the craptacular

With the 2009-10 season (mercifully?) behind us, it’s time to look at what’s headed to the stage next season. The outlook? Sunny with a chance of jukebox musicals. Read on.

The Confirmed

Anything Goes
It’s almost impossible not to love Sutton Foster. Which is probably what the Roundabout is banking on next season, with its upcoming revival of Anything Goes. In these trying theatrical times, when every show is stunt-cast to the gills with shaky Brooke Sheildses and warble-y Lauren Grahams, Sutton is a genuine, big-singing musical theater item. We’re blissed out to see her name above the title. We’re just hoping that she isn’t the only good thing about this production.

Love Never Dies
Yeah, it’s going to be awful. But is there any purer joy on earth than a truly awful musical? We don’t mean a musical that’s just sort of mildly crappy and off the mark. We’re talking like, straight up Dance of the Vampires, Thou Shalt Not-calibre awesome/awfulness. Who besides Andrew Lloyd Webber is ballsy enough—and rich enough—to attempt something this over the top? To legitimately convince us that Christine Daae, that lovely idiot, in an orgasmic musical stupor, somehow managed to get herself knocked up by a deformed, psychotic former music teacher who likes it with the lights off? Give us a break. But we’ll be the first ones in line, eagerly clutching our ticket stubs—especially if we get a Strallen sister in the bargain.

Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark
The punchline of this whole thing—the endless delays, the mind-boggling budget—is that Julie Taymor’s overblown take on Spidey is probably going to be both awesome and wildly successful. It doesn’t say a whole lot, but the casting of Jennifer Damiano as Mary Jane is a small indicator that the creators of Spider-Man aren’t doing massive piles of drugs and are, in fact, interested in putting on a real Broadway musical. Or attempting to anyway. If only Bono knew anything about melody.

The Probable

Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson
Our love for this show is no secret. Its off-Broadway incarnation was our favorite show of the season, and we’re eagerly awaiting its transfer uptown. At the moment, however, the only fly in the ointment is the will-he-be-available rumor mill that’s churning in regards to the show’s leading man, Benjamin Walker.  Unfortunately, no matter how many talented actors there are in New York City—or the world—it’s almost impossible for us to imagine anyone else inhabiting those tight britches nearly as well.

Catch Me if You Can
We’re excited about Catch Me if You Can. And no, it’s not because of the production snapshots featuring Aaron Tveit in a tiny bathing suit. Okay, maybe that’s part of it. Mostly, though, it’s because of Norbert Leo Butz. (And hopefully, this will stay open longer than Enron.) It’s been a few years since Norbert has done the musical thang, and Carl Hanratty seems like the perfect vehicle for him.

Hedwig and the Angry Inch
Look out, boys: Immigration. The return of Frau Hedwig to NYC was, we will admit, one of the most surprising announcements of recent months—and one of the happiest. With the incredible success of the 2001 film, John Cameron Mitchell’s tiny little show seems suddenly big enough for Broadway. We can only dream of how the new version will be staged. (Will Hedwig have finally achieved fame and fortune? Will this truly be her Broadway debut, after wallowing downtown for all these years?) But we trust that this shows’s smart creators have something good in store.

Leap of Faith
Fact: Anything starring Raul Esparza flies immediately to the top our ‘must-see’ list. Which is saying something, considering that the film version of Leap of Faith could save us some considerable bank and a trip to Midtown. And also because we’re pretty sure this show is a lot like Anyone Can Whistle. Without Sondheim. Or Sutton Foster. Or enduring and famous songs. But Raul alone can get us to the theater, and who knows, the 2010-11 season might be his Tony-winning year. Or something…

Yank! a WWII Love Story
Watching Yank! at the York Theatre last season, it was easy to imagine what the show could do with a big stage, a real set and room to project. Now its’ getting that chance, and with David Cromer at the helm—and Bobby Steggert more or less confirmed for the lead—we’re hoping that some of Yank’s weaker elements (How many tap numbers can a girl stand?) firm up or fall by the wayside. You know, like that dream ballet. Hint hint.

