Why I Love Mary Murphy

For those of you who've never watched “So You Think You Can Dance,” you will probably not know who Mary Murphy is. And for those who have watched the show in the past, you might wonder why I choose to endorse a woman who is sometimes so loud and abrasive that her fellow judges must cover their ears for fear of losing their eardrums. Well, the answer is very simple…she has a passion for dance that is infectious.

And that is coming from someone who hated having to sit through Ballets and Dance Concerts when I was growing up. Not that I didn’t like to dance myself, but I didn’t really have an appreciation for the kind of control and strength a real dancer must have to perform such feats. In fact, it wasn’t until I started seriously working out and lifting weights in my twenties that I began to realize that dancers were sometimes more athletic in their movements than the more macho football and baseball players.

And that is what I find so fascinating about “So You Think You Can Dance.” The dancers are constantly thrown curveballs and new dance styles, and difficult choreographers (like Mia Michaels), and to see them succeed against unimaginable odds is like watching a really good Olympic competition. And some of the dance pieces are quite awe-inspiring. (And again, this from someone who never really appreciated the art of dance until a few years ago.)

Which brings us back to Mary Murphy. When I first caught the show while flipping channels several years ago, I thought it was just another pointless talent competition without much merit or credibility. Then, the next year I happened to catch another episode during the audition process, and was suddenly sucked into the behind-the-scenes stories of the dancers—their tragedies, hopes, dreams, etc. What can I say? I was hooked after that. And yet I still found one of the judges, Mary Murphy, to be quite obnoxious with all her yelling and cheering and constant use of catch phrases.

But as I began watching the show on a more regular basis, I began to warm up to Ms. Murphy because I realized how much she really cares about the people she is judging. Unlike some of the other guest judges on the show, who seem to get off on putting people down or showing off their arrogant intelligence, Mary has compassion and empathy for the dancers. She cries when she is emotionally touched by a dance number, or cheers when she is excited about a dancer’s progress. And you can see from the dancer’s faces how much they value her opinion and favor. She is like a big Mother Hen who coaches and cajoles her little offspring so they can eventually fly off on their own, as prepared as they can be for the cruel reality of a career in the arts.

And just when you think you can’t be shocked any more by the things that come out of her mouth, she suddenly blurted out a few weeks ago that “I can’t look surprised any more because the botox took care of that.” It was such an honest and revealing statement that I think it even caught her by surprise…as evidenced by how hard she laughed for the next few minutes (As did everyone else in the audience). But that’s how Mary is. She can be a tough critic when she thinks a dancer isn’t trying hard enough, or living up to their potential. But when someone succeeds with a genre they’ve never done before, or makes incredible progress as a dancer from week to week, she is the first to offer her praise and congratulations. And that’s why I love Mary Murphy. She’s a cheerleader for the underdog as well as the professional. As long as someone steps up to the plate, she is there to cheer you on. And don’t we all need a little more of that these days?

But that’s just me. What’s your take on Mary Murphy or “So You Think You Can Dance”?

The Trouble with Tony

The minute the Tony Awards started on Sunday night, I knew we were in trouble. Elton John’s microphone wasn’t turned on, so the first few notes of his song were sung into a black hole. This was only the beginning of what I felt was a poorly executed television program, with so many sound issues throughout, you’d think you were watching Amateur Night at the local Rotary Club. Especially when you constantly heard people talking offstage, or into microphones that shouldn’t have been turned on yet. But the worst moment came during the “Guys and Dolls” number when you could hear a technician talking offstage louder than you could hear the singer onstage. That was quickly corrected, thankfully, when the aforementioned tech ran onto the stage with the live microphone he had just been speaking into. INEXCUSABLE.

And then there were the endless musical numbers from shows that are out on tour, that we’ve already seen a million times. I mean, did the “Dancing Queen” number inspire anyone to get up off their butts and boogie? No.

I thought Neil Patrick Harris did a great job of holding it all together. His personality is very likeable, although I’m sure there’s a lot of stuff going on under that perfectly honed façade that’s probably pretty scary. No one is THAT nice.

The most disappointing moment for me was the choice of number from the musical “Billy Elliot.” This number DOES NOT do the show justice. Not that it isn’t impressive to watch someone that young take such command of the stage. But out of context, I don’t think Middle America will really make much of that number. In fact, the people who were initially turned off by the idea of a musical about a boy who wants to dance will probably not be swayed by what they saw on Sunday night. It was so poorly edited and presented that it didn’t make me want to spend the money to go see it. And that’s from someone who has already seen the show three times. (And believe me, it is well worth the investment and it rightfully deserved the title of "Best Musical." So don’t let the Tony number influence you negatively against this show---if it did. It is possibly one of the most grounded and emotionally charged musicals I’ve ever seen.)

Which brings me to the musical number from “Next to Normal,” which actually made me want to go see the show. I’d already heard good things about the show from friends, but was never really motivated yet to plunk down the money to get a ticket. I mean, a show about an emotionally disturbed woman and the toll it takes on her family is not exactly fodder for a fun evening out. But then I heard their voices, and I saw the commitment coming from the actors, and all of a sudden I was excited see this show. Finally, something that doesn’t run around in a costume or come pre-packaged from a movie or TV show. And that’s what the Tonys are supposed to do. Get you excited about going to see a live show, an experience unlike anything else in the world.

So, before I close, let’s not forget Liza Minelli, whose overzealous and perpetually bubbly personality makes me nervous every time I see her. In her heydey, she was spunky and funny and had a quirky personality that made her the life of the party. But now the party has run its course, and the band has gone home, and she’s still out there plugging away. I say retire from singing, because the voice just ain’t what it used to be. As for acting, there will always be roles for over-the-top people with bizarre affectations, so her career prospects are good. But come on, there’s only so many songs I want to hear that are sung with that many strained and missed notes. Even Stockard Channing sounded more on point, and I heard she was horrible in “Pal Joey.”

