Nino Noir

Health Care

2009-12-21T21:47:00.004-06:00

Nino Noir's Health Care Overhaul Bill of 2009:

Remove the health insurance industry's exclusion from anti-trust laws.
Allow consumers to buy health insurance across state lines.
Allow consumers to take their health insurance with them when they leave their job. They can pay the premiums on their own or their new employer can pay the premiums, up to what they would pay if the customer purchased one of the employer's plans (the customer would pay the difference).
Permit the re-importation of FDA-approved medications from Western Europe and Canada.
Fly every American who wants government-run health care to (a) Canada, (b) the UK, or (c) Cuba for major surgeries. The patient gets to pick which country. Such patients can elect for surgery in the US only after realizing how shitty government-run health care really is.
Make elected officials participate in the above program.

There you go, Nancy & Harry. In fewer words than yours has sheets of paper, too!

Some Dreams Do Come True

2009-04-16T20:40:00.006-05:00

Okay so I haven't posted my thoughts about "Equus" or "Mary Poppins" (I didn't see "In the Heights" like I thought I would). But I will, eventually. Things are just busy. In the meantime, I'd like to share Susan Boyle with all of you.

Ms. Boyle, of Blackburn, Scotland, decided to go on "Britain's Got Talent" because, as she said, she'd always wanted to sing before a large crowd. She sang "I Dreamed a Dream," and she gave the song a completely different meaning to me. Her version, also, is the only one that has ever gotten me verklempt. Truly. I would post the video itself but YouTube has disabled the embedding feature for this clip.

UPDATE:

I found a copy of her performance:

Foreshadowing

2009-01-29T11:11:00.005-06:00

Ladies and gents, it's been a long time since I reviewed anything on my own. My last stage review was this summer, with The Muny's production of "My One and Only."

Fear not, though. This weekend I am making a much-anticipated trip to Broadway. Yes, I will visit the Great White Way. The Fabulous Invalid. For the first time, no less!

I'm going to visit a friend who lives in New York; sadly I won't be able to visit all my friends this go-around, so I know I'll have to return. But while I am there, I do plan to take in some theatre. Friday night I'll see a play that will close soon: "Equus." It stars Harry Potter star Daniel Radcliffe. I'm excited. I will also see something new: "In the Heights." I'm not sure how much I'll love a show of hip-hop and rap, but I'm going to be a trooper (trouper?). Ad majorem Dei gloriam, or something.

So, expect a review or two soon!

A New Season at The Muny

2009-01-07T10:08:00.003-06:00

The Muny has announced it's 2009 season. Four shows are a repeat from 2004 (Annie, 42nd Street, Meet Me in St. Louis, and The Music Man); 5 years is the minimum lapse time The Muny requires before restaging a show. Godspell had a 6-year lapse, being last performed in 2003. Camelot has waited the longest, with a 7-year lapse; this is not entirely surprising because The Muny has restaged the other Lerner and Loewe classic, My Fair Lady, since then, and because the last production of Camelot received some mixed reviews.

The "premier" show this season will be Hairspray. Not surprising at all. The show has been on ballots for a while. Key to The Muny's acquisition of production rights, however, has been the announcement that the Broadway production will close on 9 January 2009. The Muny rarely produces a show that is on Broadway; this rule staved off productions of both Miss Saigon and Les Miserables until their Broadway runs closed.

Hairspray also should bring in large crowds. No doubt it will be a high-expense show, but it should also be a high-income show. Public awareness of the musical has been high since the 2007 film starring John Travolta was released.

The Muny is currently on nerve's edge due to the Highway 40 closing. Personally I think the worst is behind the theatre. The closing between I-270 and I-170 was painful because there was no easy way to get around it; Clayton and Manchester Roads were not designed for such heavy traffic, and I-44 is pretty far south.

Now, however, the highway is closed between I-170 and Kingshighway. Most theatregoers traveling from the east exit Highway 40 at Kingshighway anyway, so the closing will only hurt the few brave west-bound commuters who attempted to exit at Hampton. Furthermore, the closure at I-170 for east-bound commuters (e.g., residents of Chesterfield or Town & Country), is mitigated by the new Forest Park Parkway and the direct access to I-170 from Highway 40. Drivers' first stop from the highway is at Pershing, which is closer to the theatre than many probably think.

No matter what the traffic patterns are, however, Hairspray should get people to the theatre this summer. The Muny also banks on Annie, the "kids" show, to fill the theatre with small children in full-price seats. I've questioned this assumption before, in part because of the number of free tickets it hands out to the children in the chorus, but no matter. It makes The Muny's board sleep soundly at night.

42nd Street is another show that will pull in big crowds, without the need to entice children. The dancing (rightfully) was astounding five years ago, and I don't doubt that The Muny will get that right again this year. If The Muny does nothing else correctly, it can at least pull off a song-and-dance show like nobody's business.

I'm also looking forward to The Music Man. I'm openly partial to Kim Crosby, who was Marian 5 years ago, but I'm being realistic: she probably won't be back. Le sigh. Camelot should be a good show, too, unless King Arthur is as flaccid as overcooked broccoli (I hope I don't repeat that line this summer).

Godspell and Meet Me in St. Louis are okay. My favorites they are not, but who gets everything they want for Christmas? Certainly not I. But I will do my best to judge them fairly.

I know, it's new for me. Consider it my New Year's resolution to the four of you who read this!

The Advocate Review: "Were the World Mine"

2008-12-03T07:48:00.005-06:00

Yesterday's edition of The Advocate reviewed "Were the World Mine." I know this is the third post in a row on this film, but whatever.

High School Musical
With charm and imagination to spare, the magic of Were the World Mine is worth singing about
By Kyle Buchanan

Queer culture may be “fabulous,” but the world of gay independent film hasn’t lived up to that glittery standard as of late; too many modern gay films are small, hermetic, and shot in a style that aspires to little more than single-camera sitcom quality. Into that world, then, the new musical Were the World Mine arrives like a bolt from the blue. If gay film has seemed for too long to be stuck in a black-and-white Kansas rut, Were the World Mine feels like a glorious Technicolor Oz by comparison.

For sensitive teenager Timothy (Tanner Cohen), all the world’s a stage – at least inside his head. There, he retreats from high school bullies by imagining musical fantasias that often star sexy jock Jonathon (Nathaniel David Becker). Still, despite his yearning for the theatre, Timothy has to be talked into trying out for the lead in the school’s big production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, directed by unconventional drama teacher Ms. Tebbit (Wendy Robie). Soon enough, Shakespeare’s plot plays itself out in real life as mischievous Timothy, who ends up playing Puck, begins to scramble the sexuality of those around him, using a mysterious magic flower to drive Jonathon into his arms and to send the school bullies screaming out of the closet.

For a low-budget production, World looks fantastic – the cinematography is rich and the choreography is continuously inventive – but its biggest asset is Jessica Fogle’s beautiful score. Adapted from Shakespeare’s own test, Were the World Mine’s songs swoop and soar, and the actors nail every falsetto. The film’s not perfect (a pointless subplot following Timothy’s mother as she sells makeup door-to-door seems to have wandered in from a completely different movie, and should have been excised), but that’s almost part of its charm. Like an unexpectedly terrific high school musical, Were the World Mine has an infectious “let’s put on a show” vitality.

The film’s sense of discovery extends to its cast of young newcomers and scarcely seen veterans. Cohen’s perpetually frowning portrayal of Timothy is so right-on as an awkward, shy teenager that it’s a thrill to watch him come alive during the film’s musical numbers, which he brings off with a rich, confident voice. Just as fun is his “heteroflexible” best friend, Frankie (Zelda Williams, daughter of Robin), who announces, “I’m straight, but shit happens.” Still, the cast’s most valuable performer is surely Robie (who memorably played the eyepatch-clad Nadine Hurley on Twin Peaks). As the eccentric drama teacher, she takes what could have been a hammy role and imbues it with serene warmth. She’s the encouraging mentor every musical theatre-loving gay boy wishes he could have had.

During World’s barnstorming tour of the gay festival circuit this year, director Tom Gustafson was repeatedly asked if he had any plans to adapt the film for the stage – the film itself was adapted from his 2003 short Fairies. He claimed not to, saying he’s ready to move on to different material, but it’s not hard to see the film becoming a hit on the stage. Like Hollywood, Broadway has suffered lately from lumbering, expensive projects short on originality and imagination – two qualities Were the World Mine has in spades. Don’t be surprised if, on the film’s final curtain call, audiences stand up and applaud.

NY Times Review: "Were the World Mine"

2008-11-21T08:25:00.006-06:00

The film "Were the World Mine" has been designated a Critics' Pick by the New York Times!

Puck’s Love Potion, Splashed Across Town
By Stephen Holden
Published: November 21, 2008

What teenager hasn’t fantasized about wielding magic to transform an indifferent object of desire into a besotted lover? In “Were the World Mine,” an indie alternative to Disney’s “High School Musical” franchise, Timothy (Tanner Cohen), a persecuted gay student at a private boys’ school outside Chicago, acquires such magic while rehearsing the role of Puck in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

When a purple flower spurting Cupid’s love juice mysteriously springs up in Titania’s bower, Timothy plucks it and later tosses its liquid into the eyes of his secret crush, Jonathon (Nathaniel David Becker), the ostensibly straight star of the rugby team. Mutual puppy love is instantaneous and intense.

In Timothy/Puck’s prankish scheme, every helpless target of such magic falls madly in love with the first person in sight, inappropriate or not. And for the next 24 hours Timothy dashes around his small town making unsuspecting homophobes, including the rugby coach, fall ridiculously in love with dumbfounded members of the same sex; before long, the streets are crawling with cow-eyed, spooning gay couples.

This small, endearing film, directed by Tom Gustafson from a screenplay he wrote with Cory James Krueckeberg, has already won a number of awards, including outstanding narrative feature at Outfest, the Los Angeles Gay and Lesbian Film Festival. In its giddiness, “Were the World Mine” echoes “High School Musical 3” right down to featuring balletic choreography on a basketball court.

With original music by Jessica Fogle, and lyrics (some original and others adapted from Shakespeare) by Mr. Krueckeberg, it is an enchanting, mildly subversive fantasia that reconciles sassy teenage argot with Elizabethan. One moment it is this, the next that. Ms. Fogle’s most striking music, especially the title song, sets Shakespearean dialogue in an ethereal Minimalist style that has the entranced intensity of centuries-old sacred music.

The movie doesn’t burst into song all that often. Some numbers are no more than clever asides, played on guitar and sung by Timothy’s sullen friend Frankie (Zelda Williams, daughter of Robin), a self-possessed tomboy who describes herself as “hetero-flexible.” Frankie morosely takes it in stride when Timothy experiments with the love juice on Max (Ricky Goldman), his best friend and her crush.

A subplot involves Timothy’s embattled relationship with his divorced mother, Donna (Judy McLane), who is having difficulty coming to terms with his sexuality. Donna takes a job as a door-to-door saleswoman for the cosmetics line invented by Nora (Jill Larson), the vain, bigoted wife of the school’s stuffy headmaster (David Darlow).

To some degree, Donna and Nora are John Waters-style female caricatures. So is the film’s mysteriously powerful guardian angel, Ms. Tebbit (Wendy Robie), the airy, arty English teacher who casts the Shakespeare production, oversees rehearsals and refuses to shut it down after the town goes erotically bonkers.

Ms. Robie, who bears a strong resemblance to Patricia Clarkson, plays the teacher as a benign sorceress who wears a secretive smile while using “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” to impart some lessons in tolerance. In what is shown of the final production, the gawky high school boys playing both men’s and women’s roles have turned into graceful actors comfortable with Elizabethan English.

“Were the World Mine” begins tentatively, but once its tone is established, its charm overcomes the inevitable weaknesses of a musical made on a stringent budget. Like its Disney counterparts, it operates on the assumption that the movie musical is a world unto itself in which ordinary rules of logic don’t apply. One thing doesn’t have to lead to another, and not everything need be explained. Movie-musical magic makes up the difference.

Movie Review: Were the World Mine

2008-10-25T12:17:00.003-05:00

I think I've seen my favorite film for 2008-2009.

"Were the World Mine" is currently playing the film festival circuit, and it has gathered an impressive resume of wins - with good reason. With a funny script and wildly-imagined songs, the film is a fantastical/musical take on "A Midsummer Night's Dream."

Set in an all-boys school in a small town (population: 10,000), WTWM asks what would happen if a down-and-out gay high school boy, Timothy, cast as Puck in the Shakespearean comedy, were equipped with that fairy's magical pansy, and could make anybody fall in love at first sight. Answer: just what you would expect; he turns everyone else gay and lets them walk a mile in his shoes. When he finally turns everybody back to straight again, the townsfolk no longer condemn him with biblical verse; they embrace him instead.

The film has a slow start as we experience Timothy's growing pains and adult-approved ostracism. The other boys at school pick on him; his mother harps on him constantly; his father is missing (presumably because he couldn't handle having a gay kid). He reluctantly auditions for the senior play, AMND, and is surprised as anyone else to be cast as Puck. When he expresses his frustration at not understanding what's going on in the play, his eccentric director encourages him to press on by merging the rhythm of the verses with the words themselves. When he does so, he unlocks a secret potion that creates the magical pansy. When he turns it on the star rugby player at school, Jonathan, he realizes its full potential and starts using it on all the other boys at school who had caused him so much grief. Implicitly encouraged by the director, he teaches his classmates a valuable lesson about acceptance and embracing people despite any differences they have.

The film has a definite "gay" slant to it, but it is hardly a gay movie. The film does not emphasize sex or gratuitous nudity (although...) but instead focuses on Timothy's difficulties fitting in, and his retribution for getting harassed.

My favorite scenes were Timothy's musical fantasies, in which he imagined Jonathan lying on the teacher's desk with his shirt completely unbuttoned, or where he imagined a scene from the play in which all of the rugby players are his little fairies, dancing around him. There were other entertaining scenes in front of the courthouse or at the school fair, but those two were my favorites.

Thankfully the film will be released to cinemas in the coming weeks. St. Louis's Tivoli Theatre will play it in January, and the DVD should be available this coming spring. I may have to watch it again; I loved it that much.

A Good Day in St. Louis

2008-10-05T12:51:00.005-05:00

It must be a good day to be in St. Louis or Columbia; I wish I were there to join the festivities. Thirty years of losing - badly - to Nebraska in their own stadium ended in a 52-17 win for the Mizzou Tigers last night. Coach Pinkel even sent in third-string players while the Huskers were still on their first string.

More importantly, though: justice, oh sweet justice was served up Los Angeles-style last night in Chavez Ravine. The Chicago Cubs lost the NLDS 3-0 to the LA Dodgers; the final score in Game 3 was 3-1. I don't have cable in my apartment, so I was unable to watch the game at home. Most of my friends also had other plans last night, so around 11:30 I decided to take a walk around the neighborhood and see if I could catch bits of the game from televisions in the local bars. I'll ya what - this town gets awfully quiet when they're staring down defeat. It's like they don't have 100 years of practice or something.

Congrats, Dodgers. And way to go, Tigers!

Theatre Review: My One & Only

2008-08-02T14:36:00.004-05:00

The Muny's sixth show, running from July 28 to August 3, My One & Only, is a cute show. Stupid, but cute.

Written in the 1980s, its plot is centered on classic Gershwin tunes such as "Nice Work If You Can Get It," "Funny Face," and " 'S Wonderful." Overall, this causes any hint at the well-written play to go out the window, sacrificed for pleasant music and lots of tap.

Oh - and as my grandfather said, "If you're not a fan of tap, just stay home." Aptly put. Originally a vehicle for the great dancer Tommy Tune, this show is not wanting for tap dancing. "High Hat" has a great dance number by the male ensemble, and " 'S Wonderful" has a delightful dance duet by Meredith Patterson and Dirk Lumbard as the leading lady and her airborne beau, Edythe Herbert and Captain Billy Buck Chandler.

Ms. Patterson is elegant as Edyth Herbert, a famous (British?) English Channel-crossing swimmer who works for Russian Prince Nicolai as his star swimmer. She doesn't actually love him or even want to work for him, but apparently some naughty photographs of her in his possession keep her close to him. Whatever.

Mr. Lumbard looks like a giant child as the toe-tapping Captain Bill Buck Chandler, whose dream is being the first to cross the Atlantic Ocean solo in an airplane (or as he calls it, aeroplane). Ms. Patterson smoothly talks him out of any plans of being the first, the greatest, or the biggest, but when she leave him for the Prince (again those danged nudey photos!), he quickly resumes his desire to be the first to cross the Atlantic solo.

The New Rhythm Boys, with their own fascinating rhythm in three-part harmony, serve absolutely no purpose that I can gather, other than to "bum bum bum" and toe-tap and smile their way through two-and-a-quarter hours. They appear almost exclusively during scene changes, or when no other dramatic action occurs, except for a brief scene at a movie theatre where it takes all three of them to sell a small bag of popcorn to Ms. Patterson and Mr. Lumbard.

At the other end, Mr. Magix, played by Eugene Fleming, serves as a convenient mentor, available whenever the playwright needs him. I consciously thought at one point that Mr. Fleming would never get out of his barbershop chair (which would have been pretty cool), but he did, to show Mr. Lumbard how to tap his way into Ms. Patterson's heart (awww). Mr. Fleming was my favorite actor of the evening.

Mr. Magix is not the only deus-ex-machina in the show. At one point, Mr. Lumbard's handy mechanic Nicky, played by the adorable Julyana Soelistyo, reveals that she's a G-Man! GASP! And, what's more, Ms. Patterson's horrible boss, Prince Nicolai, is actually a Soviet spy intent on bringing down the western world by preventing American pilots from being the first to cross the Atlantic Ocean solo! Double GASP! But rest assured, in the world of musical comedy, even the G-Man and the Commie can fall in love.

