Off-B'way Reviews: Shit. Meet. Fan.; The Blood Quilt

Debra Messing and Jane Krakowksi
in Shit. Meet. Fan.
Credit: Julieta Cervantes

Robert O’Hara’s scalding new comedy Shit. Meet. Fan. was sold out before it even opened, and it’s riotously funny, as were his previous works Bootycandy and Barbecue, but it’s not really anything new. The hit status can be attributed to a cast stuffed with familiar TV names (such as Neil Patrick Harris, Jane Krakowski, Debra Messing and Constance Wu) and a limited run in a small Off-Broadway space at MCC Theater. The script is based on Paolo Genovese’s 2016 Italian film called Perfect Strangers which has had many remakes in various languages and the basic premise is familiar from numerous American plays. As in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and The Boys in the Band, a group of friends gather for an evening of cocktails, but a seemingly harmless party game reveals uncomfortable truths and relationships are altered or shattered. The modern twist here is all seven guests are required to leave their cell phones on a table for an hour and whatever messages, texts, calls or email come in must be shared with the entire group. 

B'way Review: Tammy Faye

Katie Brayben in
Tammy Faye. Credit: Matthew Murphy

The musical Tammy Faye, centering on the larger-than-life televangelist Tammy Faye Baker, came to Broadway from London with high hopes. It had a sell-out engagement at the Almeida Theater, music by pop legend Elton John, an Olivier Award-winning performance by Katie Brayben in the title role, and it was the first production in the renovated and elevated Palace Theater. But the New York run has already posted its closing notice for Dec. 8, for a total of only 24 previews and 29 regular performances, at a loss of $25 million. So what went wrong?

The biggest flaw is to be found in James Graham’s book and Rupert Goold’s direction, both uneven. The show can’t seem to make up its mind as to what it wants to be. Is it a goofy satire on American excess and obsession with TV or a heartfelt love letter to Tammy, portraying her as a compassionate supporter of the gay community during the AIDS crisis, a pioneering feminist in a male-dominated field, and an innocent bystander during the massive corruption and embezzlement committed by her husband and co-star Jim Bakker in their joint venture, the PTL (Praise the Lord) satellite TV network?

Katie Brayben and Christian Borle in
Tammy Faye. Credit: Matthew Murphy

The schizophrenic nature of Graham’s book is exemplified in its treatment of gay characters. There is a genuinely touching recreation of Tammy’s 1985 sympathetic interview with Steve Pieters (a moving Charl Brown), a gay pastor living with HIV, though in reality the encounter was held via satellite and Tammy did not actually hug Pieters as depicted in the show. Yet Graham also includes gratuitous gay stereotypes for cheap laughs (swishy musical theater actors playing Biblical figures in the Bakkers’ theme-park productions) and only lightly touches on Jim Bakker’s bisexuality. Occasionally the satire is pointed and piercing, but then the humor level falls through the floor as in a juxtaposition of Hustler publisher Larry Flynt with Colonel Sanders, appearing on the PTL talk show. (Both were overly fond of chicken, get it?) The score with catchy Broadway-pop-mixed music by John and serviceable lyrics by Jake Shears of Scissor Sisters, fills the bill to advance the story and comment on character, but rarely raises above generic. Tammy’s big Act Two opener, “In My Prime Time,” is a rousing “I want” song which the brings the energy way up. 

Goold’s direction emphasizes the broad comedy over honest examination of the influence of media on religion. Bunny Christie’s candy-colored set further tips the proceedings into parody, featuring a giant board of TV screens, doubling as cubicles for actors to pop out of, like the infamous joke wall on the old Laugh-In series and the neon tic-tac-toe set for the Hollywood Squares game show. Katrina Lindsay’s costume capture the time period (1970s-1990s) with wit.

The British probably ate this sort of America-bashing up, but US audiences, reeling from the Trump re-election and re-emergence of the ultra-right-wing figures lampooned here, evidently don’t have a taste for such self-examination. Thus the transatlantic failure.