So though I’m glad they put a lot of money and effort into the production, I think they maybe strived to do too much with what they had. And yet, the show pulled in it’s best ratings since 2006, so who am I to judge? I’m just glad the Tonys are televised at all.

But that’s just me. What did you think of the Tony Awards?

Remember When Working “9 to 5” Was Fun?

When I first heard that Alison Janney was tapped to play the Lily Tomlin role in a new musical version of “Nine to Five,” I thought it sounded like pretty inspired casting. After all, who else had that slightly masculine swagger and deadpan delivery that could even come close to Ms. Tomlin’s brilliantly understated performance? No one. Perfect casting.

Brief side note: Nine to Five is one of my all-time favorite comedies. Maybe because it came out at a time in my life when I really needed a good laugh, and that movie struck me as terribly funny. I was already a huge fan of Lily Tomlins from her Laugh-In days, but had been somewhat disappointed with some of her ventures since then. But the combination of Lily with Dolly Parton and Jane Fonda was something akin to magic. Ms. Parton, in particular, was such a welcome surprise as the feisty and vulnerable secretary to Franklin Hart that I went back to see the movie at least three or four times in the next several months. It was a great escape from the troubles of the times.

Which makes it even more interesting that the musical should come out during a time when we are again experiencing pain. As a nation. And with the news increasingly talking of dissent among the masses, it’s the perfect time for something that offers nothing but pure escape and a few genuine laughs. And that’s where the new musical “Nine to Five” finds its place among the new crop of Broadway newbies.

Is it a perfect musical? No. Can Alison Janney really sing? Well, sort of…although there are some real clunkers. Are the supporting players Stephanie J. Block and Megan Hilty up to the challenge of taking on the Jane Fonda and Dolly Parton roles? AND HOW. While no one can touch Ms. Block’s tremendous vocal prowess, Ms. Hilty is a comic genius as the misunderstood sexy office assistant and I found myself watching her most of the time she was on the stage. I’m sure Ms. Parton herself would be proud of the way Ms. Hilty has inhabited her role. Her sincere and vulnerable performance makes you fall in love with her almost immediately.

The one thing I found particularly amusing about the show was how they copied some of the actual costumes from the movie almost identically. Even down to the blue coat Dolly Parton wore during the hospital scene. I wasn’t sure if it was intended as a homage, or whether the costume designer just didn’t have any ideas of her own, but it was a little eerie to see almost the same clothes from decades ago. (Could they all have still been in Ms. Parton’s closet?)

There were some liberties taken with the show, and some sequences condensed from the movie, but overall it was pretty faithful to the original concept, plot and characters. Violet (the Alison Janney/Lily Tomlin role) now has an office romance, and the pot fantasy sequences aren’t as effective on the stage, but the show is a nice addition to the Broadway catalog and I hope it does well in this tough economic environment. And with Dolly at the helm, anything is possible.

Deer Droppings--Oprahcabana

Please click on the photo above to watch a short, one-minute video from the "Deer Droppings" series called "Oprahcabana." This song parody of Barry Manilow's "Copacabana" features a celebration of Oprah Winfrey's life, loves, scandals and future. So put on your Carmen Miranda fruit hat and dance along.

Deer Droppings--Flash Forward TV

Please click on the photo above to watch a short one-minute film from the new "Deer Droppings" series. This episode features a song parody of "Top of the World" by the Carpenters which lampoons the use of flash forwards on shows like "Lost" and "Desperate Housewives."

Hope you enjoy it. And have a great Memorial Day weekend!!!!!

Bird Bits--Future Star

Please click on the photo above to watch a one-minute video from the "Bird Bits" series entitled "Future Star." In this episode, two male birds discuss the star potential of a singing Bluebird.

What can I say? I have a lot of time on my hands.

The Light and Fluffy “Cry Baby” Packs a Powerful Dancing Punch

"Cry Baby," based on the 1990 movie starring Johnny Depp, is the second John Waters movie to be turned into a Broadway musical. Though currently in previews, I decided to catch a recent performance of the musical to see how it compared with "Hairspray," Water’s first Broadway outing. And while it’s not really fair to assume these shows would be similar, it’s inevitable to compare them because the writing team is the same for both. The musical elements of the show, however, were written by somebody else. And while the music is fun and peppy, it's not as crisp and laser-perfect as the score for “Hairspray” was. The show also doesn’t include an underlining social commentary, except maybe Rich vs. Poor, a theme so uncomfortably prevalent in today’s society that it almost comes across as passé.

This is not to say that “Cry Baby” isn’t a lot of fun, because it is. Like Cotton Candy, it’s light, airy and full of fluff; a colorful calliope of sugary confection. But also like Cotton Candy, you know as soon as you take a bite of it, you’ll be left with nothing but air. In other words, there is nothing particularly original or ground-breaking about the story, the characters, or the so-called plot of the show. It’s the tried-and-true tale of the socially elite good girl who falls for the morally ambiguous bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks. Grease meets West Side Story meets Happy Days. But who cares? I doubt anyone is going to see this show for intellectual stimulation. And for those non-discriminatory people, “Cry Baby” delivers whole-heartedly. The stars of the show are pitch perfect in their campy characterizations, including “Frasier” alumni Harriet Harris as the prim and proper Aunt.