Like I said, it's stupid, but cute.

Theatre Review: Miss Saigon

2008-07-27T18:41:00.005-05:00

All my protestations about the Muny poo-pooing its young adult crowds falls silent this week. This week, the Muny presents Miss Saigon, the story of an American servicemember who falls in love with a Vietnamese showgirl in the weeks before the fall of Saigon - and the evacuation of all Americans from Vietnam. It is written by the same team that wrote last season's Les Miserables, and like Les Mis, it suffers from many of the same ailments: characters change over the course of years and we see only a glimmer of that process; instead they're left with a somewhat hollow identity.

Also, what passes for profound in this show is, at best, asking questions: Why her? Why today? Why is the sky blue? Where are my sneakers? Okay, okay, I exaggerate. A little. What makes Chris, as a character, so unappealing is that he is completely two-dimensional. He rolls with the punches from start to finish. One day, he just wants a beer. No wait, there's a pretty girl. I want her. No wait, I can't see her anymore. I'll marry this other girl. No wait, I must return to Asia! No, wait, Ellen will find out! Drats! I can't be a man and make a decision! I know, I'll bring Ellen and let her spill the beans!

Bleh. How dull. In opposition, there's Kim. Here's what we know about Kim: she's a cock-eyed optimist who hates her Viet Minh cousin and dreams only of Chris. And the fall of Saigon.

Which, by the way, is pretty cool. The actual "mob" is unimpressive, but mobs are hard to do on stage, especially when the stage is half the size of a football field, and the mob numbers around ... 20 people. It's also hard to get your blood pumping when you're sitting 100 yards away from the action. Honestly, the exodus scene at the end of Act I is more impressive visually, but what clinches the airlift scene is, I hate to say, the helicopter.

If I may have an aside on the subject of helicopters for a moment-- the helicopter used in the original West End run was actually just a fuselage of a UH-1 Iroquois with a piece of rope for a propeller. It was probably chosen because of the famous picture of one of the embassy evacuations.

The Muny version used something that resembled the Hiller H-23 - the sort used during the Korean War, especially to airlift wounded soldiers.

The helicopters used in the final evacuation (of the Ambassador and the remaining Marines) of Saigon were CH-53 Sea Stallions and CH-46s.

Okay, now that I've established my man-credentials with helicopters, I'd like to gush on the actual nightmare scene. As a vehicle for showing the fear that those left behind must have felt, the scene was quite compelling. I won't speak for the other nine thousand patrons in the audience, but I felt a chill when I saw the helicopter hover over the right ramp and shine its searchlight down on all of us right before it took off. I'm loathe to applaud inanimate objects (chandeliers and such) but the sequence was definitely played well.

Kudos go to the lighting and set design crews for their beautiful handiwork. The turntable is nicely used this week, as are the Muny Teens, which actually blend in quite well with the rest of the cast - credit no doubt for this belongs to the costuming designers. I hate watching Muny Kids and Teens stick out on stage like they don't belong there. Thankfully, the teens (mostly) worked this week.

Others who deserve recognition include Francis Ju, for being such a wickedly human and understandable Engineer, trying to crook and swindle his way to a better future, even if he exhibits unflinching racism towards his own people, and Josh Tower, for his handsome looks and voice as John, and for being a good wingman to Chris; and the female ensemble. The ladies who played the whores of Dreamland were dressed in gorgeous gowns and sang something nice during the Wedding. Kathy Voytko is a very believable Ellen, even if she screeches a little during her only song.

For such an epic show, there are many wonderful bits within it to savor.

Theatre Review: 90 Years of Muny Magic

2008-07-19T00:04:00.004-05:00

The Muny has tried to cut as much fat out of its season this year, while also trying to bring in big audiences, in fear that the Highway 40 closure could in 3 years completely close the theatre. Oddly, there's a lot of fat on the goose this week. 90 Years of Muny Magic is full of unused or under-appreciated talent and chock full of old songs designed to please the older set, but little for the younger crowds.

The opening number, "Go to the Muny," foreshadows the evening; it is far too long and not at all funny. Too many self-congratulatory jokes about the Muny, Paul Blake, and St. Louis weigh this song down and draw it out too long. The song, I might add, comes from A Day in Hollywood / A Night in the Ukraine, which has never performed on the Muny stage, according to their own program.

After that come a pastiche of songs such as "One Alone," sung by the Peter Lockyer, but unlike the opening number it is actually too short. At the risk of sounding like Goldilocks, there were several songs that actually sounded like those samples you get on iTunes or Amazon.com, where before you buy the whole song you can listen to a 30 second snippet to see if you actually like it. Peter Lockyer I liked.

Actually, Peter Lockyer is not the only under-appreciated performer in the show. Michel Bell, Erin Davie, Leslie Denniston, and (my favorite) Kim Crosby are all neglected. Actually, those five singers were I thought were the best of the evening (even though Ms. Crosby's voice was used for a whopping one song). They were all the principal voices the show actually needed. The other seven principals were okay (sometimes) but generally unnecessary.

Lest the reader be too harsh on me for criticizing Ken Page so, I must point out that he didn't even sing a male song. This show had beautiful female songs and most of them went to men. Out of five female principals, only Betsy Wolfe had a solo. Moreover, of the twelve principals, only five were female! My point: women were neglected throughout the evening.

Furthermore, Mr. Page's performance of "Hello, Dolly" with Lee Roy Reams was absolute gay camp trash. It was obscene in its references to Paul Blake giving sexual favors backstage. It was insulting to use two men (albeit gay) instead of a female in Dolly's role. It was full of boas, headdresses, vulgar comments, and every other accoutrement I would expect from a drag show. In sum, it was more the sort of thing I would expect from Showtune Tuesdays at the Loading Zone than from America's oldest and largest outdoor theatre. Mr. Page and Mr. Reams should be ashamed of themselves, as should Mr. Blake for his unbelievably crude script.

Continuing the gay fantasia theme was a somewhat weakly-sang rendition of "Stouthearted Men," led by Mr. Bell and Graham Rowat, in which the men sang about their desire to set sail for some island beyond the Caribbean. In the show, New Moon, they were pirates. Today, it's a Kathy Griffin-sponsored gay cruise.

Both the Act I and the Act II finale songs were cut short, although Act I's finale, "Oklahoma," was excised of all its dancing. A rousing finale it was not. Mr. Blake would have been better off to cut a song from somewhere earlier in the act to allow for the big dance number.

And while I'm on the subject of dance, what dance there is, is amazing. Again, the ensemble really were the key to the show. While most of the principals stand around and smiled, the ensemble sweated - a lot. The tap number in "Two for Tea" was a treat (but what's up with Drew Humphrey and Meredith Patterson skipping out in the middle?), as were the dance numbers in "Jets," "76 Trombones," and "March of the Toy Soldiers." "Jets," actually, was another phenomenal dance scene; the men truly did well.

Two of the best moments in the show were in Act I. First, the scene from Showboat, which included "Make Believe" and "Ol' Man River," sung by Mr. Bell. Mr. Bell is the only person I've seen get a standing ovation at the Muny in the middle of a song. Alas, Mr. Bell was also underused.

The second scene was from Carousel, which included the bench scene and the pas de deux from that show's second act. I am partial to Carousel but I really liked how they staged the bench scene; I was verklempt. Furthermore, the pas de deux, by Phillip Skaggs and Elena Zahlman, was, simply, breathtaking. Their form and execution were top-notch, and the emotion that they brought to the scene was definitely well-expressed. I hope I see more of them in the future.

Other bits were fine; "The Impossible Dream" was well sung, and "Shall We Dance" was a pleasure to watch. "Varsity Drag" includes a neat dance number - again, the ensemble danced incredibly well throughout.

In all, 90 Years is okay. I'd see it for the ensemble. The wrong principals are overused to the neglect of the rest of them. Female principals particularly were shafted this week. Indeed, cutting out a few principals could have helped the evening, and the Muny's bottom line.

Theatre Review: My Fair Lady

2008-07-12T09:13:00.005-05:00

Nothing on Friday could keep a common flower girl from becoming a beautiful lady, capable of turning heads and confusing strangers into thinking she's a princess. Not a drunkard father, nor a brackish professor, nor a little fall of rain. It was, indeed, her destiny.

Yes, there was rain on Friday evening. It fell hard before the house opened, and purple-shirted ushers darted around the theatre wiping seats clean as efficiently and completely as they could. In the second act, it started to rain again; not enough to scare the dancers into stopping the show, but enough to scare the orchestra into breaking out umbrellas. On with the show.

And a good thing it was, too. "On with the show" translated on stage into a beautiful reprise of "On the Street Where You Live," sung by Daniel Reichard (as Freddy Eynsford-Hill). Mr. Reichard has a strong, clean, tenor voice that is capable of belting a love ballad clear across the 11,000-seat theatre. His performance of "On the Street Where You Live" (the first time, in Act I), was simply astounding, and the reprise was nothing less.

"On with the show" also translated into another reprise, of "Wouldn't It be Loverly," sung by the Cockney Men and Catherine Brunell (Eliza Doolittle), and "Get Me to the Church on Time," by Anthony Cummings (Alfred P. Doolittle) and the entire chorus. The entire chorus must be praised for their singing and dancing. True, there wasn't much dancing, but they did that small part very well. As for the singing, there's plenty of that in My Fair Lady. Frederick Loewe's score breaks out into four parts and there are 16- and 32-bar songs in Act I that help with the plot's tempo as the act marches into its second hour. All these short works, as well as the full-blown songs, are handled quite well by a chorus that has a lot on its hands throughout the evening, and handles it all with grace.

Ms. Brunell's voice is womanly - sweet when she wants it to be, and grating when it needs to be. This fits her spitfire character's personality well. Her voice is pleasant even if at times it felt held back; I sensed meekness interfering with her musical performances, especially during "Wouldn't It Be Loverly," an otherwise tenderly-performed piece with four well-tuned and well-trained men at her side.

Anthony Cummings is a late addition to the show. A casting change had to be made elsewhere in the season and it resulted, in part, in Mr. Cummings joining the cast as Doolittle, Eliza's lush of a father. Mr. Cumming's Cockney accent is weak throughout and his mannerisms, while often entertaining, are quite flamboyant. He prances around the stage on tip-toe through "With a Little Bit of Luck" in Act I, and gradually pulls himself, if not his accent, together through the rest of the evening.

Robert Westenberg, a Muny veteran, returns as Henry Higgins, the self-centered linguistics professor who transforms Eliza from guttersnipe to princess. Higgins is a detestable character, loved by no one, including his mother. Every time I see this show or its source material (Pygmalion by George Bernard Shaw), I wonder how Eliza could fall for him. The only explanations I can come up with are gratitude, and sympathy for her captor of six months. Higgins is indeed a delicious role because of this; it is well written and simply must be fun for whoever plays it.

Mr. Westenberg is indeed a fine actor but two verbal ticks gnawed at me. First, he has an odd way of breathing in through clenched teeth when he talks. For example: "She's so horribly low, so deliciously dirty. Tshhhhhhh. I'll do it!" I swear, maintain, and affirm - he actually does it. Second, he has a tendency to draw out his vowels. It works well in song but not in dialogue. For example: "Have youuu evahhh met a maaan of gooood characahh where women aahhh concerrrned? Again, I don't make this stuff up.

Overall, however, the show was delightful. The costumes were breathtaking, as they should have been. At the Ascot races, the women's dresses and hats were astounding. Eliza's gown for the Embassy Ball, likewise, was an eyeful. Similarly, the sets were elegant and tasteful. My particular favorites were Mrs. Higgins' garden terrace, Ascot, and the Transylvanian Embassy ballroom. The lighting was similarly well integrated; I'm not much of an expert on stage lighting, so I'll just say it didn't seem to be problematic to me. The orchestra was also beautiful. The Muny's full orchestra filled out Frederick Loewe's lush score. Overall, it just sounded top-notch and sweepingly grand.

On Theatre

2008-06-01T17:31:00.005-05:00

by Robert Edmond Jones

I want you to know that your life in the theatre can be full, can be rich, can be drunken with beauty and power; and that elation can be your daily life, your daily bread. I want you to get a sense of responsibility toward the theatre. I want you to realize that what you are shows through what you do in the theatre. I want you to acknowledge the fundamental mystery of the theatre. I want you to learn that observation is not a substitute for insight; that ingenuity is not a substitute for imagination; that cleverness is not a substitute for culture.

I want you to realize that we are beginning to see that America and Americans are not in the least like what we thought they were. And I want you to create in the theatre out of this new awareness of ourselves and of our country. I want you to realize how deficient we are in a sense of reality, and how we try to compensate for this deficiency in all sorts of dazzling and futile ways. I want you to learn how the reactions of an audience differ from the reactions of every individual in that audience. I want to repeat that. I want you to learn how the reactions of an audience differ from the reactions of every individual in that audience. I want you to know that audiences have capacities for feeling that no dramatist has ever touched.

I want you to learn the heightened perception--the contagious excitement--out of which all great work for the theatre is created. I want you to learn to see life dynamically--to see it in motion, to see it in action. I want yo uto learn to respond to the livingness that is in each fleeting instant of time. To become aware, and always more aware, of that livingness until at last you can know what Plato calls, "the madness of those possessed by the Muses." More than anything else, I want you to be true to your dreams of the theatre. Now, at your time of life, is when you acquire them. Never go back on them. Never! Be true to your dreams. Be true to your love. Be true to your love.

We get the impression from what we see in our theatres and what we read in our newspapers that the theatre is hardly worth bothering about. That it has long ceased to be an exercise for adult minds. The opinion of theatre is a discouraged one. We look in vain for aspiration, even for encouragement. The feeling is jaded and sorrowful. Why have we imagined ourselves into anything so poor, and mean, and low? You are young. You are strong. You are daring. Make your choice now. Don't be satisfied with what you see in the theatre. Don't accept the counsels of frustrated, disillusioned, unhappy people. Don't let this be! Abandon a theatre whose natural condition is fear. And move into a theatre whose natural condition is ecstasy! Realize that the theatre is incessantly changing, incessantly moving into something new, and fres and young--a theatre where it is always morning. And know that here is your only peace, your only joy, your only rest.

I am here to remond you of this tremendous affirmation. Let your theatre be heart-broken. Let it be tragic. Let it be filled with groping and blackness. But don't let it be feeble. Don't let it be obtuse. Don't let it be unaware. Enlarge your ideas, your emotions, your conceptions. Let your imaginations be dilated. Let the dynamics of the true artist enter into you. Take the little gift you have into the hall of the gods. Have you never seen the intent expression on the faces of audiences at the theatre when they are at one with the performance, when they are safe in the vital current of the performance, off the guard, all defenses laid aside, wrapped in the moment, their souls in their eyes?

Leda's Sister and the Geese

2008-05-08T15:49:00.001-05:00

by Katharyn Hood Machan

All the boys always wanted her, so
it was no surprise about the swan-
man, god, whatever he was. That day

I was stuck at home, as usual, while
she got to moon around the lake
supposedly picking lilies for dye, Think I

would have let some pair of wings catch me,
bury me under the weight of the sky?
She came home whimpering, whined out

the whole story, she said was "sore afraid"
she'd got pregnant. Hunh. "Sore"
I'll bet, the size she described, and

pregnant figures: no guess who'll get
to help her with the kid or, Hera forbid,
more than one (twins run in our damned

family). "Never you mind, dear," Mother said.
"Your sister will take on your chores."
Sure. As thought I wasn't already doing

twice as many as my own. So now
I clean, I spin, I weave, I bake,
filing crusts to feed these birds I wish

to Hades every day; while she sits smug
in a wiker chair, and eats sweetmeats,
and combs and combs that ratty golden hair.

The Euros Are Coming!

2008-02-07T16:01:00.000-06:00

Movie Review: "Atonement"

2008-01-24T23:54:00.000-06:00

I’ve found my favorite movie for this winter. Director Joe Wright’s "Atonement" is a smartly-written and subtly-executed drama that revolves around tension. There’s tension between the two main characters, Robbie and Cecilia. Cecilia is a teenage girl reared in a well off family and living in a nineteenth century manse in England’s countryside; Robbie is the teenage son of one of her family’s servants, with medical school at Cambridge (financed by Cecilia’s father) in his near future. Despite the differences in class, they finally recognize one hot summer day in 1935 that they are in love. Truly, deeply, madly.

There’s tension between Robbie and Cecilia’s younger sister Briony, who at the beginning of her own teenage years thinks that she loves Robbie. Robbie does not return her affections and, partly through the ignorance that owes to her young age and partly through her youthful despair at lost love, she becomes angry at his love for Cecilia and accuses him of raping her cousin.

There’s also the tension between her cousin, Lola, and her brother’s friend, Paul Marshall. Extraordinarily sublime at first, when they meet in the nursery, they flirt coyly in front of her younger twin brothers. Later, when those same boys run away, Lola and Paul find the time to rendezvous near a creek. Briony finds them and its this encounter for which Robbie is falsely accused, tried, and convicted.

Fast forward four years, and Robbie is a soldier in the British Expeditionary Force, separated from his unit but with the companionship of two fellow soldiers. Through a series of leaps in time – both forwards and backwards – we learn that he caught up with Cecilia, now a nurse in London, right before his deployment to France. It turns out that when the war started, he was offered the choice of enlisting in the military or remaining in jail; he chose the BEF; it also turns out that after Robbie’s arrest, Cecilia walked out on her family and has not spoken to them since then. They renewed their promises of love, and off went Robbie to fight.

