the craptacular

I maintain that there is little on earth more awesome than the combination of booze, and The Bard. This week’s Haunted ShakesBEER, hosted at Amity Hall and produced by The New York Shakespeare Exchange, did nothing but prove my theory.

Here are five other fun things about Haunted ShakesBEER:

• It was creepy. No, for real. You can ask Jesse over at Stage-Rush—I was practically crawling into his lap trying to get away from the creepy witches/ghosts as they prowled the bar. Next time, I won’t be sitting on an “aisle” seat, of that you can be sure.
• There were even more cute boys! I know, you’re shocked I noticed them. I never do that! ANYWAY. Last time, we got Harry Barandes as Iago. This time, King John fave Zac Hoogendyk and his beautiful blue eyes were there, first playing Hamlet, and later, a zombie-fied Banquo’s Ghost. But Zac was not alone. He was joined in the @ShakesExchange hottie hall of fame by the deeply handsome Dana Watkins, who played Caesar. He had me at long floppy hair, and then he was actually talented. Clearly I’m a goner.
• Speaking of Caesar. When you’ve been drinking beer pretty steadily for a few hours, the scene where Calpurnia drops to her knees before Caesar and begs him to stay home… HILARIOUS. Filthy dirty, ripe for blowjob jokes, and hilarious. I’m not sure I was supposed to be laughing, but that’s one of my favorite things about ShakesBEER—it’s a totally different way to experience Shakespeare, and it showcases the material in fun, modern ways you’d never expect.
• Vince Gatton wasn’t in the show, but he was there, and he was killing us with his impression of Nick Jonas as Marius, looking to the Lord and singing “A Little Fall of Rain.” Gatton should think about musicals. Or stand-up.
• Per usual, ShakesBEER made excellent use of the space in Amity Hall, with actors disappearing and reappearing up and down staircases all over the place, or seeming to materialize magically from amongst the bar crowd. It’s so exciting—and in this case, creepy, too—to never know where the next excellent performance is going to come from.

Just when you thought we’d run out of teen idols and ex-boybanders to be in musicals, Aaron Carter gets himself cast in a musical in New York. Again. Slated to star in The Fantasticks off-Broadway beginning November 7, Carter has already done the musical theater thang. As a casting stunt for the ages, he joined Seussical in 2001 when he was just 13 years old.

It’s not like casting teen idols in musicals is a new idea:

• Donny Osmond starred in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.
• David and Shaun Cassidy were in Blood Brothers.
• Joey McIntyre played Fiyero in Wicked.
• Debbie Gibson has played everyone from Sandy to Eponine to Velma Kelly.
• The Jonas Brothers have real Broadway cred, and refuse to let you forget it.
• Joey Fatone was Mark in Rent, which still kind of makes no sense, and Seymour in Little Shop of Horrors.
• Backstreet Boy Kevin Richardson spun through the revolving casting door at Chicago.
• We live in perpetual fear that Sebastian Bach will try to get himself cast in something new.

So now we’re digging through the box of stored pinups and band t-shirts under our beds and wondering… who’s next?

Which of the following semi-underqualified teen idol-types would you love (or at least be mildly curious) to see on stage in a musical? Write-ins are welcome in the comments, below.

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Additional required reading:

• 5 Rockstar Turns on Broadway
• 9 People Who Should be on Broadway Right Now But Aren’t
• Nick Jonas’s Hips Don’t Lie (Or Cheat, or Steal): Hairspray at the Hollywood Bowl

Sitting in the audience at Relatively Speaking, you can almost hear the producers’ wheels turning, hear the faint rumblings of the boardroom conversations and crackly late-night cell phone calls that brought the show to fruition.

“Well,” says one to the other, “All these writers have pedigree. And New Yorkers love pedigree. This will be that New York show.”

Pedigree! And Oscars out the ass! And fame and fortune on a faraway, sunnier coast in a bubblegum pink place called Los Angeles! Because anything born of that great place clearly does well on Broadway, right?

To the credit of those producers, a trio of one-act plays by Ethan Coen, Elanie May, and Woody Allen does not, at the outset, seem like a bad, or even a half-bad idea. These are some of the most talented writers on the planet, folks who deal mightily in the kind of erudite, brain-engaging stuff that does win Oscars, and titillates the city-dwelling, corduroy-elbow crowd.

