Angela’s Back and Better Than Ever!

Over the July 4th holiday weekend, I had the extreme pleasure of watching Angela Lansbury perform on Broadway in the Noel Coward classic “Blithe Spirit.” And even better, I had tickets in front row center. How I was lucky enough to get these prime seats, I don’t know, as I only called up the night before to make reservations. But it was well worth the trip into the city, as the play itself is a classic bit of comic genius, and the rest of the cast (including Rupert Everett, Christine Ebersole and Jayne Atkinson) were equally superb.

In the play, Ms. Lansbury plays a somewhat questionable medium, who somehow manages to conjure up the dead wife (Ms. Ebersole) of Mr. Everett, much to the chagrin of his current wife (Ms. Atkinson). I’m sure you can imagine what ensues from there, complete with clever, witty dialogue provided by Mr. Coward. All in all, it was a great day at the theater, and a nice reminder of what a great actress Ms. Lansbury still remains, even in her eighties. (I’d actually seen her a couple years ago on Broadway, when she was in the tennis comedy “Deuce”…but that was not a great play, and she seemed to struggle with her lines in that one.) But with Noel Coward’s hilarious storyline as a backdrop, Ms. Lansbury shined brighter than ever.

The only thing I found a little odd is that Ms. Lansbury appeared to be wearing the exact same wig she’d worn as Mrs. Lovett in the original Broadway production of “Sweeney Todd.” Even had the same accent. Not sure if there was an intentional reference or whether it was pure coincidence, but the similarities were rather obvious. Other than that, the entire show was “like butter.”

The play closes later this month, so if you’ve been thinking of going to see it, you’d better hurry. Ms. Lansbury waits for no one.

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?

The Soaring Brilliance of "Up"

Last Friday night I went to see the new Disney/Pixar movie “Up,” and after the first ten minutes I’d already decided this film was an animated masterpiece. I won’t give anything away, but the first ten minutes is a little movie all in itself, and can only be described as one of the most touching animated sequences I’ve ever seen. I am still choked up just thinking about it, and I dare anyone not to feel the same.

Okay, moving on. The screening I saw was in 3D, which was pretty cool, although after a while you completely forget about it. (Unless, of course, you find the special glasses particularly uncomfortable.) The theater was packed with adults and kids and lots of teenagers. I was actually surprised at how many packs of teenage boys came together to see this film. When I was a kid, teenage boys would not be caught dead at a Disney film, but I guess Pixar has more of a “cool factor.”

I guess what I liked most about “Up” is how involved I got with the characters, and how much it mattered to me that they succeeded in their quest. I think this movie taps into a lot of emotional and thought-provoking ideas, and I applaud the creators at Pixar for making such a beautiful piece of art.

But that’s just me. What did you think of “Up”?

The Bitter Blandness of Boring Betty

When “Ugly Betty” first premiered several years ago, I'm sure I wasn't the only one confused about the title. Were they actually calling the lead of a prime time TV show "ugly," and in public no less? Even stranger, they seemed to be promoting ugly as a good thing. And true to their word, when poor Betty finally burst upon the scene, she appeared to be a sort of stereotypical assembly of every flaw and physical character imperfection they could find…minus any noticeable zits or warts (which surely might offend the sensitive ABC audience). She did have glasses though. And braces.  And bad hair. Not to mention an incredibly eclectic sense of style which presumably would land her in the "no-dating" zone for most of her hum drum life.

But then, like a glimmer of hope, Betty landed a plum job at a high powered fashion magazine, and it would only be a matter of time before we saw the Ugly Duckling turn into a beautiful swan. After all, that’s what we’ve come to expect from countless Disney movies and romantic comedies…the ugly girl always becomes more pretty than the pretty girl by the end of the film. Well, it’s been three years now, and Betty still looks like the poster child for Blackwell’s Worst Dressed List. True, her outerwear has moved away from looking like an ethnic parade float to a colorful canvas of expensive knits and fabric. But with all her acquired knowledge and face time with so many high fashion divas, you’d think she’d do a much better job of coordinating her daily appearances. As it stands, she still looks likes she’s dressing for a tea party at Salvador Dali’s.

And why, after three years, does she still have braces? She must have the worst dentist in the world, because underneath those metal facades, her teeth look perfectly fine. And what about those thick eyebrows and horrible glasses? Hasn’t her years of employment at Mode taught her anything about personal grooming?

