Review: The Lyons

Linda Lavin made everybody take note of Nicky Silver’s The Lyons by leaving not one but two other terrific Broadway-bound shows to portray the indomitable family matriarch Rita in this icy new comedy. And indeed, she made the right choice – this is one hell of a role, and she sinks her teeth into it with abandon.

The titular family faces a major change: her irascible husband Ben is dying, forcing people that have largely chosen to avoid each other to confront some hard issues. Silver deals with the well worn dramatic terrain of familial dysfunction, but rings some interesting changes on it.

For one thing, Rita may have been a terrible mother, but Silver successfully leads the audience to see the family through her eyes. Sure, she and Ben may have mangled her children’s psyches in the past, but does that make it in any way her responsibility to fix them now? An intriguing perspective, and one that Silver pursues intelligently and humorously.

Dick Latessa is hilarious as the even nastier Ben, spewing venomous barbs at everyone from his hospital bed. Michael Esper has the most scenes in the play as their socially inept gay son Curtis, and he navigates the twisted, darkly comic turns of his erratic behavior with great skill. Director Mark Brokaw shines a bright light on their work, keeping the pace brisk and the tone tart.

In a season bursting at the seams with slapstick, sex farce, and social satire, Silver and company have taken a different, more neurotic road. It may not be the show to make you roll in the aisles with laughter, but it may be the best mix of wit and psychological insight this Broadway season.

For tickets, click here.

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Review: A Streetcar Named Desire

This is one of the most satisfying, on-target, productions of A Streetcar Named Desire that I have seen. I am more than a little obsessed with both Tennessee Williams and New Orleans, and Emily Mann’s finely calibrated production has gotten both the locale and the author’s style exactly right. Streetcar follows former school teacher Blanche DuBois (Nicole Ari Parker), as she’s forced to move in with her sister Stella (Daphne Rubin-Vega) and her brutish husband Stanley (Blair Underwood).

The multiracial casting of this revival is handled so deftly that it’s almost a non-issue. Underwood is simply as sexy and scary – and sometimes deceptively rational – as Stanley should be. Parker underplays Blanche, letting her neuroses and hidden strengths speak for themselves. Parker’s approach is a bit too low key for my taste, but I still respect it as an intriguing, intelligent way to approach the role. And Wood Harris brings an interesting bravado to the role of Stanley’s friend Mitch, giving the role colors I’ve never seen before.

As for the New Orleans side of the issue, designer Eugene Lee’s set is the first one for a production of Streetcar that I have seen get it so painstakingly right. The part of the Marigny neighborhood that Stanley and Stella live in was run-down and unglamorous in the 1950s, there were no elegant wrought iron balconies or galleries – this isn’t the French Quarter. Everything was made of wood, and wood not in the best of condition – and that’s exactly what Lee shows us.

Jazz trumpeter Terence Blanchard’s moody score does a good job of evoking a sweaty New Orleans summer. That said, his compositions have a post-bop sound that is seriously anachronistic in a production that is otherwise so scrupulous about getting time and place right.

This may not be a definitive Streetcar, but it is an intelligently directed, designed and acted one. I sincerely think Tennessee would have approved – I certainly do, and recommend it highly.

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Review: Don’t Dress for Dinner

Playwright Marc Camoletti’s Don’t Dress for Dinner doesn’t quite have the insane edge of his Boeing-Boeing, but it’s still very entertaining in that same sex farce vein. Farce is, for whatever reason, suddenly hot again (to my delight), so there’s some competition in town – Don’t Dress for Dinner isn’t a world-beater in this arena, but it can certainly hold it’s silly head up high.

In Don’t Dress for Dinner, Bernard plans for a romantic rendezvous with his mistress, complete with gourmet caterer and an alibi courtesy of his friend Robert. But when Jacqueline, Bernard’s wife, learns that Robert will be visiting for the weekend, she decides to stay, setting the stage for lots of the subterfuge and mistaken identities that are farce’s stock in trade.