And ultimately, the producers got that part right. Relatively Speaking, which opened on Thursday night at the Brooks Atkinson Theatre, is a total corduroy-elbow show. In and of itself, that’s not a bad thing. We can’t all spend our theatergoing lives slingshotting our panties at the stage over a hunky blond singing a power ballad, and people who walk around with wrinkly copies of The New Yorker in their pockets are, more or less, the best people on the planet. They are why I live in New York. The prospect of growing up to be that person is, in the grand scheme, far less depressing than other American alternatives.

So you’d think I’d love Relatively Speaking, then. All those smart people in a room together! Yeah, not so much. As Julie Taymor and Bono have taught us, things can get kind of fucked up when you put too much genius in one place. Of course, in the case of Relatively Speaking, very little of the writers’ collective pedigree has much to do with the stage. This is Ethan Coen’s first Broadway play. Neither Elaine May nor Woody Allen has seen huge success on the Broadway stage, and their earlier attempts at conquering midtown Manhattan happened years ago.

The worst of the offenders here is Ethan Coen, whose one act, “Talking Cure”, leads off Relatively Speaking on a relatively crappy foot. Split into two parts, the play first shows us a convict and a therapist talking in prison. Then, after a scene change, we see a bickering husband and his pregnant wife futzing over some ruined dinner plans. And that’s really about it. Bereft of beautiful cinematography, a haunting score, meaning-making camera trickery, and his brother’s familiar collaboration, Coen’s words feel flat and empty in ways that they never do on the big screen. For those under the age of 60 who were hoping that Coen’s presence would add some darkness, or edge, or truly contemporary kick to Relatively Speaking – I mean, dude wrote The Big Lebowski; come on – prepare for some massive disappointment.

Woody Allen’s piece, “Honeymoon Motel”, will not win any prizes for being forward-thinking either. Granted, Woody Allen hasn’t written anything truly edgy in twenty-five years, so few will walk into the theater with anything resembling that expectation. But a modern audience might dare to hope for a Woody Allen play that isn’t just about Woody Allen’s boring (and mildly gross!) old foibles.

Check out what “Honeymoon Motel” is about: A young woman who runs away with her step-father-in-law on her wedding day. She’s beautiful and young and stupid. He’s old and a lout. Their family is nuts, and deeply disapproving. And the last word is finally had by a pizza guy who delivers (har har!) a treatise on love, and how people should just accept love, regardless of the illogic – or seeming inappropriateness – of the circumstance.

REALLY? DID YOU REALLY JUST DO THAT, WOODY ALLEN?

Did you really just write a play about how we’re all supposed to be cool about you marrying your 22-year-old sort-of stepdaughter? Something I had, frankly, kind of forgotten about until this very moment? I was fully prepared to leave that outside of the theater, and now that I’m so soundly reminded of its existence, my only thought is that it’s still TOTALLY ICKY AND WEIRD. It’s also totally icky and weird in the play. That’s true even without considering Woody’s personal life. Uncomfortable much?

P.S. A Lorena Bobbit joke? In 2011?

Anyway, Elaine May. Poor Elaine! If only she had better company up on that stage.

Of the three plays presented in Relatively Speaking, it is only Elaine May’s that feels fully-formed and meaningful, and like it won’t make you tear your hair out in fistfuls. Part of the credit goes to May’s formidable leading lady, Marlo Thomas, who plays Doreen, a hapless heiress who’s gobsmacked by the death of her elderly husband. With no one else to turn to, Doreen heads to the only place she’s ever known safety and comfort – her beloved childhood nanny. Well, actually, she heads to the slouch-y apartment of her nanny’s daughter, who’s now in her forties and dealing with some personal difficulty of her own.

Thomas plays Doreen’s privilege and cluelessness to great effect, both as comic relief and as tragedy. In one scene, we see her clutching a pillow and gleefully watching old sitcoms, her hair tied in pigtails like a little girl, and later weeping over her husband’s coffin in disbelief, unable to fully process the fact that her life cannot be perfect or pain-free.

If only all three plays could have found the time or space for a similar amount of actual emotion – instead of just going through the motions. Instead of three acts with Woody, Elaine, and Ethan, I’d have settled for just two with Elaine.