All that aside, my main contention with “Ugly Betty” these days is how boring and bland it’s become. It used to be great to tune in just to hear what clever puns or phrasing Vanessa William’s character would throw around. But now those lines have become predictable, and the plotlines of the show have become tired. I’m so sick of Betty always getting into stupid situations and then being bailed out at the last minute. It’s a formula the show has used from the beginning, but now we’re so used to it, I almost want Betty to fail miserably just so we’ll see something different. She’s the eternal “good girl” whose need to always do the right thing inevitably ends in disaster, with everyone blaming poor Betty for even trying. Been there, done that, let’s move on. And don’t even get me started on her brassy shrew of a sister. Someone needs to put a muzzle on that mouth and teach her a few things about social etiquette.

I hope if Ugly Betty comes back next year, they finally shed the Ugly Betty image and make this girl a real person. Or at least a superficial version of a real person, which is much more than she is right now. Because at the moment, both Ugly Betty and her show are about as interesting and surprising as wet cardboard. And that’s being generous.

But that’s just me. What are your thoughts on Ugly Betty?

Are Joan and Melissa Rivers the Next “Grey Gardens”?

While watching the recent embarrassing season of “The Apprentice,” it struck me that the bond between Joan and Melissa Rivers is very similar to that of Big Edie and Little Edie Beale, who are once again popular because of the recent wave of television and theatrical productions surrounding the famous “Grey Gardens” story. For those of you who don’t know, The Beales were a mother and a daughter who lived in squalor for many years in their slowly decaying house in the Hamptons. The decline of the house and property has forever come to symbolize the physical and mental decline of the Beales themselves, whose combative relationship was perhaps the only thing that helped them survive the tough and uncleanly conditions. They also happen to be relatives of Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy, which is how they became notoriously famous in the first place.

At any rate, watching Joan and Melissa Rivers walk and talk on screen is like witnessing two animatronic wax figures moving about in real life. Their lack of facial expressions is only part of the strange plastic mass that makes up their reconstructed heads. To me, they look more like puppets than people…two marionettes fully capable of some sort of movement, but without the ability to do much with their faces, except open and shut their eyes and mouths. And even then, it doesn’t look quite natural.

In her heyday, Joan Rivers was one of the funniest women alive. I remember growing up thinking she was bitchy and catty, but in a fun way. Then came the red carpet years, which to me were embarrassing and painful. She wasn’t good at interviewing people, she didn’t know who most of the celebrities were, and she could be downright nasty…which is not the same thing as being funny. And with sidecar Melissa attached to her like some kind of unwelcome barnacle, Joan spit her way through years of boring and uninspired red carpet routines, and probably just as many plastic surgeries.

On this season of “The Apprentice,” she is both funny and sad. Sometimes her self-righteous attitude and over-protective motherly instinct drain a lot of the energy out of the mostly apathetic cast, but it is her relationship with her daughter that is most disturbing. They seem to balance each other’s neurosis with the kind of chemistry you mostly find in Petrie dishes. And though Melissa will tell you at any opportunity that she is more than just her mother’s shadow; she also has umpteen years experience as a major producer of quality television (Though she neglects to mention that most--if not all--of those shows featured her mother as the lead. Methinks she doth protest too much, no?)

And so, like Big Edie and Little Edie, the Rivers women will scratch and claw their way through delusional lives while the rest of watch as if we are witnessing a car accident that never ends.

But that’s just me. What’s your opinion of Joan and Melissa Rivers?

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.

Dancing with the Scars

What would we ever do without Tom Bergeron and Samantha Whatsherface to keep us entertained between the Paso Dobles and the Cha Chas on “Dancing with the Stars?” His sometimes witty patter and her inane interviewing style are all we need to keep our brains nice and mushy during the entire two hour marathon. That is, if all the stars are actually able to make it to the taping of the show. Because this season in particular, it seems like there is a new devastating injury a week that will either hinder a contestant, or throw them out of the competition altogether.

The cynical side of me even wonders if perhaps the accidents are now built into the contracts, as a sure fire way to keep ratings up and viewers interested. If you twist an ankle, you get featured in a special segment and sympathy votes are sure to come your way by the millions. Especially if you manage to keep yourself upright for the entire minute and a half routine, or faint right afterwards like Marie Osmond did so cleverly a few seasons back. When octogenarian Cloris Leachman was on the show, she never sustained an injury. Well, not a life-threatening physical injury anyway. But her ridiculous antics and constant need for attention forever changed my view of her as a consummate professional.

