, and to bear witness Broadway royalty non pareil. I’m thrilled, delighted, and now nostalgic that I was able to be a mortal spectator over the years – in the astounding “Eliane Stritch At Liberty,” over a dozen years ago, and more recently as Angela Lansbury’s replacement in the revival of “A Little Night Music.” And, I can still, forevermore, as Colleen Donaghy on “30 Rock,” my already worn out copy of the making of the Original Cast Recording of “Company,” and countless YouTube treasures.
Rest in peace and respect, Elaine. And everybody rise…rise…RISE!
Recording her legendary “The Ladies Who Lunch” from Sondheim’s “Company”:
Idina Menzel lives in a musical kingdom where she rules as the Queen and her uber-fans are of many facets – her disciples, her defenders, her watchdogs, her court jesters, and her steadfastly dedicated army. Dare, if you will, to publicly state that the Emperor has no clothes, and you will be harangued, and scolded, and her votary will wish you banished to the tar pits of another land.
Yeah, they’re nutty like that.
I’ve often taken to Twitter and FB to complain (ok, mock, really) Menzel’s status as a theater (and gay) icon. Loathing the bloated, yet seemingly beloved, Wicked, it’s always been a curiosity that so many have elevated her to the status that she thrives in (more recent examples include her “screeching” at the Oscars and her “Live: Barefoot At The Symphony” PBS special and album). But I live with someone who adores her, so, as a good boyfriend/partner/whatever – and thanks to my work connections – I was able to finagle two free tickets to her sold out Radio City Music Hall one-night only event. (As an example of that snark, here’s what I posted once the tix were secured: I was just comped 2 free tix to Idina Menzel’s Radio City Music Hall concert on June 16th. Lucky me. I get to endure 2 hours of shrieking. All for Rob. What a man suffers through for love. #HeyItsFree#IHaveAHeadacheAlready.Yeah, I know – no boundaries.)
Now, to be fair, and completely honest, I’ve always liked Menzel as an actress and a personality, where, whenever interviewed, she was lovely, earthly, un-manufactured, if you will, despite her vocal “styling” seldom pleasing my ears. (Of course I never meant the literal definition of “screech” or “shriek” in my description. It was always colloquially.) Her high belts were, and remain powerful, yet always thin – often bordering on shrill, rarely full, or robust. Every power note hit often results in a tinny tone, resulting in her wavering off-course, missing the landing. Her propensity to slur many of her words together leaves some lyrics indecipherable. When she hits her highs in head register, it always bamboozled me at the almost biblical reaction of the audience. (Although, I’ve always admitted that her tone was gorgeous when she sang in chest register.) Though such gut reaction is a personal emotion and cannot be negated by snark (especially mine), like the aforesaid emperor, I’ve sat in abstract awe at the rapturous response, always wanting to bellow, “She’s naked!!!!!”
In the three times I saw her in Wicked (don’t ask) her act-1 show-stopper, “Defying Gravity,” was bombastic (not her fault), anticlimactic (sorta her fault) and strident (yeah, her fault). Sure, she could’ve had an off-night, but three? I admired her in Rent a few years prior to Wicked (though admired no one from the disastrous filmed version), she was fine in (Andrew Lippa’s version of) the otherwise meandering The Wild Party, and liked her arc in Glee. (Forget about the insults hurled my way when I audaciously, apparently, declared that Lea Michele out sang Menzel on the latter, though Menzel’s performances were always stellar.)
So, night of the concert, I hurried Rob (he didn’t like Wicked either, but he became enamored with Menzel from Glee), packed my earplugs and Advil and hoped for the best.
And while I didn’t get ‘the best,’ I was surprised as anyone that I was besotted and instantly smitten – faults and all – during her Radio City debut. I can’t explain it, really. But after a rough start (that damned “Gravity” song opened the show and was problematic), with every successive word spoken, story strung and song sung, she was kinda sorta magical. As seemingly unrehearsed (she does, after all, perform 8 shows a week in the dreadful If/Then and, I suspect, didn’t get much rehearsal time for this show), scattered, unusual, inconsistent as it all was, to my ears and eyes, this eternalized the charm.
