"The Color Purple" on Broadway: I Have Seen the Light Praise Jeebusby Randi / April 29, 2016
Honestly? I don’t think I’ve ever smiled so much during a show. Okay, well aside from funnier comedies that make you laugh the whole way through (this season’s “Noises Off” hurt my face, Martin Short’s “Fame Becomes Me” did the same, probably “The Book of Mormon” too). But this was a different kind of constant grinning, the kind that you can’t help but do when you are in the presence of perfection and nothing can bring you down from this floating type of elation. Okay, well aside from the bitches next to you who won’t stop talking until you glare at their male companion until he feels embarrassed on their behalf and then you finally just say shut your mouths or I’ll shut them for you permanently you ungodly pieces of heaving garbage. Okay I didn’t say that but what I am saying is, “She Loves Me” was flawless (well, aside from the actual flaw in the performance I attended, but we will get there) and will live in my heart like a little pink bubble that won’t kill you.
Confession: Although “She Loves Me” is a musical theatre classic from the 1960s, by all- stars Harnick & Bock (also responsible for the sublime music of “Fiddler on the Roof”), and is the source of one of Barbara Cook’s most iconic roles…I didn’t actually know it. I never listened to the original cast album. I didn’t know that the lovely heartfelt showtune “Will He Like Me” was from it, even though I loved that song. Worst of all guys, I mean, what is my favorite movie? Tied for first with “The Princess Bride”? “You’ve Got Mail”, of course, because I’m of sound mind. Well, guess what, “She Loves Me” is of the “You’ve Got Mail”/”Shop Around the Corner” lineage, being also based on the story of “Parfumerie”, the gift that keeps on giving to reinvention. So the fact that I, professional musical theatre obsessor, didn’t know that there was a CLASSIC MUSICAL that was an earlier version of YOU’VE GOT MAIL, well, let’s just say it made me question everything. The only thing I didn’t question was that holy shit, a musical version of “You’ve Got Mail” was going to be the one single [show] in the world that filled [my] heart with joy. (“Well don’t be ridiculous. Have I ever [seen a show] that fit that description? Have you?!”)
So I knew it was going to be good, because of my YGM bias and because the cast was even better than when Broadway forums dream-cast stuff. Man alive, I didn’t know it would be a vegan cream puff of perfection. About that dream cast: Laura Benanti would take the Meg Ryan role, of course, because Laura Benanti is probably the funniest actress there is who is also a sublime soprano. Her Amalia Balash would be edgier than Kathleen Kelly because Laura has the sarcastic deadpan delivery to deadpan all deadpans. Done, amazing, Tony nom guaranteed (and win in any other year). The rest of the cast is where things get interesting. Josh Radnor, the actor behind the much maligned Ted from “How I Met Your Mother” (mostly maligned by me), was initially supposed to play the Tom Hanks role of Georg Novack (spelled like The Sound of Music’s ‘Gay-org’ but just pronounced ‘George’, so why not use the second e huh? Huh?), which is interesting to me because I’ve never heard him sing for real. And also I would just see Ted the whole time and be like UGH YOU SUCK TED STOP WHINING. But luckily, Josh pulled out (so he won’t get preeeeeeeeeeeggggggggggnnnnnnnnaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnttttt) and Broadway favorite (in just two shows!) Zachary Levi (of “Chuck” fame) stepped in. Listen. Several years ago, Zachary starred in “First Date” on Broadway, which wasn’t a great show but he delighted the whole theatre community, which recognized like, oh Broadway does have the potential to have handsome talented Clooney-style leading men. With Robert Fairchild last year, Steven Pasquale, and now Zachary Levi in his greatest performance yet, we’re in like a golden age of Broadway leading men to match the golden age of actual theatre productions we’re also in. (Can we please get Raul back onstage?)