Briony has also become a nurse. She hunts down Cecilia, but first learns through a news reel that Paul Marshall is engaged to Lola. When she meets Cecilia, she tries to apologize, but realizes that Robbie has returned. He finally has caught up with the BEF and evacuated with the rest of the army at Dunkirk. He makes Briony go to her family and an attorney and tell the truth about whom and what she saw that warm night in 1935.

But alas, we find out at the end, ‘tis but a story. Briony, in an television interview, is now a famed writer, and says that actually Robbie died at Dunkirk, and Cecilia died in a flood in an Underground station during an air raid. Instead, she has written the story that should have been, and tried to return to them the life they never had.

Joe Wright’s conception for the movie is brilliant. Water is a recurring motif throughout. Briony dives into it to test Robbie’s love for her. Paul and Lola have sex next to it. Robbie ultimately dies for lack of it, and Cecilia dies for too much of it. In the film’s final frames, depicting the life they both waited for, Robbie and Cecilia live peacefully beside it, and walk along its shores.

Christopher Hampton’s screenplay is likewise commendable. In the first half of the film, the story jumps backwards several times. Each time, the story is first told from Briony’s perspective. She often walks into the middle of a situation, not understanding what is happening. Then, the same event is fully explained from a more objective angle. At the fountain, the audience first only sees Robbie hold his hand out and command Cecilia. Is he giving the Nazi salute? Is he going to hurt her? Moments later, the whole scene is fully explained, and Robbie is guilty of nothing more than stopping Cecilia from cutting her feet on broken china. Later again, Briony walks in on Robbie and Cecilia in the study, with Cecilia’s back to the bookcase, her left arm pinned to the wall and her right hand clutching Robbie’s hair. One more the narrator backs up and reveals more to the audience than Briony understands. Throughout the first half, then, the audience gets the impression that Briony’s imagination is fertile grounds, and she does not yet fully understand her sister’s grown up world.

James McAvoy delivers Robbie as an honest and sincere character with an honest and sincere performance. He can deliver the look of a young boy walking down a country road in a tuxedo in one scene, and turn right around to portray a sadder-but-wiser soldier. Neither delivery looks faked, either. Keira Knightley as Cecilia undergoes a smaller transformation but nevertheless retains a beautiful optimism and holds the sense of a realistic 1930s actress. Her ability to act without spoken dialogue is put to much use and it is nicely displayed throughout.

I feel a little ashamed to admit this, but actually I cried after seeing this film the second time. After the first viewing I thought that it was a great film, but that I would likely need to see it again to fully appreciate it. Indeed I did, and though I worried a bit that I would be too distant to engage with the film on a visceral level, I actually found myself crying several times. Not many films can do that to me, but then again not many movies ever reach the level of "Atonement." It’s a truly special film, and I wish it the very best at the Oscars this year.

« Les moustiques »

2008-01-12T19:35:00.000-06:00

par P. Coran

Les moustiques
piquent, piquent
les gens qui
pique-niquent
ils attaquent
en oblique
les hamacs
élastiques
et bivouaquent
sans panique
dans les sacs
en plastique
les moustiques
font la nique
aux gens qui
pique-niquent
et qu’ils piquent
et repiquent
en musique c’est comique

ha ha ha!

And They'll Be Home By Christmas

2007-11-12T18:06:00.000-06:00

I'll admit it. I'm something of a history nut. I enjoy reading about days gone by and wondering what it was actually like to live then, not just what happened then. Of particular interest to me is World War I, a mostly-forgotten war but still, in my opinion at least, the most significant military conflict of the 20th century. More significant politically, economically, culturally, etc. From it tanks, poison gas, trench warfare, and air combat were born. From it the Bolsheviks were able to overthrow the Tsar and the Germans oust the Kaiser. At Versailles, Ho Chi Minh pressed President Woodrow Wilson for French Indochinese independence. Out of the ruins in Alsace came the repressive Treaty of Versailles which became a tool for later German dictators to use in their political speeches. From the ashes of World War I arose the spectre of communism and national socialism. The later would lead the world towards another war twenty years later; the former would haunt the US and its allies until 1991.

The New York Times ran an interesting piece about the war yesterday, which was Veteran's Day. Veteran's Day used to be Armistice Day because on November 11, 1918 (the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month of the eighteenth year of the twentieth century, precisely), the guns of August were muted for the first time since the fighting began in 1914 (Christmas, 1914 ,notwithstanding).

The article itself is about the last living American who actually was sent to France to fight in the Great War. I wonder what sort of mystifying horrors it must have been to be over there. I'd love to ask the man who knows but it looks like the odds are not in my favor.

Drinky Drinky

2007-10-21T22:05:00.001-05:00

State Senator Chuck Graham was arrested last night for driving under the influence last night after he crashed his automobile in a three-way accident and then required medical attention at University Hospital. He hit a minivan and then his airbag was deployed. Police reports say that his eyes were watery and bloodshot, and his speech was slurred and he mumbled. He admitted have a "few beers" before driving and refused to submit to a breatholizer or blood tests. Such refusals are grounds for the revocation of a drivers license for one year.

Honestly I'm not a fan of Chuck. Not because he's a D. Because he's an ass. Most of the senators are cool people. Like Luanne and Maida. They friggin' rock. Not Chuck. He's just condescending. Seriously dude, get over yourself. Looks like you'll have plenty of think-time in the next year as you hitchhike your ass down to Jeff City for session.

"Senator Graham Arrested for DUI" (KOMU) (21 Oct. 2007)
" Sen. Chuck Graham arrested on suspicion of driving while intoxicated" (Columbia Missourian) (21 Oct. 2007)
"State lawmaker charged with drunken driving" (Associated Press") (21 Oct. 2007)

Sir Elton!

2007-10-10T09:22:00.000-05:00

I've been on a serious Elton John kick since Friday, and with good reason, too. I got to see him Friday night at the Mizzou Arena. OMG it was amazing! And I got to see him from the fifth row (third if you don't count the first two rows that were roped off)!

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

Honky Cat

Rocket Man

Philadelphia Freedom

Game Over

2007-09-19T19:18:00.001-05:00

Listen To My Heart

2007-09-06T22:42:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I decided to play my Dreamgirls CDs since it had been quite a while since I last listened to them, and there were a few songs I felt like listening to on them. On disk two, I suddenly wanted to search through the disk to find this song by Beyonce. My goodness I love this song! The video is kinda crappy but the tune itself is very nice. I'm one with this song right now.

Les Miserables - The Muny

2007-08-11T21:38:00.000-05:00

Playing now at the Muny through this Wednesday is the Muny premiere of Les Miserables, the story of Jean Valjean who tries to make a better life for himself and those around him, even though he is hunted by the police for violating his parole; it is based on the novel of the same name by Victor Hugo.

The Muny does its very best to make Les Mis "its own" for these ten days, and it appears that they try to create the show without recreating the show; principally this is achieved by completely ignoring the enormous turntable in the stage. I completely understand that no artist simply wants to recreate what another artist already did, and I commend the Muny for wanting to bring the show to life in its own special way, but for three hours (yes, the show is three hours long) I heard that turntable scream and wail to be used.

There's something very simple about the original staging of Les Mis: only half the stage is ever lit, leaving the back half available to move sets around in shadows. Of course, the original version did go over the top with its barricade - what with the hydrolics clearly audible in the house. But sometimes during the Muny's production I just kept thinking: "Wouldn't it be easier just to turn the stage?" At the barricade scene itself I was actually ready for the stage to turn: everybody and everything was on it, and the little boy was about to go out to collect ammunition. I was heartbroken that they never turned that stage. Not once. Seriously, I think it would have been much easier than constantly opening and closing booms.

I also heard a cry from the fly system - the same fly system which the Muny used a few weeks ago for Peter Pan. The system is still up, and it could have been used for the bridge scene in which Javert commits suicide. In the original production, and the book, Javert jumps off a bridge into the river below, drowning, because Valjean's selflessness conflicts with Javert's self-enslavement to the law. In the Muny version, Javert stumbles as far as he can go upstage, and stabs himself. Ok. Not bad. The Muny audience would have been completely "wow-ed" by the bridge, but whatev. Really, I think the problem with Javert's suicide scene was the same problem that Javert had with every other scene: He didn't appear to have any direction. Some of his movements looked like something that had been approved without actually paying attention to them. Someone at some point should have actually given Javert an idea on what to do with his hands and where to move.

Somebody should also have stood in the house and realized that the entire sound system is way too loud. At times the sound combined with the heat to put me on the brink of a nasty headache. I don't enjoy Les Mis enough to sit through it with a headache like I did for Chicago in London.

There are many wonderful parts of the evening however. The lighting designer, David Lander, deserves the Kevin Kline Award for his lighting of Les Mis. The backlighting and strobes worked amazingly well and the titles, illuminated on the moving booms, were excellent too. Overall I think he gave the best effort of all the designers for the show. In second place for designers is the Kansas City Costume Company which designed hundreds of costumes for almost ninety actors and actresses. For sheer volume alone they deserve praise. Musical Director Dan Riddle also admirably conducted the orchestra. The Muny's version featured the best orchestra I've heard for the show; most productions heavily rely on 1980s sounding synthesizers. I personally prefer real strings over synthesized strings any day.

Many actors and actresses gave noteworthy performances too: Ivan Rutherford has an amazing voice and handled the part of Jean Valjean quite well. The part is just high enough that a second-tier tenor could not handle it. Mr. Rutherford is obviously not a second-tier tenor. On behalf of the Muny, I welcome him to return to Forest Park in the future. Jeff McCarthy played Javert; I already mentioned his shoddy staging but I will say that I thought that he was otherwise a decent Javert. Not quite evil enough but, eh, worse things have walked across that stage (I'm thinking of Karen Morrow).

Simone played Fantine; the poor girl has a pretty voice and was wonderful in her part. I loved her singing of "I Dreamed a Dream" and I also think that if it were a bit longer with a stronger finish she could have had an ovation sooner. But those aren't her fault: I blame the French guys who wrote the show for no applause. The always-welcome Ken Page lithely plays the evil innkeeper Thenadier and Lisa Howard plays his brassy and classless wife. I like those two characters for their entertainment value, even if I don't like what they do, and I must also say that I like how Mr. Page and Ms. Howard played them at the Muny. Olivia Jane Prosser plays a pretty Young Cosette for one scene. Leah Horowitz plays the older Cosette for the rest of Act One and all of Act Two. She's very pretty but not very interesting as a character. Typecast: ingenue.

Diana Kaarina plays a much more interesting character: Eponine, the daughter of Thenadier. She loves Marius, a young student revolutionary played by Kevin Kern, but he loves the Ingenue, Cosette. She devotedly helps him find out where Cosette lives and takes him to her. While he and Cosette sing their love song, "A Heart Full of Love," she sings counterpart about the loss of love. In Act Two she is shot trying to get back to him after delivering a note to Cosette via Valjean for him. She finally gets the attention from Marius she has wanted so desperately, only to die moments later; consider it the "Short Happy Life of Eponine." Very pretty. I like her voice. A lot. She's welcome back again at the Muny too. I seriously hope that I see more of her in the future, she's that good.

Overall Les Miserables is a thumbs-up. Some beautiful singing with a lush live orchestra behind them and pretty lighting illuminating their faces. Somebody needs to turn the sound down and reconsider their set and staging choices, but besides that, the standard Muny-goer should attend, if only to experience something slightly out of the ordinary Muny repetoire.

I Got Ssssssteam Heat

2007-07-29T21:14:00.001-05:00

Monday evening The Muny in Forest Park revived an old classic and a personal favorite of Nino Noir's: The Pajama Game. I know that, in the past, I have been critical of some of the Muny's dust-bin picks, but really I think there's something different about The Pajama Game. Perhaps it's just that I don't work at The Muny any more, but beyond that, I really think it's a cute show. Some shows require an entire evening just because the audience has to emotionally work itself up for the play - hey, you try just walking into a production of Sweeney Todd and tell me how you feel afterwards - while others just never seem to end, oh for the love of God would they please end (I'm thinking of a state spelled O-K-L-A-H-O-M-A). The Pajama Game is not serious, and it doesn't even begin to pretend to be. Well, okay, it does in the beginning pretend to be, but in two minutes the audience realizes it isn't serious; and it acknowledges its own fib at the end of the second act.

No, The Pajama Game is a throw back to another era of drama when musicals could be sweet and tuneful to the ears and pleaseant on the eyes. Oh, and The Pajama Game is certainly pleasant on the eyes. The costumes are pretty (well, they're period: the sowing girls' capes are not exactly pretty, but they're not ugly either. They're period) and the sets are spunky and fun. But really, I'm talking about the characters. The leading male character, Sid Sorokin, is played by a very attractive Will Chase. Judith Newmark seems to prefer Eric Kunze, who she thinks has the hearts of every teenage girl in St. Louis. Well, she's wrong, he only has her heart, but let those girls have Eric, I've got me Will Chase. Rrrarrr! His romance with the grievance committee (Babe, played by Muny veteran Kate Baldwin) at a pajama factory (where he is the superintendant, and hence management, not labor) provides the foundation for the show.

A show about a labor dispute? Yes. Sort of. The labor dispute, over a petty seven and a half cents, merely allows for some cool dancing - "Steam Heat," a big Fosse dance number, opens act two, and a few other cool dance sequences pepper the show as well -and the dispute also provides the naughty-naughty to the relationship. It's Montagues and Capulets in a commercial setting, really. Only here, the boy doesn't die. No, he does confront his boss to win the girl, though (so sweet!), and she gets her seven and a half cents. She also gets her man. Double cool! And for the cherry on top: the audience gets to see him topless: in the last scene, employees at the pajama factory are showing off their newest wares, and Sid and Babe sport a single pair of pajamas between the two of them, demonstrating how "[m]arried life is lots of fun. Two can sleep as cheap as one."

Almost makes Nino want to get married too.

Devil Child! Devil Child!

2007-07-22T10:43:00.000-05:00

Okay, so it's been a while since I last posted. I'm sorry for that. There's not much to talk about, except work, and I think it would just be better not to talk about it. On July 4, our black lab died after suffering from seizures for the better part of the day -- definitely not a happy thought.

However, I just want to post this: Hairspray is a hilarious and every worthwhile movie. The music is peppy and fun. The cast is amazing. John Travola in a fatsuit and dress? Yes! Christopher Walken running a toy shop, completely oblivious to the sexual advances of Michelle Pfeiffer? Definitely! Zac Efron being his hotty hot self? You bet! And Queen Latifah endorsing Napaway? Uh huh!

At the movie's core is love: for one another, for dancing, for life. Racism is presented as idiotic and a thing of the past. Tracy Turnblad, the lead character, proclaims this face on: "People who are different, our time is coming!" The historicism provokes an interesting question for 2007: How much have we changed? In 1962, racism was overt and usually embedded in law. Now, it has been eliminated from our statutes but some questions still linger about whether or not it is actually gone from most of America (we can probably agree that it's not gone from all of America). Witness: the controversy over Don Imus' comment about nappy hos. I didn't know what "nappy" meant when I heard it, but I quickly found out that it's not something good (ditto for "bugger"). But anyway, how many primetime shows have prominent and recurring black people in them (part of this question is genuine -- I don't watch a lot of TV)? There's no institutionalized segregation in television entertainment, but what's up with that? One of the most powerful people in the United States is an African American woman; a leading contender for the Presidential nomination is also black. How is it that we do so well on some fronts, but lag behind in others?

Anyway, just see the movie. It's fun. Fun enough to see it twice. Trust me-- I did!

Happy Fourth of July

2007-07-04T21:08:00.000-05:00

Meet Me at The Muny!

2007-06-25T09:00:00.000-05:00

Nino Noir's sister, Nina, will star this week at the Muny in Grease!

Well, okay, not exactly star. She'll be in the Teen Chorus. But I'm still excited for her! Rock on Nina!

Send in the Clowns

2007-05-07T19:58:00.000-05:00

No More

2007-04-23T10:40:00.000-05:00

I decided this morning to drop out of law school.

Instead, I'm going to stalk Jim Edmonds and wait for him to either (1) retire and come out, or (2) come out and be forced to retire. We will then settle down in a nice house in the CWE where we can walk the dogs and go to Showtune Tuesdays together. Doesn't that sound perfect?!?!

I'm thinking that instead of practicing law, I'll write music. For musicals. And everybody will want to produce them. Stephen Sondheim will smile upon me as I take my bows on opening nights. Kim Crosby will of course be in them; she's beautiful. And John Hannes -- you can be in them too! Life will be beautiful. Just me and Jim in a modest three-story house in the CWE with our two dogs.

And showtunes.

Mika - Grace Kelly

2007-04-11T10:50:00.000-05:00

I'm posting this because I was asked to post this.

My Nemesis

2007-03-20T21:35:00.000-05:00

I don't know how I got this song stuck in my head, but I did. And now, I can't get it out. Not Gwen, not JHud, not even Madonna seems to work. That's a problem, folks. Because they are WAY better than Nemesis.

Play at your own risk. It's a horrid song.

Life Upon the Wicked Stage

2007-03-05T22:49:00.000-06:00

Nino Noir's li'l sis -- Nina Noir -- has been cast by The Muny for this summer's production of Grease! Nina has auditioned for The Muny seven times, and this is the first time she's been cast. Now that she has been cast, not only will she be in a show on the Muny stage (it's half the size of a football field), but she'll also get to audition for The Muny's *elite* Muny Teen ensemble, which acts as the theatre's goodwill ambassadors (because the theatre would die without a thousand children trampling through it every evening).

Those auditions are Sunday, the day after she closes in a production of The Diviners at my high school. Oh, life upon the wicked stage ain't ever what a girl supposes!

Meet Me at The Muny!

2006-12-20T19:09:00.000-06:00

The Muny in Forest Park last week announced its 2007 season but the exact schedule (what plays when) is still in the air.