The star name here is Jennifer Tilly as the mistress Suzanne, and she is tailor-made for the role, all boobs and throaty sex-kitten voice. But the real scene-stealer is Spencer Kayden as chef Suzette (and yes, much is made of the confusion of “Suzys” on the scene), who reveals her physical comedy gifts slowly, layer by layer, like a parfait. Her performance truly blossoms when Bernard and Robert encourage Suzette to emulate the Parisian snobs she so often serves – Kayden really starts rolling here, and doesn’t stop until the end.

Director John Tillinger gets the tempo and precision of farce right, though there are some puzzling production choices. What’s with John Lee Beatty’s oh-so-weighty set, which doesn’t do the light comic tone of the play any favors? William Ivey Long’s costumes are much wittier, no surprise there – but I still kept asking, why are these design elements fighting each other like this?

Still, this production manages to elict belly laughs in the echoey American Airlines Theatre, which is itself no friend to comedy (The 39 Steps, for example, was much more fun at the Helen Hayes Theatre). The show is, at least, that thing all of its characters are seeking – a really good time!

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Review: Clybourne Park

Playwright Bruce Norris’s Clybourne Park takes a while to get going, but once it does, it’s as funny as it is thoughtful. It’s a satire of American society in 1959 and the 21st Century, as seen through the lens of real estate in a residential Chicago neighborhood (the same one the Youngers moved into in Lorraine Hansberry’s A Raisin in the Sun). Act One takes place in 1959, as an unseen black family is about to move into the Clybourne Park house being sold by troubled couple Russ (Frank Wood) and Bev (Christina Kirk).

Act Two is set in the same house in 2009, as the house, in the now predominantly African-American neighborhood, is being sold to a white couple. Playwright Bruce Norris spends the first 20 minutes or so of the show milking the naïveté of late 1950s mid-America for all the comedy he can get out of it. Just as this threatens to get grating, though, the conversations Russ and Bev have with each other – as well as with their minister Jim (cute ginger Brendan Griffin) – begin to touch on more serious matters, both personal and political.

Norris writes in a very pungent, aggressive way; in some of his previous plays this has made it difficult to connect with his characters. Here, though, it serves his subject matter so well that it invigorates rather than annoys. Director Pam KacKinnon applies a light touch that aids in bridging that gap. The cast is uniformly fine, with Wood’s stoic portrayal of Russ standing out – rarely has a stage actor communicated so much with such minimal means.

Norris has accomplished that balance between entertainment and insight, which to my taste is so essential to really good theatre-making. Clybourne Park is quite good, and I’m really curious to see where Norris goes next.

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Review: Marilyn Maye

Ella Fitzgerald once called Marilyn Maye “the greatest white female singer in the world.” I’ve now seen her several times in cabarets, and I can tell you that’s no exaggeration. There are younger singers who might posses more powerful voices, but I can think of no other singer who possesses Maye’s combination of interpretive ability, rhythmic verve and vocal range, still the envy of singers many years her junior.

Her new show at Feinstein’s, “The Happiest Sound in Town”, features many of her her signature songs, including “Golden Rainbow” and “You’re Gonna Hear From Me”, a personal favorite of mine. This is a classic act in every sense of the phrase. Maye is a jazz-pop singer worthy of being included in the company of Fitzgerald, Sarah Vaughn or Blossom Dearie, and her phrasing is the finest I’ve heard in that style from a living singer.

Her repertoire for the evening ranges from Shaiman & Wittman’s “Butter Outta Cream” from Catch Me if You Can and a dazzling New York medley to “When I’m In Love” by her mentor Steve Allen, and even Mama Cass’s big hit “Make Your Own Kind of Music”. Maye exquisitely tailors her style of singing to the individual song, smooth for the ballads, swinging for the standards, and truly gritty for the bluesier numbers.

