The 71st Annual Golden Globe Awards Are Tonight!! Let’s Predict Stuff!!

​It’s Theatre Thursday! Today we are discussing “Girl from the North Country”, which is playing at the Noel Coward theatre in London until March 24.

​As I’ve said hundreds of times, I love going into shows cold, not knowing any spoilers, not knowing the words to all the music yet, just a blank slate ready to be won over. But I may have gone overboard this week because not only did I know nothing about London’s new play “The Girl from North Country”, I knew wrong information. I thought this was about farming life in Ireland. Cue all the laughing-crying emojis because it’s about MINNESOTA. Duluth, specifically. I guess that is easily confused with Dublin? Regardless of my hysterical laughing when the show started and I heard them say ‘Duluth, Minnesota’ (internalized laughing, of course), and despite the awkwardness of this disjointed, rickety show, it’s a nice piece of theatre, enjoyable in spite of itself.

“The Girl from North Country” is about a family in Duluth in the 1930s and the cast of characters renting rooms in their ramshackle inn of sorts. They’re all suffering from the Great Depression and a lil bit of just normal depression too, it seems. It’s written and directed by Conor McPherson. Listen, when you aren’t working with Greta Gerwig or sweet lil Guillermino, it’s rarely a good idea to produce a show written and directed by the same person. You need that variation and sometimes clashing of ideas to make sure you make the best decisions for the work, as more often than not the strongest choices come out of having to defend them. If no one is challenging what’s written as is, the work can’t rise to its full potential. That’s clearly the case here, and although it doesn’t ruin the play – it’s still a lovely time, as I said – it’s not as good as it could be, and it’s full of unnecessary and ineffective aspects that would have been easily cut if more than one creative mind had been discussing them.

There are two patent examples of large, bad decisions that aren’t compelling. One is the completely annoyingly unnecessary framing device of the narrator. One actor, who plays the town doctor, also narrates the story and gives a lot of details to the audience that we don’t need. Using this needless device shows a lack of faith in the story to present what the author is aiming for. And never once did the narrator’s monologues share anything worthwhile to the story or anything that would not have been better left to the imagination. The play is pretty decent as is, but this device, borne out of a lack of confidence, distracts from the parts of quality.

The second example is the reason why I haven’t used the word ‘musical’ yet, even though everyone else (and the Oliviers) calls this production a musical. To me, it is the very epitome of a play with music, not a musical, because the music does not drive the story-telling. Instead of having the characters sing to each other to further the plot, a play with music uses the songs for their own sake unrelated to the plot, like in “Lady Day at Emerson’s Bar & Grill” when Billie Holiday was simply performing at a concert. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing to choose, not at all, but the use of the chosen music seems haphazard. The music should still be well considered and there for a reason, and if the characters in the show are singing, the songs chosen should somewhat reflect on them enough to make sense. Here, the songs sometimes make sense, but often don’t. The one thing I knew going in was that this show uses the music of Bob Dylan. So every so often, the characters will sing a Bob Dylan song, and it will have nothing to do with the plot, but the problem was they often didn’t make sense for the characters or for what the show was ostensibly trying to achieve. I’ll point to specific examples later.

Aside from these missteps (huge as they are), the show is decent, inoffensive and overall pleasant. It tells the story of the Laine family in Duluth, headed by the stern, imposing Nick (Ciaran Hinds (I know)), whose wife Elizabeth (Shirley Henderson) is suffering from a form of dementia that keeps her alternating between having no idea what is going on to having zero filter on her speech and actions. Their son, Gene (Sam Reid), has amounted to nothing and is a piece of a nothing shithead, we see because of how he treats a black man, but I honestly think the writer wants us to feel bad for him for some reason, which um no. Their daughter, Marianne, is a black woman (Sheila Atim) that was left in their inn as a baby, so they decided to raise her as their own. There’s a whole other show to be made just about this relationship and how their town reacted to it, but we strangely don’t get much in the way of racial unease, which is odd because it for sure would have created some. I wonder if the writer wanted us to think highly of all the characters for not calling attention to this, but it just seems unrealistic. I mean come on it’s Minnesota in the 1930s. Or, it’s America at any time. People would have torches.

