School was out. Daddy had some days off. Seemed like a good time to take the kids up to New York City — and then to go back again the following week to see some theatre not suitable for (then almost) six year olds.
One sees a lot of great theatre here in Washington, and one sees a lot in the Big Apple as well, when given the opportunity. But a seven-play streak of excellence is special anywhere you experience it.
Of course, it’s a little silly to miss a show in DC but then to catch it in NYC, but that’s what happened with me and Laura Bush Killed a Guy, a production of The Klunch, in residence at The (New) Flea Theater.
I’ve loved everything I’ve seen at The Flea, but this was my first time at their spanking new digs at 20 Thomas Street. (“Repeat after us: I will NOT go to 41 White Street,” implored a pre-show email, an indication that certain of their audience were not yet used to going to the new address.)
Laura Bush… played in DC about a year ago, and the solo show got a Helen Hayes nomination for its cast, Lisa Hodsoll.
I loved the show in New York — everything about it: the performance by Hodsoll, the script by Ian Allen, the production directed by John Vreeke.
The team found a wonderful and difficult balance. It was wildly funny, but also extremely moving. It was irreverent at turns, respectful at others. Because there was an obvious element of speculation and send-up involved in the examination of a real person, it didn’t have that off-putting aspect to more straightforward biography, where you can disengage because speculation is presented as history. And, while it invited us to laugh at aspects of the woman at the center of its story, it also invited us to give a shit about someone that we might, depending on our politics, be more inclined to dismiss.
The elegant design was dazzling, as was the work of DC artists David C. Ghatan (lights and projections), Kim Deane (set), Rhonda Key (costume), and Lucas Zarwell (a.k.a. Lobster Boy, sound).
The space was the smaller one in the new Flea complex, but was packed, and the reception was enthusiastic. It was a DC import to the theatre capital of the country that made us proud.
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Imagine, if you will, a production featuring a stunning turn by the great Laurie Metcalf where that performance is the after-thought. That is what the phenomenal Glenda Jackson, returning to our theatrical shores after her two-decade-plus political interregnum, has accomplished.
Wow. From the first line of Three Tall Women, through every hairpin transition the character takes from imposing doyenne to desperately fragile, crumbling shadow of her former self, this is a performance that will become legendary.
I saw the original production of Edward Albee’s Pulitzer Prize-winning play and, in that first iteration, it seemed as if Marian Seldes, in Metcalf’s role, was the lead; in this production, Jackson dominates, the pitch-perfect performance (including an astounding central monologue) by Metcalf notwithstanding.
I wish there were video records of the two productions; it would be a master class in interpretation to compare the polar opposite takes on the role of “B” by Seldes and Metcalf: Seldes almost regal and otherwordly; Metcalf earthy and quotidian. If the Seldes take makes, on some level, better sense once the distinct characters of the first half of the play morph into fractured aspects of the Jackson character in the second half, the Metcalf take will resonate more (as the play does some twenty years on) as people on all levels of the sociological spectrum have dealt more and more with the challenges of extended life. Oh, and, did I mention? Metcalf’s monologue is astounding.
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That production’s director, Joe Mantello, is represented on Broadway by a long-running something I haven’t seen, called Wicked. He’s also responsible for another delightful revival: The Boys in the Band.
Part iconic classic play, part historical artifact of the pre-Stonewall era, Boys in the B. is at once loved (because of some memorable characters and a surfeit of witty dialogue) and criticized (because of a certain amount of perceived stereotyping of gay men as inevitably self-loathing) by those of us who are, as E.M. Forster once put it, of the Oscar Wilde variety.
Mantello directs a cast of “out” actors and they don’t shy away from, or apologize for, the uglier aspects of certain attitudes from the time in which the play is set; and they nail the humor in a script that is replete with one-liners, many of which I remembered vividly, and others I didn’t, but will.
Jim Parsons plays Michael, who drives the action, and it is a testament to his work that, at the end, we don’t hate him, the character’s distinct nastiness notwithstanding; but nor does Parsons whitewash that nastiness.
As my husband observed, the production requires more than the normal willing suspension of disbelief, as Zachary Quinto here is required to complain repeatedly about his physical ugliness; our suspension pays off, however, as Quinto revels in his opportunities to deliver some of the play’s most wickedly funny lines, which he does with relish.
The play’s other comic highlight is provided by Robin de Jesús, late of the Olney/Roundhouse co-production of In The Heights. Emory is a role which I’ve seen wear out its welcome in the wrong hands. In de Jesús’s hands, it’s an absolute delight.
Andrew Rannells is terrific, and gets my best-of-cast award in the category of completely convincing gradual inebriation. As his older boyfriend, who aspires to a monogamous relationship, Tuc Watkins, who I’m used to seeing on TV in more comic roles, brought an understated dignity to his role. Charlie Carver, as the birthday-present hustler, was just right, providing a third dimension to the cliché of the dumb pretty boy. (And he’s one gift that no one would ever be tempted to return.)