Perhaps I was expecting a banshee jamboree – a nightmare filled with the sounds of dinnerware clattering on the classic Radio City stage, mired in yelps and scowls. Instead I witnessed a woman who was charming, sweet, hilarious (having losing a week earlier to foregone conclusion Jessie Mueller, she gave a fantasy Tony Award acceptance speech, which was lovingly heartfelt and very funny) and totally aware of her fallibility. She cursed at whim, despite the audience scattered with children (thanks to the treacly muck that is “Frozen” – hey, she didn’t ask to be a role model for children – and that damned Oscar winning song), performed a hooker mash-up (“Love For Sale” and “Roxanne”), kept all the “fucking special“‘s in Radiohead’s “Creep,” and, during one of her costume changes where her right breast was partially exposed, before an audience member let her know, said, “Fuck it, they’re real.” Oh, yeah…and she sang her guts out. Sure, bum notes were in profusion but I come to realize that’s part of her métier. And she doesn’t give a shit, and that’s refreshing in a genre stifled with constraint.
Midway through the show, Menzel quoted a recent review, which lambasted her “screechy” tendencies (and for a brief moment, I imagined that she was calling me out – yeah, I know, me. A miniscule, nonexistent blip in the blogosphere. I got over myself swiftly). That this was a preamble to a misguided Ethel Merman tribute almost proved that particular reviewer correct (Menzel is the polar opposite of Merman).
Personal highlights include 2 Menzel concert staples; a haunting, emotive reading of Joni Mitchell’s “Both Sides Now,” which brought Rob to tears, and a song that always brings me to emotional overload, “No Day But Today,” from Rent. Through these performances – as well as “Creep,” and a U2 cover (“I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For”) – Menzel was adamant to break away from that misbegotten role as the Tween Queen thanks to Wicked and Frozen.
If her one night at Radio City proved anything, it’s that she might have finally broken free from such shackles. Despite how many ghastly covers of “Let It Go” the world will be saddled with eternally thanks to YouTube.
“A BED AND A CHAIR: A New York Love Affair” was a Stephen Sondheim compilation presented by New York City Center and Jazz At At Lincoln Center, and as longtime Sondheimite, I’m sad to say I missed what promised to be a glorious night at the theater.
Another Sondheim revue, you say? Yeah, I know.
But this one promised to be different, as the over two-dozen Sondheim songs were sifted through jazzy arrangements via Jazz legend Wynton Marsalis, who acted not only as musical director of the show, but performed with the Jazz At Lincoln Center orchestra.
And headlining? Only the peerless Sondheim muse Bernadette Peters, and the incomparable Norm Lewis, along with the fantastic Jeremy Jordan and Cyrille Aimée.
AND the show was directed by the brilliant John Doyle, who won the Tony Award for Best Direction of a Musical for the genius revival of Sondheim’s “Sweeney Todd” – with Michael Cerveris and Patti LuPone – almost a decade ago, and has also helmed revivals of “Company” and “Merrily We Roll Along.”
Damn! I missed all that?!
But in our modern age of technology where (almost) nothing goes uncaptured, I was hopeful that some denizen in the dark whipped out their cellphone to somehow encapsulate some of the magic.
Thank you, denizen.
One YouTuber by the name of ggjohnson posted two separate clips of “The Ladies Who Lunch,” as performed by all four headliners. This piece, originally by the eternal Elaine Stritch from the classic “Company” (but you knew that already), sprinkles other Sondheim gems throughout the performance – “Agony” (from “Into The Woods”), “Can That Boy Foxtrot” (from “Follies”) and “Uptown, Downtown” (from “Marry Me A Little”/”Follies”) – to create a medley that you wouldn’t think would work, but, together, form a new amalgamation that cabaret performers will replicate for years to come.
The first minute or so of the video fade in and out of darkness, as gg was conspicuously trying to go unnoticed, but even with these minor caveats – and hopefully with the blessing of gg, who owns this footage – I edited both clips together as a whole for a streamlined view of this extraordinary medley.
One part of two, this is a delight to behold. Thank you gg!
I know – I shouldn’t be so highfalutin because they are totally different organisms – but I’m always a little weary about film versions of beloved musicals not living up to expectations (see Les Miz, Hairspray, The Wiz, the Beyonce-ruined Dreamgirls, and so on). So I’m naturally skeptical about the upcoming The Last Five Years, the film adaptation of the 2002 cult classic about the genesis and disintegration of a marriage. With Book and Score by Jason Robert Brown, the original Off-Broadway production was a show-stopping vehicle for relative newcomers Sherie Renee Scott and Norbert Leo Butz. The film version, currently in post-production, stars the wonderful Oscar-nominee Anna Kendrick and Broadway’s talented Tony-nominated Jeremy Jordan.
