Disorderly Content

I mentioned back around the New Year how excited I was that the Reduced Shakespeare Company would be back in the Bay Area in June, this time at San Jose Rep. While placing my order, I noticed a play called Souvenir that I'd noticed (but not seen) on one of my trips to New York. Don't know why I didn't see it there, but this time I decided it sounded like fun, so I placed my order and sat down to wait.

That wait ended yesterday afternoon. Souvenir is a somewhat faithful retelling of the musical career of one Florence Foster Jenkins, a wealthy early 20th century matron who somehow got it into her head that she could sing. Opera. And who had the money and the society friends to indulge her fantasy, which went from annual performances at the Ritz to one grand finale at Carnegie Hall. A few of Mrs. Jenkins' arias were captured on record, and are available on CD. As for the play, it might be called a musical, but only if you are being kind.

But what I find fascinating about Mrs. Jenkins, at least in this dramatic version of her, is that she was a triumph of confidence and determination and pure enthusiasm over anything resembling talent. She was a joke, one the audience loved, but it's unclear she was in on the joke. And that's what makes me wonder: is it better to know your strengths and your limitations if it keeps you from doing something you love? Or is it better to be deluded, and to take joy in the activity for which you are supremely unqualified. At a younger age I was certain I knew the answer; now I'm not at all sure. No, I lie; I am becoming more and more certain that the doing, and the pleasure to be derived therein, are far more important than actual competence. And if people laugh at you, well, maybe they aren't the ones getting the real joke.

It's a new year, which means it's time to make a bunch of resolutions that may not make it through the first weekend. I've been remiss in my blogging, so that may as well be the first resolution on my list. We'll see how I do...

Last night I was driving to a friend's for a little NYE celebrating. On the way I was listening to the latest podcast from the Reduced Shakespeare Company, which told of their just completed San Francisco run (which I attended -- twice), and of their plans for the first half of the new year. (Not to be confused with the New Year. But I digress.) And at the end of that list of plans was a mention of a run at San Jose Rep starting in mid-June. Great news! Even better is that it'll be their Great Books Abridged show, which I haven't seen yet. (I saw the Shakespeare and History of America shows in London years ago, and the Hollywood and Bible shows during the SF run.) So I'm feeling pretty upbeat as the podcast draws to an end. And then to my surprise I hear that their random fan shoutout ("No reason. It's just random!") is to me! Took me a second, as Austin gave the shoutout to Disorderly, the handle I use on various websites including theirs. And which, as you may have guessed, comes from this very blog and the very website on which it resides. So I'm famous! Sorta!

Somebody stop me before I drive into San Francisco on a post-Thanksgiving Saturday. Bad plan.

Today was the performance of the Reduced Shakespeare Company's production called Completely Hollywood (Reduced) that I'd booked back when the tickets first became available. Sadly, there was no need to book right away; there were plenty of seats to be had. But not sadly was the show itself, which was a whole lot of fun. And it would have been fun even if I wasn't called up on stage to be an extra in the great movie blockbuster that makes up Act II. If you like... well... it's not improv, but it's not completely scripted either. It's scripted that feels more like improv, if that makes sense. Anyway, go. You'll be glad you did.

But getting there was definitely not half the fun. Traffic in San Francisco totally sucked. And the Union Square Garage was full. I ended up at another garage a couple of blocks away, which fortunately had a ridiculous number of levels: I ended up on the 9th floor. Good thing I gave myself plenty of time to get there, get parked and get settled in.

Now I have to decide whether to get a ticket for the other show they're doing on this SF run. It's the Bible show: The Complete Word of God (Abridged). It's been called blasphemous, which sounds just my speed. But do I risk SF weekend traffic again?

Well, whatever it is, that's what I did. (And by the way, is anybody else bothered by the fact that procrastinate is an active verb? Seems to me it should be a state of being verb.) A couple of months ago I learned from the Reduced Shakespeare Company podcast that the troupe would be performing in San Francisco this fall. That got me to the venue's website, which led me to Ticketmaster, which didn't have any useful information yet but did at least let me sign up for email updates.