The Wildly Speculative

Beauty
Of all the new musicals we’ve heard about, rumored and real, none in the last few years have captured our imaginations quite like this one. An updated retelling of Sleeping Beauty with music by Regina Spektor and a book by Tina Landau, this seems like the ultimate recipe for both progressive Broadway cool and passionate fangirl devotion. If it ever happens. But how excited are we for a musical about an independent-minded princess being wooed by a smart, thoughtful prince? For unabashed romance with a rock score and a near-guarantee of at least one cute boy in the cast? Basically, we’ve been fantasy casting this on a daily basis since its existence was announced nearly a year ago. And we know he’s a little occupied right now, but our smart/thoughtful compasses do indeed point straight at John Gallagher Jr.

Godspell
It was supposed to happen, first with Jonathan Groff and then with Gavin Creel. (Sound familiar?) But neither of those casting wet dreams ever came true. The former never played the lead in this Steven Schwartz musical because he dropped out of the show before it even began, and the latter because the show dropped out from under him. We still have high hopes—and a major soft spot—for this troubled revival of Godspell, though. And as recently as December, the producers were talking about mounting it for the 2010-11 season. Plus, Gavin’s version of “God Save the People” is too excellent to not have a healthy, continuing life on Broadway. We’re not holding our collective breath, but we can think of at least two Broadway houses that look awfully dark and lonely right now. Just sayin.

The Stuff We Kind of Don’t Care About

The Book of Mormon
Wait, don’t tell us. It’s going to be insulting! When South Park creators Matt Stone and Trey Parker announced that they were writing a musical, we were less than surprised. But with Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson already (sort of) on the roster for next season, we’re already feeling a little farced out. Are there things that could change our minds? Like Cheyenne Jackson, for example? Maybe.

Priscilla Queen of the Desert
We like Will Swenson a lot. But we can’t shake the idea that this Aussie import is going to look and sound a whole lot like La Cage, right down to its color palate. (We’re calling it “overstated citrus.”)

Unchain My Heart
Ray Charles’s music is iconic on its own, and the film Ray popularized it all over again. We’re just not sure how we feel about shoehorning a story around it.

Sister Act
Wait, you mean…Sister Act without Dame Maggie Smith and Kathy Najimy, or that kid from the second one who sang like an angel and went on to join City High?  Seriously?  You want us to sit through that?  Sorry, but this is an instance in which Netflix wins.  ‘Cause we can stream that flick straight into our apartments in .02 seconds, save a lot of dough and see a more exciting cast.

• Gavin Creel’s EP Quiet enters the Billboard Heatseeker chart at #44. And several thousand theater nerds immediately tried to think of a way that this might give them cred. Including us. As we squinted through our tears of joy and whatnot.
• Hair and Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson end their runs. Leaving at least two dozen fangirls wondering what they’re going to do with the rest of the summer.
• James Earl Jones and Vanessa Redgrave get themselves cast in Driving Miss Daisy. We tried to care and failed.
• Jay A. Johnson is cast in a new musical at Barrington Stage, while the as-yet uncast Jeff Buckley musical, Last Goodbye, will be performing at the Williamstown Theater Festival. A road trip to the middle of the woods never seemed quite so appealing.
• With Al Pacino in The Merchant of Venice, Shakespeare in the Park tickets are scarce, unless you like sleeping on the sidewalk. Alas, summer has arrived.

There were lots of things happening at the Delacourte Theater last Monday night at the Gala performance of Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice.  Sure, this is partly because the Gala drew scads of big-name-stars like James Gandolfini, Kate Walsh and Glee’s Jonathan Groff.  But it’s also mostly because there are about six thousand characters and just shy of seven bazillion plotlines going on in this Comi-Tragi-Everything play.