Photo: Joan Marcus

Tickets provided by the production.

You’ve probably never looked at your iPhone and felt like an asshole before.  Okay, I mean, maybe a text or email made you feel pretty shitty, once or twice.  But I’m talking about something much bigger here.  I’m talking about feeling loathsome for even having such a device in your hands.  About, to quote Mike Daisey, seeing “blood welling up between the keys.”

This is probably how you will feel after seeing The Agony and the Ecstasy of Steve Jobs, Mr. Daisey’s one-man show now open at the Public’s Martinson Hall.

Sounds like fun, right? …Okay. So it’s not strictly fun.  And there are no shirtless, six-pack sporting boys doing endless pirouettes, or divas belting their lungs out.

There is just a man, rotund and sweaty, seated behind a spare, sleek glass topped desk and mopping his brow frequently as he performs a two hour monologue without a script, working from pages torn out of a yellow legal pad.

So why do you want to see Agony/Ecstasy, then, dear reader?

Frankly, because it is incredible.  Because Daisey put himself at incredible risk—we’re talking life and limb here, people—to uncover truths Corporate America  is deeply invested in hiding from you.  This is gonzo journalism at its finest.  And every time Daisey turns over a new yellow page your heart will contract, because you are dying to know what comes next, and yet, you are horrified.  Terrified.

Agony/Ecstasy is a tapestry of anecdotes about Daisey’s love for Apple, a brief history of Steve Jobs’ career, and devastating stories of his time as an investigative journalist in Shenzhen, China.  It is the story of how Apple came to be, of how our modern consumer culture came to be, of how that cell phone ringing behind you in that woman’s purse came to be.

Agony/Ecstasy is also edge-of-your-seat compelling, even as it runs 120 intermission-less minutes—and that’s not because Steve Jobs just died and you’re waiting to hear how Daisey will address the loss.  No.  It’s because Agony/Ecstasy is a remarkable feat of storytelling.

You will laugh out loud sometimes (there’s a jizz joke!).  And you’ll probably learn a few things about Steve Jobs.  But more importantly, you will learn some things about how the technology around which we’ve built our modern lives actually came to be.

At the end of the show, I was embarrassed to look at the cellphone in my hands—and it wasn’t even an Apple device!—to turn it back on the way I had at the end of so many shows, and know the human cost at which it had been delivered to me.  I wanted to throw it far, far away.  And worse, I knew I couldn’t.  It is an inexorable part of my life now, the way I work, the way I play, the way I get from one day to the next.

Fortunately, at the end of the show, an usher will hand you a piece of paper to tell you what you can do.  You should take one.  And then, you should keep talking.  I know we did, at first, right outside the theater and then in the days after, with anyone who would listen.  Because the world needs more voices like Mike Daisey.

Photo: Joan Marcus

Tickets provided by the production.

Ah, the glorious intersection of the two most storied streets in the world: Broadway and Sesame Street. Now in its 42nd season, Sesame Street has played host to singing, dancing Broadway actors for years. Here are some of our favorite clips.

Sutton Foster and Elmo
Apparently kids are a lot smarter now than when I was a wee child, because I don’t remember learning about levers in school until I was in college. With Sutton Foster and Elmo in my life, I might have gone on to bigger and brighter things, like a career in engineering. Or at least a life where I could haul heavy things up my apartment stairs more easily.

Lin-Manuel Miranda and Big Bird

Remember when an awful person tried to make Big Bird change his habitat and leave Sesame Street? Oh no! Well, that awful person was played by Lin-Manuel Miranda. We’re assuming he wasn’t successful and Big Bird stayed put.

Hugh Jackman and Elmo

Even Elmo seems a little flustered by Hugh Jackman’s presence. Here, they talk about concentration — a skill that I seem to lack whenever Hugh Jackman is around.

Savion Glover and Mr. Snuffleupagus

Tony-winning dancer and choreographer Savion Glover spent five seasons on Sesame Street. Here, in an early clip, he teaches Mr. Snuffleupagus how to tap dance.

Idina Menzel, Taye Diggs and Various Allergens

Here, Idina Menzel and Taye Diggs help explain allergies to itchy, sneezing children. They’re a useful thing to know about. My favorite part? The shrimp puppet, who happens to have a French accent.

