Wadi Shab is Gorges: My Favorite Place in Oman (+ Bimmah Sinkhole!)by Randi / July 10, 2019It’s Theatre Thursday! Today we are talking about the debut London production of The Light in the Piazza, which ended its run last weekend AND which was announced by a staffer at Southbank Centre as “The Light in the Pizza will begin in 3 minutes” I kid you not.
The year before I studied abroad in Florence (“in Firenze in Firenze in Firenze in Firenze the painting of the world! it started then and there, and here we are!” if you don’t know all the words to this show you got some work to do), I saw the new Broadway musical The Light in the Piazza, and I was blown away by how gorgeous it was. I screamed and danced in my seat (in my head! not a monster) at the golden age-adjacent score, the poignancy of the emotional beats, and the breakout performance from the person who would become my ATQ (all-time queen), Kelli O’Hara. I loved the show so much I saw it again and I screamed in my seat “YUP DEFINITELY STUDYING IN FIRENZE AND DEFINITELY GONNA FIND FABRIZIO AND BE LIKE SELL TOO MANY TIES FOR ME FABBY!” (but in my head). So when they announced that the show was finally coming to London (only took 14 years) and not only that, but starring RENEE FORKING FLEMING?? Again, screaming in the seat, in my head. If ever I was overexcited for a show, boy howdy was this one it (it’s okay to talk like that because the characters are southern). And if ever I was going to be disappointed…well, dammit.
The problem is, well there are several. Overall, the book is problematic as all get-out, and the perfection of the Broadway production distracted me from noticing OH SHIT THIS IS MR. F GOES TO ITALY. (If you don’t get that joke you should watch “Arrested Development”.) This was also Z’s very first exposure to the show, so being cognizant of that meant I was thinking of how this production of this show worked as a representative for the material, and it wasn’t great. This show is PROBlematic as fuuuuuuck! (Z’s the one that pointed out the Mr. F thing.) (He was pretty much Lindy West for Love Actually about this show.)
So why is this show so cringey? Let’s share the plot. (NB the show is based on a 1960 novella and subsequent 1962 film so we can’t blame book writer Craig Lucas for everything.) The Light in the Piazza takes place in the 1950s, when a well-to-do southern belle named Margaret Johnson takes her daughter Clara to Italy. Clara is carefree and child-like, but looks to be in her 20s – except not in this production, because as played by Dove Cameron (which is a great name for a very Italian show, because it’s like ‘where is Cameron?’), Clara looks 14 AT MOST, which makes everything much worse. Clara meets a young man named Fabrizio (“Fabriiiiiiizioooooo”) and they fall in love and want to get married, even though they literally have had half of one conversation total because Clara does not speak Italian and Fabrizio only speaks THE MOST ADORABLE VERSION OF BROKEN ENGLISH EVER DOCUMENTED IN AN ART. He sings to her about her milky-white skin (“milky-hwite…milky-hwite…” that’s from A League of their Own not this) without knowing the word for ‘skin’ so he keeps saying milk and it’s the best part when done right and so ANYWAY, the kids want to get married even though they just met and don’t know each other and Margaret is like ‘that’s a bad idea, no’ even though Fabby’s family is like ‘This is great idea! Everyone marry now! we eatah the pasta!’ Clara meets Fabrizio’s family which includes his (hilarious) brother and the brother’s wife Franca who is the GODDAMN WORST. Franca is mad at her husband because he cheated on her (which is painted over as not a big deal by everyone but especially by the Italian mother who is like ‘you have no real romance or love if there is no deception and suspicion!’ weird take) so instead of having a conversation with her husband, she flirts with Fabrizio and keeps trying to kiss him, which rightly drives Clara into a fury, and instead of everyone being like Clara is forking right, they make her apologize for getting angry which made ME fly into a fury. And all the meanwhile Franca is this devil whispering bad things into Clara’s ear and it’s very troubling and wrong and Franca sucks.