But the one element that sets “Cry Baby” apart from other musicals on Broadway is the amazing display of athletic and energetic dancing by the supporting cast. Rob Ashford’s choreography is truly incredible. His first-rate dancers appear to be made of rubber, as they bounce, jump and fly across the stage. It’s almost animalistic at times, even primeval. Or at least that’s what I assumed as I watched one particularly nimble male dancer shake and gyrate so aggressively, it appeared as if he was auditioning for gay porn. (Or maybe he already has.)

So if you’re looking for pure escapist fun, with a fun rock and roll sensibility, “Cry Baby” will knock your socks off.

A Surprising Sojourn in the “South Pacific”

“South Pacific” has never been one of my favorite Rodgers & Hammerstein musicals. I played the role of Luther Billis in my High School production, which was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because it was the only comedic role in the show. And a curse, because after the show was over I was forever after referred to as “Coconuts” by many of my friends’ parents. A nickname I earned solely because of the coconut bra I had to wear during the “Honey Bun” number in Act Two. A little humiliating to say the least, though it’s certainly not why the show has never held much interest for me.

As a teenager, I found the wafer thin plotlines and ballad-laden love story a bit boring. Except for “There is Nothing Like a Dame” and “Bloody Mary,” there weren’t a lot of rousing numbers in the show. Plus, the boy and girl who played the leads in our show took their roles a little too seriously, which caused much nausea and irritation among the rest of the cast members. (Particularly the female chorus members, who couldn’t wait for our Nellie Forbush to break her leg or lose her voice so one of them could go on in her place. Oh yes, they were ruthless in my High School.)

Anyway, I went to see the new Broadway production of “South Pacific” with little or no anticipation. The tickets had been given to me as a gift, so I was merely fulfilling my obligation to use them, rather than gearing myself up for an entertaining evening at the theater. But what I witnessed at the Vivian Beaumont Theater was a beautifully mounted and executed production, perfectly cast and thoroughly entertaining to watch. The production gives the show one of the best presentations I’ve ever seen, as dialogue and lyrics meld together to form a cohesive language. The actors don’t stop to sing a song; the song comes naturally out of what they’re saying. To me, that gives the musical so much life and reality, that you forget the transition from speaking to singing. One flows into the other like a natural extension of their vocal abilities.

Kelli O’Hara was a great choice for Nellie Forbush, as she brings an awkward geekiness to the role, which is thoroughly charming. Her songs are pitch perfect, and appear to flow out of her with little effort or strain. As Nellie’s love interest, Paulo Szot was a brilliant choice for Emile de Becque. Coming from an operatic background, Mr. Szot’s rich voice is a well-tuned instrument. His reprise of “Some Enchanted Evening” at the end of Act One is sure to send shivers up and down your spine. Danny Burstein was also good as Billis, though his voice and mannerisms began to remind me of a young Bert Lahr. At any moment, I half expected him to break out in “If I Was King of the Forest” from “The Wizard of Oz."

The rest of the cast were equally good in their roles, and the production values are top notch. And though the show’s intertwining stories might seem a little bland for today’s tastes, you are not likely to see a more beautifully staged and executed production on Broadway anytime soon. (Especially since this is only the second time the show has ever been mounted on the Great White Way.) So in conclusion, the trip to the construction-challenged Lincoln Center was well worth it, as it turned out to be One Enchanted Evening.

Taming the Terrible Talker with the Two Minute Tip

Have you ever been to a social get-together where one overly-talkative person “hogs” the conversation? No matter how many times other people try to contribute, they are constantly interrupted by the “hog’s” incessant need to speak? And though everyone around him seems to notice his lack of social etiquette, nobody is rude enough to point it out. So the “hog” continues to roll around in his own mud, spewing out stories and anecdotes until you are literally covered in his material. It becomes more of a “Hogversation” than a true social interaction, leaving the participants feeling tired and suffocated by such a domineering orator.

But how do you tactfully tell someone to shut up when you are certain to hurt their feelings and cause embarrassment to everyone around them? It is not an easy thing to accomplish, especially if the oblivious talkers assume their listeners are thoroughly captivated with lengthy diatribes. (Stay-at-home parents are often guilty of this type of excessive talking, as they are usually hungry to speak to anyone over the age of ten. These types of diatribes are sometimes sub-categorized as “Momversations,” referring to the repetitive nature of the subject matter.)

My favorite rule of thumb is to gently introduce the “Two Minute Rule” into the conversation. The basis of the Two Minute Rule is pretty simple--NEVER dominate a conversation for more than two minutes. To talk longer than two minutes makes you sound like you're giving a speech, and this should be avoided at all costs. True, some stories might take longer than two minutes to tell, so naturally there are exceptions to this rule. But if you tend to be the type of person that links five or six stories together without taking a breath, than perhaps you too suffer from “Hogversation.” It’s much better to bring up a topic, ask others what their opinions are, and then contribute your ideas or opinions during the intervals.

I have one friend who has a severe case of “Hogversation,” as she happily recounts one tale after another (usually about her children), and seems oblivious that others might want to speak as well. And when the rare opportunity for entry into the conversation is granted, she usually has a better story about your “topic,” and therefore interrupts you to immediately tell it. Most of the time they never get back to your story, and are onto another topic within minutes.

To avoid this type of situation in the future, I suggest instituting the two-minute rule at the beginning of each social gathering. It will make everyone aware of the etiquette right off the bat, so you don’t have to embarrass anyone later. And then if someone does “break” the rule, you can jokingly remind them without making it sound like an attack. You can even make a game of it. (“Hey, let’s play the two minute rule tonight. Anyone who breaks it has to take a drink.”) Not that you necessarily have to make every conversation a drinking game, but you get the idea.