And therein lies a quandary. The role of Cathy calls for power, nuance and emotion – all of which Kendrick has displayed in her acting. While she was fine in her minimal singing roles on film (Camp, Pitch Perfect,which has garnered Kendrick an unlikely Top 40 single, Cups (When I’m Gone) I don’t know if she has the lung power – or vocal dexterity – to pull off the necessary transitions the score calls for. It’s not Sondheim, I know, but it sure ain’t the frivolous pop of Pitch Perfect either. Jordan possesses a muscular, powerful range and his persona works on stage, but so far on screen – whether as the angry young man on TVs misbegotten Smash or as Dolly Parton’s allegedly charming nephew in the cringe-fest JoyfulNoise – he’s always less-than likeable (blame his roles) and never charming (blame his scripts). But, man, what a voice.
Also, the stage version had a clever, albeit tricky, chronology – the couple’s story was told in reverse of each other. Cathy’s role begins at the end of their marriage, while Jamie’s starts right as the couple’s romance blossoms. There’s rarely an interface between either character (except when their timelines meet, in the middle).
How will they handle this aspect in a big movie? Altering the whole idea of the reverse narrative would be a grave mistake and I can’t imagine how screenwriter Richard LaGravenese (Water For Elephants, P.S. I Love You, The Mirror Has Two Faces, The Bridges Of Madison County, and the recent HBO Liberace biography, Behind The Candelabra) will adapt that structure to film (LaGravanese is also directing).
As much as I adored the show, the material was stronger as a concept album – its edifice often confused on stage. If LaGravenese remains faithful to the source, the result could be a befuddling clusterfuck on screen. Yet, if he synchronizes the plot line in a more mainstream, diluted approach, how unique would the film be from the thousand other NY-boy-meets-marries-divorces-girl love story we’ve slogged through ad nauseum?
That onus is on LaGravanese. And knowing the scary, passionate obsession of this show’s fan base, one I don’t envy. (But I’m sure looking forward to the result.)
I saw Glenn Close as Norma Desmond in the original Broadway production of Andrew Lloyd Weber’s flawed, overtly dismal SUNSET BOULEVARD the week it opened back in November 1994, and, despite her suspicious Tony Award win, it was not a very good performance (I saw her twice in the role just to verify/refute my initial reaction). They seemed to lower the key for her limited range, rearrange the score, and, more often than not, Close seemed lost in the grand spectacle of the staging, something she wasn’t used to as a more intimate stage actress. The show was beneath her skills as an actress, too. It needs to be said that Close was only one of two actresses nominated as Best Actress in a dim year for musicals (the other being Rebecca Luker for SHOW BOAT) and Broadway overall, so her Tony wasn’t unexpected.
Cover of PATTI LuPONE: A MEMOIR
How Close garnered the role is legendary in itself…I just finished reading an advance of Patti LuPone’s autobiography, PATTI LuPONE: A MEMOIR (release date is September 14 – if you’re a theatre buff, PRE-ORDER IT! It’s craaaazy!), who reiterates the horror that was the experience of the show – especially the back-stabbing and the mendacity attributed to the producers and, especially, Webber himself. The chapters of LuPone’s book were a mesmerizing read.
Once Close left the role, in stepped Betty Buckley – and I was astonished at what she was able to do bring to it. She resurrected Norma back to life. Long a Broadway legend for her supernatural voice, Buckley’s performance was stunning, each song a show-stopper.
According to LuPone, she was treated like garbage by Weber and his evil minions – and Broadway will never know what they missed in a Patti “Norma.” There are some YouTube clips posted of her performances that give us a minute taste of what this incandescent lady might have accomplished had she been given the chance.
And here’s a mere taste of what I experienced with Buckley in the role. I’m not sure if this was from the London production, or from Broadway – I downloaded this clip from YouTube, and the poster didn’t say. The audio was low, so I encoded it at a much higher rate.
To witness Buckley on stage is to be beholden to one of the greatest forces of nature…an unparalleled gale force. From her Grizabella in CATS, to her staggering Emma in SONG & DANCE (she replaced the great Bernadette Peters), I’ve been enchanted by them all. I was there opening night for the much-maligned CARRIE too, and, while the show is legendary for all the right/wrong reasons, I’ll never forget Buckley as Margaret White. I adored her in the short-lived TRIUMPH OF LOVE in 1998, and of course in THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD a decade earlier.
Betty Buckley can easily brilliantly interpret even the most monumental banalities. Like an Andrew Lloyd Webber score.
My New Boyfriend 