Marianne is pregnant, and single – she won’t tell anyone who the father is. At one point, she tells someone that she was impregnated by the ghost of the wind of Jesus or something weird like that and I have no idea what they were going for with that. It seemed meant to add a mystical element, but such an element had no business in a straightforward show like this. An old man in town, Mr. Perry (Karl Johnson), has offered to marry Marianne and raise the baby, which seems like a nice offer but he’s super ancient and Marianne is like nah thanks. Unfortunately, her father has no patience for her idealistic decision-making, wanting to marry someone she actually loves and all. Elizabeth, in one of her unfiltered episodes, shares that Mr. Perry once assaulted her when she was young (he’s hella old so he was an older man even when she was young) and no one seems to care, which is the most realistic part of this show. I love that Elizabeth, in all her raw, crude honesty, is often the only voice of reason in the community.

Soon two men arrive to spend the night, a man presenting himself as a reverend but he is really a slimy Bible salesman (Finbar Lynch (I mean can we talk about that name? that’s the real name of the actor. Man alive)), and a former boxer named Joe Scott. Joe for my performance was played by the understudy Emmanuel Kojo, and I couldn’t have been more thrilled because Kojo is one of the West End names I actually remember from several past productions, so lucky me. The men join existing guests Mrs. Neilsen (Debbie Kurup), a hot widow who is sleeping with Nick and maybe loves him even though he’s old and wrinkly and mean; and the Burke family, an older married couple with a grown but developmentally disabled son, Elias (Jack Shalloo). The Burkes have an interesting but ultimately unfulfilled storyline about how the grown son may have killed a woman unintentionally, and how they may be fleeing from the authorities. It sounds a lot worse than it is. Not the crime, the crime is bad, but how this fit into the show. It was random and nuts but it kind of all worked, because we’re learning about all the sad stories of those involved.

And then we have the town doctor (Adam James) who should have remained a doctor instead of moonlighting as a narrator.

The first act is actually quite well done. The chosen Bob Dylan songs, although they don’t really inform the story or characters, seem at least a little bit relevant. And if not, at least the choices are mediocre and not aggressively bad. The twangy Dylan sound of the less famous songs worked with this setting. It helps that I didn’t know 90% of the songs, so for a while everything seemed suitable and interesting. The second act, however, falls apart. They perform songs back to back (to back, I think) apropos of nothing, and you can feel the thing falling off the rails and see that the songs are the desperate attempt to keep it moving. Then, the character of Joe Scott, a really interesting, well performed and mysteriously drawn character, is done a huge disservice by having to sing “Hurricane”. This is not a song that jives well with the small, rural action of the play, a huge contrast to the other songs used, so it is seriously shoehorned in to make it fit, and it was a bad idea. Like I said, Joe is a former boxer, which seemed acceptable in the first act, but having him sing “Hurricane” made me think, wait, did they make up his backstory in order to fit this song? It’s hard to believe otherwise when the writing reveals him to have committed a robbery and be on the run from authorities. This is where they really lost me. Forcing this song into the show and molding the story around it felt so amateur and for all the damage it does to the story, the payoff is exactly nil.

After that, the action seems to happen without compelling reason shoring it up. Truly dramatic things occur, and rarely do they feel earned or warranted. Marianne’s character is poorly drawn, for such a central character, and her decision to leave town without saying goodbye to her family feels unjustified. It’s hinted at (more than hinted at) that Nick might resort to a little murder-suicide and just, like, what? And don’t get me started on the ambiguity of what actually happens to Elias (who has the second best musical performance of the night, but it is very ill-suited to the story).