First, the shows:

Oklahoma!
Grease
Hello, Dolly!
Peter Pan
The Pajama Game
Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat
Les Miserables

Second, a few words about the lineup. Oklahoma: Really? Haven't I made myself perfectly clear that Carousel is Nino Noir's R&H show of choice? Oklahoma has to be the longest, dullest, most old-fashioned of old-fashioned musicals that never needs to be revived. Seriously. And don't give me this business about how it changed the musical theatre world forever. So did Cabaret and I don't see you folks doing that every chance you get (nor do I see Stephen Sondheim in your repetoire, *ahem*).

Oh - and if you think you can get away with the revival version - with Susan Stroman choreography and Hugh Jackman in the lead, you've got another thing coming. You'll see Nino unleash a wrath you haven't seen since Lawrence. Don't tempt me.

Grease: Eh, whatever. There needs to be a teen show, and I guess this is an okay one. It's kinda dirrty (as in, not wholesome-Catholic-schoolgirl-clean, *ahem*) and it gets people out there. I grant that there needs to be a revenue-booster and a "Teen Chorus" show in every season; I suppose Grease is it.

Hello, Dolly: This is soooo your chance to redeem yourselves for not giving us Kim Crosby last year. Or, rather, for me not getting to see her since The Music Man aeons ago. But if the title role goes to Karen Morrow, I will sit in the front row and projectile vomit all over her during the title number scene. Not joking. K-Baby is like a fallen horse - either let her out to pasture and let her graze, or send her to the glue factory. She is so forty years ago. Kim Crosby is beautiful, elegant, and of pure voice. She is my Angel of Music. Amen.

Oh - and so what if she's only 40 or whatever. Barbra Streisand wasn't even 30 when she starred in the movie version with Walter Matthau. This is soooo an open-and-shut casting case.

Peter Pan: Yuck. Personally, I think The Muny should make Into the Woods the "Kid Show" - after all, it does have a bunch of storybook characters, like Cinderella and Rapunzel. Okay, so maybe that's a bad idea, but really, I just don't like seeing the same four kid shows recycled. Let's do something new, like Big River or The Adventures of Frog and Toad. How awesome would those be?!?!

The Pajama Game: clearly a win thanks to the combined efforts of the AARP-members and Paul Flake - errr, Paul Blake. No, I do like this show, but I see it being the low point of the season. Ushers, plan your vacations to coincide with this show.

Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat: Oh barf. I'm tired of ALW always getting a show in each season. If it has to come back, please oh please please please don't bring Judy McClain back too. She slides into her notes, and I really don't care to consume pop music with my theatre. They just don't sit well in my stomach. Theatre is about art, about pretty, about everything that pop music isn't. Elton John isn't welcome here, and Joseph isn't either.

Les Miserables: Here's another fabulous chance for the practically-perfect Kim Crosby to shine! Somehow, I have a feeling it's going to be filled with B-stars like James Clow, K-Baby, and Judy McClain. Oh, and I'd like to see how The Muny makes the barricade, because I have a feeling they'll find a way to muck it up.

Hummmm...... Zen getting all that anger out of my system.... Hmmmmmmmm...

Okay, third: what should the order be? I am practically certain that this will be exactly the order that they will not pick, so I can say with confidence that it must be right.

Week One (June 18-24) - Oklahoma!
Week Two (June 25-July 1) - Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat
Week Three (July 6-15) (extended performances) - Peter Pan
Week Four (July 16-22) - Grease
Week Five (July 23-29) - The Pajama Game
Week Six (July 30-Aug 5) - Les Miserables
Week Seven (Aug 6-12) - Hello, Dolly!

Let's face it: the season needs to start happy, and end happy. People like Oklahoma! (even though I, rightly, don't) and it has a "I'm nice, you're nice, nature's nice, God's nice" kinda message. People seem to dig that, so give it to them early. Follow it up with Joseph - the Muny kids and teens show. This show has to be put apart from Peter Pan and Grease - the Kid Chorus and Teen chorus shows, respectively, so that the kids can make it to all the rehearsals. A four-day break over the Fourth of July does that nicely. The Pajama Game can go in the lull week that is Week Five. Week Five seems to have a reputation for getting the "other" material; Pajama Game fits that mold, as it's not a tried-and-true-bring-it-every-year-please sort of show. Les Mis has to go in Week Six, simply because it can't go in Week Seven. The season must close with a bang, and a happy bang at that. Sad bangs are depressing. I'm reminded of 2001, when My Fair Lady went in Week Six and Evita went in Week Seven - it just didn't work. And the patrons said so. Therefore, put the sad show in Week Six and save the happy show - starring Kim Crosby - in week Seven.

We'll wait and see what they actually decide. I was told that an announcement should be made next week, perhaps. Let us compare then, shall we?

Yum.

2006-11-25T15:22:00.000-06:00

Madonna is the hottest woman ever.

Sorry, ladies, but she is. I'd totally go straight if I got the chance to get with her - and she's closing in on fifty.

I mean, here's a woman who owns her sexuality. She's commanding and in control - as opposed to younger performers like Britney, who merely flaunt their sexuality. She dominates it and doesn't let it get out of hand. She isn't over the top but she still pushes the envelope. She doesn't have to gyrate and pulse her body - she just makes everybody else around her submit to her radiating presence.

And more than anything, she's just one freaking awesome entertainer. She's got the vocals and great music, but she presents it all so well - beyond the sex. The clip above demonstrates well just how spectacular her shows are. C'mon, a giant disco ball descends from the ceiling slowly to rest finally on a platform that juts out from the main stage. When the song goes into the main techno beat, it bursts open with a flurry of light to reveal la Madonna herself inside - wearing a full horseriding set - with a dominatrix flare. Men - as horses? - dance around her in a very S&M sequence. Those same boys rarely danced with a shirt all evening. And all evening, the women were in control of the men. How very much like Madonna to invert gender roles, or rather, ignore them completely. She is her own woman and she will not be stopped.

God I love this woman. No matter what else she says or does. I just love her.

PS: did anybody else notice how all the people there had their little digital cameras - not taking pictures, but making videos, to show everybody how freaking amazing it was. I seriously would have wet myself with excitement if I'd been there in person.

Requiem for an Icon

2006-11-25T13:47:00.000-06:00

The legendary film director Robert Altman died late Monday night. Mr. Altman directed many famous films such as M*A*S*H, Nashville, and, my personal favorite, Gosford Park. He had a distinctive style: impromptu speaking; actors speaking over other actors; lines bleeding from one scene to another. He was not a part of the inside Hollywood crowd; in fact, of all his memorable and impressive movies, and his many nominations for Oscar awards, he only won one, for lifetime achievement.

This did not stop actors, however, from wanting to work with him. He gave the actors freedom to diverge from the words written on the page so long as they still said everything that needed to be said. He once said that he would direct a scene without the script, and at the end say, “Hey, that’s great. Well done, everybody!” And then an assistant, who kept the script, or the screenwriter himself, would say, “But you forgot to talk about killing the fish! That’s the important part about the scene!” And then he would reply, “Oh, we forgot about killing the fish! So do it over and remember to talk about killing the fish!” The screenwriter for M*A*S*H apparently was furious with Mr. Altman that none of the lines he wrote ended up being used in the movie; the screenwriter then won an Oscar award for that movie.

Robert Altman really was my favorite director. He defied conventions, and he paid a high price for it in terms of awards, but reaped huge benefits in terms of creating art. The first time I saw Gosford Park, I knew that I liked it, even though I didn't understand half of what the actors had said. I knew that I liked how the story was told: how the characters interacted with each other, how a scene was presented, how details were perfected in an atmosphere that seemed spontaneous. I realized later: that was Robert Altman. Gosford Park has become my favorite movie and I've had the pleasure to see some of his other works, like his breakthrough movie, M*A*S*H. We are better off having had Robert Altman grace the silver screen, and worse off for loosing him.

Read it:

"Film Director Robert Altman Remembered for Actor's Touch" (National Public Radio) (22 Nov. 06)
"Elliot Gould on Robert Altman" (NPR) (22 Nov. 06)
"Film World Mourns Director Robert Altman" (NPR) (21 Nov. 06)
"Robert Altman, Iconoclastic Director, Dies at 81" (New York Times) (21 Nov. 06)

Buzz Buzz

2006-11-10T12:45:00.000-06:00

The London hit mega-musical Les Miserables opened last night at the Broadhurst Theatre in New York. *Sigh.*

It only closed in Broadway in 2003; it hasn't even closed in London yet. Is three years really enough time to let a show rest? It took Kiss Me, Kate nearly fifty years to get its first revival. A Chorus Line finally got its own revival, however stale it may be.

Perhaps Les Mis would be better if it wasn't exactly like the one that just closed. A revival is an opportunity to revamp the show. Present it with a different perspective. Instead of the turntable-and-hydrolics version that has been resuscitated, perhaps a minimalist version would have been interesting. Or perhaps everybody would have finally recognized that the show doesn't wow an audience when all it has to show for itself is a shoddy score by a guy who can't read music - much less compose an entire evening's score.

Broadway needs fewer white-bread musicals with all the blood drained out of them. Personally I look forward to Sunday in the Park with George's Broadway conquest. According to Playbill.com, Stephen Sondheim and the Menier Chocolate Factory, which produced the beautiful London version I saw (it's also up for an Evening Standard Theatre Award for Best Musical), are looking at Studio 54. Studio 54 has also been home to the revivals of Cabaret and Assassins. Neither are the cookie-cutter shows that the average Broadway visitor thinks is "art" or "good entertainment." No, ma'am: they are beautiful theatre. Broadway could use a little more theatre and a little less entertainment.

Read it:

"Theatre Week in Review" (Playbill.com) (10 Nov. 06)
"Arts, Briefly" (NY Times) (10 Nov. 06)
"Standard Sets Theatre Norms" (Variety) (9 Nov. 06)

Dulce et Decorum Est

2006-11-05T17:16:00.000-06:00

So he's gonna die. Humph. By hanging, too. There's something about a hanging that's awfully clean about a hanging. I cannot claim to support the death penalty (to the contrary: I rather strongly dislike it) but certainly there's something more fitting for such a giant. John Twyn was drawn, hanged, disemboweled, and quartered, just for publishing a book that suggested (sit for this one:) that the people should rebel if the King failed to adequately represent them (!). The Romans would use convicts when a play required somebody to die; the Greeks moved the action offstage and presented the "dead bodies" after the act, but the Romans would actually stop the action to bring on a condemned man so he could be killed. Even Topsy the Elephant was publicly electrocuted when she became too much for her handlers.

No, honestly I don't care much for the death penalty at all. The thought of killing somebody so calmly disturbs me greatly. No matter what the method: hemlock, injection, or (especially) electrocution, it's a rather disgusting thing. I cannot come up with a way to keep him secure until he dies naturally. Surely we could build something on the South Georgia island a la GTMO for this special fellow.

Cardinals Win World Series

2006-10-28T11:57:00.000-05:00

My (New) Favorite Swedish Disco-Pop Band

2006-08-29T21:30:00.000-05:00

I am seriously in love with Alcazar. Sadly, however, they've probably broken up.

Backing up - on my last Saturday night in London, after seeing Sunday in the Park with George (which, if you didn't hear - is the most awesome thing I've ever seen on stage), I went to a lounge-bar and a dance club. At the lounge, there were music videos playing and I was giving them an eye, keeping the other on the people in the crowd - I people watch when I'm alone or bored, honestly. Well, one of the videos that the lounge played was this really cool tune that opened with the line "Un, deux, menage a trois." Whoa. Automatically a good intro. And a good vamp to match it. Thankfully the actual song itself was just as fun.

Fast forward to the next day - I simply have to know who made that video, what the song title is, etc, etc. Well, the title is pretty obvious, and the band that put it out is a Swedish foursome called "Alcazar." I know - pretty Spanish sounding name for a bunch of Scandanavians.

Well, I'm hooked. They've got a bunch of videos up on their website, and I love almost all of them. One of these days I'll buy their latest (and probably last) CD - "Dancefloor Deluxe."

Check it out, yo!

Theatre Review: Sunday in the Park with George

2006-08-06T10:38:00.000-05:00

The beauty of visual art, the majesty of live music, and the emotional rapture of compelling drama merge at the Wyndham's Theatre, where Stephen Sondheim's and James Lapine's Sunday in the Park with George is currently playing.

Sunday is almost a play without a plot, mostly fictitious but also based on what little information exists about Georges Seurat, the man at the center of the drama. In the first act, Georges is working on his newest painting with a new technique, chromolumism (we call it "pointilism"). He is obsessed with his work, to the detriment of his relationship with his mistress, ironically named, Dot. His devotion to his art pushes Dot into the arms of another man who will give her the comfort and attention she craves, even though she is pregnant with Georges' baby. When Dot's new fiance, Louis, accepts a job in America, Dot goes with him, but tries, in vain, to make Georges convince her to stay; instead, his demeanor and attitude about the whole affair makes her want to go even more. She gives birth to his child - a girl she names Marie, after a character in a grammar book from which she is teaching herself to read, and Dot, with Louis and Marie, leave for America, just as Georges is finishing his masterpiece, "A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte."

At the beginning of Act Two, the characters in Seurat's masterpiece are in their immortal poses, lamenting the weather and their eternal companions ("It's Hot Up Here"). At the end of the song, the characters, one by one, come forward and recall their impressions and opinions of Georges; each of the characters in the painting, in the play, are people he saw in the park or actually knew. Fast forward one hundred years: Georges' great-grandson, also named George, is an artist trying to find funding for his works and at the same time trying to figure out his voice and mission. George returns to Paris, where he has an exhibition coming up and wonders why he cannot succeed. Through a gap in time, Dot emerges and starts to talk to George. George becomes Georges, and he returns to the beginning, reborn with new perspectives and a new energy, ready to create.

OK, so it sounds like there's a lot going on, but really most of the action, especially the stuff about the baby in the first act, happen off stage, so the audience only gets a before and after look: now-she's-pregnant-now-she's-not. The emphasis is instead on two main characters: Georges and Dot in Act One, and George and his grandmother Marie in the second.

A lot of attention is also given to the Grant Questions of Art: What is it? What does it cost? Why do artists make it? Perhaps it is because of the depth to which these questions are explored that the show won the Pulitzer Prize for Drama in 1985, even if it lost big in the Tony Awards that same year.

The popular reason given for its major losses to Jerry Herman's La Cage Aux Folles is that it simply isn't hummable. To that I offer two responses. One: so? I thought we threw that stuff overboard with the opening of Oklahoma! If a hummable tune is all we're after, let's all just return to the 1920s, when cheezy revues and vaudeville acts dominated.

Second: nonsense. People who don't "get" Sondheim don't pay him any attention either. His music is quite catchy if he's only given a chance (listen to "A Weekend in the Country" and try to tell me you're not humming it)., but more than that, he's working on a deeper level than most composers - including Jerry Herman - think to go (or can go). The intricacy of harmony and the development of themes and motifs, including leitmotifs, in his work is astounding when one starts to see how he assembles his music. No small wonder his body of work is too challenging for many performers.

Thankfully, the cast in London is amply qualified for the score. Daniel Evans, as Georges and George, is neurotic, quirky, and dismissive. He's a hard character to love, but he almost makes you accept his unacceptable behavior when he sings "Finishing the Hat" - a song in which he dismisses past loves as unable to accept him as he is: "And the kind of woman willing to wait's not the kind that you want to find waiting to return you to the night" comes off a genuine. He actually believes that he's in the right.

Jenna Russell is his artistic equal. Who else can cry - real tears, my friends - while belting out "We Do Not Belong Together"? Her role is extremely challenging - music aside. Any actress taking on the roles of Dot and Marie must be able to pull off energentic, pensive, angry, motherly, old, and of course beautiful, all in two and half hours. Georges sends Dot on a roller coaster of emotion, and the actress who plays her must be able to keep up. Jenna Russell does so without pause.

Others in the cast are just as deserving of praise. Gay Soper (Old Lady / Blair Daniels) is humorously entertaining and touching as Georges' (embarrassed) mother and, later, George's critical mentor. Sarah Grench Ellis and Kaisa Hammarlund play the two Celestes very well together; they play off each other and bicker constantly with each other very well. It's as if they really do belong together. Ms. Ellis also plays George's ex-wife, Elaine, a small role, and I am left wondering why they broke up. It's hinted at that George was too difficult to get along with, but she seems to get along with im quite nicely - professionally, even. Is it all a front? It's almost as if they don't know each other, sometimes.

All of the acting is surrounded by beautiful scenic design. At the beginning, the entire stage is bare, the stage is slightly raked, and the walls are white. Some curtains hang upstage center. When Georges comes out and utters his first lines, the curtains move and a black pen mark flies across the upstage wall. Digital computer technology creates the scenes and allows for some humorous moments, such as when Georges decides he doesn't like one of the trees. The curtain which was the tree, colored by computer projections, flies out stage left and all that is left is a white hole in the upstage "canvas." In Act Two, computer-generated images of George emerge to talk with patrons as the real George laments the art of making art in "Putting It Together" as the need to constantly kiss up to prospective supporters. All of this is superbly blended with outstanding acting, simply and simply lush orchestrations, and a moving score. By far, it is the best thing to play in London today.

Theatre Review: Billy Elliot

2006-07-27T18:34:00.000-05:00

One of London's West End's biggest British musicals is based on a British movie, which is based on events in British history, with which American audiences are not likely to connect easily. That show - Billy Elliot - is about a young boy in Northern England who finds his passion is in ballet and tries to get into the Royal Ballet Academy, but his father and older brother - both miners striking against the Hatcher government - refuse to let him - considering it gay and elite, respectively. For a show about a boy in love with ballet, there's surprisingly little ballet. For a show performed in English, it's nearly impossible for the average American audience to understand. Both are quite a shame.