But that’s just me. How do you tactfully train a Conversation Hog?

Celebrity Mystery in London--LOST FOOTAGE

Please click on the image above to watch a short sequence that was cut from Fritz Freewhenever's latest news report, "Reality Stars on a Rampage."

LuPone Triumphs as New Queen of the “Gypsy’s”

One of the most famous backstage musicals of all time, “Gypsy,” is back on Broadway again. After two relatively recent revivals starring Tyne Daly and Bernadette Peters (the latter only a few years ago), I wondered why anyone would want to bring it back so soon. Is there really anything about “Gypsy” we haven’t seen yet? What could possibly justify another “New” Broadway revival? Well, after seeing the show last night at the St. James Theater, I fully understand why.

Watching this production of “Gypsy” is like seeing the show with new glasses. Truth to tell, I’ve never actually seen a LIVE stage production of “Gypsy.” I’ve seen the movie many times, as well as the Bette Midler television adaptation in the 1990s, so I’m pretty familiar with the material. But this production seems infused with a new energy and life, particularly because of its two leading ladies, Patti LuPone and Laura Benanti.

The energetic powerhouse that is Patti LuPone is used to maximum effectiveness here. As the show’s central character, Mama Rose, she is loud, brassy, funny, playful, arrogant, desperate, pushy—yet always in control. Every time she is on stage, you can’t help but watch her. Even when she is only walking by in the background during a Baby June song, she nearly steals the scene. Miss LuPone inhabits this role like no one else before her. Not that other people haven’t played the part well, but there is something so natural and effortless in Miss LuPone’s performance, that you feel like you might be watching Mama Rose herself.

To me, the most incredible moment comes near the very end of the show. Gypsy has already established herself as the Queen of Burlesque, and Rose no longer feels wanted or needed. The result is one of the most brilliant swan songs ever written, “Rose’s Turn,” in which she basically laments her life. This song is a favorite among musical theater lovers and has been sung by nearly every female Diva in the world at some point in their careers. It is tour de force musical tirade, which Miss LuPone infuses with every fiber of her being. The song is electrifying to watch, as goosebumps trail up and down your arm. You know you are witnessing something very special—the perfect melding of star and song. Several audience members spontaneously stood up at the end and gave her an ovation, and I can see why. It was truly remarkable.

But that wasn’t even the “incredible moment” I was referring to. My favorite “moment” comes shortly after the aforementioned show-stopping "Rose's Turn" number. Gypsy finds her mother onstage, and asks her why she worked and pushed so hard for all those years---who was she really doing it for? Rose always claimed she was doing it for her kids, to give them a better life. But in one overwhelming and painfully raw moment of insight, she finally realizes her drive was motivated by her own desires rather than her children's welfare. Her realization and subsequent breakdown is a moment I will never forget. It was so human and real. Absolutely incredible!

The evening also had a feeling of heightened electricity because the audience was filled with other Broadway actors, who spent their Monday night off watching someone else’s show. David Hyde Pierce (of “Curtains”) and his partner were sitting right across the aisle from me, and the lobby was filled with many other famous faces from the New York theater scene. During the show, you could hear a pin drop; that’s how riveting it was. And though I’ve had the opportunity many times over the years to see “Gypsy” LIVE, I’m glad I waited until this production to actually take the plunge.

For anyone who loves theater, this “Gypsy” is definitely worth the trip!

Celebrity Mystery in London

Reality Stars on a Rampage? Click on the photo above to watch the latest humorous news report from Fritz Freewhenever on yet another "shocking celebrity mystery." This time from London, England.

Expect a Hot Fun Night When Visiting “In the Heights”

I am an avid theater-goer, and living less than forty-five minutes from Broadway, I tend to see a lot of the big musicals and Off-Broadway hits. I also see a lot of plays, but they aren’t necessarily on Broadway, as the “play” has become a rather rare commodity on the Great White Way. If a show doesn’t have something to make you tap your foot, or hum a tune, it doesn’t translate into big Box Office Bucks. And right now, shows like “Wicked” and “Hairspray” and “Spring Awakening” rule the boards.

So when tickets became available for a new musical called “In the Heights,” I naturally got mine in advance. The only thing I really knew about the show was that it had already achieved a very successful run Off-Broadway (like “Spring Awakening”), and was now making the big move to a much more spacious and profitable venue. With that kind of track record, it must be good, right? (Although I still have my issues about the overly-critiqued “Spring Awakening,” which I left feeling rather underwhelmed. Perhaps all the lofty praise had put a different expectation in my head, but I just didn’t get what all the fuss was about. My teenage niece, on the other hand, loves the show and has already seen it four times.)

Anyway, I had no expectations for “In the Heights,” and I must say I was happily surprised by the production. Not that the various plotlines are anything new or extraordinary: there’s the nice guy in love with the hot girl, the hot girl who wants to leave the old neighborhood for a more glamorous life “downtown,” the smart girl who already left the neighborhood and is coming back because she failed in the world outside the Barrio, the smart-talking hairdresser who has a witty comment for almost every occasion, the older woman with health issues that is everyone’s best friend, the hot limousine company employee in love with the boss's daughter, the list goes on and on.

So while the show is filled with stock characters and familiar plotlines, there is something so engaging about the cast and music that you simply follow along for the ride. From the hip-hop/rap inspired opening number that tells you everything you need to know in ten minutes, to the high flying vocals that pepper the show with excitement, this was a very fun evening in the theater. The cast is excellent and the music keeps your foot tapping through the entire evening. I thought there were maybe one too many ballads, and some story devices that were a little lame. But overall this show is a good time and I highly recommend it.