What keeps the show largely afloat are the performances. Not all – most of the ensemble was obviously focusing on their American accents to the detriment of their acting. This was especially clear in the case of the poor sad Mrs. Neilsen, whose ‘I just came from my elocution class’-style of speaking was inappropriate for this setting. “Oh I will MEETUH you OUTUH-SIDUH,” she said once. She was the female equivalent of Gary Oldman when he guested on “Friends”, spitting all his t’s and popping all his p’s. Then we had other ladies giving full-on Fargo-style accents, dontcha know, because North Dakota is pretty much Minnesota, yah fer sure, so the clash was blatant and upsetting. Why don’t West End shows all have dialect coaches?? But the leading performances by Ciaran Hinds and Shirley Henderson are the compelling parts of this show and what makes it worth seeing. Ciaran, whose name I literally just found out yesterday is not pronounced as written (I’m sorry), as the gruff, well-meaning but wrong-headed patriarch Nick Laine, is so natural and believable. The tinge of his Irish accent works really well actually to convey mid-West America, and even though his character is wrong so often, he’s such an incredible actor that he makes you want to understand why.

The real star turn here is that of Shirley Henderson as Elizabeth Laine. At first, she just kind of sits in her chair and makes faces at the goings-on, and I was thinking ‘she got an Olivier nomination for this?’ However, slowly but surely her performance grows and builds so much that I would honestly think about voting for her over the “Follies” ladies. (Don’t get me started on the fourth nom.) I didn’t know at first that Shirley was that Shirley, the one I know best as Bridget Jones’s brunette friend and as Moaning Myrtle in Harry Potter. Yeah, her. She’s fantastic. Her portrayal of a woman with dementia is so honest and uncomfortable and you have fremdschamen watching the whole time and you want to look away because it’s so painful, funny at times but painful, but you can’t because what she is doing is extraordinary. It’s mostly a physical role, peppered by line deliveries that could not be more perfect. She takes these words and chews them up and spits them out at such perfect moments with timing and venom that could be deadly. And then when she breaks into song, my goodness, I had no idea this lady could sing. She has the strongest voice in the whole production (and gets to do most of “Like a Rolling Stone”) and why hasn’t she been in more musical theatre? She could have single-handedly been saving British musical theatre! (Okay they still need someone besides Tim Minchin who can write scores but still.) Her performance is remarkable, how she does so much with so little and makes you invested in this story for her sake.

So clearly there are a lot of things wrong with this show, but in spite of all of that, it’s still enjoyable and a little bit moving, which I think is a testament to the performances, and also the writing. If this play could have been just a play, forgetting the weird Bob Dylan constraints, and if Conor had someone reigning him in and editing this draft, it could have been excellent. As it stands, it’s just fine, but entertaining.

AUDIENCE
Oh the joy – this was one of the best audiences I’ve witnessed in London. I didn’t see ANY phones during the show – and I was sitting in the way way back of the stalls, which usually means all you see is phones. There was a super old lady singing along sometimes and slapping her knees to the music and I shot her death stares but she was so old that that was probably dangerous. The girl next to me was coughing literally the entire first act so I moved for the second so that was fine. Honestly, most of the bad behavior came from the ushers I heard talking in the back and the back of house staff I could hear through the doors! Nonsense! Cameron Mackintosh better get his people under control.

STAGE DOOR
There were only like one or two weirdos there so I didn’t want to stay too long and also be a weirdo. The cast seemed super uninterested in talking to anyone anyway so best to skip this one.

   After a 40-year absence from the West End, one of the most important American musicals is finally back. And it’s the best musical currently playing in this town that favors its straight plays. Imelda Staunton takes on the iconic (beyond iconic) role of Mamma Rose, and it’s not like anyone ever doubted her abilities or anything, but she kills it. And I’m not just saying that because she would make me write the rest of this blog with my own blood if I said anything bad about her like she did to Harry. 