Matt Bomer, as something between boyfriend and fuck-buddy to the Parsons character, was never unconvincing, but the role is a bit of a puzzle that resists a satisfying solution. His neurosis is described during the exposition, but is not particularly on display throughout the subsequent action. We’re left watching someone who seems so fundamentally understanding (as well as gorgeous) that, societal attitudes, pressures, and his own commitment-phobia notwithstanding, one wonders why he doesn’t provide more emotional ballast to Parsons’ Michael. (And, tanking up as much as he does before routinely driving home from the city to the Hamptons — please, girl, don’t.)
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Having seen the most recent two Broadway revivals of The Iceman Cometh (1985 with Jason Robards; 1999 with Kevin Spacey), I was anxious to experience again that titanic work, and to see what Denzel Washington would bring to Hickey, the role that had made Robards, the quintessential interpreter of Eugene O’Neill, a star.
“Experiencing that performance was a once-in-a-lifetime event I’m unlikely to forget,” my brother Edward, who joined me at the performance, wrote to me in an email afterwards.
Washington’s entrance (late in the four hour play’s first act) was breathtaking, as was the colossal monologue he delivered in the final act. This combination of artistry, intelligence, spontaneity, and stamina in a marathon stage performance cements, in my mind, his reputation as one of the premiere actors of his generation.
Director George C. Wolfe’s production (except for a set design which kept morphing the single setting for no reason apparent to me) flew by, and provided an array of terrific performances. Bill Irwin, gifted as a clown as well as as an actor, was delightful, and led the play’s contingent of loser drunks, of whom Neal Huff, as Willie Oban, was my other favorite. Young Austin Butler, making his Broadway debut in the generally thankless, nearly impossible role of Don Parritt, was a revelation, the best performance of that difficult part I’ve yet seen.
David Morse disappointed me, though, as Larry Slade, the protagonist to Hickey’s antagonist. Morse’s acting was impeccable; it was the conception of the role that bothered me. The choice by Wolfe and him to have Larry engage the world with such intensity and passion made little sense to me in a character whose core is his disengagement, he being the quintessential observer from the sidelines. (I’ve always wanted to play that role, and have never liked anyone I’ve seen do it on-stage, though the great Robert Ryan, in his final film performance in John Frankenheimer’s very faithful screen adaptation, was bliss in the part.)
The revival of Three Tall Women was just about perfect. Although Mantello’s production powered through the two-act play without taking an intermission, the play isn’t very long to begin with, and nothing seemed to have been missing, to my ear.
The revivals of The Boys in the Band and The Iceman Cometh, however, while both excellent, both suffered from cuts to the original.
Mantello again took no break between Boys’ two acts, but the trimming left certain of the plot turns feeling abrupt. Iceman, though still, at about four hours, an unusually long night out for 21st Century audiences, was also shortened. Given the excellence of Wolfe’s cast, I blame the snips for leaving some of O’Neill’s (many) bar denizens less vividly-drawn than I’ve seen in past productions.
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Just as I’d seen two important stage Hickey’s previous to Denzel, I’d also seen two famous Dolly Levi’s (Carol Channing and Pearl Bailey) before I saw Bernadette Peters, who took over the lead in the staggeringly accomplished Jerry Zaks revival of Hello, Dolly! after its original star, Bette Midler, left. (Midler is now back in the show before its close on August 25th.)
Peters was in better voice than the similarly-aged Midler (if the cast recording featuring the Divine Miss M is an indication) and she was greeted with about the same degree of enthusiasm as Midler was famously given during her run. She also, gamely, had incorporated into her performance several comic bits that one presumes had been discovered by Midler. Most importantly, Peters accessed a vulnerability, balanced against the part’s brassiness, which gave her turn an extremely satisfying texture.
Zaks’ production was impeccable, the acting wonderful. Gavin Creel and Kate Baldwin, as Cornelius and Irene, are still in the show from the original cast; and I was wowed by the dancing and charm of Charlie Stemp as Barnaby Tucker, who joined the cast with Peters. Press accounts indicate that Warren Carlyle (whose choreography for the revival was in tribute to Dolly’s original auteur, Gower Champion) added some acrobatic cavorting to take advantage of Stemp’s stunning skills.
Michael Stewart’s truly funny book has held up about as well as has Jerry Herman’s career-topping score, and that’s not always the case with some classic mid-century musicals. As a cherry on top, the great Victor Garber was playing Horace, and he was as wonderful as you would expect he would be.
My family was in the front row, audience right, and we had to contend with the frowns of a pair of women behind us, who seemed to be thinking, “Shit. We spent all this money on these seats, and we have these little children in front of us who will likely ruin the whole show for us.”