Levi is even more delightful and enthralling and captivating and joyous than he’s ever been before. He really was perfection. Even better than THanks. His big number, the title song (“she LOOOOVES me!”), was the best moment of the night. There was so much damn joy on that stage, even though he was all by himself, and then he did a cartwheel and it was even more joyous. The song itself is wonderful, with its adorable lyrics that Levi played perfectly (my favorite line is “I’m trembling, what the hell does that mean? I’m freezing. That’s because it’s cold out”. He made it hilarious). I was so surprised at how winning his performance was, even as he was sharing the stage with Benanti and the supporting cast that initially was the reason for drawing me in: Jane Krakowski, Gavin Creel, and Michael McGrath. All my <3s! It’s a relentlessly great cast that was only almost outdone by the jaw-dropping set design. Set in a perfumerie like the original story and not in bookstores, “She Loves Me” tells the story of a group of lovable Hungarian perfumerie clerks in the 1930s, selling their wares while developing relationships with each other, as friends, as lovers, and sometimes as haters. Georg and Amalia initially get on each others nerves, like big time, and they caaaan’t staaaand each other. Little do they know that they have been writing love letters to each other through a Lonely Hearts pen pal kind of thing (the old version of online dating I guess). Their letters start with ‘Dear Friend’, which is where YGM gets it!! loved that!
As their relationship grows in starkly different ways in the shop and in their letters, Georg and Amalia are buoyed by a glorious supporting cast having their own excitement. Amalia’s Miss Rhode Island here is Ilona Ritter, played by the hilarious Jane Krakowski. As hilarious as Jane gets to be on television, her role here was more gentle and endearing, probably because, while she had lots of great lines, Laura’s Amalia had all the zingers. Ilona begins the show by having a very imprudent dalliance with fellow clerk Kodaly, a suave and unkind man played by the suave and very kind and very talented Gavin Creel. Their big number is rousing fun and features Jane doing full splits and then being pulled across the stage – still in the split. Pretty impressive! However, at my performance, some crazy loud whirring noise was coming out behind the speakers on the right side wall, like from behind the boxes. They didn’t stop the show, and I wish they would have. Sometimes you have to keep the show going, and it’s not the actors’ call usually, but man I really wish they stopped it because it was so loud for the mezzanine that you couldn’t even hear Gavin sing. I missed his whole number, pretty much. Actually now that I think about it I wish I asked for a free ticket to another performance. Actually now I’m really mad they didn’t stop the show. Stupid whoever is in charge of that. I could see members of the orchestra looking towards the sound and being like ‘wtf is that!’ grrrr anger.
Okay, breathe, let’s breathe, and whoever knows people at Roundabout make sure they get me a free ticket. Moving on. The only strangely downer part in “She Loves Me” comes courtesy of Byron Jenkins’ Dabney Coleman, I’m assuming. As Maraczek, the owner of the perfumerie (named Maraczek’s), Byron is very mean to poor nicest person ever Georg for no good reason, going so far as to fire him at one point. We find out that it was because he suspected Georg of having an affair with his wife, when of course it wasn’t and of course it was the scoundrel employee among them (Kodaly). When Maraczek finds out he was wrong and fired the wrong man, he tries to kill himself. Fortunately we don’t really see it (just some red lights behind closed doors), and fortunately he doesn’t succeed, but damn, that is some jarring, out-of-place drama if I ever saw it. That poor sad multi-millionaire I feel so *sorry* for him. Happily, Mr. Maraczek is (quickly) fine and makes it up to Georg by promising him the store. So that’s quite good.
Then we have the very lovable Michael McGrath in the Dave Chappelle role of Georg’s bestie and confidante. Listen. Dave Chappelle in “You’ve Got Mail” is one of the great cinematic performances of the century. “She gon be a real dog” is #1 on all AFI lists of Most Influential and Important Film Quotes of all time. Say it with me Kanye-style: OF ALL TIME! He was amazing. So for anyone to try to top that performance is a real test. Luckily, this being set in 1930s Hungary and Michael McGrath being a 58-year-old white man, he was directed differently than Dave was. McGrath plays a kind-hearted, decent man who wants everyone to be happy and everything to run smoothly. He also sees early on that Georg and Amalia love each other, even though they think they hate each other. McGrath was so perfect in this role, I am very sad to report that I think I saw his last performance, because he left the show for personal reasons. I don’t think anyone really knows why and I hope he is okay.