Maye appeared on Johnny Carson’s edition of “The Tonight Show” a total of 76 times, a record not likely ever to be beaten by any other singer with any other host. She’s been enjoying a New York renaissance recently, making critically acclaimed appearances all over town. If you love classic songs sung like they’re meant to be sung, it doesn’t get any better than this.

For tickets, click here.

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Review: One Man, Two Guvnors

This is by far, bar none, the most hilarious show to open on Broadway this season! In One Man, Two Guvnors, brilliant Brit comic actor James Corden stars as Francis Henshall, a hungry and and easily-confused working class bloke in early 1960s Brighton, on the south coast of England. Francis agrees to work for a local gangster (who is not what he seems) and another smooth criminal on the lam…none of which Francis can keep straight.

I’ve often said that writing a rave review is much harder than writing a pan – the language of insult is so much more plentiful and colorful than the language of praise. And that’s true here: what else can I say but that it’s freaking hilarious, so funny it made my ribcage hurt from laughing? Cordon is an immensely talented stage comedian, with every bit of the abandon and shamelessness of, say, a Nathan Lane. He’s nearly beat in the physical comedy department by Tom Edden, as the elderly, shaky-handed waiter Alfie – I’ve seen very few performers who committed as totally to slapstick as Edden, and he’s a real joy to watch.

Playwright Richard Bean adapted the play from Carlo Goldoni’s Servant of Two Masters, an 18th Century farce, which Goldoni himself adapted from the stock characters of the unscripted commedia dell’arte. Setting the action in Brighton in the relatively innocent time of the early 1960s was a terrific choice on Bean’s part and it definitely gives the comedy some extra fun and zing.

To underline the period setting, director Nicholas Hynter has added a band in natty matching sharkskin suits who play skiffle in the first act, and Merseybeat rock in the second. This is the only thing in the show that doesn’t quite work – those peculiarly English forms of music, while appropriately energetic, don’t have quite the same nostalgic pull in New York that they must have had in London, and I found myself wanting to the band to finish long before they actually did. Hynter has smartly made the musical interludes in the show much shorter at the end than at the beginning, but they could be trimmed even more.

That’s a small complaint, though, for a show that is this much joyful fun. One Man, Two Guvnors is not to be missed!

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Review: In Masks Outrageous and Austere

I’ve been living in Tennessee Williams land for the last couple of years, directing two of his lesser known plays, The Strangest Kind of Romance and Now the Cats with Jewelled Claws, the latter in its New York premiere. In the process I’ve formed friendships with a variety of Williams scholars, and a frequent topic of conversation was In Masks Outrageous and Austere.

In Masks Outrageous and Austere was Williams’s last full-length play, unfinished at the time of his death in 1983. In it, an incredibly rich woman, her hustler of a husband and his young male lover are brought to a beautiful seaside where they are kept captive by the sinister Kudzu Chem Corporation. There have been various attempts over the years to reconcile different manuscripts, shepherded most recently by Joe E. Jeffreys, who is listed as dramaturg on this production, the play’s long anticipated world premiere.

I have become very familiar with Williams’s later work in preparation for directing the abovementioned productions, and have to say that while it is quite compelling, Masks still definitely feels unfinished. Now the Cats is as wild and wooly a play, but to me has a stronger and clearer sense of what Williams was attempting to convey. Williams wrote his first drafts in a very raw and instinctual way, and then would work assiduously to rewrite them to better reflect what he wanted to express. Masks is still very raw, not to mention long and somewhat meandering.

Director David Schweitzer is smart enough to exploit this very rawness, pushing the performances to frenzied intensity. There is nothing raw, however, about the design elements in this production. I felt intense “production budget envy” as I entered set designer James Noone’s dazzling LED-dominated environmental set, which reinforces the overall feeling of retro-80s futurism.

The cast give uniformly strong performances, conveying a great many shades of hope and dread, along with the occasional hint of homo-eroticism. As is always the case with Williams, this raw unfinished overlong mess is better than many a well-made play – it just isn’t as polished a jewel as other late Williams.

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