And even though the casualties keep coming, there’s never a fear that the dancing will be over any time soon. For waiting in the wings is a never-ending collection of has-beens, wanna-bes, and whotheheckaretheys to step in at a moment’s notice to take their place. I mean, honestly, the nude guy from the shower scene in the “Sex and the City” movie? Does he really qualify as a star? Does anyone even know his name? I mean, I know the term “star” is totally overused for contestants like that Jilted Woman from “The Bachelor,” but when one nude scene qualifies you for stardom, there’s something definitely wrong with our value system.

But that’s just me. What do you think about the current crop on “Dancing with the Stars”?

As a special added bonus, I have included a “Dog Days” clip that features one dog’s dreams of someday being on the show. To watch the one minute video, please click on the photo below.

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.

The Anemic and Apathetic Acting of Nicholas Cage

Could someone please tell Nicholas Cage to wake up? Or at least express some kind of emotion other than boredom. Lately, it seems like he’s walking through his films with an indifference one might interpret as condescension—as if he believes his talent is far better than the material he’s appearing in. (Which frankly doesn’t say much about either.)

I recently saw two of Mr. Cage’s more recent movies “The Wicker Man” and “Next,” and couldn’t believe how similar the characters were. Not only that, but they also both shared the same bad hairstyle, which looked like a cross between Bozo the clown and Gene Wilder from “Young Frankenstein.” (Or even Frankenstein himself.) I’m pretty sure Mr. Cage is losing his hair, or has already lost it and is now attempting to cover it up with some kind of rat’s nest. But no matter how follicly challenged he might be, the Albert Einstein inspired hairpiece is not a flattering alternative. Better to be bald than run around looking like the male Amy Winehouse.

In both films, Mr. Cage plays the typical Nice-Guy-Next-Door with a quiet determination to be the dullest Sad Sack you ever witnessed on screen. His non-committal acting style comes across as arrogant and self-indulgent, as if he doesn’t even have enough energy or desire to say his lines or show any emotion other than apathy. His facial expression appears to be permanently frozen in a sour semi-frown, perhaps indicating his distaste for the crappy material he must constantly appear in to maintain his A-List status. What happened to the happier days of “Birdy” or “Moonstruck” or even “Leaving Las Vegas”? Those were inspired Nicholas Cage movies, before he began taking himself too seriously and literally “checking out” from his films.

Because other than trying to turn a quick profit with a mediocre product, there is simply no other explanation why a piece of crap like “The Wicker Man” ever got past the editing room floor. It is not only boring and contrived, but the “shocking” ending is more of a relief than a tragedy. At least we didn’t have to watch Mr. Cage try to “act” anymore. (That is, if you can actually call what he was doing “acting.” Because to me it didn’t look like he even showed up for work. His body was certainly there, but I’m not sure where the rest of him was.) If you haven’t seen the film, don’t bother. It’s pointless. He dies. And guess what? You won’t even care.

Which brings me to the other Nicholas Cage vehicle, “Next,” where Mr. Cage once again plays a mopey Nice-Guy-Next-Door, who also happens to have a special power--he can see two minutes into the future, so he knows everything that’s going to happen right before it does. And you know what? So does the audience. Except we know what’s going to happen twenty minutes before. Or perhaps an hour. So maybe the audience has special powers too, and it’s really Mr. Cage who needs to catch up.

And don’t even get me started on Julianne Moore’s ridiculous interpretation of an FBI Officer in the film. (Or whatever she was.) Her scowl-ridden performance is not only a complete contradiction to her wrinkle-free image as a spokesperson for Revlon, but it’s also incredibly similar to other roles she’s played in the past. Only this time, she’s blended them all together into a Stepford version of herself, showing even less emotion than Mr. Cage (if such a thing is possible).

In conclusion, I hope if Mr. Cage continues with his acting career, he picks projects that he’s actually excited about doing, so that we’ll finally see some of that energy on screen. Because right now, I feel like I’m watching the video game version of his character, rather than the actual three dimensional person.

But that’s just me. What do you think of Nicholas Cage’s recent acting endeavors? (Or even his hair?)

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.

Are We Really Entitled to Feel So Entitled?

What makes someone feel “entitled”? Is it something innate or something we learn? Personally, I've never felt "entitled" to anything, so I'm constantly amazed when I meet people who are blatantly arrogant regarding their rights and liberties. Yes, we have freedom of speech and freedom of choice, but do we also need to impose that freedom every opportunity we get? Has the “I can do anything I want” mentality become so completely ingrained in our culture that we can’t see past our own selfishness?