In addition to the perfect cast and the perfect score and direction and everything was the set, perhaps my favorite traditional set design ever. Oh my goodness this set had me jumping up and down in my seat in giddiness metaphorically of course because I would never disturb the people around me in a theatre like that even though everyone else who goes to the theatre seems to have no problem disturbing those around them because we live in an age of entitlement and zero manners. The set was so gorgeous, like a little (but giant) toybox that spun around and opened into endless compartments to form all the different rooms of the shop. It was BIG and BEEYOOTIFUL. Like the architectural version of a French pastry on display in a window.
Obviously I have been saving the best for last. Laura Benanti is so wonderful in this. She’s played a lot of supporting characters, and here she gets the chance to really shine as she was meant to. Amalia lets her break out her rarely heard (lately) beautiful soprano voice, hitting high notes and staying up there with that great operatic style that we don’t really get anymore in newer musicals that are all about belting. But she also plays Amalia with a hardness in her that comes out as comedy and is understandable for her character, before she opens herself up to love. Her comic timing is impeccable, and her specific brand of it is different from anything I’ve seen from a musical theatre actress. Some find her sarcasm and cynicism off-putting but, maybe because that’s often my style of comedy, I love it. Amalia’s big famous number, “Vanilla Ice Cream” (what Georg brings her when she’s sick, like when THanks brings Kathleen daisies because they are her favorite flower and she sneezes in the intercom and it’s so funny and then she has her trio of amazing yeses) was indeed beautiful, but my favorite was the extraordinarily silly “Where’s My Shoe?” Some people hate that song because it’s silly, but omg it was so funny and well done. Amalia is trying to get dressed for work and can’t find her shoe. And she jumps around her bed and stuff and it’s just the funniest thing, so well orchestrated.
This year was unparalleled in the quality of musical revivals. Two fantastic ones, “Spring Awakening” and “The Color Purple”, reinvented their original stories in meaningful, effective ways. While “She Loves Me” didn’t do anything similarly revolutionary, this revival was instead a wonderfully traditional version of its show, nothing revelatory except how perfectly it was done. It’s special to have such insanely high quality of both kinds of reviving in the same season.
AUDIENCE
This is the show where Benanti famously stopped because someone’s phone was ringing. She looked out and said coolly “I’ll wait.” F-ing badass. And because it’s an older traditional show, it does attract the oldies who are typically the worst audience members. Like I said above, the people next to me were f-ing horrible. They weren’t so much old as they were girlfriends excited to be drinking overpriced drinks. Oy. Nothing worse than any other audiences though, really. Side note: Row E in the rearish mezzanine is actually sort of its own front row because there is a break that doesn’t show up on seating charts. So it’s a great seat that happens to be on the cheaper side. Studio 54 (not that one) (is it?) is an enormous cavernous theatre, though, so it all seems far away.
STAGE DOOR
Even though only Zachary Levi came out even though it was a Saturday night and I waited for everrrr, it was still the best stage door experience ever. Just as he did for “First Date”, Levi came out, as he does after every show, with his speakers and turned it into a dance party. He is just so full of joy and gratitude and kindness that it’s infectious and everyone has a gay old time. I hope he stays on Broadway forever. Benanti sent out signed Playbills, which she kindly does very often when she doesn’t sign. Both of them are going beyond the call of duty and it’s really nice.
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What Do You See: “Red” Brings Rothko Back to the West End
It’s Theatre Thursday! Today we are talking about “Red” on the West End, playing until the end of July.
Although giving props to white men right about now is the last thing we should be doing, I have to give some (is it a mass noun?) to white male playwright John Logan for being the first person to depict serious art and the modern art world without making me scream from the cringe. (“Sunday in the Park with George” is not about modern art and it is still the best depiction of the artist and the creative process ever to exist in the history of the world.) Whenever I’ve watched stories about self-important artists, fictional or not, or even just gone to a modern art museum (ew and oh no) my main thoughts have been ‘oh my gooooood get over yourself’. The whole ‘I have something to say and this splash of paint thrown against a singed canvas represents that but also progress and our birth’ charade makes my blood boil. Maybe it’s just because artists are so often portrayed in pop culture as pretentious wankers who really believe they have something urgent to say but they really really don’t, like Sky in “Red Oaks” (great under-the-radar show, go watch it). And all of her insufferable artist friends man alive they are the perfect example of this. You just want to Cher in Moonstruck all of them. Anyway before I start ranting even more about all the various portrayals of arrogant, affected artists in movies and TV, let’s talk about this representation of a modern artist that I actually bought into and understood, the play “Red”, about Mark Rothko’s tortured creative process.