And this very morning the news I was waiting for arrived: tickets will go on sale this Sunday. But, if you know the magic word, you can preorder ahead of the common herd. Since I didn't know that word, or at least didn't know that I knew (if you know what I mean), I headed over to the Reduced Shakespeare website, in hope somebody would have spilled the beans. I didn't have any luck there, although before I could give up I received another email from Ticketmaster. And guess what? The secret word was revealed. So I rushed in, and managed to get a seat in the center of the very first row! How amazingly cool is that?

I guess this is what happens to non-procrastinators. Interesting.

Last night I took advantage of two of New York's finest, starting with some pretty good pizza and finishing up with Eric Idle's assault on the Great White Way. The pizza experience was enhanced by conversation with the couple at the next table, who were from Arizona and agog at their first moments in Manhattan. (Having grown up here, I can only smile knowingly at the innocence of tourists.) Spamalot needs no enhancing; the newer cast both looks and plays as well as the better known folks who opened the show. There were a couple of moments when they came close to losing it, which is one of the unexpected joys of life performance. Tonight I'm thinking deli, to go with my ticket to Curtains! Let you know how that turns out.

Four plays in a week is a pretty good score. But there are a few others I'd like to have seen, including a couple of titular (no, that's not dirty) ones that got away. The first of those was Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, based on the movie based on the Ian Fleming children's story. I walked by the theater and was saddened to read a note on the door: the last performance was around Christmas. So why, I wondered, was the marquee all lit up? Here's a case where literally the lights were on but nobody was home.

The second was called Souvenir and starred Judy Kaye, who replaced Madeline Kahn when I saw On The Twentieth Century many, many years ago. I saw a mention of it in one of those magazines they leave in hotel rooms; apparently it was about a would-be diva named Florence Foster Jenkins, who entertained (if that's the word) audiences in the 40s with her operatic performances. It's not clear that she was in on the joke, which apparently made for an entertaining two-person play. Sadly, not entertaining enough; Souvenir closed two weeks before I arrived after only seventy performances in its last location.

Sigh. Can't help regretting the ones I didn't get to. At least the ones I saw were awfully good.

Tonight was the fourth and last play of this trip, following a rather good and rather expensive sushi dinner in a restaurant so dark, I had to hold my candle near the menu to read it. The play was The Lion King, which has been justly praised over the years for director Julie Taymor's stylistically brilliant and innovative design. This was the first time I'd seen it, which includes the movie, which I'd somehow missed.

And didn't miss, if you know what I mean. I have to say that I was impressed but not remotely thrilled by the play; as impressed as I was, I was never moved or amused or particularly drawn in. As impressive as it was, it was empty spectacle, no more meaningful than dinner at Medieval Times. Of the four musicals I saw this trip, I'd rank it dead last. Then again, I loved the other three.

Oh, and it didn't help that I was just three seats away from the world's most annoying theater patron. First, she and her woman friend arrived ten minutes late, making half a dozen of us get up so they could inch their way to their seats. I should be understanding, I suppose. Anybody can miss the curtain. After all, it's not like the time is PRINTED ON THE TICKETS! And then midway through act one I suddenly started hearing a conversation that wasn't coming from the stage. Yep, it's our late friend. (If only.)

Intermission arrived. And with a minute to go and the warning bells signalling everyone to get back to their seats, she suddenly decides to head... somewhere. The facilities, I imagine. But there were the six of us, getting out of her way. And knowing we'd be going through it again after the second act was well underway.

You think I'm done, don't you? Ha! Broadway theaters have rules about taking pictures: don't do it. It's posted, it's in the Playbill and it's announced before the play starts. There were a surprising number of folks violating this rule before things got going, or perhaps less surprising for a Disney production. I assume regular theatergoers know better. Still, the folks in charge weren't stopping anyone. And I have to laugh at people using the teeny little flash on their cameras in such a huge space. But never mind.