Liev Shreiber, Naomi Watts and Elmo

Elmo is clearly popular among celebs. Here, he hangs out with Liev Shreiber and Naomi Watts and teaches kids what it means to “exchange” something.

Lillias White and Baby Bear

Lillias White was a regular on Sesame Street for five years, and even won a Daytime Emmy for her role in 1992. Here, she and Baby Bear sing (naturally) about the importance of dealing with anger.

Kristin Chenoweth and Elmo

The amazing thing about Kristin Chenoweth’s appearance? She doesn’t sing a note. She does dress up as a football player, a knight, and a firefighter, which sort of makes up for it. Here is Cheno in a defining role… Ms. Noodle.

Daphne Rubin Vega and Big Bird

Here, Daphne and Big Bird sing a surprisingly terrible (!) song about stuff to do during Quiet Time that, frankly, makes Quiet Time seem pretty boring. In fact, if I was four, I’d rather eat some candy and destroy the house than watch this clip.

Mandy Patinkin with Big Bird and Barkley

Playing a not-at-all-friendly neighborhood policeman named George Patinkin (LOL), he helps Big Bird find obviously-not-lost Barkley. Then they hang out in Big Bird’s nest and Officer George teaches Big Bird how to pronounce his complicated last name. Later, they say some ABCs. This skit is notable because it’s positively interminable and awkward. If your children need to go down for a nap, this would be the clip to play.

Spider-Monster: The Musical, starring Grover

Though it doesn’t contain an actual Broadway star, this Sesame Street spoof of Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark is worth mentioning for its spot-on boldness, and because it’s actually funny for grownups. Is that ominous female voice supposed to be Julie Taymor? The best part, though, is when the bewildered audience member exclaims, “That’s not flying! You just fell on me!”

Les Matzerables

OK, last one. This clip from Shalom Sesame, an English-language spinoff of Sesame Street designed to teach kids about Judaism, turns Les Miserables into… Les Matzarables. In it, a family loses their matzah, and sings “Matzah in the House.” Har har.

Benjamin Walker has returned, y’all.  At least for the time being.  Tuesday night, Mr. Walker took a break from his big, fancy, Hollywood life where he makes movies with Bradley Cooper, and put on a comedy show for us.  Some highlights:

1. Benjamin Walker is now married, and speaking from personal experience, that ring on his left hand is like a weapon. This is probably because Walker is no less hot now that he’s married.  Every time you look at the boy you can immediately picture the absolutely glorious, dirty sex you’d have. Then BAM, there’s the wedding ring. Shot down!
2. Justin Levine is still the cutest person on this planet of earth.  Also, he’s stupidly talented.  And his voice is like butter melting on a hot bread plate—it spreads out slowly and covers everything in delicious warmth.  Plus, he’s got sick taste in music and puts together a badass set list. We want him at all our parties from now on. Or in our panties. Whichever.
3. Once again I laughed until I cried. Jason Good in particular almost killed me. His stories of life raising two small boys were amazingly hilarious, especially given the fact that I’m not even a parent.
4. There was a heckler! Which is shocking mostly because, well, I was pretty sure the only folks in that room were crazy Benjamin Walker fangirls like ourselves.  Anyway, there was some dude heckling the shit out of headliner Hannibal Buress trying to get him to do Brooklyn jokes.  Hannibal handled it with aplomb, but did not acquiesce.  I hear this is a shame, because he apparently has a badass Williamsburg joke.  Way to ruin it for everyone, dude! Way to be that guy.
5. To file under Sweet Moments That Make Your Private Parts Feel Different: As the Bloody Bloody Band jammed for the slowly dwindling (but dancing!) crowd, Ben crept up on stage to see if any of the guys wanted drinks. Then he delivered said beverages right to the boys as they played on. It was so sweet! And thoughtful! And proof that good men still exist! (Even though they’re all married!)

BONUS ROUND! It’s really good to have Ben back. I felt like the gates of my heart opened and waves of love and sunshine poured out Tuesday when I finally had an excuse to Tweet dirty thoughts about him in public. There is no one I enjoy talking dirty about more than Benjamin Fucking Walker. Truly. Please don’t leave us for so long ever again, Ben!