Although giving props to white men right about now is the last thing we should be doing, I have to give some (is it a mass noun?) to white male playwright John Logan for being the first person to depict serious art and the modern art world without making me scream from the cringe. (“Sunday in the Park with George” is not about modern art and it is still the best depiction of the artist and the creative process ever to exist in the history of the world.) Whenever I’ve watched stories about self-important artists, fictional or not, or even just gone to a modern art museum (ew and oh no) my main thoughts have been ‘oh my gooooood get over yourself’. The whole ‘I have something to say and this splash of paint thrown against a singed canvas represents that but also progress and our birth’ charade makes my blood boil. Maybe it’s just because artists are so often portrayed in pop culture as pretentious wankers who really believe they have something urgent to say but they really really don’t, like Sky in “Red Oaks” (great under-the-radar show, go watch it). And all of her insufferable artist friends man alive they are the perfect example of this. You just want to Cher in Moonstruck all of them. Anyway before I start ranting even more about all the various portrayals of arrogant, affected artists in movies and TV, let’s talk about this representation of a modern artist that I actually bought into and understood, the play “Red”, about Mark Rothko’s tortured creative process.
It’s quite surprising that the subject of a play that made me more sympathetic to the strife and struggles of tormented artists is Mark Rothko, whose famous canvases are exactly the sort that would normally make me comment ‘well I made that same thing when I was five um what’ so yes this play is an achievement. It’s easy to recognize a Rothko work because it’s the one with a smudged rectangle of one color painted on it and if you’re lucky you get a second smudged rectangle of a different color. It’s the epitome of art that I simply don’t understand. It’s not that I like or dislike it but there’s only so much you can ‘feel’ from looking at a smudged rectangle, you know? How do people pay millions of dollars for big canvases with just a messy red square on it? Happily, these are questions that Logan addresses in his play “Red”, which originally premiered in London and now is back on the West End with original star Alfred Molina as Rothko.
Molina’s Rothko is the kind of performance that makes you forget that you are watching one. It quickly lets you dive in and accept that you’re watching Rothko the artist work, without ever thinking about his acting. It’s a rare performer that can so completely inhabit the character like that, erasing any trace of the actor or his well-known past performances and just presenting Rothko on that stage so fully. I didn’t get to see Fred (as his friends call him) perform this role on Broadway after its premiere but I understand now how he could have won that year’s Distinguished Performance Award from the Drama League, the best acting award there is really. I get how this performance could have defined what acting is and should be for a whole season. Fred’s costar in this production fares well but not nearly as expertly. Alfred Enoch plays Rothko’s assistant, and so we have probably the first play in the history of the theatre/the world where 100% of the cast is named Alfred. So, Enoch’s playing the role that won Eddie Redmayne a Tony. I imagine Redmayne, a stellar actor, probably also disappeared into the role, while Enoch, though he does a great job, still showed me that he was Acting quite often, mainly when using props – opening jars, mixing paint. It was often a little too stagey. Honestly, I kept thinking of the part in “Oh, Hello” when they talk about using props and John Mulaney says, “Please, do WAY too much business with the phone. Really show the audience you’ve been working with the prop all week” and Nick Kroll says “Really make a meal out of it.” So that’s what his performance, while commendable, kept reminding me of. A little too unnatural, maybe because most of his career has been onscreen (although that’s over right now #wesforever).
The play begins with the new (fictionalized) assistant arriving for his first day of work. I just looked up what the assistant’s name is and it’s Ken and I’ve never been so surprised by a fact in my life. I don’t think they ever say it but also like who is named Ken anymore. I guess this was supposed to take place more than 50 years ago but were there even Kens then? Ken (I mean) arrives in a suit for his first day of work and that’s cute but his work is in Rothko’s messy, splattered art studio so Rothko’s like “that’s cute, go change” and I like that he was a no bullshit kind of guy like that but at the same time sooooo full of bullshit like when he talks about how his red glop of paint represents everything anyone has ever felt and all that. But wait, like I said I don’t actually think that’s all utter bullshit anymore, actually, because of this play. Watching the creative process and hearing the artist debate what his work means with another artist, kind of in their own Socratic method to get to the heart of the matter, was enlightening for me, a renowned modern art truther.