Michael Cerveris, Christian Borle,
and Katie Brayben in
Tammy Faye.
Credit: Matthew Murphy

The show’s short run is really a shame because the cast is given its level best. Though at times during Lynn Page’s furiously choreographed numbers, we can see them sweat. Brayden displays admirable pipes and endows Tammy with spunk, wit, and compassion. Though Graham’s version of Tammy is not as complex or nuanced as the one which won Jessica Chastain an Oscar in Michael Showalter’s 2021 feature The Eyes of Tammy Faye (I didn’t see Bernadette Peters in the 1990 TV-Movie Fall from Grace.) Tammy is not the total innocent who used the PTL money to buy the “occasional nice thing.” But the script’s shortcomings aren’t Brayden’s fault. She takes the material given her and creates as solid and relatable a character as possible. Christian Borle skillfully recreates Jim Bakker’s awkwardness in front of the camera (as opposed to Tammy’s ease) and his manic lack of control as PTL’s empire grows. He does his best to combine the zany, comic aspects of his songs with a creditable characterization. Michael Cerveris captures rival televangelist Jerry Falwell’s sanctimonious sneer and barely concealed lust for power, encapsulated in the ironically titled “Satellite of God.” Max Gordon Moore, Mark Evans, Ian Lassiter, and  Andy Taylor have fun with multiple cartoonish roles ranging from Ronald Reagan to Pope John Paul II to Ted Turner.

Tammy Faye is not among the most abysmal of Broadway flops such as Marilyn, In My Life or The Story of My Life. It has some redeeming elements such as Brayden’s performance and the sharper edges of its satire. It just couldn’t find the right balance and opened at the wrong moment.

Nov. 14—Dec. 8. Palace Theater, 160 W. 47th St., NYC. Running time: two hours and 40 mins. including intermission. broadwaydirect.com

Book Review: Our Country Friends

(Bought at the Strand Bookstore for $10) I really enjoyed Gary Shteyngart's Super Sad True Love Story. This one, not as much. I didn't really care about any of the characters or what became of them. They struck me as privileged and clueless. I realize that was probably Shteyngart's point, but it made reading most of the novel a real slog.

The premise is a classic one: a group of diverse characters are confined to a relatively small space. Their interests and personalities collide. Learning ensues. Russian-American novelist Sasha (a stand-in for the author) invites a group of friends to his country home during the COVID pandemic. Included are a cross-section of 2020 American elite: a movie star who is so famous we don't even learn his name; an essayist whose best-selling work describes her rural Southern background; an app developer who made millions with a dating app; a failed novelist with health issues; and--I'm not sure what Ed was, a chef? We also have the Russian writer's wife, a therapist and his troubled adopted daughter. 

Shteyngart is a marvelous writer, the descriptions, metaphors, smilies and observations on the current world scene are trenchant and precise. I just had a hard time identifying with these people. The plot hinged on the use of the dating app which I didn't quite understand and this story arc strained credulity. 

B'way Reviews: Swept Away; Elf the Musical

Wayne Duvall, John Gallagher, Jr., Stark Sands
and Adrain Blake Enscoe in
Swept Away.
Credit: Emilio Madrid

The temptation to come up with disastrous voyage metaphors when evaluating Swept Away, the new musical at the Longacre after runs at Berkeley Rep and Arena Stage, is great. The folk-rock tuner employing the music of The Avett Brothers mainly from their album Mignonette, even at an relatively short, intermissionless 90 minutes, is a difficult slog. The cast is passionate and director Michael Mayer does his best to enliven the static story, largely with the aide of Rachel Hauck’s impressively gargantuan set and Kevin Adams’ thrill-ride lighting, but John Logan’s book fails to develop beyond melodramatic malarkey about redemption and brotherly love and the show sinks without a trace.

The premise isn’t exactly promising. A patient in a 19th century tuberculosis ward is haunted by three maritime ghosts (they sway in unison to suggest the pitching of a ship). They demand he tell their story to his fellow indigents (the audience) and his gruesome part in it. The rest of the show is a flashback to an ill-fated whaling sojourn which ends in shipwreck and tragedy. None of the four protagonists are given names and aren’t fully fleshed out beyond a few cliched traits. The Mate (John Gallagher, Jr.) is the patient of the prologue and we eventually learn he’s a scurvy sort. Big Brother (Stark Sands) is a pious goody-goody determined to bring his adventure-hungry Little Brother (Adrian Blake Enscoe) home to the farm, but gets caught on board. The Captain (Wayne Duvall) grumbles about serving on a broken-down vessel in a dying industry. 

In the first half of the show, not much happens expect the crew of 12 stomps around Hauck’s detailed shipboard, singing of hard work and loose women, performing David Neuman’s Carousel-inspired choreography. They’re all manly men, you see. About 40 minutes in, the ship is scuttled in a massive storm (cue the wind machine), Hauck’s set performs a miraculous transformation, and we are adrift with the four main characters in a lifeboat. The chorus have all drowned, but they return briefly as back-up for one number.