The story takes place against the miner strikes of 1984, which were the most violent during the early Thatcher government. Most Americans might not understand the political background that shapes the story. Most younger American theatre-goers probably won't. As if that wasn't bad enough, neither the lyrics nor the music help cultivate any emotional connection between the unknowing audience and the show. The lyrics are about as boring and uninformative as anything by Stephen Schwartz or Tim Rice. The music is about as uninspirational as an Andrew Lloyd Webber soundtrack on the third listening (or, again, anything by Stephen Schwartz). Some of the songs, too, seem completely unnecessary and ought to be cut entirely (eg: what's with the grandma's song? She tells us how much she hated her husband, then we don't see her until Act II).

The accents, too, are authentically Northern-English, but that makes it very difficult for an American to understand. It would have to be "standardized" for an American audience to understand it. The dance is sub-par. Fights between the police and the miners are choreographed, and those scenes should be completely rewritten or restaged so that the dancing doesn't detract from the story and look, frankly, stupid. Perhaps I just don't like modern dance (and I don't - it's terribly inferior to other forms of dance, and it's made, in my opinion, for people who are either too bad or too lazy for ballet), but the scenes between the miners and the police fail to demonstrate the intense anger between the parties involved. Furthermore, the miners' songs don't lend me to feel their pain. This is probably a result of: (1) bad lyrics, (2) bad music, and (3) unintelligible dialogue between them.

I'm still trying to figure out what Stephen Sondheim likes about it. I'll get back to you if I can figure it out...

Theatre Review: Hay Fever

2006-07-25T19:42:00.000-05:00

All that I can say about the West End revival of Hay Fever is that it is amazing. It has a witty script, penned by Nöel Coward, and it stars an impressive cast of nine, led by Dame Judi Dench.

That's right. I got to see a play with Judi Dench. I'm seriously on cloud nine. Weeeeeee!!!

No, really, it is a good play. Each of the four members of the household has invited a special someone to visit, including the parents. Yes, the happily married couple each invites their own guest to spend the weekend with them. The twist is: they didn't bother to announce their invitations to the rest of the family before making them, so the day of their visits, hysteria erupts and the dramatic, aged actress mother, played by Dame Judi, simply cannot figure out where everybody will stay. Nor can the hired help figure out how they're going to double their productivity on such short notice. Nor can the guests believe that their anticipated "quiet weekends" have been shattered.

Of course, everything goes wrong that first evening when the harried family tries to play a game, which dissolves into shouting and hysteria. Each person in the family runs off with a guest to hide - only they don't go with the guest they invited. Proposals are made, or are they? It's all a part of the fun that is Hay Fever.

Each of the actors and actresses are good in their own right. The son and daughter play opposite each other very well - they obviously don't get along and they bicker constantly. The father has a few verbal ticks but after a while they're not really annoying as much as they are just a part of him. And of course, Judi Dench as the mother is quite ravashing. For the audience who is used to seeing her in strong female roles, fighting a male society (eg, Queen Elizabeth in Shakespeare in Love, or M in the James Bond series), this is a very different role. Overly dramatic. Big, wild gestures. Everything is over the top, and that's just the way it should be.

The dialogue moves very quickly, too. So quickly that it's difficult to keep up with it sometimes. Perhaps the accent has a little something to do with it (after five weeks, I'm still not used to it), but the pace is good; no Mack Trucks, as my high school drama teacher used to say, here.

In the end it was definitely worth the price. Twenty something pounds, plus we snuck down at intermission (the usher said it would be OK). And to top it all off, Dame Judi not only autographed our programs, but we got our picture taken with her, too. It was quite the evening to remember.

Who Approved This?

2006-07-23T07:55:00.000-05:00

Somebody in Madonna's PR crew needs a permanent vacation. Who allows this picture to be published, much less on her official website? And who thinks that it's a good pose? Her backup dancers don't scare me, and gangsters usually frighten me. And Madonna - she looks like a neckless toad passing gas.

Theatre Review: Chicago

2006-07-22T13:34:00.000-05:00

Murder. Greed. Corruption. Violence. Exploitation. Adultery. Treachery.

Such are the foci to the London revival of Kander & Ebb's Chicago. Steaming with hot dance, hot music, and hot boys (the girls are OK too), it's an incredible show, but something still feels missing.

I think it's analogous to a football team: the quality of the playing starts to wear down when the coach starts playing second and third string players. Similarly, when a show starts dipping into eighth- and nineth-string performers, the show starts to suffer. The characters aren't theirs'; they belong to someone else. Another performer created them, and the new actors are merely stepping in now. They don't get same opportunities, often, to do something new, to show their own creativity. It's the creativity that makes a good actor a great actor. The ability to take words on a page and breathe life into them; in a revival, to give them new and different meanings.

That is not to say that anybody after the original cast is less-than-worthy. How many different women played Dolly after Carol Channing? How many took on Momma Rose after Ethel Merman? How many men have been Tevye?

But after a while, actors face a choice: take on a new work, and get the opportunity for critical success and awards; get the chance to show off their theatrical muscle. The alternative: perform in Les Miserables as the ten-and-somethingith Jean Valjean. My rational-actor (haha) crystal ball says they take the former.

And so it seems with Chicago (actually, I first thought about this during Les Miserables last month). Momma Morton: eh. Billy Flynn: kinda disappointing. Amos: too bad he isn't really cellophane.

The best part of the show really is everything that's old: the music, the costumes, the dancing. Those elements sizzle and feel fresh. Actually, I think the dancing was the best part. Next time, could we just skip to the chorus numbers?

Oh the chorus. Ahhhh... Methinks jazz pants are the hottest thing God ever gave Man. Top them with a black-fish net shirt, and let them all hug a strong, sinewy, and well-defined young (preferably male) body: thus is bliss.

If everybody sees me walking around Hulston High in dansneakers next month, you'll know why.

OK, so there's more to Chicago than an amazing chorus (as if one needs more). Its themes about media- and legal-manipulations leave the modern, celebrity-crazed audiences with plenty to ponder. I mean, really, who in law school really wants to be Billy "Love of Justice, Love of Legal Procedure" Flynn? Don't we all go in with some idea about righting wrongs? Yes, well... Most of us. The rest of us complete Billy Flynn's thought: "Physical love ain't so bad either." In the end, ironically, it's a double-murderer and her corrupt warden who lament the downfall of "Class" in society.

In a Runaway Bride and Free Condoms era, Chicago still has something to say about our lifestyle, if we can only turn off E! TV long enough to listen.

Les Miserables - London's West End

2006-06-28T15:58:00.000-05:00

I walked into the Queen's Theatre very nervous that I wasn't going to like Les Miserables, because I had heard some of the music before and it didn't capture me, because I didn't like the synthesized sound of the orchestra, and because my father, whom I love, fell asleep watching it. Compounding my nervousness was my ticket, for a seat in the second row on the main floor. Gosh, I thought, I'd better not get drowsy like I did that time I saw Hedda Gabler from the third row! How terribly horrid would that be?

I walked out of the Queen's Theatre with the program and the souvenir booklet, which together cost £8 (roughly fifteen dollars) (yes, I had to pay for a program - cheap British bastards), and a huge grin on my face. There's still a lot of things that I don't like about Les Mis, but I'm very pleased that I saw it, and there were some songs that I have come to like a lot more, and at least I understand what all is going on when I'm listening to it (or parts of it).

The ending, however, still perplexes me. Most of the show demonstrates the plight of Paris' poor after the French Revolution. They're starving, they're fighting for every penny, and yet the end of the show leaves them behind as one lucky girl gets to move into High Society. Actually, the poor get into the wedding celebration, with the Thenardiers in costume. The Thenardiers are hardly the best the poor has to offer, nor are they, I would argue, representative of a huge class of people just trying to make an honest day's wages; no trickery, no deceit. But that's what the Thenardiers embody, and they (and the rest of the poor too) get their come-upances in the end - when they crash the party.

What a message! Look at these people, feel their pain, know their sorrows. Then leave them in the gutter. How dare they disturb the First Estate!

Such is what I felt at the end. Where are those poor? Dead. Oops. That didn't mean to happen. Honest. Just sort of works out that way, conveniently.

This is typical of the disjointedness of Les Mis. It tries so hard to cover thirty years that it fails to cover a single plot. Is it a love story? Is it a hero story? Is it about redemption? Revenge? I don't know. It tries to be so many things to so many different people.

The show is a product of a bygone era in musical theatre, when the major shows were British exports, with huge, revolving sets and lots of high-tech props. The theatre market has become more tailored now. While shows like The Producers and, most recently, The Drowsy Chaperone, continue to hold their own, other shows are aiming at smaller groups. The Color Purple, co-produced by Oprah Winfrey, targets black audiences. Sweeney Todd goes for Sondheim cult members (myself included).

Like the guy once said, the times they are a-changin'. Musical theatre has left Les Miserables and the shows like it (Cats, Phantom of the Opera) behind (it actually started to do it around the time that Sunset Boulevard flopped). Les Mis is a relic, and I'm glad that I got to see it, before it too disappears.

On a side note, there's no sign that it will close in the near future. Cameron Macintosh proudly proclaims that it will become the "longest running musical in history." Well, perhaps British history. But out in the rest of world (the one that isn't Anglocentric), that honor proudly rests with The Fantasticks, which ran for forty-two years in a little theatre in Greenwich Village. I haven't checked the math, but I believe that forty-two is greater than Les Mis's mere twenty-one. So move over, Macintosh; you ain't all that.

First Anniversary

2006-06-28T01:57:00.000-05:00

Last night Nino Noir celebrated its first aniversary at the Queen's Theatre, watching Les Miserables. I can only hope that every anniversary is spent at the theatre!

Kinda funny, since Nino Noir's very first post was a theatre review; indeed, Nino Noir was founded as a forum for reviewing and discussing theatre productions. I'll have a review of Les Miserables up after I'm finished with classes, about seven hours from now.

Note: 156 blog postings since 28 June 2005. Wow!

Tax Summer, Part One

2006-06-22T19:17:00.000-05:00

The first week of classes in London is almost over. It's been a very busy week: almost three hours of U.S. International Tax every morning, followed by a lunch break and then over an hour of Basic Federal Income Tax every afternoon. My classes are over by 3 in the afternoon, but then there's the homework. For International Tax, there are packets of background information and problems for us to work through; of course we're also reading the actual Code and Regulations. In Basic Tax, we have about fifty pages of reading every night.

The classes themselves aren't that bad. I actually like International Tax, even though I really don't feel like I understand the material; I felt that way about Contracts, and considering how I did in that class in comparison to all my other ones, that's not necessarily a bad feeling. I really wish, however, that the course was taught over the whole four weeks. The professor, who runs Northwestern's Graduate Tax Program, will be in Australia in a few weeks, so I understand that they needed to condense everything, but really it would be a lot better, I think, if we could take it in smaller pieces every day.

Basic Tax is not too bad either, but we're glossing through the Code and the Tax formula right now; I really hope to go back through some parts of it, because it's difficult to keep up with the professor's lectures, especially when he starts rattling off provisions in the Code that sound important really quickly. The students had the option of buying a CD for twenty dollars or the code book with regulations for about forty dollars, and I opted for the cheaper - and lighter - option; bad idea: it's really nice to have it all in print, right in front of you, and sometimes the professor isn't giving a section number, just "look at the bottom of the left column on page 1618." Hmm... I don't have a page 1618 - I need section numbers, please?

I also think it would be a good idea if the program were stretched out over six weeks of classes, with each class meeting for all six weeks, for maybe an hour and a half every day, every week. Learning the basics of international taxation is ambitious, but perhaps a little over-zealous too. It has left us, the students, with no time to see the city. Today was the first time we went "downtown" into Westminster, around Oxford Circus, and walked around. It was the first time that we actually went into the city for pleasure, and we didn't see anything except for a really big H&M store and a Borders Booksellers.

Most nights, like tonight, we're up until one or two getting all of our work done for the next day. It sort of helps that the sun doesn't set until about nine-thirty in the evening (!), but by midnight I'm still feeling beat. Seriously, I'm getting too old to stay up until two in the morning, every morning.

And on that note, I need to get to sleep. I know - the time on the post says something like "7pm", but add six hours to that: that's our time. I'm beat, and behind, and ready for bed. 'Night, ya'll.

The Start of a New Season

2006-06-20T12:03:00.000-05:00

This is the first year since 2000 that I was not at The Muny in Forest Park for the beginning of the season. It feels kind of weird to not be there, and I kind of miss my patrons. They were wonderful people, and we got along very well. I hope that the show went well. The St. Louis Post-Dispatch theatre critic has not posted her review online yet, but I imagine it will be positive. Her reviews usually are, even if the shows are not quite deserving of her praise. She's nice like that.

I hope that the evening went well for the ushers, too. No grouchy patrons, no rain-delays, no double-parked cars in the side lot, etc. To everybody there, I miss you & I can't wait to see you in August!

All Roads Lead To Rome

2006-06-17T22:05:00.000-05:00

I arrived in London on Tuesday morning at Heathrow Airport, and circuitously made my way up to Luton, which is a town about forty-five minutes northwest of London by train. I spent the night in Luton because the next morning I had a flight to Rome via Ryan Air.

A word about Ryan Air: it's very cheap, moreso than Southwest Airlines. At least Southwest gives its customers a little complementary baggy of pretzels and a cup of water. On Ryan Air, you have to buy the water. And it comes in a little plastic pouch; hardly enough to quench any thirst.

Rome - Roma e bella. It's also very dirty, and populated with tourists this time of year (of course). The weather is quite warm - in the upper eighties or thereabouts - but with a Gatorade during the day, and a visit to the local gelateria after the sun goes down (which is, like, nine-ish at night), it's entirely bearable and very pleasant. I forgot to bring some sunscreen, as I am as pale as the Ghost of Christmas Past, so there's some redness in the face and neck, but it doesn't hurt, and when push comes to shove, one can always pop the collar.

And why not? The natives do it. Their fashion sense is very different from the tourists, and it's easy to spot an American. On my first day, for example, I had on my red Express shortsleeve buttondown shirt, with Levi jeans, and my swanky Adidas sneakers (the shiny silver and black ones). Oh, and a black belt, to match the shoes. I wasn't half-way up the Spanish Steps when some disgustingly greasy native ran up to me, screaming "Ameria Yay! Ameria win World Cup!" This was after we'd lost to the Czech Republic 3-0, mind you, and I can't stand soccer. Then, he tried to put a piece of string around my finger, and I kept trying to say no, but he was persistant, until finally I removed the string myself and then threw it back at him. He told me that I made him sad, making the tear gesture at the same time. Yeah, big tear for you, was roughly my reply.

It made me really angry that I was spotted on my first day, because I wanted to blend in. I wanted to go to Rome to see things that tourists usually don't see, and go to places they don't go. As cool as the Forum and the Piazza Navona are (and I really like the Piazza Navona), there is so much more to Rome that most people don't ever see; I wanted to see it, and I didn't like that I was going to be spotted as an outsider the entire time.

So, I started taking closer notice of how the Romans dressed and behaved. At best, in America they would be classified as "metro" - as in "metrosexual." The men are huge label whores, with their Dolce belt, Prada shirt, and Gucci shoes. I've been accused of being too focused on the label, but these men were all about the label. I don't know where these guys get the money to buy all those clothes, either, since most of them are unemployed until they're thirty or so.

I stopped into several stores, and the prices were outrageous. €170 for a shirt. I'll grant that it was a nice shirt - a very nice shirt - but was it really worth €170? I thought to myself, if Express sold that same shirt, it would cost about $50, which is a quarter of what they were asking. No thanks, I thought, I'll visit Plaza Frontenac instead.

The Versace store was much more reasonable. There, a tie cost about €49 and a shirt about the same. They had some pretty kick-ass ties, too; I might look into buying one online. Still, I want to save enough money to live in London, where we're going to have to stock our own kitchen (I am rather disappointed that there isn't a cafeteria, but I suppose that I'm just that lazy) and buy a ticket to and from classes every day, total about £188 for one month - I'll be here for six weeks.

I noticed that another key to being Roman is not to rush anything. In America, the phrase "whatever, whenever" pretty much means you're a cubicle-monkey, slaving away for the corporate boss. In Italy, it means that things just sorta happen when they happen. People just sit around wherever they can and talk. I tried some of that; it didn't go too well, because I was eating my lunch at the same time, and a policeman walked right up to me and blew his whistle, saying rather loudly, "No Eating!" So that's how they stay thin... Honestly, how hard would it be to tell me without the whistle? Are you that freaking bored? Read a book, for Pete's sake.

Oh well. Most of my time was just spent wandering around, see what was there that I hadn't seen before. There's a lovely park above the Piazza del Popolo that I would recommend to anybody planning a visit; it's a great place to just sort of stop and rest, and take in some shade. Nobody was mad that I was eating up there, either. I saw the crypts at the Vatican, where some Popes were buried. Very awesome. I didn't get to see the Vatican museums, and I really wanted to see the artwork there; I also wanted to see Bernini's "Ecstacy of St. Teresa of Avila" but I didn't. Spending time with Caravaggio would have been bliss, too. I suppose that I'll have to return. *Sigh*

I've returned to London, which is OK. I'm in East London, actually, home of the infamous George Galloway, MP, who supposedly got kickbacks from Saddam Hussein, was a part of the Oil for Food scandal, and was evicted from the Labour Party after he encouraged British soldiers to turn on their commanders. He was the same guy that was subpoenaed to testify before a U.S. Senate subcommittee, and instead of answering questions, went off into a nonsensical tirade against Bush and Blair and just about everything else that moves or breathes.