Mark and Ken work together to produce Mark’s famous four murals for the new Four Seasons restaurant in the Seagram building in Midtown Manhattan. Ken is shocked that Mark accepted such a commission, creating art for a dining room full of rich obnoxious people that he despises. But Mark’s hope is to destroy their appetite, ostensibly by making them confront their inner demons and fears and passions and maybe realize how terrible they are by forcing them to confront what they feel the red means. And that question, what the red means to the individual, is mainly what Ken and Mark discuss in between mixing the paint and prepping the canvas – the latter of which is the most fun bit of the play, and from the looks of the Alfreds afterward, the most exhausting cardio. The question of what the red means, and how different and complex it can be for each individual, and all that talk talk they make in my earholes about it, is honestly what got me to come around on the whole modern art thing. Well at least Rothko’s. Well at least his red series. There is meaning and such depth of emotion and personal history and tragedy and fear and hope behind those colors, even though it looks like a simple square of paint that could have been done by a child. There really is more to it than that. And while I don’t think it should be necessary for a play to make you appreciate art, I’m grateful that this one makes me a little less hateful towards that gallery across the river from me (cough *Tate Modern* cough).
Despite being far from warm, the relationship between the two men is the provocative aspect of the show. I love how time passes for these men – two years at least – and it doesn’t seem like it. Ken seems just as unsettled at the end as he did at the beginning, and Rothko is just as detached, despite their heated discussions. I bet that Ken never showed him any of his own work. Mark wasn’t that kind of guy, the one you show your work to and ask for his ‘honest’ opinion. It would be too honest. Yet it’s clear they care for each other; you just have to understand how the artist’s mind works, as I do now (laugh). Even in his final act towards Ken, Mark doesn’t seem affectionate or caring, but his actions speak much more than his words or demeanor. There’s so much more to them than whether or not Rothko can be a nurturing father figure (he can’t) or whether that’s even what Ken wants. And there’s more than meets the eye with how the action is staged too, like how Ken finds a superdrunk Mark with his hands in his paint bucket one night, an undeniable reference to his real-life suicide. This kind of subtle direction plus the way the characters communicate with each other all feel connected to the issue of the colors and how sensitive the interpretation of them can be to each person, how just the color red can reference an entire lifetime of emotion. “Red” isn’t a big important political play or anything; it feels like a pleasant but small exploration of personalities more than anything. But if it can say so much about art and moreover get you to consider art more thoughtfully and genuinely than you had before, then that seems pretty important.
INFORMATION
The toilets at the Wyndham’s are atrocious. There are TWO ladies toilets for the entire stalls/orchestra section. The line was insane. They need to refurbish and until they do, sit on an aisle upstairs.
Also in need of a redo is their box office. For people picking up tickets at will call (literally everyone), there was ONE person at a makeshift podium handling collection. It was so inefficient I wanted to scream. I can’t with this incompetence all over the West End.
STAGE DOOR
The Alfreds are probably the nicest people who have ever come out of a stage door. Not the most efficient – there’s no Zachs Braff or Levi-style assured handling of the crowd (they would line everyone up for easy photo-taking or just take your phone and do it themselves, pros) but they were just so freaking nice, not turning anyone’s request down, even when they clearly wanted to leave and some old biddy was asking for them to sign her receipts after they already signed her ticket stubs. I wanted to be like ‘you don’t have to do this you can leave now!’ but they were just the sweetest.