Stark Sands and Adrian Blake Enscoe
in Swept Away.
Credit: Emilio Madrid

It’s possible to create vital drama in such a confined space. Look at the film and stage versions of Life of Pi, or Alfred Hitchcock’s classic Lifeboat. But the admittedly infectious songs by the Avett Brothers tend to be repetitious. An emotional point is made and then repeated at length. (Weirdly, the songs are listed alphabetically in the Playbill rather than in order of being sung.) Similarly, Logan’s book states a theme and then just delivers it again without much development. Mayer tries his best to provide conflict and drama, but he can’t do much beyond revolving the lifeboat.

Gallagher provides a measure of dark spark as the tormented Mate. The highlight of the show is his catalogue of the character’s past grim occupations. While explaining his motivations for a particularly heinous act he’s contemplating committing in the lifeboat (no spoilers), the Mate lists his previous nefarious jobs from con man to overseer of slaves. Gallagher creates a haunting narrative with a few lines and fleshes out a character the author leaves incomplete. Sands and Enscoe have lovely voices and sweetly sell their solos and duets, but their sibling roles are skimpy. Duvall’s Captain is a similar cipher despite the actor’s efforts to fill in the blanks. Swept Away wants to be a dark voyage of the soul but is only a short cruise around Broadway.

Grey Henson and Sean Astin
in Elf the Musical.
Credit: Evan Zimmerman for
MuprhyMade

At the other end of the entertainment spectrum, the revival of Elf the Musical at the Marquis has no greater goal than to provide two and half hours of jolly Yuletide cheer and succeeds with “Sparklejollytwinklejingley” joy, to quote one of Matthew Sklar and Chad Beguelin’s clever songs. Based on the 2003 film comedy starring Will Farrell, this production staged by Philip Wm. McKinley is a stripped-down, speedy version of Casey Nicholaw’s original which played Broadway in 2010 and again in 2012. Thomas Meehan and Bob Martin’s sharp book remains a giddy delight, smart enough for both kids and adults. They’ve also eliminated some of the cringeworthy elements of David Berenbaum’s original screenplay such as an awkward shower scene with Farrell and Zooey Deschanel.

Grey Henson, who has previously had outstanding supporting roles in Mean Girls and Shucked, is perfectly cast as Buddy, a taller-than-average human raised as one of Santa’s diminutive helpers after stowing away in the jolly old man’s toy sack. The central joke here is Buddy acts like a naive child in an adult’s body once he treks to NYC to find his dad Walter Hobbs, a workaholic publishing exec (appropriately grumpy Michael Hayden). Henson skillfully conveys Buddy’s bubbly enthusiasm and innocent love of fun without tipping over into cloying overkill. He underplays Buddy’s cluelessness and avoids excess treacle. It’s entirely believable he can charm a pair of hardened Gotham cops or take over the decorating duties of cynical Macy’s employees. Henson also puts over his musical numbers with dash and splash.

Grey Henson, Kayla Davion and the cast
of Elf the Musical.
Credit: Evan Zimmerman for MurphyMade

Kayla Davion makes the most of her one number as Buddy’s cynical love interest. Sean Astin delights as a merry and warm-hearted Santa as well as imparting blustering brutality as Walter’s brutally market-minded boss. Jennifer Sanchez is vivid and edgy as Hobbs’ harried secretary with a harsh, hilarious Noo Yawk accent, adding volts of comic electricity to her every scene. Ashley Brown mixes starch and spice to Hobbs’ wife and Kai Edgar is energetic as his son, Buddy’s half-brother. 

Tim Goodchild’s sets augmented by Ian William Galloway and Mesmer Studio’s video designs create the right holiday atmosphere for this family favorite. Bring the kids and your inner child.

Swept Away: Opened Nov. 19 for an open run. Longacre Theater, 220 W. 48th St., NYC. Running time: 90 mins. with no intermission. telecharge.com.

Elf the Musical: Nov. 17—Jan. 4, 2025. Marquis Theater, 210 W. 46th St., NYC. Running time: two hours and 20 mins. including intermission. ticketmaster.com.