Next on my theater-going agenda: Revivals of “South Pacific” and “Gypsy” starring the Great Lupone.

When Jet Lag Leads to Pocket Snags and Eye Bags

One of the only things I don’t like about traveling abroad is the jet lag you experience upon arrival in a foreign country. (Not to mention the 2nd round you experience upon coming back home.) And while some people seem to recover rather easily from this type of system adjustment, I find that the older I get, the longer it takes to make the time zone switch.

When I was in London a few weeks ago, I found myself walking around in a fog for the first few days, which ironically had nothing to do with your typical English weather. It was bright and clear, but I was off somewhere, two steps behind everything that was happening in front of me.

Several days later, when I again made a slight time zone adjustment when traveling to Madrid, the lack of clarity brought about a rather unfortunate snatching of my iPod, which was conveniently stashed in my front coat pocket. Conveniently for the thief, that is, who managed to get the coat unzipped during a crowded subway ride. And even though I felt something happening, it still took a few seconds to register before I realized someone was going through my pockets. At that point, the subway door opened and the huge crowd surrounding me suddenly dissipated, leaving me feeling like I’d just missed something rather important.

It wasn’t until the next day that I figured out exactly what that was. My 80GB iPod, filled with music, pictures, movies and more. I was shocked, as I’d only put it in the zippered pocket several minutes before. The theft was a huge disappointment, as the iPod contained several walking tours of Madrid, which I’d planned to take over the next few days. My one consolation is knowing that whoever stole the iPod probably won’t like any of the content, as it mostly consists of horrible pop music and Disney musicals.

Nevertheless, my normally acute knowledge of my surroundings, educated during my twenty-year residency in New York City, had been severely dulled by my lack of sleep. Unfortunately it doesn’t dull the humiliation and sense of violation you feel as a result of falling victim to the pettiest of crimes—pick pocketing. Madrid is apparently notorious for gangs of “gypsies” who work in packs to infiltrate the belongings of the common tourist. (Or so my neighbor Ramona told me.) They target the weary traveler, who may be carrying several suitcases and packages, surrounding them on all sides with a tight grip. This makes it almost impossible for the traveler to move at all, and that’s when they make their move. But before anything can be checked, they are out of sight and onto the next victim.

That being said, you can just imagine for the rest of my vacation how differently I viewed things, and how overly diligent I might have been in my fight against “the gypsies.” I think I even scared a few people in Plaza Mayor when I inadvertently swung around and nearly hit them in the face, their bodies coming uncomfortably close to my zippered pockets. One girl even screamed, perhaps assuming that I might be one of the gypsies myself, my sudden outburst clearly indicative of a bad moral character.

Or perhaps she was horrified by the growing set of luggage under my eye region. Though I tried to catch up on my sleep, the typical bag under my eye had grown to enormous proportions, threatening to convert into a large steamer trunk if I didn’t do something fast. And even though I was finally beginning to feel like myself again, my face apparently hadn’t caught up with the process. It was still in London somewhere, perhaps searching for the next Andrew Lloyd Webber musical.

I wish there was an easier way to make the transition from one continent to another. I also wish there was a cheaper way to travel. These days, the dollar is so bad, you can barely get out of McDonald’s in a foreign country without paying twenty dollars. (And that’s just for the Happy Meal.) So while I thoroughly enjoyed my time in London and Madrid, I’m afraid Europe is out of the question for a while. Not until somebody keeps our dollar bill from suffering the same kind of jet lag we suffer when traveling abroad. Because if the dollar ever began suffering from chronic jet lag, it would not be beneficial for anyone.

But that’s just me. How do you react to jet lag?

The Brilliance of the Broadway Bound “Billy Elliot”

Just got back from London for a quick trip with my friend Celia. While we were there, I decided to take in the British smash hit musical, “Billy Elliot” which is based on the critically acclaimed movie of the same name. It was my second time seeing the Elton John/Lee Hall musical, and I was equally impressed upon a second viewing. The brilliance of the book and score, which intermingles the tragic plight of poor mineworkers in a Northern England town with the artistic awakening of a young boy, makes for a very exciting and moving theatrical experience.

But what makes the experience even more fascinating is the unique casting process for the main character. For there is not just one “Billy Elliot” playing the role at any given time, but rather five different boys. So depending on what night you see the show, you might be seeing a slightly different performance. Because while each “Billy” is equally talented, his choreography and individual dance numbers are catered to that particular boy’s strengths, giving the audience a rare glimpse into the life of that particular boy. It also makes each performance unique and exciting, as the rest of the ensemble always has a new interpretation of the character to play off.

On the night I saw it, a black actor was playing Billy. There have also been Asian “Billys” and perhaps even Hispanic, but it matters not. The essence of Billy is in everyone, and by casting talent over authenticity, the producers are wisely capitalizing on the mass appeal this character has.

I believe the training process for the character is pretty long and fairly extensive as well. Potential “Billys” must go through a year or more of dance, vocal and acting lessons before they can even attempt to do the role. (Or some such rigorous timeframe.) And once you see the show, you can understand why. The role is demanding, both physically and emotionally, and the show would not succeed if the performer did not have incredibly strong acting, singing and dancing chops. And for someone so young to be able to perform such a feat is truly amazing. By the end of the show, you have fallen in love with Billy, his family, his dancing coach, and indeed the town itself, and you also leave the theater feeling energized by hope. The juxtaposition of this long-suffering town of mineworkers with Billy’s emergence as a naturally-gifted talent is an incredible piece of theater to experience, and there are moments in the play that will simply take your breath away.