Well, my children were enraptured and were an exemplary audience — and caught the eye, early on, of Ms Peters. By the time she sang “So Long, Dearie,” she had made eye contact more than once, and she even gave us a little wave on her way off-stage after that song. The women behind, now absolutely charmed, did not even wait until the end of the show, but leaned over during that song’s ovation and cooed, “She’s doing the whole show for your kids!” That wasn’t quite true, but, believe me, that was a day my family won’t forget anytime soon.
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We also saw SpongeBob SquarePants: The Broadway Musical, and, man, that was really good, too. Sure, it’s broad, loud, and frenetic, but the director, Tina Landau, finds some lovely subtleties within the broad style. The fact that the score includes contributions from a wide range of pop artists (Bowie, Eno, Lauper, Legend, Bareilles, They Might Be Giants, to name a few) broadens its appeal.
Ethan Slater is a force of nature in the title role, but, let’s be real: that entire cast astounds, and nearly matches him with its unflagging energy and constant motion. Danny Skinner, as his somewhat dimmer sidekick, is a study in how to bring depth, humanity, and wit to a cartoon character. In any other show, Wesley Taylor, as the villainous Sheldon Plankton, would steal said show.
But Gavin Lee puts the “stopper” into “showstopper.” Yeah, I saw his big number on the Tonys. Yeah, it was impressive. But watching it live brought tears to my eyes. Lucky are those who see this performance in the theatre. To cheekily somewhat misapply a great PK quote, to which I allude a second time in one article, it’s the sort of performance that, in the theatre, becomes legendary. (PK, for those of you who weren’t around during her heyday, is the greatest film critic of all time, Pauline Kael, and, if you ever want to experience criticism as a distinct and thrilling art, get her books and revel in them.)
I expect you’ve, by now, discerned a theme emerge: unforgettable work by actors in plays classic or, at least, well worth seeing.
The opposite, though, of the big, splashy SpongeBob SquarePants must be the relatively modest show that beat it in most of the Tony categories.
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I saw The Band’s Visit on an evening when the news of the day depressed me and intruded into my mind as I watched the show. And, as great art will, The Band’s Visit provided solace at a time when I needed it.
And this piece achieves something special: it is a Broadway musical based on a foreign film that retains the delicacy, wistful simplicity, and exotic style of the source material in a manner that other attempts (I’m looking at you Nine, Passion, and, to a lesser extent, A Little Night Music) do not.
Tony Shalhoub had left the show after a several-months run, to be replaced by Sasson Gabay, the actor who played the lead role in the 2007 film on which the musical is based. He and the rest of the cast, to a person, were quirky and authentic-feeling and deeply moving. (The show’s Tony winners other than Shalhoub — Katrina Lenk and Ari’el Stachel — are still in it and are terrific.)
The score includes a couple songs that sounded, to my ear, a touch reminiscent of LaLaLand, but was otherwise intrinsic to the setting in an immensely satisfying way. Much praise to David Cromer, the indispensable director, for guiding this work to such a satisfying result.
I asked a friend (okay, I’ll tell you who it was: it was Frank Britton; perhaps you’ve heard of him?) after a New York trip a few years ago, “How many shows did you see?” “Five.” “How many standing ovations?” [Smile.] “Five.”
The Standing O has become as inevitable a part of the Broadway experience as a fortune cookie is to a meal at a Chinese restaurant. Unless one is trying to make a point in opposition to those around one — or if one just wants to see for whom one is clapping — one joins the group and one stands.
In this case, I saw seven shows and stood seven times, each time with well-earned enthusiasm.
(And, PS, I saw a few understudies, who were only wonderful. There’s always a twinge of disappointment to see the replacement insert inside a program. It’s always a delight when that disappointment is reversed and, given a chance, the standby stands out. Kudos to Paula Jon DeRose as Cora in The Iceman Cometh, and to Ahmad Maksoud as Camal in The Band’s Visit.)
The Henley/Hardee Photo album:
Post-show at Laura Bush Killed a Guy: DC designer/director Greg Stevens; actor Lisa Hodsoll, the show’s cast; Greg’s husband Michael LeVitre; Moi; and Bob Lee, old friend and NYC arts patron extraordinaire.
Aksel and Ivona Henley-Hardee ready for their close-up with Dolly Levi.
Post-show with Gavin Creel after seeing his Tony-winning Cornelius Hackl.
The legendary Palace Theatre became, for SpongeBob SquarePants: The Broadway Musical, about as immersive as a Broadway theater can become; it’s a pity to learn that the show’s closing date (September 16th) has been announced.
You saw him in In the Heights in DC; Robin de Jesús then played Emory in The Boys in the Band in NYC.
Matt Bomer poses with my husband Jay Hardee; they are on either side of Kathy Rodriguez Monroe, Jay’s high school friend. It’s always a treat to see theatre with Kathy and her kids, Josie and Jamie.
After Bernadette Peters and Victor Garber left Yonkers, they headlined the annual “Broadway Barks” event, which, this year, partnered with our local affiliate, DC Actors for Animals. Peters is a major force behind the organization whose mission it is to help rescue animals be adopted.
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