You’d think a mother not wanting her young dumb daughter to marry literally a STRANGER in a foreign country would be enough of a reason, but this is the 1950s when all you want for a girl is to marry her off so Margaret needs a better, bigger reason to not want to SELL HER DAUGHTER PERMANENTLY TO ITALIANS. And boy howdy, she has one. Margaret keeps hinting and hinting at Clara being not what she seems and this is my favorite part of this experience, because at intermission Z said to me excitedly “I think I know what the secret is! Clara has been lobotomized! It’s like your other favorite show Next to Normal! It’s Next to the Piazza!” Even though Next to the Piazza is the best thing ever and I’m definitely going to write that mashup, I had to warn him that the real reason was not as interesting as that. No, we find out that Clara not only looks 12 but she acts 12 as well for good reason: because at age 12 she was kicked in the head by a pony and stopped developing mentally. She is mentally and cognitively disabled and so her mother, rightly so, doesn’t want to leave her in a foreign country for the rest of her life with strangers who a) don’t know that and b) don’t know how to take care of her.
Oh but she does! They get married! Happy ending! Such romance!
And this brings us to the most annoying parts of this show. For Problem A) HOLY FORKING SHIRT that should be an easy fix: Forking TELL FABRIZIO. This is not a secret you can or should hide! This is supposed to be her husband! What the fork is wrong with you people! Ughhhh. Isn’t this a CRIME?! Like can she legally consent? We need more information on that front and her future husband um DEFINITELY needs more information. And for Problem B), this makes me sad, because in the original production it was made clearer that the bond between Fabrizio and Clara was special, so special that Fabby instinctively knew how to take care of her. It’s shown through all his little actions, but only spoken of once. In this production, that one spoken moment was all we got, so it seemed insufficient. Rob Houchen as Fabrizio was absolutely the high point of this production, but I think the direction failed him in this regard because the whole show should have been constantly showing how perfectly matched they were so that this disturbing story was ameliorated the tiniest bit.
The direction failed in a lot of ways, actually, which made the book problems strikingly obvious instead of something I previously could semi-dismiss. There’s a big climactic scene when Fabrizio’s father announces the wedding is off because he sees Clara’s handwritten form. Margaret thinks it’s because the father thinks her handwriting is too childish (which is not a good reason?), but it’s because he finally saw her age and she’s too old for his son – she’s 26 and he’s 20. (I could have sworn that in the original production she was 29 but whatever.) Margaret’s reaction here was of relief: he didn’t find out our secret! That’s a TERRIBLE reaction – it shouldn’t BE A SECRET IF THEY ARE GETTING MARRIED. She laughs it off in her relief and the audience laughs and it made me angry again because it wasn’t funny and shouldn’t have been brushed aside. On Broadway it was still tense and more sophisticatedly handled; here it was like ‘oh it’s just that you think she’s too old haha! No she is mentally 12 is that better for you?’
Anyway they get married and Margaret reprises the most moving line to me, the title of the show. When Clara sings it first, she’s talking about the light being her love, for Fabrizio. At the end, on Broadway, it was the incandescent Victoria Clark watching her daughter get married and sharing that she, Clara, is her light. And it’s forking heartbreaking and wonderful (even though you are like BUT WAIT A SECOND MARGARET you still handled this situation like a real Mr. F). But here, Renee’s Margaret was like…trying to get Clara to actually look at the actual light in the piazza during the wedding ceremony? It was so awkward and not emotional. I mean I still cried because it’s the BEST SHOW but still.
Renee Forking Fleming (official middle name) may be the best soprano in the world, like literally that’s what the world calls her, but her foray into musical theatre has been less than tops for me. I mean, her track record so far is this and last season’s Carousel on Broadway, which is ALSO INCREDIBLY PROBLEMATIC. And with a classic gorgeous AF score! Why is Renee’s jam doing beautiful musicals with forked up books?? Why can’t her jam be feminist musicals, modern works, or strawberry??!! It’s always a treat to see her live, because yes ‘best soprano in the world’, but she kind of goes into Kermit-mode when she’s not at the Met so maybe it’s best she sticks to operaaa I know I’m literally melting into my desk chair saying this because SACRILEGE but it wasn’t…the…best. The rest of the cast was strong, especially Houchen and Dove Cameron as Clara, but I’m let down by Margaret’s storyline. She ‘s the lead role, Clara is featured. But it seemed like the opposite here, and that’s a directional problem. At least the gorgeous, classic, epic, romantic score still sounded pretty darn great. I love that they gave the score the full orchestra (courtesy of Opera North) it deserved — even though everything sounded a full beat too slow. (Fabrizio’s “Love to Me” was a goddamn dirge. Again, director (plus conductor.))