So with that being said, I am both anxious and nervous for “Billy Elliot” to make its debut on Broadway this Fall. I have heard they may change it to appease the American sensibility, perhaps even moving the local from a British town to one in Pennsylvania. To me, this would be a mistake. The charm of the show is that we are viewing a way of life that is foreign to many of us anyway, and by Americanizing it, I think they change the story. I would hope that American theatergoers are not so superficial as to require major rewrites or different accents to make the show more accessible. It is what it is, and I wouldn’t change a thing.

So here’s hoping the Broadway Bound “Billy Elliot” brings as much joy to American audiences as it has to the London theater crowd for over two years now. It is simply Brilliant!
But that’s just me. What did you think of London’s “Billy Elliot”?

The Jaded and Arrogant Magic of David Copperfield

I’ve always loved magicians. Or rather, I’ve always loved what magicians can do. The can make people levitate, make people disappear, make people transform into ferocious animals. There’s no limit to the types of illusions they can create, and the fun part is trying to figure out how they do it.

Like most people, I know the majority of magic tricks are based on some very simple principals: a trap door, a hidden wire, a forklift. But when someone can perform a trick that’s so unusual and complex that you just can’t fathom how it was done, I have nothing but respect and admiration for their skills.

So it should be no surprise that when I went to Las Vegas a few years ago, one of the shows I definitely wanted to see had to include magic. And since the only resident magician I was familiar with was David Copperfield, I decided to go see him. Not that I had a particular affinity for Mr. Copperfield, other than remembering he once dated Claudia Schiffer; he just happened to be the only magician's name I recognized.

So I went to his show with great expectations. Upon arriving at the theater, my friend and I were escorted to the front row, and placed at a small round table with another couple. We were then asked if during the finale of the show, we would participate by immediately standing up and applauding when the trick was over.

“And feel free to yell out words like Bravo or Encore or encouraging stuff like that,” the bright young P.A. explained. “Let David know how much you love him. And while you’re standing, David is going to come down the row and shake everyone’s hand. Isn’t that great? You’ll actually get to shake David’s hand. Cool, huh?”

Yeah, real cool. Naturally, my friend and I looked at each other with a little bit of skepticism. Why would someone as famous as David Copperfield need his audience to shill for him? Was he that insecure that he needed a standing ovation every night? I suddenly felt like I was “in on the trick;” like I’d been exposed to a part of the act I wouldn’t have been privy to had I been sitting in the third or fourth row. But since my table was practically hugging the front of the stage, I was being “used” to trick the rest of the audience into giving Mr. Copperfield his nightly ego boost. (And I wasn’t even getting paid for it.)

Nevertheless, we agreed to do it, if only to keep the P.A. from harassing us. But after waiting over a half hour for the show to start, I began to get a little irritated. Then, before Mr. Copperfield even appeared, we still had to sit through a twenty minute film which did nothing but tout Copperfield as the greatest living human being in the world. Forget being a magician, David was portrayed as a virtual God. It was a little weird. Why did this guy need to remind us who he was? Didn’t he know that’s the only reason we came to see him? Why was he giving us such a hard sell? The whole thing made me very uncomfortable.

But that was nothing compared to the shock I felt after David finally appeared. Because you’d think after all that build-up and self-grandizing, you’d be greeted by a guy that was full of energy and bigger than life. Instead, David appeared rather bored and indifferent throughout his act, walking around the stage with all the energy of a nightlight. There was no pep in his patter, nor any enthusiasm for what he was doing. It was like he was walking through the show with condescension for both his audience and the very tricks themselves. (No wonder he made us sit through all the film clips—it was the only time he showed any life during the entire evening.)

And though there were a few stand-out illusions, including the finale where he magically appears from the back of the audience, most of the show consisted of smaller, more ordinary tricks. Magic that could probably be done by most magicians in their sleep. In fact, that’s exactly what it looked like Mr. Copperfield was doing. Performing in a slumber. And since he couldn’t bring himself to actually wake up to participate, he decided to sleepwalk through it instead. (To be fair, Mr. Copperfield was doing a lot of sniffing and snorting throughout the show, so perhaps he was suffering from a cold. Or something.)

Or maybe he was just getting tired of doing magic. Maybe after years of performing, he was finally more jaded than genuine. After all, he’d probably done these tricks a thousand times before for countless audiences all over the world, many of whom were probably much more important than us. Regardless, I paid good money for my ticket and I expected to be mesmerized; not condescended to.

So when it came time to stand up for Mr. Copperfield during the finale, half the front row hesitated. Why? Because we all knew it was BS, and maybe felt a little weird contributing to Mr. Copperfield’s already bloated self-esteem. Of course, we all eventually did, but I definitely came away from the show with a very bad taste in my mouth.

Then months later, when all the allegations came out about Mr. Copperfield’s “alleged” sexual misunderstanding with a female in the Bahamas, I wondered if David had gotten bored with other social conventions as well. Like the not-so-subtle differences between dating and rape. But regardless of whether Mr. Copperfield is actually guilty or not, his persona has forever been tainted in my mind. And not because he’s not a talented magician; but because his talent seems to have ballooned his head into monolithic proportions.

Perhaps he should take a clue from the Dickensian character whose name he cleverly borrowed, and return to a time when he was more humble and less arrogant. Then maybe we’d all rediscover the magic that used to be David Copperfield.

But that’s just me. What do you think of David Copperfield?

After the Fifties and Frankenstein, “The Ritz” Provides a Randy Romp

So far, the theater season in New York has been rather disappointing; at least for the shows I’ve seen. Beginning with the 100th revival of Grease back in August, the year began with a whimper rather than a bang. Truth to tell, I was actually looking forward to seeing this show, as I’d never actually seen the stage version of the beloved musical. The film starring John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John has always been a favorite of mine, so I had great expectations for the stage show as well.