B'way Review: A Wonderful World: The Louis Armstrong Musical

James Monroe Iglehart in
A Wonderful World:
The Louis Armstrong Musical
Credit: Jeremy Daniel

What a wonderful show. A Wonderful World: The Louis Armstrong Musical at Studio 54 after engagements and workshops in Miami, New Orleans, and Chicago, is an absorbing, dazzling musical focusing on the life of the titular beloved jazz icon. James Monroe Iglehart masterfully embodies the great Satchmo, precisely imitating his signature rumbling growl and conveying the enveloping warmth of his performance style as well as his roiling inner conflicts. 

The only complaint is Aurin Squire’s book tends to get repetitive and could lose about 20 minutes. The show’s basic structure is at fault. The action is divided into four sections, each devoted to one of Armstrong’s quartet of wives. We go through the brilliant trumpeter-singer-bandleader’s struggles with the white show-biz establishment and underworld figures of New Orleans, Chicago, Hollywood and New York, and the ups and downs of his marriages each time.  By wife number four, a sameness settles in. However, the diverting and exuberant musical numbers, made up of songs made famous by Armstrong and performed by a sparkling cast, rescue the proceedings from dullness. There are also stabs at social commentary with Armstrong burying and finally explosively expressing his anger at the brutal treatment of African-Americans.

James Monroe Iglehart and cast in
A Wonderful World:
The Louis Armstrong Musical
Credit: Jeremy Daniel

The staging is smooth and efficient, with the flexible set by Adam Koch and Steven Royal transitioning to multiple settings, but it’s difficult to know who to credit with the direction. Iglehart and Christina Sajour are listed as co-directors while Christopher Renshaw, who also conceived the show with Andrew Delaplaine, gets a sole credit as director. In addition, Rickey Tripp is the choreographer (snappy dances) and musical stager. World probably went through many phases during its out-of-town gestation period with a plethora of creative cooks. Fortunately the broth is not spoiled. Branford Marsalis (orchestrations and arrangement) and Daryl Waters (music supervision, vocal and incidental arrangements and additional orchestrations) do a magnificent job of recreating several decades’ worth of standards ranging from “Black and Blue” to “It Don’t Mean a Thing” to “Hello, Dolly!” which earned Armstrong his sole Gold Record and knocked the Beatles off the top of the charts. Toni-Leslie James designed the sumptuous and splashy costumes. 

James Monroe Iglehart and cast in
A Wonderful World: The Louis
Armstrong Musical
Credit: Jeremy Daniel

Iglehart commands the stage, but does not hog it. This is far from a one-man show. As Armstrong’s spouses, Dionne Figgins as razor-toting prostitute Daisy Parker, Jennie Harbey-Fleming as ambitious, no-nonsense Lil Hardin, Kim Exum as fun-loving and giddy Alpha Smith, and Darlesia Cearcy as starchy, determined Lucille Wilson all have individual moments to shine vocally and dramatically. Dewitt Fleming Jr. displays terrific tap skills as Lincoln Perry, aka the movie star Stephin Fetchit, who portrayed a stereotypical version of black servitude on screen and offers Armstrong advice on getting along in the racist cinema industry. Gavin Gregory is especially effecting as King Joe Oliver, Armstrong’s mentor, who falls from the top of the New Orleans jazz world to poverty-stricken obscurity. Jimmy Smagula is appropriately gruff and edgy as Armstrong’s manager. 

Despite some slackness in the book, Wonderful World delivers a wonderful two and a half hours, reconnects audiences with one of the greatest entertainers of the 20th century, and showcases a star-making central performance by Iglehart. Give this World a visit.

Opened Nov. 11 for an open run. Studio 54, 254 W. 54th St., NYC. Running time: two hours and 20 mins. including intermission. criterionticketing.com

Reviews: Maybe Happy Ending, Drag: The Musical, The Big Gay Jamboree, We Live in Cairo

Helen J. Shen and Darren Criss in
Maybe Happy Ending.
Credit: Matthew Murphy and Evan Zimmerman

The almost-human robot is a familiar protagonist in science fiction and social-commentary narratives. Karel Capek’s RUR, Kazuo Ishiguro’s Klara and the Sun and Never Let Me Go, Ian McEwan’s Machines Like Me and Ray Bradbury’s The Electric Grandmother are just a few of the texts exploring the themes of artificial beings taking on human emotions and coping with obsolescence. The enchanting but hardly innovative new musical Maybe Happy Ending at the Belasco after runs in South Korea and Atlanta, features a similar plot. Set in a near future in Seoul, two robots, rejected by their owners for varying reasons, fall in love and find happiness. That’s it—the whole show is based on this gossamer-thin, cliched story arc. Luckily, Dane Laffrey and George Reeve’s ultramodern design, Michael Arden’s sleek direction, Will Aronson and Hue Park’s sweet and lilting score, and endearing cast elevate this simplistic sci-fi tale to an enchanting entertainment.