Molina’s Rothko is the kind of performance that makes you forget that you are watching one. It quickly lets you dive in and accept that you’re watching Rothko the artist work, without ever thinking about his acting. It’s a rare performer that can so completely inhabit the character like that, erasing any trace of the actor or his well-known past performances and just presenting Rothko on that stage so fully. I didn’t get to see Fred (as his friends call him) perform this role on Broadway after its premiere but I understand now how he could have won that year’s Distinguished Performance Award from the Drama League, the best acting award there is really. I get how this performance could have defined what acting is and should be for a whole season. Fred’s costar in this production fares well but not nearly as expertly. Alfred Enoch plays Rothko’s assistant, and so we have probably the first play in the history of the theatre/the world where 100% of the cast is named Alfred. So, Enoch’s playing the role that won Eddie Redmayne a Tony. I imagine Redmayne, a stellar actor, probably also disappeared into the role, while Enoch, though he does a great job, still showed me that he was Acting quite often, mainly when using props – opening jars, mixing paint. It was often a little too stagey. Honestly, I kept thinking of the part in “Oh, Hello” when they talk about using props and John Mulaney says, “Please, do WAY too much business with the phone. Really show the audience you’ve been working with the prop all week” and Nick Kroll says “Really make a meal out of it.” So that’s what his performance, while commendable, kept reminding me of. A little too unnatural, maybe because most of his career has been onscreen (although that’s over right now #wesforever).
The play begins with the new (fictionalized) assistant arriving for his first day of work. I just looked up what the assistant’s name is and it’s Ken and I’ve never been so surprised by a fact in my life. I don’t think they ever say it but also like who is named Ken anymore. I guess this was supposed to take place more than 50 years ago but were there even Kens then? Ken (I mean) arrives in a suit for his first day of work and that’s cute but his work is in Rothko’s messy, splattered art studio so Rothko’s like “that’s cute, go change” and I like that he was a no bullshit kind of guy like that but at the same time sooooo full of bullshit like when he talks about how his red glop of paint represents everything anyone has ever felt and all that. But wait, like I said I don’t actually think that’s all utter bullshit anymore, actually, because of this play. Watching the creative process and hearing the artist debate what his work means with another artist, kind of in their own Socratic method to get to the heart of the matter, was enlightening for me, a renowned modern art truther.
Mark and Ken work together to produce Mark’s famous four murals for the new Four Seasons restaurant in the Seagram building in Midtown Manhattan. Ken is shocked that Mark accepted such a commission, creating art for a dining room full of rich obnoxious people that he despises. But Mark’s hope is to destroy their appetite, ostensibly by making them confront their inner demons and fears and passions and maybe realize how terrible they are by forcing them to confront what they feel the red means. And that question, what the red means to the individual, is mainly what Ken and Mark discuss in between mixing the paint and prepping the canvas – the latter of which is the most fun bit of the play, and from the looks of the Alfreds afterward, the most exhausting cardio. The question of what the red means, and how different and complex it can be for each individual, and all that talk talk they make in my earholes about it, is honestly what got me to come around on the whole modern art thing. Well at least Rothko’s. Well at least his red series. There is meaning and such depth of emotion and personal history and tragedy and fear and hope behind those colors, even though it looks like a simple square of paint that could have been done by a child. There really is more to it than that. And while I don’t think it should be necessary for a play to make you appreciate art, I’m grateful that this one makes me a little less hateful towards that gallery across the river from me (cough *Tate Modern* cough).
Despite being far from warm, the relationship between the two men is the provocative aspect of the show. I love how time passes for these men – two years at least – and it doesn’t seem like it. Ken seems just as unsettled at the end as he did at the beginning, and Rothko is just as detached, despite their heated discussions. I bet that Ken never showed him any of his own work. Mark wasn’t that kind of guy, the one you show your work to and ask for his ‘honest’ opinion. It would be too honest. Yet it’s clear they care for each other; you just have to understand how the artist’s mind works, as I do now (laugh). Even in his final act towards Ken, Mark doesn’t seem affectionate or caring, but his actions speak much more than his words or demeanor. There’s so much more to them than whether or not Rothko can be a nurturing father figure (he can’t) or whether that’s even what Ken wants. And there’s more than meets the eye with how the action is staged too, like how Ken finds a superdrunk Mark with his hands in his paint bucket one night, an undeniable reference to his real-life suicide. This kind of subtle direction plus the way the characters communicate with each other all feel connected to the issue of the colors and how sensitive the interpretation of them can be to each person, how just the color red can reference an entire lifetime of emotion. “Red” isn’t a big important political play or anything; it feels like a pleasant but small exploration of personalities more than anything. But if it can say so much about art and moreover get you to consider art more thoughtfully and genuinely than you had before, then that seems pretty important.