And I’m sorry to say, I was a little let down. Not to say the Broadway musical is bad, because it’s not. But it’s not that exciting either. And I don’t think it’s the fault of the cast, because everyone is pretty good and true to their characters. They just don’t have much to work with. The songs are great, no question. But the book of the musical is so weak and senseless that the show sort of drags whenever someone isn’t singing or dancing. And I think that was probably the point when the show first premiered back in the 1970s. It was meant to be a nice nostalgic slice of life without much substance. But today, this same plot has been played out so many times that even “Hanna Montana” would find it dull.

So though I left “Grease” feeling like I’d just witnessed a show in need of a serious facelift, I was still hopeful that a fresh musical interpretation of the 1950s was just around the corner. Because the next event on my theatrical agenda was “Happy Days,” a new musical adaptation of the popular television series. Sounds interesting, right? I mean, how bad could a musical based on classic sitcom be? And as Hollywood heavyweights Gary Marshall and Paul Williams were attached to the project, I decided to give it a shot. Plus, it was playing at the nearby Paper Mill Playhouse, which meant I didn’t have to go all the way into the city to be entertained.

Unfortunately, I wouldn’t experience anything close to being happy at “Happy Days.” The premise of the show is so wafer thin, you might have swallowed it the last time you took Communion. It has something to do with Fonzie having to overcome his demons and pride just in time to help save Arnold’s Diner from being demolished. Along the way, the cast sings a series of easily forgettable songs with tunes that aren’t even catchy. That was my biggest disappointment with the show, as I was expecting the music to be fun and upbeat. But the songs were rather dull and not really memorable. Or even hummable. (Which was surprising to me, as Paul Williams had already written some wonderful period songs for my favorite children-as-gangsters spoof, “Bugsy Malone.”)

The other weird thing about the show was that some of the characters were portrayed exactly as they were in the television series, and some weren’t. Fonzie for example, is almost a carbon copy of Henry Winkler, even down to the mannerisms and vocal inflections. Then there’s someone like Ralph Malph, who is now fat and balding (at least the actor was) and trying very hard to be the class clown. Potsie, on the other hand, was the straight man, offering little more than vocal support during choral numbers.

The main focus of the show was Richie trying to help Pinkie Toscadero trying to help Fonzie trying to help Arnold, who is trying to save his diner. Then there’s the equally tired subplot of Marion trying to get some respect as a housewife in 1950s suburbia. Again, both storylines that might have been pulled from your typical ABC After-School Special, but not really much to sing about.

Taking a break from my foray into the fifties, I next went to see the dueling Mary Shelley inspired musicals, “Frankenstein” and “Young Frankenstein.” (Please see previous blog posting “The Case of the Dueling Frankensteins,” for my reviews on those particular shows.)

Now on to “The Ritz,” which I must admit I went to see with much lower expectations, having read several bad reviews of the show. But I have to say, of all the theater I’ve seen so far this season, this is the one I laughed at the most. From the very opening scene to the end, I was thoroughly caught up in the zany world of Carmine Vespucci and his plot to kill his brother-in-law, Gaetano Proclo. It was sometimes over-the-top and silly, but it also had a lot of heart, which was something sorely missing from the previous shows I’ve mentioned.

Not everyone is going to like “The Ritz,” especially if you have issues watching a show that takes place in a men’s bathhouse. But I thought it was hilarious. Rosie Perez is incredible as Googie Gomez. This is my first time seeing Ms. Perez on stage, and I was very impressed. This role was made for her. She is so committed and truthful in her portrayal, that you really feel for her character’s struggle and determination. Plus, her Act One Musical Homage finale is one of the funniest things I’ve seen on stage in a long time.

The other supporting characters are all very good too, with some stand-out performances from Brooks Ashmanskas as Chris and Patrick Kerr as chubby chaser Claude Perkins. There are plenty of hot male bodies to watch as well, including famous porn star Ryan Idol, who looks like a beefy Marlborough Man as he struts his stuff around the stage. The set is also amazing, an eye-popping display of doors and rooms amidst the winding hallways and cruisy caverns of a three story bathhouse. It’s a very entertaining evening, despite what some critics may have said. And luckily, it is one of only eight Broadway shows that are still running during the current stagehand union strike.

Next on my theatrical agenda will be Disney’s new power show, “The Little Mermaid.” That is, if the current strike doesn’t prevent me from seeing it. But my tickets aren’t until November 20th, so I’m sure I’ll be fine. I mean, they’ll be able to resolve all their issues in two weeks, right? Right? Hello? Is anyone out there?

The Case of the Dueling Frankensteins

This season, Broadway audiences have two versions of the Frankenstein story to choose from. Both are musicals, and both ironically, star one of the famous Foster children, Hunter and Sutton. And while each production is an original interpretation or reinvention of Mary Shelley’s classic novel, I don’t think either lives up to the hype surrounding it.

First, let’s start with the Off-Broadway production of “Frankenstein,” which was developed as a “bold new theatrical experience.” I think they’ve since dropped that tagline, calling it simply a “musical” instead. (After all, “Bold” and “Experience” is a lot to live up to.) The first thing one notices is that the set is constructed of what looks like wrought iron and piping. It is very stark, black and unnervingly dull, a foreshadowing of how the rest of the evening will play out. For this musical is not your typical uplifting songfest, but rather a bleak, stripped down version of a book that “tells” us more than it “shows.” So in a sense, the actors are reading us the book rather than actually showing us anything that happens.