Oliver (a boyishly adorable Darren Criss) lives in a one-room apartment in “Helperbot Yards,” a sort of retirement home for robots. He has been waiting years for his owner to reclaim him. His world is changed when his neighbor Claire (delightfully sparkly and sharp Helen J. Shen), similarly discarded by her humans, requests to use his charger. After initial conflicts, the two take a road trip to find Oliver’s long-absent owner and for Claire to see the annual migration of nearly-extinct fireflies. Of course, the at-first combative pair connect romantically. Though the book by Aronson and Park lacks surprises, the sweetly simplistic story manages to pull our heartstrings. 

Criss gleefully captures Oliver’s Pinocchio-like innocence, channeling Brent Spiner’s Data in Star Trek: The Next Generation and Robin Williams in Bicentennial Man as a child-mechanical man. Shen plays a more advanced model bot, who is more aware of the harsh reality of how humans can easily discard their mechanical friends. She endows Claire with a quick wit and worldliness, perfectly complimenting Oliver’s goofy naivete, and also displays Claire’s hidden vulnerability. Dez Duron, a finalist on TV’s The Voice, lends smooth vocals to the proceedings as a bandleader idolized by the jazz-loving Oliver, offering commentary on the action with Aronson and Park’s creamy tributes to 1940s melodies. Marcus Choi is moving as Oliver’s former owner and his emotionally blighted son.

The futuristic sets by Laffrey and the amazing video design by Reeve (with additional video by Laffrey) create an expansive fantasy world where bots like Oliver and Claire are part of the electronic landscape and where memories and emotions can be altered at the press of a button. Maybe Happy Ending may be a bit like previous robot-fueled plays, movies and novels, but touches the heart and reminds us what it’s like to be human and in love.

Off-B'way Update: Streetcar, Threepenny, Macbeth in Stride at BAM

Patsy Ferran and Paul Mescal in
A Streetcar Named Desire in
London
Credit: Marc Brenner

Brooklyn Academy of Music will host an Olivier Award-winning revival of Tennessee Williams' Pulitzer Prize-winning classic A Streetcar Named Desire, starring Oscar nominee Paul Mescal (Aftersun, All of Us Strangers, Gladiator II) as Stanley Kowlaski. Directed by Rebecca Frecknall (Cabaret), this Streetcar revival began life at London's Almeida Theater in 2022 and then transferred to the West End in 2023. There the show won Oliviers for Mescal and Anjana Vasan as Stella. Mescal, Vasan and Patsy Ferran as Blanche DuBois will repeat their London performances.

Streetcar will began performances in London at the Noel Coward Theatre Feb. 3-22, 2025 and then transfer to BAM starting Feb. 28 for a limited run until April 6. Streetcar has been presented on Broadway nine times and first opened in 1947 with Marlon Brando, Jessica Tandy, Karl Malden and Kim Hunter. 

Whitney White rehearsing for 
Macbeth in Stride.
Credit: Lauren Miller

BAM will also present a production of The Threepenny Opera from the Berliner Ensemble and Macbeth in Stride, Whitney White's reimagining of the Scottish play with Lady Macbeth as a powerful black woman. Both productions will begin in April. Macbeth in Stride is a co-production with Shakespeare Theater Company in Washington, DC, Philadelphia Theater Company, and Yale Repertory Theater. 

B'way Update: Follow-Up on Scherzinger, LuPone, Lewis Controversies

Nicole Scherzinger in 
Sunset Blvd
Credit: Marc Brenner

Nicole Scherzinger has issued an apology in response to internet buzz that she is a Trump supporter and should be penalized by  boycotts of her show and denying her a Tony Award for Sunset Blvd. The brouhaha all started when Scherzinger responded with a like to an Instagram post of British comedian Russell Brand sporting a red hat with the slogan "Make Jesus First Again." (The font and style of the hat resembled Make America Great Again hats sported by MAGA Trump voters.) Scherzinger commented "Where can I get that hat?" The post was jumped on several Internet users as Scherzinger's Trump support and they went nuts, calling for her head. I wrote that the former Pussycat Doll can vote for whoever she wants. It should not effect her performance or her chances for a Tony. In responses to the furor, she issued the following statement on Instagram:

“I deeply apologise for the hurt caused by my recent engagement with some social media posts.