Regardless of how forked up I realized this show is, I still love it so much and it’s still one of my favorites so what are we even doing here, go listen to the original Broadway cast album and enjoy.
INFORMATION
Even though this production closed last week, I have to discuss how badly the Southbank Centre is managed. First of all, whoever was in charge of pricing this show royally forked up, because it was way too expensive and thus criminally undersold. We bought cheap seats in the balcony boxes (‘cheap’ compared to how much they were gouging for even super rear stalls, which in this enormous barn of a theatre is too far back to pay so much for). Because the show was so undersold, they moved us from the balcony to those overpriced stalls. Win for us! But, they didn’t tell us till we went to go to our seats about 10 minutes before showtime. We had LITERALLY JUST picked up our tickets at the main floor box office, but they didn’t say anything there. Why didn’t they say anything there? But the lady waiting at the door upstairs was the one with the info? SO STUPID. Then, when we went to the stalls, the show started probably 10 minutes late because we noticed at least half the patrons were being turned away and told to exchange their computer print-outs for Southbank-issued tickets downstairs. Everyone was saying that the ticket agency they bought their tickets from (likely discounted) said these print-outs were their tickets! So why didn’t Southbank communicate with the agencies to tell their customers this info?? Infuriating incompetence. But that’s all on management; the actual staffers working the doors here were incredible (and just the messengers). Southbank needs to get its shit together! And more importantly, it needs to fire or not work with whoever priced this show – it was the final weekend and I don’t even think the mezzanine was open. Regardless of how fucked up the book is (SEE ABOVE), that’s a huge shame for such a big gorgeous show and for this cast and orchestra. FOR SHAME! SHAAAAAME.
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Shipwreck at the Almeida Theatre: A Messy Look at the World Post-Trump
It’s Theatre Thursday! Today’s show is the brand-new work Shipwreck, playing at London’s Almeida Theatre until March 30.
Anne Washburn writes some of the most intriguing plays of recent times, usually saying something interesting but in a strange, off-kilter way that heightens the story. Unfortunately, Shipwreck, the ‘Donald Trump play’, as it’s known, hasn’t managed to harmonize the ‘things to say’ with the ‘strange’ in a way that makes three hours of thinking about Cheeto Mussolini worthwhile. The messages Washburn finds important to share with us are conveyed mainly in monologues and often told directly to the audience, rather than through character interaction, a contrivance that often seems like cheating. The expected weirdness from her works comes in random spurts, and while some of it works, some of it really doesn’t, and all of it would be better suited to a framework built for the more fantastical aspects.
From the title, I assumed the tale would involve an actual shipwreck that would be an allegory for the current political situation, something complex and deep that reflected the Angry Creamsicle’s mess in a sophisticated way. Or just in any metaphorical sense. To my surprise, it’s literally about a group of liberal friends complaining about the Carrot Demon, just flat out, nothing complex about it. There’s even a meta moment where the characters talk about how political plays that aren’t metaphorical are always less effective and too specific. So…that’s true, guys. I get that it’s hard to write a play about a situation that changes by the minute, as it’s both important to document the current times and impossible for the work to remain current, but to literally acknowledge that, what, you know it won’t be successful? It’s weird. Is it a self-own?
I was still open-minded and hoping to find deeper meaning, perhaps in the setting – a remote farmhouse, a new acquisition of one of the couples, during a severe snowstorm where they hadn’t stocked up on food. The group is forced to eat old frozen hotdogs and use ketchup as a main ingredient in pasta, which could indicate the kind of desperate trouble we’re all in. Yet the farmhouse scenes – the vast majority of the play – mainly feature the friends talking, complaining, arguing about politics and rehashing the same kinds of statements most of us have given or heard for the past three years. In the rare instances when they say something new – like when Khalid Abdalla’s character asks whether, since nothing else has saved the world, maybe this Dark Wizard is actually the answer – it feels like nonsense. His character seems like a fairly together dude; surely he knows that we’ve tried literally nothing to try to save the world, so what on earth would persuade him to believe a farfetched mysticism that’s so ridiculous?
