I mean, he’s a dancer. So a pleasant theatrical moment is more or less guaranteed when he accidentally (?) ends up shirtless in the second half of Come Fly Away. But in this case, the muscles do not make the man, nor are they the only things that make him beautiful. Sure, John is jacked, but he’s also joyous. Nowhere else on Broadway right now is there a more vibrant, ear-to-ear-grin of a performance. I mean, literally—he smiles from beginning to end. It makes sense for the character, but mostly, Selya gives the impression that the dancing itself is a breathless, giddy high. Shirt or no shirt, that’s pretty sexy.
He has the unfortunate distinction of playing the most thankless role on Broadway right now. Not just because he’s playing a bigot—and an almost implausibly guileless bad guy—but also because he’s wholly overshadowed, just like everyone else in this revival of La Cage aux Folles, by Douglas Hodge’s towering performance as Albin. Hodge is so good that he renders the rest of the show nearly irrelevant, but Shively manages to squeak by on his lovely voice, and his memorably sweet face. (And what a purdy mouth indeed, if you ignore the yuckiness that comes out of it.) Is it a little creepy that his singing technique is almost textbook Gavin Creel? (Seriously, close your eyes during his performance and listen.) Sure. But hey, if you need to copy anyone’s style on the road to Broadway heartthrobdom, that’s not a bad place to start.
There are so many beautiful bodies in Fela! that it’s difficult to know where to begin, but put it this way. After we left the theater, my friend turned to me and said of Ngaujah, “So, was there a reason why he was shirtless for the whole second act? I don’t mind. I’m just wondering.” Ngaujah’s bulletproof abs are a sight, sure, but showing them off is also about Fela Kuti’s bulletproof cockiness. With Ngaujah in the role, it—and the fact that Kuti had twelve wives—is not exactly a hard sell.
The Mick’s Picks
I’ll confess that with my balcony views I didn’t immediately notice Andrew Call in the male-heavy cast of American Idiot. But after passing him on the street a few times and sitting in the second row last week, I have to say, I have a growing thing for Mr. Call. He errs on the side of baby-faced, but after seeing those sex lines, I forgive him for that completely. Plus he’s got beautiful eyes and perfectly shaped lips. Oh, and he can sing real good, too. I keeping hearing people swoon over Stark Sands (understandable) and Declan Bennet (less so) but honestly, Andrew Call is my new favorite. He should be probably be yours, too.
Yeah, I said it. I have no idea why. All I know is that aside from finally seeing Barbara Cook on stage, a crush on Tom Wopat is just about all Sondheim on Sondheim was good for. And no, I’m not 65. I just think he’s handsome and strapping, and oh god, those big blue eyes. I’d ride (shotgun) in his General Lee any day. And yes, I really did just say that.
Ignore The Mick, please. Just to cleanse away the brain-warping mental images, I’ll offer one more—and he’s not even on Broadway. -L
Yes, we all love Bloody bloody Benjamin Walker and his bloody tight trousers, but if you can tear your corneas away from him for nanosecond (we dare you), you’ll note that there’s another looker in Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson. Michael Crane, who’s playing the complicated role of Blackhawk (He’s funny! He’s terrifying! He’s tragic!), has laser-bright eyes and a smoldery onstage intensity. I’d say it’s a shame that his pretty peppers aren’t lighting up Broadway at the moment, but we suspect that’ll change in 5… 4… 3…