There are a solid 15 minutes when Man and Boy, which opened Sunday night at the American Airlines Theatre, becomes a good show. Those 15 minutes involve a ruse between two of the main characters — the father (Frank Langella) and the son (Adam Driver). Basically, it goes down like this:
 
A corrupt businessman, (hilariously) named Gregor Antonescu, wants to forge a partnership with another businessman, who happens to be gay. So Gregor convinces the businessman that his wayward son is actually his gay lover, and that the gay lover might be available for some fun-filled nights on the town.
 
Are you shocked?
 
Yeah, didn’t think so. But at least this scene offers a compelling complication. Before it starts and after it ends, you may very well need a diet Coke to keep you awake and interested. Or maybe a hit of adrenaline in a huge syringe.

This snooze of a revival of Terrance Rattigan’s 1963 play is, at its core, a play about family and human values – and how fluidly they transfer through the generations. Basil, the son, has eschewed his father’s big-business success and is living like a vagabond under an assumed name in a Greenwich Village apartment. (For those of you under the age of 104, that used to mean that you had no money.) Then Gregor tries to use Basil to close that ill-fated business deal by fake pimping him out. Awesome father-son relationship right there.

Unfortunately, none of this is enough to compensate for the show’s coma-inducing pace, and its lack of any true dramatic action. The gay lover bit is about as exciting as it gets, folks. It should be said – and everyone has said and will say this – that Frank Langella gives a satisfyingly oily, vampire-meets-Telly-Savalas performance. But even that doesn’t compensate for the show’s shortcomings.

And even as a comment on the current business climate, this show is a bit of a head scratcher. I guess, on a totally basic level, this show is about a corrupt businessman. And America has been haunted in the last decade by a bunch of really corrupt businessmen. But there’s nothing fresh or contemporary to glean from this revival. You won’t watch this show and be like, “Wow. I just learned something hugely important and insightful about my world. Also, this is exactly like Bernie Madoff.” In fact, you’ll probably just be like, “Frank Langella is awesome, but he always is, and I kind of wish Adam Driver kept his shirt on.”

Those were my takeaways, at least. And of course, that a Diet Coke at intermission does wonders.

Photo: Broadway.com

So, it seems that The Stratford Canada-not-England Festival’s production of Jesus Christ Superstar is transferring to Broadway this spring. Where Godspell will already be playing. So many possible jokes, so little time! Here are some semi-coherent thoughts on the subject(s).

1. Two shows featuring religious topics on Broadway? Not a big deal. Happens all the time. Two musicals written in the 1970s with rock scores and gently rebellious semi-hippie insinuations, that are also about Jesus (sort of) and his disciples (sort of)? Less common. And somewhere, on some fluffy cloud, the real God just rolled his eyes and said, “Amateurs.”
2. A possible way to save money? (Producers, LISTEN UP.) Maybe we could just play both shows in repertory in the same theater. Make Hunter Parrish and company learn Andrew Lloyd Webber’s songs. For four performances a week, throw a sparkly scarf over whatever artfully deliberate dirty t-shirt will encompass the totality of Hunter’s Godspell costume, et voila. Two Jesuses (Jesi) for the price of one. You think Uzo Aduba can’t rock “I Don’t Know How to Love Him”? Oh, I bet she can.
3. Maybe the cast of Jesus Christ Superstar can consist of everyone who was NOT cast in Godspell. Gavin Creel as Jesus? Diana DeGarmo as Mary? Or maybe just as the random girl in the second act who confronts Peter, so she doesn’t have to act too much? I’d go see it. OK, maybe not happily or for full price, but still.
4. Is anyone worried about Jesus Overkill? What’s Jesus Overkill, you ask? Not the name of the greatest rock band of all time that I just made up in my head, no. It’s the name I’m giving to my nagging concern for audience boredom/confusion in regards to these two shows. That said, if Jesus (or the Jesus-like character) in both shows happens to be really cute and sings like a bird, we will happily split our time evenly between the two theaters. In fact, instead of going to real church every Sunday, maybe we’ll just catch the Godspell matinee and Superstar in the evening. The Catholics allow that now, we hear.