Anyway, about twenty minutes before the end I start noticing these flashes going off. There are strobes in the show, but these weren't coming from the right place. And they weren't synchronized to the action. Yep, it was Ms. Annoying again. And the ushers came by, flashing their torches at her. But she kept at it until they made it obvious that they were not at all pleased. Personally, I think calling the cops wouldn't have been out of line.

Thanks for reading my rant. I feel just so much better.

High expectations are always dangerous. And from the moment I first heard that Eric Idle was turning Holy Grail into a Broadway show I wanted to see it. Now that moment had arrived, and I wondered if I was going to be disappointed, if the real thing could be half as good as my imagination.

To be sure, I'm my own worst enemy in such situations. As with Avenue Q and Mamma Mia, I'd listened to the cast album for Spamalot a few times already. So I knew, or thought I knew, what Mr. Idle had done with his source material. I was expecting an ironic, break-through-the-fourth-wall sort of retelling of the movie, with a bunch of strange and sometimes funny material that I wasn't sure would fit. Which shows what I know.

I don't want to say anything to give away the surprises in the show, in case you get the chance to see it. What I will say is that the cast is hammy (or should that be Spammy?) in the best theatrical tradition, that I wish I could have seen Tim Curry as King Arthur, although the new guy was most excellent, and that I probably annoyed all kinds of people in the subway as I whistled Always Look On The Bright Side of Life most of the way back to my hotel. Which I know was from Life of Brian, not Holy Grail. But if Mr. Idle can fudge, so can I.

After an enjoyable early dinner at a Brazilian place in the Theater District, I was off to the Winter Garden. Last time I was there was a lot of years ago; a friend from Dallas and I were there to see Cats. Yes, Cats. A memory that stays with me, no matter how much I drink. But I digress.

Tonight I was there to relive the 70s, as if the first time wasn't bad enough. The play was Mamma Mia, a collection of ABBA hits strung together with a plot about a wedding and some question about the bride's parentage. And I use the phrase "strung together" advisedly; there's less material to this plot than in the average knit bikini. Which I knew going in. In fact, I'd listened to the London cast album a few times and even blogged about it. My point being that I knew it was cheesy and full of holes, which I suppose would make it emmenthaler. And when it began, I had a bad feeling that I was gonna regret my choice of entertainment.

But a funny thing happened, oh, around the third number. I stopped noticing the shaky plot and let the singing and the staging and yes, even the acting take over. And I have to say that I enjoyed myself immensely, even if I did have a few cringy moments before the last curtain. Suffice it to say that if you will admit, if only to yourself, a fondness for ABBA, you'll likely enjoy the energy and the fun of Mamma Mia. Although personally I think Spandex, platform shoes and glitter should be reserved for the young. And maybe not even for them.

At last week's sales meeting, long days of sessions were followed by long nights of dining, drinking and getting to know each other better. Which is all well and good, but was getting in the way of my other interests. Like theater, which is one of the benefits of being in New York. So needless to say, having my weekend and the evenings of the upcoming week to myself I began to make plans.

This morning, bright and (relatively) early, I was on line at the box office where Monty Python's Spamalot is playing. I'd made the list of my target plays, and I figured Spamalot might be the toughest one to get a good seat. There was a pretty long line ahead of me at 9:30, waiting in the cold and wind for, as I found out, standing room for today's performances. That didn't interest me; cheap as they may be, there's no way I can stand for two straight hours and not hate life. So when the box office opened at 10, I was the only one to go to the Advanced Sales counter. And I scored a center position Orchestra seat for Tuesday night, which suited me fine.

Next stop was a block up, where Avenue Q is playing. Managed row F, just three seats from the aisle for that very night! After that I walked up to the Winter Garden and scored a ticket for Mamma Mia for tomorrow (Sunday) night. Last stop was The Lion King, where I got a good seat for Wednesday night. Took less than an hour and more than $400, but mission accomplished!

As I type this, I've just returned from seeing Avenue Q. And I have to say that it was one of the most enjoyable evenings I've had at the theater in recent memory. Try to imagine Rent crossed with Sesame Street, complete with puppet sex. No, don't even try; you'll only hurt yourself. But go! If your sense of humor is anything like mine (and what a sad statement that would be!), you'll thank me.