Despite strong acting throughout (and really good accent work all around, so pleased), the only ‘normal’ character that had a real effect was Fisayo Akinade as a black child (and then adult) adopted by a conservative white family. I wish there was more of him and his story; perhaps it wouldn’t have felt so random and the ‘payoff’ realization at the end so underwhelming.
Because so much of the play is straightforward, mostly unoriginal talking points, the trademark Washburn bits we do get feel entirely out of place. And not in a good ‘oh this is dramatically jarring’ kind of way, but in a ‘why hasn’t the entire show been this absurdist’ kind of way. Although I did not think the battle royale between George W. Bush and Trump worked (and it went on way too long), I still appreciated that they were doing something different. The device with James Comey coming to dinner felt a bit underdeveloped, but his scenes with a golden-brushed Caligula-like Trump character were effective. I would have loved if Elliot Cowan played this crazy emperor-god looking dude the entire show, even though at times, when his voice echoed the exact vocal inflections that Cadet Bone Spurs does, I threw up in my mouth a little, and even though associating his muscular physique with the president’s is too kind. These scenes give the kind of fascinating take on this situation we expected from a Washburn show, not one that is 90% talking to us about how bad things are and how we are probably part of the problem.
And I am so sick of all the clichés. I’m sick of the clichés about why people voted for a Curdled Orange Julius. Oh, you’re scared of immigrants hurting the economy? Well, you’re an idiot; should I feel sorry for your ignorance or just keep being angry? I’m sick of the clichés about how terrible white liberals are. Yes white women are hella annoying but it’s not original or funny to have a white liberal woman character who isn’t perfect but who tries to do the right thing, and to use her mistakes to lambast all liberals. Isn’t trying to be a good person and an ally better than openly being a shitty person? Sure they all desperately need to be sent copies of “So You Want To Talk About Race” but their need for some racial education doesn’t make them worse than racists.
This kind of screwed up discourse we have in society, with demanding perfection from those trying to be decent humans while allowing shitty humans to be as shitty as they want, leads me to my biggest problem with this play. I am tired of hearing that liberals may be the problem, or that we are the ones who have to try harder to connect with republicans/Trumplethinskin supporters and try to see things from their perspectives, to try to get out of our bubbles and understand the other side. BULLSHIT. No one ever asks Fox News viewers to get out of their bubbles, and their bubbles aren’t even escapable; they are made of cement. No one ever asks the people who think that black people all get free college or that jews control all the money and the government or that homosexuality is god’s punishment for women in the workplace or that killing refugee babies brings them closer to Jesus to even take a peek outside their fucked up bubbles. No, it’s always the people who give a shit about decency for all humans that are told it’s our responsibility to understand why these people hate minorities and women and can’t think rationally about anything. I am goddamn sick of it. It doesn’t make you shrewd or sensible to again ask ‘but maybe it’s liberals who are the problem’ and not ‘but maybe conservatives are literally destroying the world with their ignorance and hate?’ It makes you lazy, irresponsible, and negligent at best. I still cannot believe that this seminal, first major play about Fuckface Von Clownstick is offering these same tired excuses. And that’s my main problem with it.
Also three hours thinking about the Tangerine Tornado is absurd.
INFORMATION
Honestly, the worst part wasn’t the general disappointment or the revulsion at having to think about Toilet Emoji President for three hours. It was the cigarette smoke that overwhelmed the theatre. We saw up in the circle, which you have to enter from a different door from street level. Those doors are open during preshow and the interval, and asshats are literally smoking in the doorways, and asshat staff are doing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to keep them away from the entrances. So their asshat smoke wafted clear up the stairs and into the entire circle, so badly that I had trouble breathing at times, and I don’t even have asthma. Preshow, they did the same for the general entrance and the lobby. DO BETTER.