“When I commented on these posts, I made the mistake of not realising that they could be easily interpreted as being politically related and I apologise to anyone who understandably reached that conclusion.

“Many presumptions are being drawn, which do not reflect who I am, what I stand for, or who I voted for.

“Many of the marginalised communities feeling hurt and concerned by the results of the presidential election are people I care about most.

“I stand with them, as I always have, throughout my life and career.

“If you know me, you know that.

“Like so many others, in times of adversity and uncertainty, I turn to my faith.

“I believed that the posts I engaged with were about encouraging people to choose love and faith – ‘putting Jesus first’.

“For me Christ embodies peace, compassion, hope, and above all – unconditional love, especially for those who may feel it the least right now.

“I come from a place of love and I will always support values that bring us closer together. It’s so important we come together with compassion, and love one another more now than ever. Nicole.”

If all Scherzinger did was like a hat that resembled a MAGA Hat, she didn't do anything worthy of censure. Even if she liked something Trump did or said, she has a right to her opinion and to express it. Bur she didn't do that. The overly hysterical reaction to Scherzinger's brief comment demonstrates the over sensitivity of certain members of the Left and is an example of the kind of self-righteous, intolerant, overblown behavior that pushes people away from the Democratic Party and may be part of the reason Harris lost. (Ironically, Trump is also guilty of characterizing those who disagree with him as "the enemy.")

In related news, Kecia Lewis characterized Patti LuPone's describing Hell's Kitchen as "too loud" as a racist (if unintentional) microaggression. LuPone's show The Roommate and Lewis' show Hell's Kitchen share a wall. LuPone complained sound from Hell's Kitchen was bleeding into The Roommate during quiet moments. LuPone contacted the sound team at Hell's Kitchen and requested the sound levels be adjusted. It was also reported when a fan asked LuPone to autograph a Hell's Kitchen Playbill, the star responded, "I'm not signing Hell's Kitchen, they're too loud." The sound team did change the levels and LuPone sent flowers and a thank-you note to the sound team.

"In our industry, language holds power and shapes perception, often in ways that we may not immediately realize," said Lewis, who won a Tony, Drama Desk and Outer Critics Circle Award for her performance in Hell's Kitchen, in her open letter to LuPone. "Referring to a predominantly Black Broadway show as 'loud' can unintentionally reinforce harmful stereotypes, and it also feels dismissive of the artistry and the voices that are being celebrated on stage." 

Lewis then called on LuPone to apologize. 

What should LuPone have done differently? Should she have done anything differently? 

B'way Update: Scherzinger, LuPone, Lewis Controversies

Nicole Scherzinger in
Sunset Blvd
Credit: Marc Brenner

The Internet is buzzing with outrage that Nicole Scherzinger, star of Sunset Blvd, has been "outed" as a Trump supporter, her show should be boycotted and she has lost her chances for a Tony. I disagree with this stance entirely. I hate, loathe and despise Donald Trump, but Scherzinger has a right to support whoever she wants and to state her views publicly without fear of reprisal. I am seeing Sunset Blvd next week and if she is as great as word of mouth has it, I intend to applaud her. If she gives the most outstanding musical performance this season, she has my vote for a Tony, Drama Desk and Outer Critics Circle. I'm not going to have lunch with her or try to be her friend, but that's beside the point. If we start penalizing artists for views we disagree with, then we are no better than Donald Trump or Joseph McCarthy. Jerome Robbins and Elia Kazan did some despicable things, i.e. naming names before the HUAC committee, but they are still great artists and should not be "cancelled." Vanessa Redgrave deserved her Oscar for Julia despite her unpopular pro-Palestinian, anti-Israel stance.

Kecia Lewis and Maleah Joi Moon in
Hell's Kitchen.
Credit: Marc J. Franklin

In other news, there is a mini-brouhaha going on between Patti LuPone of The Roommate and Kecia Lewis of Hell's Kitchen. The two shows occupy neighboring theaters, the Booth and the Shubert. LuPone complained the Alicia Keys musical was too loud and could be heard during quiet moments of LuPone's two-character non-musical. In a letter on her Instagram account, Lewis, Tony winner for Hell's Kitchen, countered that LuPone was committing a racially motivated "microaggression." LuPone has a right to voice her opinion about the sound level of her neighbor's show. I think Lewis went too far in calling it a microaggression and labelling LuPone's concern racist, but I'm not going to boycott all of Lewis' future performances because of her opinion which I disagreee with. 