Update 01/30: A friend sends along a video that combines an Avenue Q song with World of Warcraft visuals. The audio isn't safe for work, just so you know. But it's pretty clever, even if it's no Red vs. Blue. But then, what is?

Today my friend Carol and I went up to San Francisco to catch a pre-Broadway performance of Lestat, a musical based on the vampire novels of Anne Rice, with music by Elton John and Bernie Taupin. Mr. John, I must tell you: you are no Andrew Lloyd Webber. Your music all sounds the same, and none of it was appropriate to a tale of the undead in the eighteenth and nineteenth century. I predict a short life for this musical in New York, assuming of course that it makes it that far. After all, The Mambo Kings died on the road. And Lennon didn't do much better, even though I thought it had a lot more promise.

I'm now imagining a Buffy musical with songs by Lloyd Webber. No, to be accurate, I was already imagining such a thing while Lestat was still going on.

Today was the last musical in the Best of Broadway series my friend Carol and I bought last year. Which is a misnomer in the case of The Mambo Kings, since it won't actually arrive in New York for another couple of months. The Golden Gate Theater was the out of town tryout for this play-from-the-movie-from-the-novel. And although I enjoyed the music and the staging (the insertion of the two leads into an episode of I Love Lucy was rather clever), I have to say that the story was paper thin and overloaded with clichés. It'll be interesting to see how it does on Broadway. Like The Examiner, I have my doubts.

Update 06/29: And apparently, so did the producers. Today's Murky News reports that Mambo Kings' Broadway arrival has been cancelled. I guess they finally decided the show was beyond saving.

That's the name of the latest play in the Best of Broadway series my friend Carol and I have been attending up in San Francisco. I didn't know much about it, beyond it being a one man play about a transvestite in Nazi Germany. Which doesn't exactly sound like my idea of a good time. But the reality was far better and more compelling than that description. Jefferson Mays plays the real-life Charlotte von Mahlsdorf, a cross-dressing gay man who somehow survived and even prospered through two repressive regimes: not just Hitler but communist East Germany. But how she survived is a question both her life and the play raise without pat answers; charges of collaborating with the secret police are impossible to dismiss, but perhaps not so damning in a state where there was little alternative. Mays gives voice to Charlotte, playwright Doug Wright and other lesser characters, imbuing each with his own personality. His performance is magnificent, easily matching that of his subject.

Last Sunday I went to the next play in my Best of Broadway series, Sir Peter Hall's production of As You Like It. Personally, I wasn't thrilled. The combination of avant garde sets and costumes (a sort of post-WWII fascist theme, or at least that was what they looked to me), the difficulties of Shakespearean dialogue, the cast's accents, the lack of amplification made for a trying time. And I have to say, As You Like It strains credulity more than most of Will's work.

Today it was Lennon, a musical whose subject is obvious. I'd heard the reviews were unenthusiastic, so I wasn't expecting much. But I enjoyed it: the music (Lennon's own compositions used to annotate his life), the performances (including Terrence Mann, who was an unforgettable Chauvelin in The Scarlet Pimpernel on Broadway a few years back), the stylish staging. Lennon the play is as unorthodox as Lennon the man, with the entire cast, men and women, playing the ex-Beatle, as well as all the other characters. Whether it's true to John Lennon I can't say. But it feels true. And it was a wonderful afternoon in the theater.

"...and all the men and women merely players." I take that line from As You Like It out of context because something made me think about stages and companies of players. Frank Oz explains in his commentary on Little Shop of Horrors that he had to change the downbeat ending from the stage musical (and, I believe, the original Roger Corman film) because test audiences hated to watch Audrey and Seymour die. He said that movies have a realism the stage lacks, that an audience is more comfortable watching a character die if they can see the actor take a bow at the end.