The Merchant of Venice is a complex tale—of lovers and family, debtors and creditors, horrifying prejudice and absent mercy—whose contrasting comedic and tragic plotlines can be difficult to make sense of, but Daniel Sullivan’s deft, insightful direction cut down on the noise and focused the production.  Though his staging of Merchant highlighted the play’s dark underbelly more prominently than previous productions, the tone felt entirely appropriate and even beautiful in its melancholy.

In turn, the quiet focus provided by Sullivan’s direction afforded the actors—all six thousand of them—the chance to become the evening’s brightest stars.  And damn, did they shine.  Hamish Linklater—an hilarious highlight of Summer 2009 as Sir Andrew Aguecheek in The Twelfth Night—stretched his more dramatic muscles as Bassanio, while still maintaining a beautiful measure of comic lightness.  Jesse L. Martin gave a perfectly calibrated, perfectly hammy performance as Gratiano.  And Bill Heck and Heather Lind—a stapping Lorenzo and sensitive Jessica—brought a new level of depth and sadness to their characters’ relationship, while Marianne Jean-Baptiste played a bright Nerissa and Byron Jennings an affecting Antonio.

Still the evening’s biggest stars, its biggest stories, were Al Pacino and Lily Rabe.  And yes, I just called Lily Rabe one of the evening’s biggest stars.

Perhaps Pacino was the real story, here.  Or should have been.  He was certainly the star with the most mega-watt credentials when he set foot on the stage.  But I left the theater talking about Ms. Rabe.

Pacino’s Shylock was, well, classic Pacino—with that magical, maddening, measured delivery—so strong you completely lost the line between character and actor (at intermission, I actually caught myself worrying about Pacino’s health because Shylock had a pronounced limp).  But at times Pacino being Pacino was a bit heavy-handed.  Sometimes his thoughtful Pacino pauses went on so long I wondered if he’d dropped a line.

But Ms. Rabe—as the heroine Portia—was illuminating.  Rabe carried the show with grace, never once appearing to strain under the weight of such an historic role.  Her Portia was both enlightened and enlightening.  She was beautiful, charming, and knock-your-socks-off intelligent.  She was perfect.  And hey, watching her make out with Hamish Linklater wasn’t so bad, either.  (I mean, if I can’t do it, somebody should!)

At the end of the night, it was Ms. Rabe who seemed the brightest star.  The one whose next role I’ll seek out feverishly.

Of course, Pacino will still be Pacino.  Will always be Pacino.  The lines outside Central Park—the ones growing longer and longer and beginning earlier and earlier—will be there for him.  But those lucky enough to get tickets will be in for a real treat.  They’ll get to see one of acting’s established best go toe-to-toe with an actress they’ve probably never heard of before.  And she’ll win.  Though I guess, at the end of the day, it’s the audience who really wins.

Hello, sir.

There are two things this girl always remembers.  1) A hot guy.  2) An hilarious porn star name.  So, given those facts, you know I was going to remember Stark Sands forever the instant I saw him.  Forever-ever.  Even if he only had approximately three minutes of stage time in the Public Theater’s 2009 Shakespeare in the Park production of The Twelfth Night.

That night Sands’ performance—as Sebastian, Ann Hathaway’s long lost twin, strapping in his uniform despite an epic wig—was short but sweet.  And, lucky man that he is, Stark’s performance even included some sexytime with Audra McDonald that didn’t result in fisticuffs with Will Swenson afterward (oh, to be an actor).

In fact, his performance that summer left such a mark—even amidst a cast of theater heavyweights like Raul Esparza and Ms. McDonald—that when news first leaked that he would replace Matt Kalpan in American Idiot, I actually cheered out loud.  I sent emails full of capital letters and exclamation points.

Perhaps the best thing about Stark Sands, though, is that he hasn’t fallen short of my ridiculously high expectations.  In fact, he’s exceeded them.   As Tunny, one of American Idiot’s three central characters, Sands brings serious sex appeal to a pair of Dickies and an angry disposition, and belts out notes whose mere memory elicit chills.