The dramatic highlight of such a show might be the moment where the monster first comes to life, seeing how the doctor achieved such a feat. But in this version, that pivotal moment is glossed over with little more than a song telling us it happened. (And don’t expect any great make-up on the Frankenstein monster, either. He looks more like a bald leather man you’d see at a local gay bar, his green pallor traded in for a shaved head and some fetching chaps.)

The color palette for the show is black and grey, with a little white thrown in to make sure we can see the actors. The lighting is stark, the sets are dark, the costumes are dull, and the music is tediously slow. I will never understand why a musical interpretation of a gothic novel means the songs must be slow and plodding as if the only thing people sang in centuries past were ballad songs and funeral dirges. I’m not saying a musical about a living monster has to be upbeat, but at least throw in a tune once in a while that will keep us awake. With the black set, black costumes, slow music and little action, the show offers little to keep audiences in their seats. (At the preview performance I attended, many people left at intermission, including myself.)

Am I being unfairly mean to the musical? After all, it’s Off-Broadway. You can’t expect it to have the lavish production values of its older, bigger sister. But you can expect it to be entertaining. Or at least riveting. And though the stage was filled with talented performers, Hunter Foster and Christiane Noll among them, they couldn’t rise above the dreariness of the production.

That leaves us with “Young Frankenstein,” Mel Brook’s big sparkling new musical adaptation of his classic movie. The show has generated a boatload of hype, as anything connected with Mr. Brooks tends to do, and is easily one of the most anticipated shows of the season. So I went to see it expecting to be blown away, or at least have an evening full of laughter. And that is, I’m sorry to say, what’s sadly missing from this huge Broadway extravaganza. While it’s undeniably a lot of fun to watch, it’s just not that funny.

The sets are amazing, the costumes are great, the actors are all very talented, and the show is guaranteed to be a huge hit. Especially with out-of-towners. But the classic lines we’ve heard so many times in the famous films tend to sound flat when delivered on stage. The audience still laughs, but it’s more out of obligation. After all, there is nothing subtle about this production. The actors try very hard to punch the lines, deliver the gags and keep the action moving. But with little heart underneath it, there are long sections where the show is actually rather dull. Even with all the high tech scenery and effects to distract us.

Roger Bart is fine as the lead, though at times he seems to be channeling Mario Cantone with his high pitched screeching. Everyone else in the cast is also very talented, and sometimes there are moments of sheer brilliance (the hay ride scene and “Putting on the Ritz” number are highlights of the show). But the overall effect is like eating cotton candy. There’s a lot of fluff to look at, but not much substance when you actually begin eating.

But that's just me. If you have a different opinion about either of these shows, feel free to share it.

Is Lisa Williams the Next Jennifer Love Hewitt?

Is psychic ability real? Can people actually communicate with the dead? And most importantly, do Ghost Whisperers really exist or is Jennifer Love Hewitt the only one?

I’ve always had a fascination with psychic phenomenon and paranormal experiences, hoping that one day I might have a mystical encounter of my very own. But it seems like my psychic abilities are somewhat lacking, as the only thing I’ve ever been able to conjure up is a really bad case of acid reflux. And I don’t think I necessarily had to be psychic to do it.

So when Lifetime television began airing the Lisa Williams show, My Life Among the Dead, I was very curious to watch it. Though I must admit, I approached the show with a healthy amount of skepticism. After all, many famous psychics in the past have been publicly discredited. Or they’ve been shown to selectively edit their programs to make it look like they hit the mark 100% of the time. When in actuality, they were just guessing, hoping to strike a nerve with a general statement that might apply to anybody.

“Do you have a father?”

“Yes.”

“And a mother too?”

“Yes. One of each.” Cue for eyes to begin watering.

“Was your father taller than you when you were growing up?”

“Yes, Oh my God!” Cue tears rolling down the face.

“And did your mother ever cook dinner for you?”

“Yes. Wow! How could you possibly know that?” Cue total breakdown and wild audience applause.

Of course I’m being simplistic here, but you get the idea. With these kinds of generalizations, anybody could be psychic. Even George Bush.

So anyway, I began watching Lisa's show and found myself laughing more than disbelieving. Lisa herself is quite a jolly soul, her constant smile reminding me of the Cheshire Cat from "Alice in Wonderland." And I certainly can't deny her likeability. With her English accent and perky/nerdy personality it's impossible not to be fascinated by her.

Especially when she “randomly” approaches people on the street or in her local bakery. Those are my favorite sequences, because I sort of believe them and I sort of don’t. Particularly because she “casually” walks into these venues with an entire crew of lights and cameramen following her. I mean, are we really expected to believe she just happened to find a spirit playing among the donuts and bagels? Would the same thing happen if she went to the Korean Deli next door, or would there be some sort of language barrier?

I also love when people come to her office to be interviewed and she begins talking to spirits who are apparently in the room with her. “Thank you. Yes, thank you, I was wondering about that,” she says to voices that apparently only she can hear. And there I sit, mesmerized that there might actually be spirits guiding what comes out of her mouth. Because she “allegedly” pulls out some pretty intimate details from people’s lives.

The thing I want to know is how much information is Lisa actually given about the person she’s giving a reading to. Does she have their full name and where they’re from? Because the internet is a valuable resource and it would be so easy to find some kind of information on nearly anybody.

I do believe in spooks. I do. I do. I do believe in spooks.

I want to believe Lisa, because I certainly enjoy watching her. But I’m a skeptic at heart. How about you? Have you ever been to a psychic? How was it? Did you believe what he/she had to say, or did it feel like they were guiding you to reveal things before they actually pinpointed them? I’d be curious to know.