INFORMATION
The toilets at the Wyndham’s are atrocious. There are TWO ladies toilets for the entire stalls/orchestra section. The line was insane. They need to refurbish and until they do, sit on an aisle upstairs.
Also in need of a redo is their box office. For people picking up tickets at will call (literally everyone), there was ONE person at a makeshift podium handling collection. It was so inefficient I wanted to scream. I can’t with this incompetence all over the West End.
STAGE DOOR
The Alfreds are probably the nicest people who have ever come out of a stage door. Not the most efficient – there’s no Zachs Braff or Levi-style assured handling of the crowd (they would line everyone up for easy photo-taking or just take your phone and do it themselves, pros) but they were just so freaking nice, not turning anyone’s request down, even when they clearly wanted to leave and some old biddy was asking for them to sign her receipts after they already signed her ticket stubs. I wanted to be like ‘you don’t have to do this you can leave now!’ but they were just the sweetest.
RAGS the Musical at Park Theatre: A Moving, Relevant Production of a Lesser (Known) Work
Today’s show is the new production of RAGS the Musical at Park Theatre in London’s Finsbury Park, playing until February 8.
There is nothing more incredible than when musical theatre shares something magical that changes my life from that point forward. Sometimes it’s a superb, gorgeous score that will forever live in my heart. Sometimes it’s a performance so magnificent it remains indelible. And then you have the new production of RAGS, which hath bequeathed upon me the most fantastic term of endearment for my husband: my Shabbos goy.
Now it sounds like I’m joking but I’m so serious, this is the best thing ever, and I wonder how I never before came across this perfect phrase for a non-Jew who comes into a Jewish household to do the prohibited work (like turning on the lights) on Shabbat. I LOVE IT. No matter how I felt about the rest of the show, this is what I’d call a successful night at the theatre. And you know husbo’s happy with his new title [Ed. Note – he is not].
But fortunately for theatre fans in London, the new production of RAGS at the Park Theatre is a good one, providing much more than a bit of fun with Yiddish. The tale of Jewish immigrants making a new life in 1910s America may be predictable and clichéd but it’s enjoyable and ultimately moving, featuring classic immigrant struggles, good pacing, some great comic relief (sup Rachel Izen), and above all, great performances, especially from Carolyn Maitland reigning over the stage as Rebecca and an adorable Jude Muir (alternating) as her young son David. Honestly, the bones of the show itself are not that strong. It’s an overall mediocre score (with highlights) and a trouble-making book if there ever was one (more infra), with a truly unnecessary Hamlet (*cough* Haim-let) bit. But the production as a whole is strong enough to elevate the material, making this quite a successful undertaking of a show most people have written off not only as lesser known but also as less than.
When RAGS premiered on Broadway in 1986, it closed after only four (4!) performances, making it one of the most infamous flops in musical theatre history. Whether it was due to the somewhat pedestrian score, the confused and overloaded book, or just the lack of interest, I don’t know (I do know most theatregoers were still making their way to the ridiculous spectacle of Cats that year), but it came, went, and was mostly forgotten, failing to achieve what Ragtime would with a very similar story a decade later. With RAGS, Joseph Stein set out to ostensibly write the sequel to Fiddler on the Roof (which he also wrote the book for, you knew that), imagining what would have happened next for the victims of the pogroms if they made it out of the shtetl and sailed to America. You can’t blame him for wanting so badly to convey the emotional and dramatic heft of what these people would have gone through that he overfilled the story, but unfortunately, he focused on the results he wanted from the audience and not the means of authentically getting there. So much of RAGS clearly demands an emotional reaction, but unlike with Fiddler, it doesn’t build up the necessary world or develop characters sufficiently to reach that point as often as it wants to. The moments where Stein et al. wanted us to CRY are so blatantly demanding emotional connection, and when you demand it instead of earn it, you don’t get it.