Everyone needs to take it down a notch.

B'way Update: Fahrenheit 451; More Gilded Age Casting

Julie Christie and Oskar Werner in
Francois Truffaut's Fahrenheit 451 (1966)

Ray Bradbury's 1953 science-fiction classic Fahrenheit 451 will be adapted for the Broadway stage by Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright Martyna Majok (Cost of Living). Bradbury's dystopian novel is set in a near future where firemen set books to blaze rather than rescuing people from flames. There have been two film versions of the novel. Francois Truffaut, in one of his rare English-language movies, adapted the work in 1966 with Oskar Werner, Julie Christie and Cyril Cusack. Michael B. Jordan and Michael Shannon starred in a 2018 TV version for HBO. This will be the first time a Bradbury work has been seen on Broadway. A program of three one-acts based on his short stories titled The World of Ray Bradbury played Off-Broadway in 1965.

Majok said, "The relevancy of mind domination and the end of the world in our current age needs no words; what struck me most in Fahrenheit 451 was its lens on our loneliness. How our yearning for connection and fear of its absence can be feasted upon. How we long to devote ourselves to something true and lasting in a fracturing society. And the ways we blow up our lives to unearth the truth we've buried – which will shatter us into our most honest selves. As Bradbury writes, 'We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in awhile.'"
 
“It is a privilege and thrill to bring this seminal novel to the stage, with one of our most visceral and acclaimed living writers,” said the producers in a statement. “Mr. Bradbury’s and Ms. Majok’s works both stem from the deeply human and personal, and we’re excited by the significance of this collaboration.”
 
The Bradbury Estate commented that, “We are delighted to bring Fahrenheit 451 to a new audience, with the impact and intimacy that only theater can offer, to be working with producers who care so deeply for the work and with Martyna Majok, a truly great dramatist of enormous intelligence, sensitivity and skill.”

Book Review: Erotic Vagrancy: Everything About Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor

(Bought at Barnes and Noble. Full price. The perfect  big, fat, juicy, movie-star book to read on my ten day cruise of the Mediterranean.) When Roger Lewis says his book contains everything about Taylor and Burton, he means it. We get considerations of how their film roles paralleled their real lives including some really obscure films (such as The Flintstones for Taylor and several early English works for Burton), itemized lists of the personal effects left by their separate estates with the auction prices, a rundown of the TV-movies based on their lives and Benny Hill's parody of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, wherein the British comic played both stars. 

Weighing in at 600 densely-packed pages, Lewis assesses the notorious couple's impact on pop culture and public morals, their bacchanalian extravagant lifestyle, and their movie legacy. He often goes off on tangents, offering pages of details on figures whose paths the Burtons crossed: Andy Warhol, Sophia Loren, even Sylvia Plath. His analysis is pithy and sharp, ever sympathetic to his subjects and harsh to their critics. He sees them as emblems of an era, their explosive union tragic. They did love each other, but their temperaments did not allow them to stay together. A normal, settled marriage where you make compromises in order to live with each other was not for them. Taylor turned out to be the stronger of the two, her career and life continued while Burton spun out of control, succumbing to booze and hard living at 58.

This is far from a conventional movie-star biography. Lewis does not strictly follow chronological order in charting Burton and Taylor's meteoric rise and world-famous romance. He does separate the book into five sections, like the acts of a Shakespearean play: each of the subjects' lives before they met; the chaotic production of Cleopatra where they collided (featuring a day-by-day breakdown of the entire shooting schedule), their explosive two marriages; and their lives after their second and final divorce. 

Lewis inserts himself and his prejudices into his narrative. We learn of his prolonged illness (making him sympathetic to Taylor's many health issues). There is more than a hint of homophobia here as Lewis makes unnecessary, unfunny gags about Taylor's many gay friends (her favorite hairdresser and confidante is labelled "nelly"; Dirk Bogarde is described as a repressed homosexual as opposed to the fiercely straight Burton; Cecil Beaton is supposedly afraid of Taylor's breasts and that's why he didn't want to photograph her). 