A feeling of entitlement can rear its ugly head in even the smallest of ways. When someone goes to the front of a line and cuts in, because they don’t feel it necessary to wait like everyone else. Or when someone suddenly cuts you off in traffic because they felt “entitled” to get somewhere faster than you. Or a co-worker who constantly complains about the salary and benefits they feel they’re entitled to, even though their position or job performance doesn’t warrant such perks. Or my favorite—“That’s not my job!”

I’ve met many people who feel they’re entitled to a better life, a better job, a better salary. Because of their age, experience, resourcefulness, dependability, etc., they should be further along on their career path. I understand these kinds of feelings and frustrations, because they’re part of a natural ambition to succeed. However, when those feelings escalate into attitudes of superiority and self-importance, they’re imposing their need for distinction on everyone else around them.

I am especially surprised when feelings of entitlement are displayed in children and teenagers. Last year on a TV show called “Kid Nation,” a young girl named Taylor perfectly embodied this brand of youthful arrogance. She referred to herself constantly as a Beauty Pageant winner who shouldn’t have to get dirty and help with chores because Pageant girls “don’t do dirty work.” She refused to help on many occasions and basically did whatever she wanted. And if someone ever questioned her actions, she would just yell back at them, “Deal With It!” And this girl was ten years old. Can you imagine how much that attitude will manifest itself by the time she’s in her twenties? And can you imagine what her parents must be like?

To me, the only kind of entitlement we all share is the right to air and water. If we were born on this earth, than we can assume those elements are freely at our disposal; everything else is up for grabs. In America, we are lucky enough to have constitutional rights that give us freedoms and privileges not afforded to many people around the world. So does that also give us the right to feel entitled to anything we want?

When I think about my life and all the “things” I have, I don’t feel entitled. I feel lucky. Lucky that my life is not too stressful, that my accommodations are more than comfortable, and that I can make a good living at something I enjoy. But even with all that, I don’t feel “entitled” to anything. I worked hard for what I have now. I wasn’t ever handed anything on a plate that said “Here, you’re entitled to this.”

So what’s the point of all this ranting? I guess I felt the need to put down into words the feelings that have been festering in me for quite some time. If we are all human beings, why are some people more “entitled” than others? Aren’t we all made from the same clay, processed in the same manner, and sustained with the same basic food and drink? Is there some rubber stamp somewhere that brands certain individuals with different rights and status? Because if there isn’t, I wish some people would just get off their “high horses” and put their sense of self-importance into perspective.

Feeling empowered is one thing. I feel empowered all the time, but that doesn’t make me also feel entitled to anything. It just makes me feel like I can accomplish my goals if I’m diligent and put forth an effort. It doesn’t mean I’m looking for a short-cut just because I feel I have a right to it. Because once empowerment changes to entitlement, there’s a dramatic shift in perspective which can keep you running on a negative treadmill for years. Empowerment can move you forward, while entitlement can keep you stuck in the same place, forever complaining about the wrongs you’ve suffered, or the rewards you haven’t gotten.

So there you have it, my essay on entitlement. I have no idea why I felt so empowered to write such an opus, because I certainly wasn’t entitled to it. Or was I?

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.

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 Key to Kyle XY

How did a show about a boy without a belly button become so intriguing? And I don’t mean because the storylines always contain a nice blend of science fiction and soap opera. I’m intrigued because some of the topics are pretty risqué, especially given that it’s an ABC Family Channel show. For example, past episodes have included pretty frank discussions of teenage sex, pornography, infidelity, pot smoking, alcohol and drug abuse, cancer and even masturbation. Not the typical subject matter you’d expect to find in a Disney produced vehicle. But there it is nonetheless, cleverly mixed in with mystery and adventure, so you don’t notice as much.

Granted, these issues might not be new to network television, but they are somewhat new to family television. Except that ABC touts itself as “a different kind of family,” so I guess that means we don’t have to pretend we’re living in the 50s anymore. But does that also mean that Disney might try to instill this new kind of honesty into their other iconic stories? Imagine an updated version of “Cinderella” where the stepsisters complain about nothing but menstruation and cheating boyfriends. Or a modern day “Pinocchio” where the little wooden puppet is put in jail for executing indecent acts with his nose. And I shudder to think what might happen between Snow White and those seven little men.

Don’t get me wrong. I like this honest approach to such mature subject matter; I’m just surprised the producers haven’t gotten a lot of flack for doing it. Maybe it’s because the show is partly Science Fiction, so the conservative family organizations don’t give it much attention. They figure since there’s no such thing as a genetically created human being, there must also be no such thing as masturbation and drug abuse? Or maybe because Kyle has amazing powers and super-human intelligence, not to mention great eyes and a killer smile, they equate him with another immaculately conceived human being? (Oh come on, you don’t think there are some pretty heavy Jesus overtones in Kyle XY?)