Having been spoiled by the greatest diva Patti LuPone as Mamma Rose in only the past decade, I had very high expectations for Imelda. Hell, Patti LuPone’s mere existence has given me high expectations for every facet of life, from dinner parties to toothbrushing. No one can try to rival Patti’s goddamn beautiful brassy voice on the big singing numbers; she LuPWNs everyone. But Imelda didn’t have to give us a big diva voice to effectively show us her crazy. While I did find myself yearning to listen to Patti’s cast recording later, Imelda’s acting, especially in her ballsiest moments, was off the charts impressive. Very often, I was transported to their world in the 1920s and ‘30s, forgetting that I was watching an actress I’ve adored for so long and sometimes forgetting to blink.

In case you don’t know, “Gypsy” tells the story of Rose, the original awful pushy stage mother whose name has become synonymous with awful pushy stage mothers, who will do anything to make her daughter a star. At first, she focuses her life and all of her being on June, the talented daughter, while pushing Louise, the not-so, to the side. (Or to the chorus as one of the boys in June’s act.) The family along with random boys (named after the towns they were picked up in, I love that) travel the country for years and years to perform at vaudeville halls for whatever they can get. June finally has enough when she’s at some grown-up age (they never really are sure of how old they are), and she and the boy that Louise had a crush on, Tulsa, elope. Poor Louise. Rose switches her focus to her remaining daughter, vowing to talent her up and make her a star. However, vaudeville is dying, and when their shitty act gets accidentally booked at a burlesque hall, everything changes. Louise almost accidentally finds her kind-of-creepy calling in a world where she doesn’t need or want her mother around anymore, and Rose realizes that her entire life was spent pushing her girls to stardom when obviously she just wanted fame for herself and never got it. So sad but so crazy.

Lots of important people say that “Gypsy” is the greatest American musical. I think it’s one of the most important, and definitely Rose is one of if not the most important female characters in the canon, but the show is not the best. It’s great, but there’s so much clutter – I had forgotten how much of the show is the stupid kids’ act. Oh my goodness! Baby June & Her Newsboys! Extra Extra! Look at the headline! Dainty June & Her Farmboys! Oh my god it gets ANNOYING. 70% of the first act is the kids performing. And 60% of Act II is the grow-up kids act with Louise as the star. We hear the act’s one song about 90 times, and then of course we hear “Let Me Entertain You” 99 times. I could sense my husband starting to hulk out when it literally became a stress test gone insane. Luckily, the parts that aren’t the kids performances are superb. It’s so funny, that the dramatic arc of the family dynamic is classic and brilliant, while the majority of the show, the pacing, the structure, is all these dumb kids. Once you make it through that, though, you are rewarded with some of the most compelling musical numbers ever. “Some People”, “Everything’s Coming Up Roses”, and “Rose’s Turn” are of course the big three, the core of Rose’s performance that all need to be absolutely nailed, and Imelda nailed them. I never knew she could sing at all, and I was blown away by how it wasn’t even singing, it was just a continuation of her character.

So many of the other smaller songs are equally memorable and beautiful. We have “Small World”, “Together Wherever We Go”, “If Mama Was Married”, the latter of which gives us our one and only glimpse into the sister relationship and it always  makes me want to see more of that. you wonder how much Rose created a divide between the girls and whether they could have bonded over complaining about her if given the chance to be friends. Although I suppose when June secretly marries the boy Louise had a crush on, the relationship is beyond strained.

Speaking of Tulsa, man that is such a good role for an up and coming young man. You show off your dancing and a little singing for like, 10 minutes, and then you are gone for the rest of the show. I love how subtle Louise’s falling for him is. It increases the emotional heft of her performance to feel that you’ve sensed a secret longing of someone onstage without overtly being told as such, like you form a connection with Louise and thus feel for her even more. The 2008 Broadway revival (Patti’s) spoiled me with Laura Benanti, who showed Louise’s emotional journey so subtly and exquisitely that she set the bar insanely high for future Gypsies. Also, her moos, as one of Dainty June’s farm animals, cannot be beat. (“Mu MOO mu moo.” She deserved a Tony just for that. It cracks me up.) Lara Pulver, the West End’s Gypsy, does a fine job in showing us Louise’s journey, and her voice is beautiful. My favorite moment of hers was her “Little Lamb”, a song I always forget about, but it’s really lovely and moving while being so so simple. But there’s nothing to Pulver’s performance that we aren’t explicitly shown, no deeper emotional levels or subtlety. I felt at times (as I so often do here) that her focus on keeping her American accent in check hindered her ability to fully be in character and show us more to Louise. Like, Gypsy Rose Lee isn’t some woodland sprite who lives a life of joy surrounded by singing butterflies, but that’s what she would have us believe at the end of this, that she was finally sincerely happy. There was no necessary edge to this proclamation of happiness, no bite undercutting it. And we need that.