There are a lot of non-sensical things that happen here. For example, the pub that we went to yesterday accepts MasterCard, but not mine, because it doesn't have some special chip in it that the British government requires. So pretty much the only people who can charge anything are the Brits. Everybody else gets stuck with a crappy conversion rate. Boo on that.

The accent is the hardest part. In Italy, I felt like there was a good reason why I couldn't understand what people were saying, but they tried to speak English, and if they simply didn't know it, I would flip into French; usually that got me what I needed. Here, I feel like there's no good reason for not understanding these people. They really do speak a different language, and it's quite frustrating. I couldn't understand what the bartender last was trying to tell me about that smart-chip thing in credit cards, and when she said "four pounds, four pence," I really did think I heard that each of our two drinks was four pounds. Yikes!

Oh well. Hopefully everything will straighten itself out. I've got six weeks to learn a new language and a new currency. Oh - the currency! Does anybody remember that lesson in kindergarten when you learned the different coins? There were exercises about making change and there would be pictures showing, for example, three nickels and a quarter, and you were supposed to say how much it was. I feel like I need that lesson here. I definitely don't know a twenty-pense from a fifty-pense piece. Or a €1 piece from a €2 piece; they're practically identical.

Anywho, that's life in a nutshell for me. I hope that all is well back in the ol' U.S. of A. Take care. Ciao!

Arrival

2006-06-13T14:38:00.000-05:00

I have made it to London. Safely, too. I am very tired, and it is very rainy, and I haven't taken any pictures yet. But I need to, I know. Perhaps I'll start tomorrow, when I'm in Rome. That sounds like a delovely place to start my photodocumentary of the summer. I look forward to many postings in the future; Nino Noir's 1st Anniversary is coming up soon!

Review: Sleeping Beauty

2006-01-29T08:30:00.000-06:00

Last night the Russian National Ballet presented Tchaikovsky's "Sleeping Beauty" in Jesse Auditorium. It was on the whole a very enjoyable evening.

Princess Aurora was OK, but not outstanding. To her credit, she was much better in Act III than she was in Act II, but that's not saying much. Her technique was on target, but she lacked emotion and she did not seem to be as talented as some of the other ballerinas.

One such ballerina was the Lilac Fairy, who places the sleeping spell over Aurora and the entire kingdom after Aurora pricks her finger on a sewing spindle on her sixteenth birthday. The Lilac Ferry towered over the other fairies and had much better flexibility than almost all the other dancers.

There were many other excellent dancers, including the bluebirds, Puss in Boots, and Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf. Among them, the bluebirds were definitely the best. They worked very well together and their dance (and reprise later) one of the better divertissements of the show.

The best dancer of all, however, was Prince Charming, who seemed to tour jete five or six feet into the air as he lept around the stage. Truly he received the best applause of all.

Sleeping Beauty

2006-01-22T22:02:00.000-06:00

I've got two tickets to the Russian National Ballet production of Sleeping Beauty for this Saturday in Jesse Auditorium. It ought to be good for two reasons:

1. It's Sleeping Beauty -- classical Russian ballet at its very best; and
2. It's presented by the Russian National Ballet -- this ain't your local high school pom-pom squad.

Call me, email me, talk to me, whatever, if you're interested.

Movie Review - Brokeback Mountain

2006-01-11T02:23:00.000-06:00

I've seen more movies in the past six months than ever before, and one of the most impressive movies I saw was Brokeback Mountain. It's about, in a nutshell, a sexual relationship between two sheepherders in 1963 and the repercussions of their affections later in life.

It's artfully constructed under the direction of Ang Lee, with amazing performances by Heath Ledger, Jake Gyllenhaal, and Michelle Williams.

The movie has received a lot of criticism, mostly from conservative religious groups. Many criticisms acknowledge the film's artistic essence and then take issue with its tolerance (promotion?) of homosexuality. Others just skip to debating the central (gay) relationship.

I have to wonder, though, if Ennis Del Mar (Heath Ledger) even is gay. Ennis is the most interesting character because of the angst and internal struggles he grapples with throughout the film. Ennis hardly talks during the first hour, when he and Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhaal) actually worked on the mountain, except for one point when he describes his parents' death and his being raised by his older siblings.

Really, I think that Ennis has emotional problems and issues connecting with others. His wedding ceremony to Alma (Michelle Williams) seems stiff, like when he kisses her after exchanging vows. He likes her, and he is capable of having sex with her, as we witness more than once. He's can father children (they have two), but eventually he isn't willing to support any more, and they divorce. When Jack comes up right away upon hearing about the divorce, Ennis dismisses him; he has the girls for the weekend and can't play around. Eventually he starts dating a waitress from the next town over, but somehow it falls apart. We don't really know why it doesn't work, but we do know that he stopped talking to her for a while, to her great disappointment. Overall I get the impression that Ennis is incapable of seriously devoting himself to someone else, male or female.

His emotional problems, sadly, translate to his kids sometimes, too. This was, to me, the worst of his behavior (to me, if you father them, you're responsible for and to them). When Jack starts visiting him, four years after their summer on the mountain and while they're both married, Ennis gives his daughters scant notice as he hurries to go "fishing" with Jack in the mountains. Later, Alma Jr. asks to come live with him because she doesn't like living with her mom and step-dad, but he refuses, claiming that he's not home enough. Well -- be home more often! As I said, I found this behavior most egregious, but he redeems himself at the end, when Alma Jr. says she's getting married. He initially says that he has to work on the ranch at that time, but decides to take the day off (or quit) to be there.

So why does he go for it with Jack? I believe that it is because Jack hunted Ennis. The very first time we see Jack's face and eyes, he's checking out Ennis, and I saw him surveying his prey. Everything he does after that (or almost everything) is geared towards sleeping with Ennis (they're not supposed to sleep in the same camp, let alone the same sleeping bag): the drinks, the conversations, the complaints about how he should be sleeping in the camp with Ennis and not on mountain with the sheep, etc. Everything in his eyes and his tone of voice suggested to me that he was a predator with his eye on the prize, like the coyote he shot at. Lest there be any doubt remaining, remember: he pulled Ennis' arm around him, thus setting off their first close encounter. He also drove down to Mexico after Ennis sent him away after the divorce for to get what Ennis wouldn't give.

Furthermore, he strikes up a new relationship with his neighbor; it's this relationship that eventually gets him killed. His death, interestingly, is foreshadowed not only by Ennis' story about the rancher that got killed when he was a kid, but also by the sheep that is killed by coyotes during their first time sharing the tent: the destructiveness of their behavior on themselves and others is quickly made clear.

Overall it's a pretty good film. If you have thought about seeing it, go ahead and see it. It's a great film, at least for its artistic merits. It's also picking up steam with each passing week. In St. Louis, it started off exclusively at the Tivoli in the U-City loop. Now, it's at four theatres. In Europe, it's also a hit, knocking King Kong off the top of the box office charts.

Muny 2006 Schedule

2006-01-06T21:29:00.000-06:00

The Muny has released its 2006 Season. It's not exactly what I wanted. Indeed, I didn't vote for any of the shows on the lineup, except one. Oh well. I guess that that is what I get for voting for shows like Carousel and Ragtime. Maybe 2005 was my last year there, afterall....

The King and I
June 19-25

Aida (by Elton John & Tim Rice)
June 26 - July 2

The Wizard of Oz
July 6-16

Gypsy
July 17-23

White Christmas
July 24-30

Oliver!
July 31 - August 6

Seven Brides for Seven Brothers
August 7-13
Also, three of the shows have been at the Muny since I started working there in 2000 - The Wizard of Oz, White Christmas, and Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. Shitty shows, they are.

Fore!

2005-12-24T20:27:00.000-06:00

A few years ago when fashion designers started coming out with men's low rise jeans - we usually wear denim below the hips anyway - the adult world went crazy. Express's ultra-low rise jeans with the slim fit and boot cut (a.k.a. "Meneker") were just scandalous! One radio personality wondered if it was another step in the gay-ification of American men. The concurrent rise of metrosexuals dashed that, but some still worried about the general trend in men's fashion.

The trend has evolved, and to Dolce & Gabbana that apparently means showing pubic hair. I kid you not. On their website, men sport low rise jeans at about their lowest legal limit. Any lower, and they'd be sporting skin, so to speak.

This Side of Paradise - F. Scott Fitzgerald

2005-12-15T16:02:00.000-06:00

I finished reading F. Scott Fitzgerald's first novel, This Side of Paradise, written in 1922, earlier today. As occasionally-awkwardly-written as it was, I enjoyed it.

This Side of Paradise tells the story of Amory Blaine, a young man in college at Princeton and looking to get by in New York City afterwards. Amory is born into some wealth, although not as much as he probably wants or thinks he has sometimes. Most of it he loses after his parents die and he is suddenly responsible for maintaining a family estate, a task for which he lacks desire and knowledge.

Like Amory, Fitzgerald is looking for himself throughout the book. He is constantly trying new things, new styles, new structures and approaches. One chapter is mostly written in play-script style. That chapter, interestingly, is one of the more emotional ones for Amory, and so the structure, which has a tendency to leave out emotion, provides an interesting counterpoint to the action at hand. Another chapter is written in long-winded, stream-of-consciousness-like sentences - think Faulkner, or better yet, Johnny Got His Gun.

Fitzgerald is as uncertain about hi style as Amory is about himself. Amory at one point launches into a tirade on the virtues of socialism, but admits that he's never thought about being a socialist and does not really believe everything he just said. Instead, he constantly changes his mind about what he believes. Fitzgerald, likewise, moves from style to style, looking for something that is uniquely his.

One can see his later works - especially Tender is the Night and The Great Gatsby - emerging. Characters, only incidental here, repeat themselves later one. Ideas that get only mentioned or structures that are used one and discarded repeat themselves later. Fitzgerald is growing here, and that makes this book worthwhile. It's always more interesting to watch an artist develop his or her talents, instead of just looking at the finished product and admiring it. There's something about being along for the journey that makes the destination even more beautiful.

* It should also be noted that this is the book that spurred Gertrude Stein to declare Fitzgerald to belong to the "Lost Generation;" at one point Amory mentions that he belongs to a "restless generation."

Swimming with Sharks

2005-12-14T12:46:00.001-06:00

A friend of mine in the Missouri Federation of College Republicans tipped me off to this story in The New Republic from September. This source has also confirmed that the story contained within it is largely true, and that the forgery described was made in the Governor's office.

"Swimming with Sharks"
by Franklin Foer
Post date 09.26.05 Issue date 10.03.05
The New Republic

Everyone who watched this summer’s race for College Republican National Committee (CRNC) chair with any detachment has a favorite moment of chutzpah they admire in spite of themselves. Leading the count are the following: speaking sotto voce of your opponent’s “homosexuality”; rigging the delegate count so that states that support your candidate have twice as many votes as those that don’t; and using a sitting congressman to threaten the careers of undecided voters. I can understand the perverse appeal of each of these incidents. But I cast my vote for the forged letter.

The letter arrived via fax to the Crystal Gateway Marriott in Arlington, Virginia, on the eve of the CRNC convention in June. The three-day convention is attended by student delegates from across the country who, after enduring a four-month campaign filled with importuning, backstabbing, and horsetrading, vote for a chair. Most campaigns culminate with the handpicked establishment candidate inheriting the two-year, $75,000-a-year position without much of a fight. But, this year, the establishment candidate, Paul Gourley – the handpicked successor of the last chairman, who was the handpicked successor of the chairman before him – faced a vigorous challenge from an insurgent, Michael Davidson, a smooth-talking 25-year-old Berkeley grad.

Since the fax appeared unexpectedly in the final days of the race, it created an unmitigated frenzy among the conventioneers. The letter announced that the chairman of the Missouri delegation had completely replaced his state’s official slate of delegates (who all happened to support Davidson). I followed one Missouri delegate, Justin Smith, a slight, fair-skinned student in a gray suit, to a Davidson luncheon with an open-bar, swag-filled gift baskets, and a Tex-Mex spread. He seemed panicked. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

What was going on was that a new Missouri delegation, quietly flown to the convention, had arrived in Arlington and pledged its allegiance to Gourley. Stunned by this turn of events, the Davidson camp scrambled to reach the apparently turncoat chairman, Will Dreiling. But Dreiling had unaccountably vanished—a disappearance that Davidson supporters jokingly attributed to Gourley’s powerful backers in Missouri, including a state assemblyman and a gubernatorial aide, both of whom everyone knew had been pressuring the young Missouri chair to switch candidates. On the final decisive day of the convention, hours before the vote, Davidson’s people finally tracked down Dreiling. It turned out that he had been under so much pressure to support Gourley that he had resigned his post and taken a family vacation in Nebraska. What’s more, Dreiling protested he hadn’t written the letter. “It was forged,” Davidson’s campaign manager, Robb McFadden, told me. In an attempt to reinstall his supporters, Davidson took a cell phone, with Dreiling on the line, from delegate to delegate, exposing the letter as fake. “Eventually, the Gourley people didn’t have a defense,” said McFadden. “They backed off the letter.”

Such controversy is the stuff of the organization’s rich folklore. Typically, these confabs pull in a cast of characters that extends beyond a bunch of hormonally charged undergrads. Behind the scenes, in the campaign war rooms, small armies of veteran Republican operatives and congressional staffers toil. That’s because there’s much more at stake in the elections than a swish post-college gig. After campaign finance reform, the College Republicans reinvented themselves as a big-time 527 – a group legally allowed to spend an infinite amount of its own money on campaigns – with a budget of over $17 million. They have a massive network of operatives to send into the field to bolster candidates, and they have patronage to spread among friends and through direct-mail firms. In other words, it’s well worth tearing a Shermanesque path to the sea to control College Republicans, no matter the carnage – and no matter the expense. Michael Davidson said he spent an estimated $200,000 – raised off high-rollers who normally sign checks to senators and presidential wannabes – trying to claim the grand prize.

But the significance of the CRNC goes beyond that. The Committee is the place where Republican strategists learn their craft and acquire their knack for making their Democratic opponents look like disorganized children. Many of the biggest-brand Republican operatives – from Karl Rove and Lee Atwater, to Charlie Black and Roger Stone, to Jack Abramoff, Ralph Reed, and Grover Norquist – got their starts this way. Walking through the halls of the convention, it is easy to see the genesis of tactics deployed in the Florida recount and by the Swift Boat Veterans for Truth. Republicans learn how to fight hard against Democrats by practicing on one another first. “There are no rules in a knife fight,” Norquist instructed the young conventioneers in a speech. And, while Norquist described a knife fight, the Gourley-Davidson rumble transpired around him.

"They call this race ‘hick versus slick,’” Paul Gourley intoned, making the case for himself in a candidate debate at the end of the convention’s long first day. Gourley, whose tuxedo fit snugly over his 23-year-old corn-fed frame, had just arrived from the College Republicans’ Lee Atwater Gala dinner. He grasped the podium, smiled broadly, and bellowed in his flat South Dakota voice, “I’m proud to be the hick.”

Modern-day Republicans of all ages have perfected the art of wrapping themselves in populist just-folks garb, even if they actually have a black tie around their neck. And, despite Gourley’s yokel protestations, he represented the old money in the race. After serving a stint as treasurer of College Republicans and traveling the country to recruit field organizers, Gourley received the blessing of the outgoing chairman, Eric Hoplin. But, in reality, he had won the blessing of a force more powerful than a single politician. He had won the blessing of an entity that College Republicans speak of in hushed tones and that they compare to the Empire in Star Wars – the Establishment.

When College Republicans invoke the Establishment, they mean a clique of former College Republicans – now grown-ups playing politics at the highest level – who will trample anyone to maintain their clique’s control of the organization. Like all good cabals, it is hard to know exactly who belongs to the Establishment and how Machiavellian their meddling is. Before his tumble from grace, the lobbyist Jack Abramoff would lend College Republicans his skybox at the MCI center, donate money, and lead training sessions. (In 2002, the CRNC paid Jack Abramoff for “accounting & legal services.”) Rove reportedly keeps tabs, and Norquist invites the group’s chair to attend his celebrated Wednesday gathering of conservative big shots. But the convention offered some more suggestive examples of the Establishment’s methodology. Just past 2 a.m. on Saturday, wavering delegates from Louisiana received calls from Morton Blackwell, the legendary veteran of the Goldwater and Reagan campaigns, urging them to vote for Gourley. It was a perfectly calibrated tactic. “A 19-year-old Republican will generally do whatever a demigod of the conservative movement like Morton tells them,” one Davidson supporter griped.

And they are even more likely to respond to entreaties from a congressman. Patrick McHenry, a dough-faced 29-year-old freshman representative from North Carolina and former CRNC treasurer, went to war on Gourley’s behalf. “I got a call. They said, ‘The congressman is on the line,’” University of North Carolina junior Jordan Selleck told me. “He basically said that we’d be screwed if we didn’t switch to Gourley. Our careers in politics would be over.” As Jennifer Holder, who served as a state chair in the ‘90s, lamented, “There are a lot of sharks infesting the kiddie pool.”

With sharks like McHenry menacing the delegates, Gourley largely kept to the shadows, leaving the gladhanding and button-holing to others. But all the Establishment’s lobbying and cajoling didn’t make the race any less tight. While Gourley risked losing a plum job and a network any budding politician would envy, the Establishment had far more at stake. In part, these veterans are like pathetic frat brothers returning to their old house for a few more keg stands, a biannual chance to hang with 19-year-olds and relive their youth. But involvement in College Republicans offers tangible perks for them, too. It provides a vehicle for recruiting protégés. Rove, for instance, has stocked his White House office with CRs. And, by helping the youngsters win CRNC elections, the adults earn a chit they can cash in during election season. As McHenry’s story illustrates, it’s not an exaggeration to say that the College Republicans can tip races. The group flooded McHenry’s district with manpower last year, as he competed in a tight primary race. In the end, he prevailed by 85 votes.