I remembered that comment while watching the first season of A&E's Nero Wolfe on DVD. The episodes or teleplays or whatever you would call them have a very stagy quality. Despite dealing with murder, they're stylish and lighthearted. And one factor that helps them from being taken too seriously, beside the fact that the violence is never seen, is that many of the same actors reappear in story after story. Not just the recurring characters; you would be surprised if it were otherwise. But in all the secondary roles. The FBI agent in one episode is a ne'er do well nephew in another. The murder victim returns to life as someone else, perhaps to die again (I haven't seen them all yet), perhaps not. But it takes the sting out of whatever evil happens. And it makes it easy to mistrust anyone in the story we don't know. After all, even if they're the good guys, that could always change in the next installment.

Which makes me think about the theatrical tradition, troupes going from place to place, the same people taking different parts every time. Or community theater today, for that matter. It's somehow easier to suspend disbelief, to pretend that the performer is the character of the moment even though you've seen them be someone else.

You hear stories about actors in television and films getting typecast. Is this a modern phenomenon? Does the realism of the screen that works so well for the current performance work against the performer over the long haul?

Today my friend Carol and I attended the third play in the Best of Broadway (in San Francisco) series we bought last fall. You certainly can't accuse these guys of being predictable; the first entry involved Dame Edna and the second was a stage version of White Christmas. Today's musical was called Caroline, or Change; it's the work of Tony Kushner, who wrote Angels in America. And I'll admit that I wasn't expecting to be entertained. The plot sounded dreary, especially for a musical. And the review in the Murky News was less then enthusiastic.

Boy, it is a pleasure to be wrong. Caroline, which I gather is semiautobiographical, is the tale of a black maid working for a Jewish family in Louisiana in 1963. It takes in race relations, worker/management relations, the adaptation of Northerners to the South, the stress on a new wife and stepmother trying to adapt to dysfunctional family, the Kennedy assassination and a bit more. And yet it is neither somber nor preachy. Kushner has genuine affection for his characters. The way they deal with their lives lacks the pat, perfect answers of a sitcom. And the music and the spare sets make the story even more real and compelling.

For whatever reason, Caroline didn't do terribly well on Broadway. Perhaps this personal story wasn't epic enough for people who loved Angels, which I will confess to not having seen. But I liked it just fine. Can't wait to give the cast CD a few listens.

I've been following the controversy over the British Broadcasting Corporation's plan to air a performance of Jerry Springer: The Opera. What interests me is that JS:TO was part of the Best of Broadway series a friend and I purchased last year, and which disappeared from the lineup some time after we bought our tickets. No word on why it's no longer on the schedule here. But I have a hard time believing it was due to concerns over content; San Franciscans are traditionally pretty broadminded.

So what's going on? And how do I get a copy of that BBC broadcast? It has to be more entertaining than White Christmas was. Not that that would be much of a challenge.

Update 01/08: And here's an interesting comment on the BBC controversy. The author is Toby Scott, Media Relations Officer for the Methodist Church in England. Mr. Scott violates the Prime Directive of any such dialogue: he's actually seen the play.

I owe a debt of gratitude to the blogger who pointed me to this story. Believe it or not, a group of actors in Irvine staged a live performance of Spock's Brain, arguably the worst episode of the original Star Trek. The title of this entry is my reaction to the news.

But it's more. It's also the brilliant line of dialogue invented by Pia Zadora in the classic Harold Robbins potboiler, The Lonely Lady. Or so sayeth Roger Ebert in his review of this travesty. He sees crap like this so I don't have to.

I spent this afternoon at the Curran Theater in San Francisco, attending a matinee performance of a Broadway-bound adaptation of the film White Christmas. As to the play, my feeling is that it neither improves on nor diminishes the original. Depending on your opinion of Bing Crosby and company, that may tell you what to expect from this version.

But that's not why I'm writing. There's a moment at the beginning of the second act when the Phil Davis and Judy Haines characters are performin "I Love A Piano", and an eighteen inch tall white baby grand comes sliding its way out from stage left. And all I could think about was that tiny Stonehenge arch from Spinal Tap. Was I projecting, or did the two actors have looks of total dismay as this undersized prop came toward them? Heck, all they needed were dwarves in tuxedos to complete the effect!

Okay, maybe you had to be there.