The role of Herbie, Rose’s longtime, long-suffering partner, is equally important, and Peter Davison was very good, although he sounded eerily close to Gene Hackman’s chain-smoking tobacco magnate in “Heartbreakers”. However, he seemed almost too strong to be hurt by Rose, and when he finally finally leaves her for good, you are not upset because you are just happy for him! Yay Herbie! Run don’t walk and so on! I think that scene is supposed to be a bit more crushing though. When Herbie seems weaker, it is, because it’s easier to see that he really does love Rose for some reason. But this Herbie was a little too normal, and there’s no normal in “Gypsy”.

After such a remarkable night, the ending left me kind of confused and cold. In the 2008 revival and in the versions I’m more familiar with, the ‘reconciliation’ between Rose and Louise is tentative, to say the least. I always thought the point was that Louise despised Rose or at least blamed her for everything terrible that has befallen the family, and for her private anguish. I remember Laura Benanti’s Louise laughing at Rose’s dream and the tension between the two still being fo’ serious. Rose is left kind of pathetically dragging behind. Here, instead, they seemed to fully make up, with Pulver’s Louise being like ‘Dude I’m SO happy there is NOTHING I’m hiding in my talk about happiness, just pure joy!’ and the last shot should have been Rose tripping-running to catch up to her star of a daughter (that was such a shockingly good image, like Rose was scurrying still to chase stardom), but instead the last shot is Louise putting her arm around her mother when she does catch up! What is that! There’s no happy mother-daughter ending in “Gypsy”! I was quite taken aback by this type of forgiveness-filled ending to what should be a wretched, regret-filled end for Rose. It’s much more dramatic and moving if there’s no forgiveness (like in life!). It an unfortunate final minute or so to two hours of splendid theatre, so it’s okay. Imelda’s performance is so unbelievable, it’s a must-see. It’s kind of hilarious that the Olivier Awards occurred only a few nights before this show opened, because the fact that there is anyone else, male of female, lead or supporting, performing on the West End and supposedly giving an award-worthy performance while Imelda is living and breathing this role is kind of ridiculous.

OH. There’s a live puppy. So it’s worth seeing for that. PUPPIEEEEEE!

AUDIENCE: Oh dammit. I mean. PEOPLE. You’d think the audience at “Gypsy” would be well-behaved. For the most part, they were okay…but they talked during the overtures. And I don’t mean people behind me were whispering and I could shush them easily (I mean, they were and I did, but that’s not the point.) EVERYONE in the whole theatre was talking at regular volume during the overture. And especially when it is so rare to be treated to the full overture nowadays (or even to have one in shows at all), that is a crying shame. (And it literally almost made me cry, it’s so frustrating.) People apparently thought it was just like ‘sit-down’ music and that the show didn’t start yet. Ughhhhahhhh the overture sets the tone of the show! It has begun, you ingrates! It happened at the start of Act II as well, with the shorter interlude still being too long for our audience to stay quiet. What is wrong with people? It actually got to the point where I was thisclose to standing up and yelling “SHUT YOUR DAMN FACEHOLES!” But I haven’t quite figured out when that is the less disturbing/more helpful action to take in a crap situation like that. One day, I hope to have the courage to actually do it. Actually, if we’re hoping for stuff, I hope for people to stop acting like idiots in the theatre, how about that.