While Gourley worked the back rooms, Davidson could hardly be avoided. From the beginning, he worked the halls of the hotel, shaking hands and huddling with potential supporters. Silver-tongued and surfer-boy handsome, with mussy brown hair, Davidson was indeed slick.

But Davidson wasn’t just a charismatic interloper. He had raised cash for his campaign with Phil Gramm-like acumen. According to his aides, high rollers in California invested in him because his sparkling fund-raising pitches convinced them of his limitless future in politics. As the Los Angeles Times put it in a breathless profile, ”[O]ne question demands to be asked: Does he ever fantasize about running for president?”

Davidson’s fund-raising, in turn, allowed him to dazzle delegates, just like the Establishment had done for so many years. To combat the Establishment’s hardball tactics, and to press his own aggressive ones, he brought to the convention a cadre of adult advisers, including the p.r. consultant who helped prepare Paula Jones’s testimony and two certified experts on parliamentary procedure. All were paid their standard fees. (They were in good company: To resolve disagreements between the campaigns over the credentialing of delegates, the CRNC hired a professional arbitrator, an auditing firm, and their own parliamentary consultant, who also co-edits Roberts Rules of Order.)

I first understood the sophistication of Davidson’s operation when I visited his war room. Although the campaign had banned press from its inner sanctum, a scrawny bouncer stationed at the threshold couldn’t contain his pride and allowed me a quick look around. Most congressional candidates, and even a few serious presidential ones, might be jealous of what I saw. The center of the room contained a bank of ten laptops arrayed around a large table. Another table held dozens of walkie-talkies with Secret Service-style earpieces. Copy machines and printers surrounded the perimeter. Students in jeans and shorts whirled about, barking into their Blackberry phones and pulling paper off the printers. As I took in the room, the bouncer asked, “Did you get what you need?”

You could see Davidson’s largesse all over the convention. Delegates would wander into his hospitality room, which was wallpapered with plasma televisions. Lunch included an open bar and a vast spread. His workers handed out gift bags like the kind doled out at fancy Hamptons benefits or at the Sundance Film Festival, filled with cans of Red Bull and Starbucks gift cards. At night, they gathered in the same room for a 1980s Reagan Dance Party, replete with another open bar, DJ, and disco lights. I watched a lucky guy on the dance floor, sandwiched between blondes, waving a straw cowboy hat as he boogied to Duran Duran.

But, even with all his resources, Davidson had taken a major gamble. Challenging the Establishment guarantees that you will be subject to the politics of personal destruction. As McFadden told me, a whispering campaign alleged that Davidson was gay (not true) and moderate (quite possibly true) and from Red Berkeley (demonstrably true). Smears appeared on a blog called CR Veterans for Truth, a bow in the direction of the swift-boat veterans who attempted to shred John Kerry’s military reputation. But the real destruction doesn’t occur during the campaign – it comes afterward. A long trail of defeated insurgents have found their political careers ruined by the Establishment.

Back in 1981, Abramoff and his campaign manager, Norquist, promised their leading competitor, Amy Moritz, the job of CRNC executive director if she dropped out of the race. Moritz took the bait, but it turned out that Abramoff had made the promise with his fingers crossed. Norquist took the executive director job and named Moritz his deputy. That demotion didn’t last long, either. After discovering the talented Ralph Reed, Norquist handed the Christian Coalition godfather Moritz’s responsibilities and her office space. They placed all of Moritz’s belongings in a box labeled amy’s desk. Even 25 years later, she hasn’t shed her role as College Republican doormat. Abramoff used her think tank, the National Center for Public Policy Research, to funnel nearly $1 million into a phony direct-mail firm with an address identical to his own.

While College Republicans have a vague understanding of Abramoff’s ascent, they all can recite the ballad of Rove and Atwater – the ultimate object lesson in how the Establishment strikes back. In 1973, Rove was the Establishment candidate, and Atwater, the original Sun Tsu-quoting College Republican, was his prime campaign operative. They spent the spring of 1973 crisscrossing the country in a Ford Pinto, lining up the support of state chairs – basically the right-wing version of Thelma and Louise. But, in point of fact, Rove was hardly the right-winger in the race. His two opponents, Terry Dolan and Robert Edgeworth, were. And, when Dolan threw his support to Edgeworth, Rove had no other alternative. He had to cheat.

When the College Republicans gathered for their convention at the Lake of the Ozarks resort in Missouri, Rove and Atwater relentlessly challenged the legitimacy of Edgeworth’s delegates, even if the evidence did not justify their attacks. Because of Rove’s allegations, the convention ended in deadlock. In revenge, Dolan went to The Washington Post with recordings that captured training seminars where Rove boasted of his campaign techniques, including rooting through opponents’ garbage cans and other forms of campaign espionage. The Post broke the story under the headline “GOP Probes Official as Teacher of Tricks.” The Republican National Committee chairman, one George H.W. Bush, however, didn’t punish Rove for his less-than-high-minded behavior. Instead, he gave Rove the chairmanship and sent Edgeworth a scathing letter accusing him of disloyalty. “He wrote me out of the party,” Edgeworth told James Moore and Wayne Slater, the authors of the biography Bush’s Brain.

In the years following the Rove victory, Edgeworth recreated himself as a Virgil scholar and took a post at Louisiana State University. He passed away last year. The story is retold as a cautionary tale: Mess with the Establishment, and you, too, will lead an obscure life, immersed in the study of a man who guided field trips to hell.

On Friday night, just before the big debate, something happened that made the Davidson camp believe that their man could finally reverse the tide of this history. A blonde from Virginia named Amber VerValin unexpectedly entered the war room and announced that the she could provide decisive evidence that the Gourley operation was cheating. Such evidence would not be difficult to supply, because she herself had committed the misdeed. As she confessed her sins, you could only hear the sheaf of collated flyers dropping off the copiers. One operative reached for the war room’s video camera. They would tape her confession and then play it the next morning, just before the voting – a bombshell so powerful and deftly timed that perhaps not even Rove could defuse it.

A few hours later, as the two candidates prepared to debate, crowds formed outside the ballroom. Each candidate’s contingent carried printed signs. Every College Republican Counts!, screamed the Davidson signs, a slogan with echoes of the Democratic pleas from the Florida recount of 2000. I watched as women in gowns stood in each other’s faces, pumping their fists in the air, chanting their candidate’s name. When the doors to the debate venue opened and the throngs flocked in, floor managers quickly directed their contingents into seats and began to quiet their crowds, so that they didn’t create an impression of unruliness that might sway the few remaining swayable voters.

The Davidson camp managed the affair with the efficiency and attention to detail that had brought an upset victory within reach. Floor managers distributed press releases, both before and after the showdown, like rapid response at a presidential debate. The Davidson war room had acquired the cell phone numbers of every delegate to the convention. As the debate transpired, the war room sent continual text messages to each of the phones. But, for all the orchestration, they couldn’t choreograph the reaction of their supporters. I sat at a table of Davidson supporters in the middle of the ballroom. This table had empty seats, I suspected, because it contained the most patently nerdy characters in the room, with the requisite oversized glasses and unwashed hair. They were an emotional bunch. When their candidate alluded to running an ethical administration, they began chanting an acronym, unintelligible to outsiders, but piquant to everyone in the room: “RDI, RDI, RDI!”

RDI, or Response Dynamics Inc., is the biggest scandal in the history of the College Republicans. More precisely, it is a direct-mail firm that brought the College Republicans approximately $9 million last year. Most of that money went straight back to RDI, which claimed $8.2 million to cover expenses and their fees, according to the Los Angeles Times.

How does one raise $9 million in a year for a group like College Republicans? For starters, it is important to obscure the ultimate destination of the funds. The College Republicans sent out their solicitations on the letterhead of such nonexistent groups as “Republican Headquarters 2004” and “Republican Elections Committee.” Next, it helps to fill the missives with as much emotion as a Wagnerian opera. “Apparently the Democrats don’t have any concern about hurting you, your family or America,” one letter read. “Their sole concern is revenge – vengeance – retribution.” The most infamous of these missives included an American flag lapel pin. It urged recipients to pray over the pin and return it, along with $1,000. According to the letter, the pin would be worn by the president as he accepted the Republican nomination: “I could have sent you your own lapel pin, but I knew that it wouldn’t mean nearly as much to you as being able to give a special gift to President Bush during this challenging time.” This letter, incidentally, bore the signature of Paul Gourley.

Finally, it helps to send these letters to senior citizens, who are lonely and sometimes suffering from dementia. “I don’t have any more money,” Cecilia Barbier, a 90-year-old retired church council worker and College Republicans contributor, told the Seattle Times. “I’m stopping giving to everybody. That was all my savings that they got.” In a single year, Barbier made 300 donations for the organization, adding up to $100,000.

College Republicans had understood this game for years. They had heard many such stories from the children of elderly men and women who receive boxes full of these letters. And many chairmen of the organization sought to break the relationship with RDI. “Everyone called it heroin,” says Holder. The CRs sincerely tried to kick their addiction, but they simply couldn’t.

It took simultaneous stories in the Seattle Times and the Durham Herald-Sun last winter to finally break the contract’s back. In the immediate aftermath of these stories, CRNC Chair Eric Hoplin e-mailed top state officials of the organization, telling them not to speak to the news media. “We need the story to go away, which it will,” he wrote. “But only if we all withhold our comments.” He added that the story was “full of lies and distortions written by a well-known liberal who is out to get us.” But Hoplin’s position wouldn’t hold long. RDI represented a potent campaign issue and a growing embarrassment for the GOP. By March of this year, the CRNC had cut its relationship with the direct-mailers. The damage, however, had been done. By attempting to exploit the power of prayer with the lapel pin, Gourley had generated resentment among evangelical students who might have been otherwise wary of a candidate from Red Berkeley like Davidson. A delegate from Idaho told me, “As a Christian, I couldn’t stomach that.”

On Saturday morning, the Davidson camp prepared to unveil the explosive Virginia scandal. It had the damning videotape of VerValin ready to play to the convention, a last minute surprise. In the tape, VerValin claimed that she had forged constitutions for 15 Virginia CR chapters to create the impression of a larger Virginia CR contingent. This had triggered a rule that automatically granted the state, which resided in the Gourley camp, additional delegates. To prove her bona fides, VerValin held the phony documents and then her own driver’s license before the cameras. She had committed this act of deceit, she claimed, under pressure from her state chair.

But the Davidson operatives never got a chance to show the damning video. Parliamentary rules forbid showing a tape – a fact that Davidson’s war room hadn’t considered. Davidson had to describe the scandal, in all its confusing detail, on the convention floor. He demanded that the additional delegates, accrued on the basis of forgery, be denied. But it didn’t help Davidson’s case that the Gourley campaign’s rebuttal accused him of engaging in “Jesse Jackson-like” tactics. When it came time to vote on the Virginia scandal, the Davidson camp anticipated a squeaker. And they knew that the vote would determine their candidate’s fate. “If we lost this test vote, then all our soft support would disappear,” McFadden told me. “They would realize that we were going to lose. It would be in their self-interest to align themselves with the winning side.”

In the end, Davidson’s motion to exclude the Virginians failed by a mere three votes. The difference, in the eyes of the Davidson camp, came down to a Judas by the name of Steve Damion, chairman of the New Jersey CRs. All along, even that morning, Damion had promised that his state would sit squarely behind the insurgent. But, when he swore his allegiance to Davidson, he didn’t look his staffers in the eyes. That’s because he had already purged Cassandra Cavanaugh, the Garden State’s most enthusiastic Davidson supporter, from his slate of delegates.

The insurgents haven’t let Damion’s treachery rest. On their blogs, especially the cheeky Truthcaucus.com, Davidson supporters have skewered him as a liar and a crook. They had splashy material at the ready. Damion’s betrayal coincided with a scandalous e-mail that he sent to an aide to New Jersey gubernatorial candidate Doug Forrester. After Forrester wrote asking for help from New Jersey College Republicans, Damion replied, “I would be more than happy to give that information to you and the Forrester Campaign, but I am looking at you to help us out as well. I mean the 100 dollars he [Forrester] gave to us is really drops in the bucket. I have local candidates for [state Assembly] that are cutting us checks for 250. See where I am coming from? If there is a 3,000 dollar check waiting for me, I am coming running and the campaign will have total access to our resources at all times, no problem.” After the publication of his e-mail, Damion resigned his post.

There are many competing theories explaining why Damion joined Gourley at the eleventh hour. But, without him – and with the defeat on the Virginia question – the Davidson camp understood its fate. In fact, despite moments of optimism, Davidson supporters had long ago prepared themselves for it. “Beginning in May, we began to consider the option of walking out of the convention and starting our own organization,” one Davidson aide says. They had even received promises of funding for an alternative organization that would compete with the Establishment.

Yet, faced with certain defeat, Davidson lost his nerve. “It was a human decision,” says the aide. So many rosy predictions had been made about Davidson’s future. He didn’t want to gamble his career by crossing the Establishment and embarrassing the Republican Party. Unlike Robert Edgeworth, the classicist vanquished by Rove, he was only willing to take the fight so far. “There’s something inside of me that still believes things need to be changed,” Davidson told me last week. “But I’m inclined to be gracious and move on.”

A few weeks after the convention, I got in touch with the newly reelected president of College Democrats, Grant Woodard of Grinnell College. For his uncontested race, he said he raised $2,000 – $198,000 less than Michael Davidson’s estimated take. Unlike the College Republicans, Democratic students are not organized as an independent 527. They reside within the Democratic National Committee and exist largely to supply campaign volunteers. Woodard makes all his calls after 9 p.m., “when I get free cell phone minutes,” he told me. His salary is $75,000 lower than the one Chairman Paul Gourley receives – that is to say, nonexistent. The contrast between the two organizations is remarkably vivid. When the liberal Center for American Progress sent a blogger to the CRNC convention, she returned horrified by what she’d witnessed and sentimental about the Democratic operation: “I much prefer our movement with blue jeans, diversity, goofy kids, birkenstocks and good beer (none of that busch light crap). We’ve definitely gotta step up the field based organizing, but let’s make sure we’re enjoying it. And each other.” Considering their current losing streak, Democrats might want to spend more time contemplating the contrast between the two styles of political education. How often do Birkenstocks trod the road to victory? Can you really count on goofy kids in a knife fight?

Review: The Nutcracker

2005-12-11T12:48:00.000-06:00

I saw what I think was The Nutcracker last Saturday night. It was only two hours long, which seems short for a ballet to me. I had balcony seats right next to the tech booth, which is usually cool because then I get to watch the techies play with their dials and nobs and things. Not this time. The guy up front was on sound. So normally he'd have to adjust a little for the orchestra every now and then. But there was no orchestra. It was recorded, so he just had to push a button and let it go. The rest of the time he read a book.

On the orchestra thing - I really like them. They're nice to have around, especially to play music. There's something about a live orchestra that can pause and go with the flow of the show and the audience that just can't be accounted for in a recording. That there was no orchestra really disappointed me.

I'm also pretty sick of casting little kids in a show just because they're little kids. Who do they bring in? People who are more likely to want to see the show, anyway. It doesn't excite the little kids who don't know anybody in the show.

For example: sitting next to me was a little girl, very quiet, who came with her mother and her little brother. The girl sat and watched the whole thing patiently, never being rude. Very proper. I like that in a patron. Her brother, however, had to ask when the toys came to life, when they'd go to the fairy kingdom, etc, etc. At one point, late in Act I, Franz sat down on a couch and gave a big yawn. The boy asked if that was Franz's bed. WTF?! Do you sleep in the living room, little boy?! Of course, maybe he does. My roommate does when he goes home. But that's really beside the point, because two seconds later, Franz stood up and just walked off stage. The little boy answered his own freaking question: "No, it isn't!" No shit, Sherlock.

For once, just once, I'd like to see The Nutcracker without any little children in the audience. Not one. Instead, I'll watch it with a bunch of mature, cultured adults, who understand theatre courtesy.

This audience didn't quite have that courtesy. For example, when a dancer or two dancers have an extended dance, especially one with lots of technique involved, it is appropriate to show appreciation for their skill and presentation with an applause. More than once I had to initiate said applauses.

One final note: I always thought that the little girl at the center of the story is named "Clara." Not here. Her name was "Marie." WTF? Why do troupes do stupid stuff like that? And why was Clara - stratch that - Marie so freaking young? She couldn't do the whole show. They had to rotate through maybe four Maries.

There were some very nice parts. The dances at the palace were nice - except for the one with the little kids. They could go away. The Arabian dancers and the Russian dancers were very nice indeed. And the Grand Pas de Deux of the Sugarplum Fairy was beautiful too.

In all, I'll see it again, but I want to check the guest list first, and make sure I'm the youngest one attending.

At the Ballet

2005-12-03T17:54:00.000-06:00

I'm really excited about going to the ballet tonight. So excited that I've decided to post a selection of lyrics from "At the Ballet" from A Chorus Line. Most of the song is really depressing, so I've parred it down. This is, for the record, the first time I've not posted the entire lyrics of a song....

Everything was beautiful at the ballet.
Graceful men lift lovely girls in white.
Yes, Everything was beautiful at ballet.
Hey!
I was happy... at the ballet....

Everyone is beautiful at the ballet.
Every prince has got to have his swan.
Yes, Everyone is beautiful at the ballet.

Everything was beautiful at the ballet,
Raise your arms and someone's always there.
Yes, everything was beautiful at the ballet,
At the ballet,
At the ballet!!!
Yes everything was beautiful at the ballet.
Hey!...
I was pretty...
I was happy...
I would love to..."
At...the...ballet.