Despite its flaws, Erotic Vagrancy (named for the Pope's description of the Burtons' adulterous behavior on the Cleopatra set), is a huge banquet of movie gossip and social commentary. Not all the courses are nutritious, but they are wickedly delicious.

Pre-Election Day Outlook: Cautiously Optimistic

It's the day before the 2024 Presidential election and I am mildly hopeful about Harris winning and Trump losing. The polls all indicate a 50-50 race with a few trends such as Iowa favoring Harris slightly. Given Trumpy's criminal convictions, atrocious record on abortion rights and tarriffs, siding with dictators and wanting to be one, cognitive issues and being as old as dirt, I'm astonished that it's still this close. But I think she will win due to recent statements and actions in the past few days which will push the few remaining undecided voters into her camp. Speaker of the House Johnson has said they will get rid of Obamacare and the CHIPs Act if the GOP retains the House. Elon Musk has stated Trump has promised him a top position, managing government budget cuts which will result in crashing the economy. Musk has openly stated there will be a down turn in the economy, but that's OK. It's only short term and everything will work out in the end. Certifiable loon RFK Jr. claims he'll be a Health Czar and you know what that means: no more vaccines or fluoridated water. Didn't Sterling Hayden warn about that in Dr. Strangelove? 

In the past week, I've had run-ins with pro-Trumpers which froze my blood a bit. Last weekend, I unwisely engaged with a vendor here in Jackson Heights. He was an older white guy selling crap outside the supermarket. A young passer-by asked him if he wanted to buy a Harris T-shirt. I know I should have stayed out of it, but I joined in the conversation and the vendor proceeded to go off on racist rant about Trump saving the country from invading hordes of immigrants. I tried to be reasonable, citing statistics that crime was down and that communities benefitted from new people, but there was no way this guy was going to listen to logic or even a differing opinion. He denounced me as a traitor to my race and cited the fact that in 1920, Queens was 90 percent white and now it was only 52 percent or something. Therefore, the white race was being eliminated. "Wow," I said, "You're going to say that in Jackson Heights? You're going to openly admit you're a racist in this diverse neighborhood?" This guy wanted to sell his junk to people he despised and feared? I realized I never should have said anything and backed away.

A few days later, I overheard a similar confrontation and this time I kept my big fat Democratic mouth shut. I was sitting in Herald Square at the public tables and, at the table next to me, two co-workers, one white, one Hispanic, were disagreeing about the race. The white guy was playing the inflation card, saying gas was $4 a gallon (I pay $3.19), prices were all outrageous and Puerto Rico did have a garbage problem, so what's the big deal? The Hispanic guy was just smiling and shaking his head. I wanted to tell the white guy it's a good thing he lives in NY and therefore his vote doesn't count because of the electoral college. But I didn't. 

I don't know if I'll watch the election returns. The tension might destroy me. So maybe an old movie instead.

Cruise to Mediterranean Pt. 4: Naples, Rome (briefly)

Traffic in Naples

Day 9: Naples
Our final port was Naples where we had last been in 2016. On this last trip, we loved the crowded, messy city and took a train to Pompei to examine the ruins left by the eruption of Vesuvius. This time we strolled through the Archeological Museum and then had lunch at Trattoria Del Fernandino restaurant recommended by friends. I had prosciutto and mozzarella salad followed by sea bass. We took a cab from the museum to the restaurant and the traffic was terrible. The cab driver complained about the constant congestion of his city. The lunch was very good. We took a long walk back to the ship and relaxed. Our final night on board consisted of packing, a last round of Team Trivia (and winning a visor), having drinks with the friends we made and eating dinner in the Broad Dining Room. 

Day 10: Disembark in Rome

We got right off the ship and boarded a bus to the Rome airport, an hour outside the city. (We had been to Rome recently, so we decided to just go home rather than linger another few more expensive days.) The flight back was calm and I caught up on more episodes of Elsbeth. Once back in the US, we had to take a cab to Long Island where we had left our car with relatives. That was a mistake. Way too expensive. Next time, we'll take an Uber or Lyft, but we didn't want to have to take a shuttle to the car service meeting area. Short-sighted on our part. 

It was a wonderful trip and Oceania is a great cruise line. Our package included four shore excursions, a drinks package including wine and/or champagne, and four specialty restaurants. Most lines nickel and dime you to death, but almost everything was included with Oceania. The ship wasn't too big so getting on and off at ports wasn't a hassle. No kids, probably because it was during school. So I would recommend Oceania.

At the archeological museum in
Naples