At any rate, I like this show. The various members of Kyle’s extended family have grown on me; particularly the brother, who has matured into a good little actor. Some of the most poignant moments from last season were scenes when he and his “girlfriend” were going through the hardships of talking about her Cancer.

And then there’s Matt Dallas, who is unabashedly charming and innocent as Kyle. He was a good choice for this role, because there is something almost inhuman about him. His line readings are sometimes mechanical, and his facial expressions somewhat limited, but that only lends to his credibility as a manufactured object. Though, for the entire first season, I thought maybe he was wearing a wig because his hair always looked the same. Even in a windstorm, it had that “fresh-out-of-the-package-and-glued-to-the-head” kind of look. But in Season Three, it looks like he’s progressed beyond that style.

Too bad he can’t also progress beyond his annoying girlfriend, whose pouting and prissy personality is as bland as Tilapia. After two years of playing the martyr, I think it’s time she moved to college for good. And took her mean old mother with her.

But until that happens, I’ll still tune in to see what taboo topics the show plans to investigate this year. Maybe Kyle’s female counterpart Jessie will decide she really wants to be a transsexual or a cross-dresser, or both. Or Kyle’s supportive adopted parents will start a weekly “key party,” where they begin swapping more than stories with the neighbors. Whatever the major themes might become, you can bet that Kyle XY will explore them with honesty and integrity. Because that is the key to Kyle XY. The show has heart. And with heart, you can conquer anything.

But that’s just me. What do you think of Kyle XY?

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?

The Dark Comic Genius of Alec Baldwin

Alec Baldwin has always been a favorite of mine, ever since I first saw him in “Married to the Mob” oh so many decades ago. And despite his many embarrassing scandals in the press, I still consider him to be a great comic talent. His deadpan expressions and masterful delivery are one of the best things about NBC’s often hilarious, “30 Rock.”

On the show, Alec is basically playing the same arrogant and twisted character he played on “Will and Grace,” and several other sitcoms. But here he has elevated the persona to iconic status, forever insuring his place among television’s great comedic characters. Unfortunately, his problematic personal life threatens to undo all this. (I still cringe at the embarrassing phone message he left for his pig-faced daughter. Or rather, the daughter he called a selfish little pig, which is not exactly a term of endearment.)

Ironically, I’ve actually witnessed this darker side of Mr. Baldwin, when I happened to see him several years ago as he was coming out of the Equinox Gym on the Upper West Side. Dressed in a very unflattering grey sweat suit, and sporting a white towel around his neck, he looked like a pasty-faced donut maker rather than a Hollywood Leading Man. As he brushed past me talking on his cell phone, I couldn’t help but overhear his rather loud conversation. That’s because he wasn’t actually talking. He was sort of yelling. Screaming, actually. At someone I assumed must be his manager or agent, because the conversation sounded something like this:

“Don’t they know who they’re dealing with? Do they seriously think I would work for that? If they want Alec Baldwin, they’re going to have to come up with more money. I don’t do charity work.”

Ironically, the next time I crossed paths with Mr. Baldwin was at a rather swanky charity event we were both attending. Actually, he was the one attending it, and I was there to work. I was hired to play Batman for the event, which is not my specialty or anything; I just happened to be good friends with an event planner and he used to throw me these side gigs every now and then. Put on a costume, parade around a party for a couple hours, and go home with three hundred dollars. Humiliating, yes. Lucrative, sort of. Rewarding, no.

At one point during the evening, Alec breezed past me on his way to the V.I.P. area, and I saw him look at me for a moment. Was he about to say something clever or witty? Or perhaps engage me in a little friendly repartee? Dream on. I think he may have smirked at my costume, but that’s about it.

Later, I saw him sitting at the top of the stairs behind me, perhaps frowning down at my very existence. (See top photo, me in Batman suit with Alec sitting at top of stairs. Bottom photo, horribly pixilated close-up of Alec sitting at top of stairs. Is that a camera he’s holding? Is he actually taking a picture of the back of my costume? Yikes!)

Despite all this, I am still enamored of the man and his talent. His comic skills have been highlighted over and over again on “Saturday Night Live” and other TV shows, in films and theater, as well as his current brilliance on “30 Rock.” And though his personal life may be in constant turmoil, his life in front of the camera is nothing but winning.

But that’s just me. What do you think of Alec Baldwin?

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.