Waitress Finally Hits London: So Good I Could Cry (Again)
It’s Theatre Thursday! Today’s show is Waitress, which opens today in London.
I feel like I’ve been bemoaning the sad state of musical theatre on the West End for years now. We’re getting too few new British works and too many lackluster disappointments. And while that’s all still true, Waitress has arrived, so I’m done complaining until the smile leaves my face, if that ever happens. Even though it’s an American transfer, this show is so FORKING wonderful that it is elevating the entirety of the West End. The Sara Bareilles musical, which opens officially today at the Adelphi Theatre, is exactly the show London needs right now: funny, heartbreaking, movingly acted, perfectly sung, and with an incredible score. It’s strange for me to give unqualified raves, but here I go, here I go, here I go again girls what’s my weakness? Um, musicals! pie? Dr. Pomatter?
Waitress, the first Broadway musical with an all-female creative team (it premiered in 2016 and that’s a true thing, so forked), opened the same season as Hamilton (and also the best musical revival season anyone could ever dream of I mean it omg each of the four nominees was the best thing ever le sigh and this year we don’t even have enough for a Tony award??? anyway) and so, while everyone enjoyed it, it didn’t get the acclaim or attention it deserved. Luckily, London’s musical theatre scene is, shall we say, not 2016 Broadway so fingers crossed that it gets the proper amount of love, because it’s a pretty goshdarn flawless show. Based on the 2007 Adrienne Shelly movie starring Keri Russell, Waitress the musical tells that story of how a small-town pie-making waitress in an abusive marriage gets pregnant and falls for her new ob/gyn. I remember the movie being pretty depressing but the show – though still rife with sad moments – is funnier and overall uplifting and heartwarming. With a sensational score from Sara Bareilles in her first musical theatre venture (and hopefully not last) and superb direction from Diane Paulus, the musical takes us intimately into the life of Jenna Hunterson and her friends. Her abusive husband, her inability to leave him, her feeling of not recognizing herself or knowing what to do, it all comes across realistically and believably while maintaining the entertaining, energetic thrill of classic musical theatre.
Even though I trust that you’ll see Waitress as soon as you can – whether on Broadway, in London, or on tour – I’ma tell you a little about it because it’s my new fave thing and I just simply can’t stop won’t stop talking about it (or singing it in the shower). So Jenna, as played by the remarkable Katharine McPhee, sings about her three favorite ingredients for pie baking – “sugar, butter, flour” – and making pies and how that helps her deal with her shirty life, working in a diner and having a shirty slob of a jerk husband who takes all the money she earns and is mean to her friends. And her friends, Dawn (Laura Baldwin, hilarious and adorable) and Becky (Marisha Wallace, the fire emoji), are wonderful so only a real jerk ass jackwagon would be mean to them. Jenna accidentally slept with her husband who she haaaates so Dawn and Becky are like ‘hey Jenna let’s all chill in the bathroom and watch you pee on a stick and we will SING ABOUT IT!!!’ and Jenna is like ‘ughhh I don’t wanna know if I’m pregnant I’d rather just ignore any alien growth and then in 9 months be like those people on the old show ‘I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant’ and be like ‘maaaa there’s a baby in the terlet!!!!’ so just let me be’ and they’re like ‘no we have fun lyrics about drinking enough to make sure you have to pee’ (and I’m like, do some people really not need to pee all the time?) so Jenna pees on the stick and is like SHIT and then sings the greatest song ever extolling the virtues of what baking can do as she hopes it can save her from her current messy sitch. Then she makes a great pie for her gynecologist who unknowingly retired and you’re like jfc how bad is the American healthcare system if when she called to make an appointment with Dr. Oldlady they didn’t tell her ‘oh she RETIRED’?? what a mess. Anyway her gyno is now this cute adorkable awkward lanky blond guy which is suuuupes awks in a gyno fyi anyway he doesn’t eat sugar and she’s like what kind of dork doesn’t eat sugar?? and he tries her pie (not a euph) and is like ‘OH DIP’ and she’s such a good baker that they fall in love and it’s AMAZING and SAD and she dreams of getting away from the jerky husband but he thwarts her plans and then she sings another BEST SONG EVER about what a mess her life is and McPhee is like ‘do you think you’ve heard anyone with better vocal control, because hear this, mufuckaaa’ and she should have awards thrown at her and you’re like TAYLOR HICKS, REALLY GUYS???