I’m inclined to credit my immediate awareness of Stark’s badassness to my perceptive nature and sheer critical genius, but it’s probably Stark himself who deserves all the credit.  If he can make an impression like that in three minutes, just imagine what he can do with an entire show.  Then, go see American Idiot.

Photo: Broadwayworld.com

So, it’s done. Diane Paulus’s Tony-winning revival of Hair played its final performance on Broadway last night.

And that’s cool.

I mean, it is. It’s not sad or horrible or even unexpected. That sucker had been running on fumes for months, and the downward swing in both interest and ticket sales was clear: Its entire original cast left the country (strike 1). The arrival of its replacement cast happened absolutely without fanfare or even a proper press night (strike 2). Its clearly stunt-cast replacement stars weren’t featured in any of the marketing until a month before the show closed.

Yer out, Hair. Pack up your incense and your finger cymbals and get your uncompelling selves out of the Hirschfeld, stat.

Now, I say this as someone who adored this production of Hair, who slept on the sidewalk outside the Public for its Central Park incarnation, and who saw the Broadway staging a ton of times. It was good, bold, moving theater—triply impressive when you consider what a snaggly sow’s ear Diane Paulus had to work with in the first place. (Great songs, yeah, but ouch… that book.) The other stuff—the original cast’s incredible commitment to social causes, the fact that Gavin Creel had charisma to burn onstage and off, the chaotic open casting call, the candid-camera dance parties—was fun icing on the cake.

But everything ends, and more, this show’s end was a kind of a no-brainer. The best news? The national tour will allow all the kids across America who obsess over this show, who find comfort in its message and adore its cast, to see it in person. That’s not so bad. The tour will spread all that love around the world indeed—or at least all the way to Phoenix. And isn’t that the whole point of Hair in the first place—to shine bright in as many places as possible? That sounds pretty good to me—and a lot more interesting than playing to an empty balcony on 45th Street.

The door to 7 Eccles Street, Leopold Bloom's home in Ulysses.

It can be difficult to find entertainment options that include all of the things you love most.  This is especially true when you’re a certain breed of nerd whose favorite author is James Joyce and whose other loves include things like theater.  Joyce wasn’t exactly a prolific playwright.  And Finnegans Wake isn’t terribly easy to even read, let alone adapt for the stage.

Yes. I know about James Joyce’s The Dead.  And believe you me, I’m devastated that I missed it because I was too young broke and clueless at the time.  “The Dead” is, after all, my favorite part of The Dubliners (and perhaps, my favorite piece of Joyce’s writing all together, though you’d have to hold a gun to my head to get me to commit).  And, I mean, Alice Ripley.  Enough said.

But last week, on Bloomsday—the day in which the events of Joyce’s Ulysses unfold and the one day a year it’s practically law that Joyce fans celebrate their love together—I had my moment in the sun at Bloomsday on Broadway.  Hosted at Symphony Space and in its 29^th year, Bloomsday on Broadway is a celebration of Joyce, and Ulysses, filled with interesting people of all ilk, most especially theater actors.

Seeing the likes of Marian Seldes , Jefferson Mays and John Shea read passages of Ulysses and Homer’s The Odyssey—to which Ulysses is closely tied—was one of the greatest joys of my nerd life.  I spend most of my life explaining, and often defending, my love for James Joyce.  A night of celebrating that love, and my love of theater, too, was so thrilling I can hardly explain it.  And even better, the theater was bursting at the seams with hordes of people and buzzing with energy and excitement.  I was not alone.  At that moment, I felt more enthusiastic, more understood and more a part of these communities I love so dearly.  I can’t imagine a more fun, enlightening evening and I’m already excited for next year’s lineup.

Photo: The Craptacular

Of all the Broadway types who have released their own music, none seem to be quite as listenable as Gavin Creel. His debut, Goodtimenation, wasn’t just a bonus souvenir for fans who liked Hair. It was a record to spin whenever, and often, and it’s beloved and instantly recognized among theater fans of a certain pop-leaning disposition.