After opening to solid raves, the rumors have begun to swirl—Newsies could transfer to Broadway and it could even make that transfer this very spring.  As Newsies fans, we’re overjoyed.  And as people who have seen the new musical version twice already (it’s only been open for a week!) we think we’re uniquely qualified to say… Newsies NEEDS to transfer to Broadway. And now. Below, six reasons why we’d be at the theater at least once a week if Newsies made the leap to Broadway…

It’s more exciting than anything happening on Broadway right now.
Let’s be real here, watching Bernadette Peters struggle to hit her notes in Follies is not exciting. Nor is the 700^th, cut-rate replacement cast of Wicked. Musical theater in NYC is, frankly, pretty boring right now.  You know what isn’t boring? Newsies, that’s what.  It will have you leaping out of your seat with joy as those Newsboys fly across the stage.  And clutching your chest as Jack Kelly goes for a big note.  And gasping at the second-act plot twist.  Newsies grabs you by the shirt and takes you on a joy-ride, and that’s the most exciting kind of theater we can even think of.  Broadway could use a shot of that, stat.

It’s got broad appeal, but it doesn’t pander.
Yes, it’s based on a children’s movie, so yes, you can (and should) bring children to see this show.  But it’s also neither watered down, nor insulting to an adult’s intelligence.  And yes, there’s a cute boy in the lead, but it is in no way a musical aimed just at girls that will make little boys largely miserable, primarily because Newsies is, in fact, a musical almost entirely about boys.  It also happens to be a musical with some important things to say about oppression, and breaking down barriers, and standing up for everyone’s rights in a world that takes people for granted—big messages, in a big story that everyone can get behind.

Little girls need more great heroines.
Speaking of barrier breaking—there’s a new girl in town in this new Newsies.  Her name is Katherine Plumber and she’s the girl who gets the Newsboys’ story on the front page of the paper.  In other words, she’s a pretty kickass chick.  And even better, her character is handled with depth and sensitivity, and Fierstein and co. did not dispense with historical realities when they inserted Ms. Plumber into the story.  In a world that takes her for granted, Katherine has her dreams and her future on the line here, too.  She’s the kind of girl you want your daughter to see on stage.  She’s the kind of girl you’d want to be on stage.

Jeremy Jordan, Jeremy Jordan, Jeremy Jordan.
Jack Kelly has been front and center in the daydreams of several generations of little girls at this point.  So in taking on a role originated in the film by the inimitable Christian Bale, Jeremy Jordan had some big shoes to fill.  Oh, Mary, did he fill them.  In fact, it’s safe to say those shoes are bursting apart at the seams these days, because Mr. Jordan is making the role his own in a major way.  He’s handsome, and big-singing, and plays an incredibly good toughie with a golden heart.  He’s got swagger.  He’s a fucking STAR.  We know he’s got another job lined up right now—Bonnie & Clyde, opening at the Schoenfeld in December—but this is our version of The Secret. We’re putting it in the universe in hopes that it will happen—Jeremy Jordan is the Jack Kelly of our dreams.

Those boys can dance, yo!
The creative team behind Newsies knew what they were doing when they picked and chose the things from the movie that would stay and the things that needed to go.  This is particularly true when it comes to the dancing.  It has stayed front and center, and it’s the thing that takes this Newsies off the ground and sets it soaring—much like the disgustingly talented triple-threats who fill the cast.  Those boys can dance y’all.  Ryan Steele, Evan Kasprzak and Tommy Bracco are particular highlights, but the truth is, the entire company of Newsboys is wonderful.  They’re a joy to watch, and Broadway could use their high-flying energy (especially now that Billy Elliot is closing).

Because Alan Menken deserves a Tony.
In the last few decades Alan Menken has done a lot for musical theater, both on stage and in the popular consciousness—the man has 8 Oscars, for Christ’s sake!— and yet, he still hasn’t won himself a Tony, which is shocking.  The thing about Newsies is… it’s worthy.  The score is bright and energetic, it’s memorable, and frankly, it’s wonderful.  It was the best part of the movie, and even though Fierstein has elevated the book, it’s the best part of the musical, too.   (Well, besides the dancing. And Jeremy Jordan. But we digress.)  In a year with less than a handful of new musicals… this could be Alan Menken’s time.  Newsies could finally be his big winner.

Photo: Stephen Sorokoff via BroadwayWorld.com