Meanwhile, the girls make our cute little Dawn try online dating because she is a sheltered lil bun who’s never dated and she matches on an app I’m assuming was Christian Mingle with a crazy guy in the form of JACK MCBRAYER, ladies and gentlemen, as Ogie and even though he sings a song that would be a giant red flag in real life about how he is virtually a stalker and even though Jack’s not the greatest singer and even though I wanted a friend of mine to get his part originally, Jack’s Ogie is REDONKULOUS AMAZING. His signature pure hearted dorky schtick is so perfect for Ogie and whoever thought to cast him deserves Olympic medals in casting. I honestly want to bake that person a pie. Jack makes every little movement and line of Ogie’s a laugh riot which is a phrase I don’t think I’ve ever used before but I need to use it now because it’s true and also dorky and pure enough of a phrase to fit this situation. The only thing I don’t get about this show is that Ogie gets the last named-character-bow when for male roles he really is second only to Dr. Pomatter and I don’t understand how he isn’t billed and bowed higher?? He gets more songs than almost anyone! Anyway it’s worth it to see him alone, yet everything else is just as great. Becky’s lil side story is amazingly moving too, as she’s in a difficult marriage for sad reasons and needs to get her groove back and does so with a SURPRISE man and she sings a fire emoji song about how ya know shit just happens sometimes and who are you to judge?? Her big song really was ugh so good. Even the old man diner owner gets amazing material that makes me cry, even though this actor wasn’t a great singer, because he gets my favorite poetic lyric at the end of his big song that just wrecks me and honestly everything in this show wrecks me so just forking see it so we can TALK ABOUT IT, okay?
The writing of this show, with a book from Jessie Nelson, is so strong that the show would be great still with just okay talent, so this stellar cast is lifting it to remarkable heights. Katharine McPhee’s Jenna is thoughtful and purposeful, finding the right line between vulnerability and inner strength. Fresh from the Broadway production, which was her first Broadway role, McPhee reminds you quickly of the douchebag director’s first words about her on “Smash”: “She may be green, but she’s certainly trained.” Her control over her voice is spell-binding, and her “She Used to be Mine” is the best vocal performance happening in London right now. David Hunter’s Pomatter is endearing and goofy yet also a believable leading man and a bit of a heartthrob. The scenes between the two of them feel like the end of the second season of a TV show when the two meant-for-each-other leads finally come to each other, and they accomplish that in less than an hour. It’s so important to get that emotional beat right, along with all the deeply personal revelations on display. Waitress is an unabashedly emotional show, the kind that could easily feel twee or seem amateur, but this show is anything but. The strong writing and the precisely directed performances keep it fresh and real. I fear that the old-white-male reviewers that make up London’s main critic pool will discount the female-centric story and emotional depth as cutesy or girly when really it’s surprisingly profound.
If nothing else, Bareilles has given us an extraordinary original score for the modern age, with nary a weak track in there, a rare accomplishment nowadays. With every other aspect of the show just as strong, with laugh out loud moments and truly wrenching emotion, the whole show is destined to be a favorite of many, if not a genuine classic.
INFORMATION
Waitress is playing at London’s Adelphi Theatre until at least the fall. They sell pie in the lobby and they pipe in freshly baked pie smell, which is lovely. They don’t have vegan pie though, which is b.s. The official merchandise stall in the lobby does not sell programmes – they are available from the podium by the entrance (so crowded, so dumb) and the pie man in the back. It’s a pretty terrible setup. The bathrooms are downstairs house right, so you have to like bolt out of the stalls to get all the way to the lobby and down. The staff left much to be desired. Also, during previews they had not yet set up barricades at stage door and it was a bonafide disaster of a mosh pit. According to my emails with the theatre, they’ve amended this situation, but I bet it is still a disaster. So the theatre staff and setup leaves much to be desired but the show is perfection.