His new EP, Quiet, came out this week—a disjointed sensation, considering that Gavin himself isn’t on Broadway right now. Until he’s back, we’ll take this short collection of sweet, sad-ish, melody-intensive ballads, mostly because it’s an opportunity to hear so much of Gavin’s voice—uninterrupted by any fuzzy rockstar mix—in one place.

It’s not as ideal as hitting the Hair lotto three times a week for a fix, but we’ll take it. And until Rock Band: Gavin Creel comes out, we’re happy to sit back and enjoy Quiet.

**

To download Quiet on iTunes, just click here. (Trust us, you want to!)

Image: GavinCreel.com

OK. What has even happened to Jonathan Groff?
 
It’s hard to know, exactly, but something definitely did. Like, maybe he got a hit TV show. Or grew up. Or rode a one-way rocket ride to awesomeness. Because during his short but mesmerizingly sweet Joe’s Pub set last night, the world saw a whole new Jonathan. And he’s badass. He still wears really stupid footwear, but he’s badass.
 
He’s also hot as hell, which we knew already. But it has not exactly been Jonathan’s tendency to let his sexy light shine—not when he’s just being Jonathan, anyway. The last time we saw Jonathan in this type of setting, he was smiling his sweet smile and letting Lea Michele do all the talking at True Colors Cabaret. It was lovely. But it wasn’t even in the same stratosphere as the Jonanthan we met last night.
 
This Jonathan Groff was so foxy that he almost melted the entire building to the ground. Joe’s Pub has never hosted so many sweaty people at once. And it wasn’t just apparent in the ribcage-to-shoulder splotch on Groff’s nipple-bearing t-shirt either. The audience was clearly feeling it too—Mr. Fahrenheit indeed.
 
He sang that song—Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me”—along with covers of Stevie Wonder and Alicia Keys songs. And Whitesnake’s “Here I Go Again,” which up until this moment has only been famous for its epic 80s music video that involves a model doing splits on the hood of a car. The setlist careened all over the place, but it held together mostly because Groff sang everything really well—with such pretty phrasing and actorly intensity. And as a bonus he was, you know, in tune.
 
But Groff’s show was more than just a chance for us to recognize that he’s sexy and talented. It was a chance for him to realize that he’s sexy and talented, too, even when he was onstage all by himself. And realize it he has. His eyelids drooped and his hips moved. He prowled the stage like panther, caressed his microphone stand with a sensuality heretofore unseen in any of his performances (including those simulating actual sex), and sang to the men he loved, songwriting convention be damned. He was truly a star.  Granted, he’s still not above the occasional bashful glance at the floor, but he wouldn’t be our Jonathan without that, now would he.

Photo: The Craptacular

It’s a gorgeous weekend here in NYC. Here’s what we’ll be talking about while we lounge in the park.

1. It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s Matt Cavenaugh! Broadway’s go-to hunk has a new gig in Superman at the Dallas Theater Center. Which is really just an elaborate excuse to put him onstage in spandex.
2. Jonathan Groff makes his Joe’s Pub debut. No, not as a waiter.
3. David Mamet was on Colbert this week. Sadly, he did not end up sounding like a character from Glengarry, Glenross when asked about the current state of Broadway plays. Doesn’t “motherfucking theater is always fucking dying” just have a certain ring to it, though?
4. Ben Walker will play The Beast in the new X-Men film. Which raises questions about whether he’ll reprise the lead in Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson when it (ultimately and obviously) transfers. Funny, though. We’ve been calling him The Beast for six months already.
5. The Jonah Hex film opens in theaters this weekend. Johnny Gallagher hits the big screen in this adaptation of the popular comic, which begs one question, and one question only. What in hell did he and Megan Fox have to talk about?
6. Nobert Leo Butz, Eddie Redmayne and Patti LuPone will (probably) star in the new Kathryn Bigelow/John Logan HBO project. Wait. You mean there’s a TV show full of Broadway actors in the works? Are Hollywood actors going to make a Facebook group to protest?