In the decades since its premiere, RAGS has been rewritten, refocused, and retooled to try to make it something worth salvaging. Now with a revised book by David Thompson, this current incarnation may not be perfect, but it’s definitely an improvement and definitely worth the effort, though there are still blatant moments where there may as well be a light-up sign flashing CRY or BE MOVED (as opposed to the sign actually held onstage at one point that read NO DOGS NO JEWS, which is terrible but made me laugh because I was like ‘those are literally the best things on earth idiots, why not add NO CHOCOLATE and NO TV to it, Nazi morons’). Luckily for us, the performances manage to earn the desired outcome: Dave Willetts’ grief-stricken Avram, Maitland’s repeat anguish, Muir’s remembered terrors – the performances manage to move us where the book wishes it could.
And this revised book is HUNDO P better than the original. Not to be morbid but killing off Rebecca’s husband before the story begins makes much more sense. Not saying the name of the factory where Bella goes to work is a necessity (or maybe I just didn’t hear it?), because once you hear Triangle Shirtwaist Factory (which is, as we learned on Crazy Ex Girlfriend, the favorite fire of Rebecca and Greg, which is supes dark), you been know what’s going down: more than 100 factory workers died, mostly young Jewish and Italian girls so yeah, it’s good they don’t have her say “I got a job at the TSF” because then you’d just be sitting there waiting for it to happen, whereas it’s more of a shock (though not at all a surprise, what a gd mess industry was at this time) this way. The character of Bella is still underserved, banking on bullshirt traits like ‘nice’ and ‘good’ and ‘pretty’ instead of making a fully fleshed character, but it’s improved, and Martha Kirby gives a winning performance nonetheless. And making the character of Saul now Salvatore, an Italian, (the supes charming Alex Gibson-Giorgio) pays off in several ways. I especially loved the scene of the Sabbath prayer mixed with the Italians at prayer (so well done). However, I’m shocked that the proposed love affair with Rebecca never leads to any conversation or hesitation about him being a gentile (given the black hats and David’s payot, I assumed they were Orthodox). It’s cool to think of Rebecca as like the OG interfaith relationship proponent (does my fam bam have her to thank?) but it would need some shoring up in the story, or like, any commentary at all.
Best of all, moving the one SPECTACULAR song in the score, “Children of the Wind”, from early on to now the very end is a genius move, because that’s what we remember. Charles Strouse’s music suffers from the blahs for some of this show but this is where he comes through. (Though it’s Stephen Schwartz’s lyrics that felt surprisingly pedestrian (surprising, I guess, when my favorites from Pippin and Wicked are in the forefront of my mind; not so much when you remember much of Godspell or “Something bad is happening in Oz/something bad/happening in Oz” (I’m sorry no one has a perfect track record.))) I don’t know how Maitland has any voice left in the show to deliver this final number (espesh after shouting at Avram, which seems mean I mean he’s grieving) but she does and it’s worth seeing the show for this moment alone. This song is a sweeping, gorgeous summary of why this tale keeps feeling so necessary and so relevant. As an American, I was crushed to realize just how little progress we’ve made in welcoming immigrants (and, you know, Nazis are in power), and as a Brit (heyoo that’s right) I was depressed to consider how this country is also falling down the idiot slide of blaming immigrants and Jews for its problems. But as a Jew, this song was a revelation: I don’t consider myself a Zionist and I definitely don’t approve of Netanyahu’s government, but wow if this song isn’t the best explanation for why Jewish people feel the need to have a land that is truly and safely theirs. I get it. I don’t understand how anyone could hear this song or watch this show and not get it – for any minority – which is a testament to the power of theatre.
INFORMATION
RAGS plays at the Park Theatre until February 8.
The Park Theatre was designed by, to quote Lewis Black, a guy with scoliosis who is really forking pissed. At least in the circle (just two rows! Not a bad seat in the house, really, view-wise), the seats are all love seats (for two) and there is no leg room, so the entire row has to like, exit the area for anyone to move down it. It felt like sitting on a high bar stool for 2 ½ hours (complete with the inability to reach my purse on the floor). I think it’s a new theatre too so like, what? How!
The circle bathrooms are upstairs in the bar, 3 stalls for ladies. RUN BITCHES.