Prof. Fischer Quotes

2005-11-03T19:41:00.000-06:00

2 Dec. 05
"And by the way, stop playing those Chuck Barry records. They're really causing a problem on my mink farm."

2 Dec. 05
"You should build your home in Montana prarie rather than Chicago, because Chicago is dangerous, you know! They have their own ammunition factory!"

1 Dec. 05
"You could grow tomatoes. They don't eat their young!"

29 Nov. 05
"What does 87 points mean? Well, it means it's better than 72 points, but not as good as 94 points."

18 Nov. 05
"Does anyone else not have a can? Well, since I don't have a can, I'll answer the question!"

18 Nov. 05
Prof. Fischer: "Let's call on someone who doesn't have a can. (To a student) Do you have a can?" Student: "Uh, no I don't."
F: "Oh, well that's a fortuidy!"

18 Nov. 05
Prof. Fischer: "So, how do you figure that out?"
Mr. Flanders: "Well, you go through your slide."
Prof. Fischer: "Aaaahhhh...... I'm so predictable!"

16 Nov. 05
"There's no duty to say, 'Hey buddy, don't walk into that tree. You're going to break your nose.'"

4 Nov. 05
"Consistency is the hob-goblin of small minds."

4 Nov. 05
"What if, instead of a broken leg and arm, plaintiff just dies? It's too much for one day."

3 Nov. 05
"I think a top-heavy car is a great idea, except for that it rolls over all the time."

3 Nov. 05
"The court says it's not foreseeable that oil burns. The court obviously doesn't watch Victory at Sea. They've got better things to do with their time."

3 Nov. 05
"I'm just flabbergasted. It's going to take me a while to get over this tale."

26 Oct. 05
Mr. Yonker: "What if the guy has loss of a chance case where his chances of survival go from 55% to 35% due to the doctor's negligence, but he lives?"
Prof. Fischer: "That's a great question, but what if he does not?"
Y: "That wasn't my question, I mean what if he lives."
F: "I know, we'll get there. What if he dies?"
Y: "I was already there, that's not what I asked."
F: "I have an excellent article for you to read answering that question.... And on top of that, I wrote it."

25 Oct. 05
Prof. Fischer: "How about a 49% chance?"
Ms. Wolf: "That's a good question."
F: "That is a good question! This is the high point of the semester. I've been waiting all semester to ask it!"

25 Oct. 05
"We certainly know there was a bullet in her head. That is a wonderful bit of circumstantial evidence."

13 Oct. 05
Mr. Wilkerson: "Couldn't you say the statute killed him?"
Prof. Fischer: "That's beyond the scope of this course. That's like saying the legislature killed him."

12 Oct. 05
"If you want to distinguish between direct and indirect, I suggest you take an advanced torts class. That's a subject you could make a religion out of."

12 Oct. 05
"If it's on the test, you won't know the answer."

23 Sept. 05
"I don't know if, in self-defense, you can eat the other guy.... There's a whole body of law about what you can do with dead persons, that's not the scope of this class."

Munich Symphony

2005-11-02T21:21:00.000-06:00

The Munich Symphony Orchestra was well-received, if poorly attended, Wendesday evening in Jesse Auditorium. Led by world-renowned conductor and pianist Philippe Entremont, they performed Carl Maria von Weber's overture to Oberon, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 21 in C Major (with Mr. Entremont at the piano), and Johannes Brahms' Symphony No. 2, op. 73, in D Major, as well as a "surprise" encore presentation after the audience applauded through four curtain calls; two more followed the encore.

The overture to Oberon was delightful, simply. Flowing from the fairy prelude to the "Turkish" march and the aria, it was new to me but I enjoyed listening to it, and actually I'd be interested to see the entire opera (it would be my first).

Brahms' symphony was moody and mysterious, as well as lyrical and fun at times. It was a much more "reflective" piece and it was a nice finish to the evening to be able to sit their, sometimes with my eyes closed, and just listen. Sometimes my mind would wander, but I would bring it back to the music, if only because it was so interesting and thoughtful.

The best part of the evening, for me at least, was Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 21. I love that concerto, even though when I saw it written on the page in my program I didn't recognize it. Still, I do like it. Then again, I like piano music. Piano sonatas. Piano concertos. Concertinas. Solo or soli. I just eat it up.

I have a CD of Mr. Entremont's work at the piano, and it includes the third movement to this concerto, although I will swear on the throne of High Heaven that I have heard the second movement somewhere before. If I haven't, I'm in deep doo-doo, but I guess that I just had really really *really* good anticipation for what the next chords would be. Considering how rusty my music composition and theory skills are, I'm (obviously) going with the sworn-throne option.
It has been at least seven years since I've been to a profesional symphony concert. Sure, I did that stuff in high school and college all the time. Let's face it, however: Chaminade's band, even at CASA, isn't this good. Nor is the Truman State University Orchestra (which only rehearses once a week).

Also, even as I listen to my CD music, I remember thinking in the auditorium how clear the strings were. (BTW: whoever said that the strings would sound good was sooo right!!) Maybe it's because there were fewer of them, or I was just really well seated (very middle, third to last row, orchestra level), but everything sounded so much clearer. I just think that there's something about a live performance that is inherently superior to anything recorded. Not even Bose radios come this close.

Also, at one point this evening, I remembered a quote from the movie Mean Girls about how math is the same everywhere. So is music, I thought, only music is expresssive and emotional. I can hardly believe that a bunch of German men and women, who have never toured America before, reading a bunch of dots and sticks on a page with Italian words scribbled randomly about, can give life to works written a couple hundred years ago, some of whom were French, or Russian, or whatever. In this respect music is far superior. It is transcendental.

Cardinals

2005-10-19T22:22:00.000-05:00

Well the season is officially over for the Cardinals this year. Two minutes ago they lost game six of NLCS to the Houston Astros. It's disappointing, but at least the torture is over. It was painful to watch it at the end, really. Monday's rebound was great and all, but it really wasn't fun to watch - just a relief. Today, however, it just didn't come together right. When the Astros beat the Braves last week, this is what I feared: a rematch from last year, in which we'd come up short. Really it was just asking lightning to strike twice, and that just doesn't ever happen.

I'm still proud of my Cards - Edmonds, Pujols, Walker, Molina, Eckstein, Nunez (with the ~ thingy), Grudzielanek, Sanders, Izzy, Morris, Suppan, Carpenter, Moulder, Marquis... Everybody has rocked this season. Really. And next season will be awesome too. We'll have a new stadium, a new ballpark village. I'll miss the old Busch Stadium, but the new one will be cool, too.

I'll see you guys next spring, in the ballpark village, and listening to you on KTRS 550....

PS: in the photo above, Fredbird could be displaying an intent to cause a harmful or offensive touching to the ump, or the apprehension of a harmful or offensive touching, which touching - if not prevented - would directly or indirectly result. AKA: tortious assault, a civil liability.

Busch Stadium

2005-10-02T18:58:00.000-05:00

Today, the Cardinals played their last regular-season game in the "old" Busch Stadium. It was a good game, but my goodness the post-game festivities were long. During the game I was really sad that I wasn't there to watch it, but afterwards I was glad I could get up and eat and go to the bathroom and change the channel. But it wasn't the length of the festivities that were the worst part; it was Jack Buck's wife getting up and rambling on about how Mr. Buck lectured the city about booing the umps after Mark McGuire was thrown out of a game. C'mon... Let's move past that. If we're gonna dwell on the past, can't we dwell on something more positive, instead of how we were lectured like a bunch of kids? At least afterwards Channel 11 played a poem by Mr. Buck. I was never a fan on his poems, really. I thought they were stupid and the rhymes forced, but that one did get me veklempt, as he talked about how baseball is an sport for kids. If I can ever find it, I'll share it with you....

Muny Reviews Archive

2005-08-20T12:29:00.000-05:00

Here's the archive of this season's Muny reviews. I've added a snippet of each review after the link.

The Beauty and the Beast
June 20-29
"And as hard as the professional review can try to eliminate these biases, the common theatergoer usually does not. Such is Disney’s Beauty and the Beast at the Muny in Forest Park. The Muny has a tendency to add its own special pizzazz to everything it does (consider The Fantasticks), but here it adds things in the wrong places."

Annie Get Your Gun
July 4-10
"Annie Get Your Gun, which returns to the Muny after a twelve-year break, strikes me as a very different type of musical from the rest of those written during the era of “big” musicals. This era, beginning with Oklahoma and including My Fair Lady, South Pacific, and Hello, Dolly!, was a very different era for Broadway. Compared to today: shows were longer; casts were larger; dances were bigger, etc. This show does not have those, and yet it is still a classic and in some ways a product of its time."

Jesus Christ Superstar
July 11-17
"The question the Apostles should ask, more appropriately, is: 'Why the buzz? Tell me, what’s the hype about?'"

Singin' in the Rain
July 18-24
"You remember the plot. You love the characters. You know 'the song.' But it still doesn’t add up quite right at the Muny this week."

Mame
July 25-31
"I’ve often been critical of the shows that The Muny produces, but due to the recent backlash over another’s review of this week’s Mame, I feel that I need to preface this one with a brief discussion about reviews."

West Side Story
August 1-7
"In my opinion, this show is the highlight of the entire season. Nothing has come close to equaling West Side Story’s beauty, appeal, and timelessness. It is truly in a league of its own."

The Sound of Music
August 8-14
"If this is what music sounds like, I don’t want to hear any more of it."

"The Ladies Who Lunch" Redux

2005-08-14T11:40:00.000-05:00

An old friend of The Muny and a former usher (PapagenoPJ) rewrote Stephen Sondheim's "The Ladies Who Lunch" two years ago after the poorly performed (and received) Side by Side by Sondheim. Here it is.

(Note: it's even better if you can imagine Elaine Stritch singing it!)

I'd like to "fix" a survey.

Here's to the shows that won't go
On next season's bill.
Seasons look exactly like five years ago
Lacking any thrill.
Surveys abound; people are voting.
On what? Who knows?
Next years looks grim, 'cause they'll be voting
For crappy shows.

Does anyone still miss good shows?
This season blows!

Here's to Paul
Flake and his "art."
Isn't his a prick?
Cobbling shows from moving enjoyed by old farts
That we didn't pick.
Another Richard Rodgers bore.
Another Annie cute-fest.
Another crusty thirties score,
Perhaps a Gershwin schlockfest.
This season blows!
And one for
Gershwin!

Here's to the management's clout
Aren't they just keen?
Choosing fluff and kkeping the gutsy shows out
Just to keep it clean.
They always censor the scenes
And add superfluous teens.
Oh God - how it's all so obscene -
Sentimental crap!!!
Bubble-gum crap!!!
It's all fluffy crap!!!

Here's to the cast that attract
Suckers in the Lou...
When they're out of work, it's a simple contract
For a crap revue.
Another artful show's escaped
And Adler's back - what sorrow!
The only Sondheim show gets raped
And worse: there's Karen Morrow!
Aaaah! This season blows!

So here's to the management's clout
Bidding art good-bye...
Look into the line-ups with fluff and you'll shout:
"Why, my God, oh why????"
A toast to that invincible flake -
Oh hiring him was such a mistake!
Let's hear it for that bastard Paul Blake -
Everybody cry!
Cry! Cry! Cry! Cry! Cry! Cry! Cry!
CRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Next Year's Season

2005-08-09T16:42:00.000-05:00

The Muny, in its final week, has distributed surveys to its patrons, asking them to circle their top seven favorites from the following list:

1776
A Funny Thing … Forum
Aida (by Elton John & Tim Rice)
Anything Goes
Brigadoon
Bye Bye Birdie
Cabaret
Carousel
Damn Yankees
Evita
Funny Girl
Grease
Gypsy
Hello, Dolly!
The King & I
Kiss Me, Kate!
La Cage Aux Folles
Little Shop of Horrors
Man of La Mancha
Miss Saigon
My Fair Lady
Oklahoma!
Oliver!
Paint Your Wagon
Pajama Game
Porgy & Bess
Ragtime
Seven Brides for Seven Brothers
Sleeping Beauty
The Pirates of Penzance
The Wizard of Oz
Thoroughly Modern Millie
Titanic
Unsinkable Molly Brown
White Christmas

Some of these choices would be more likely to bring in more children, more seasoned (read: old) patrons, more teens, or reach out to a different crowd. I’d like to invite everybody to put together their own season of 7 shows with an example of how each show would work for the entire season. I’ll start.

The Wizard of Oz. I’m not going to waste a vote on something else, since I’ve been told that The Muny already has rights to it. Besides that, though, kids like it, or seem to. By identifying the “Kids’ Show,” we can look for a teen and adult show now.
Thoroughly Modern Millie. It’s a cookie-cutter musical with a good score. And people recognize its name. The Muny could even bring in Sutton Foster (what else is she going to do?) for it. This one could easily fill the seats and leave revenue for more daring or ambitious works.
Carousel. I’m not a big R&H fan, but this show is endearing in its own right. Plus, Stephen Sondheim loved it so much that he cried into Mrs. Hammerstein’s mink coat when he saw it during previews. It has a unique structure (Sondheim has tried to replicate its opening many times over), and the music really isn’t that bad.
Aida. Consider this the teen show. It just closed last year on Broadway, and it still has some residual appeal in the public, plus every theatre-happy high-schooler in the metropolitan area will want to get involved. Its pop score, too, will be a nice break from the traditional Broadway sound.
My Fair Lady. Lerner & Lowe really were masters at their art, and this show proves it. With one great number after another, plus a well-cast Eliza and Henry (like the last time it was here) and this show will please, no doubt.
Kiss Me, Kate! Cole Porter’s wittiest and most diverse score, I think, is housed in this show, which was last produced in 1991. Since then there’s been a Broadway revival with Brian Stokes Mitchell. This is another big-dance show, and it would be easy to incorporate the teens into it as extras and stagehands to fill up the space during some of the dances.
Ragtime. It opened in 1998 after The Lion King, but its presentation is very creative and its score is beautiful. It could be the sleeper hit of the summer, but even decent returns with a reduced stage presentation could balance out the summer. Besides, one daring show out of seven isn’t bad.

Honorable Mentions:

1776. A great show with a special place in my heart. I don’t know how well it would fare in such a large house again. The heat kept the audience away last time, so its base didn’t grow like it should have.
Anything Goes. Another great dance show with a Cole Porter score. The last time it was here, Karen Morrow was Reno Sweeney. I’m not interested in repeating that mistake any time soon.
Evita. It’s a great show with good music, but it’s probably better in a smaller house. Also, isn’t it going to be revived soon?
Gypsy. Only if we can get Bernadette Peters to do it. I don’t trust K-Baby, or any of those other burnt-out middle aged actresses they drudge up.
La Cage Aux Folles. I question how the older audiences would react to it. Maybe single-ticket sales would compensate if it were the same weekend as PrideFest.
The Pirates of Penzance. I love this show, but let’s get serious. They couldn’t sell seventy thousand tickets for it in six months. It’s a loosing enterprise that’s better for a smaller house.

Well, those are my thoughts. Have fun making your own season!

The Sound of Music - The Muny

2005-08-09T13:35:00.000-05:00

If this is what music sounds like, I don’t want to hear any more of it.

Let’s start at the very beginning (a very good place, I hear, to start):

Kate Baldwin (Maria) doesn’t have a very pretty voice, and she goes flat when she tries to hit the higher notes. Consequentially, her first big number (“The Sound of Music”) is a real let down. She also leaves me unimpressed about her going to the von Trapp villa in “I Have Confidence.” Be nervous, be excited, be something! Just don’t make me think you’re reciting your lines. Any five-year-old can do that in a WB sitcom.
Robert Westenberg (Captain von Trapp) returns to the role he had five years ago, sadly. I liked him in My Fair Lady, and he’s done well on Broadway (in Sunday in the Park with George and Into the Woods), but here he doesn’t come off as much of a closed-off widower as he does a jackass. What’s to love about that?
Leslie Denniston (the Baroness) has a beautiful voice that is sadly wasted on a role that has two horrid songs (“How Can Love Survive?” and “No Way to Stop It”). We’d all be better off if they were both cut, even if that meant that we couldn’t hear Ms. Denniston’s voice. Better, even, would be to dub her voice over Ms. Baldwin’s (à la Singin’ in the Rain).
Brian Letendre (Rolf) is a great dancer, as he demonstrated last year in The Music Man. Sadly he can’t show it off because he’s playing opposite Tina “Two-Left-Feet” Maddigan (Liesl). Instead he’s stuck with a few silly moves designed to not make Ms. Maddigan look like a fool. I hardly think that’s the most creative solution to the problem, but perhaps The Muny should consider such factors in their future castings. Letendre is always welcome here, but Maddigan should stick to hosting dopey shows on the Discovery Channel.
Jeanne Lehman (The Mother Abbess) doesn’t leave me with much of the emotion that her big song, “Climb Ev’ry Mountain,” should have. That’s a very powerful song when it’s sung well. Ms. Lehman’s voice isn’t as bad as Ms. Baldwin’s (not even close) but it really just doesn’t leave me with much feeling afterwards.
The Muny Kids make an appearance, too, as village kids and alter boys and so forth. Let’s be honest about Muny Kids: they don’t sell tickets. What eight year old girl insists that she go see a show because there’s a bunch of kids in it she doesn’t know? The parents are more likely to see the shows anyway, and I discount the idea that kids really influence their parents much into going to the theatre. So does the Muny: patrons under 18 don’t have their ballots counted when tabulating surveys at the end of the season. Muny Kids might be a nice goodwill troupe, but they can’t really sing and dance like the older people on stage, and they risk straining their voices at a young age, which is really dangerous to those who really want to continue their dramatic “careers.”

The cast isn’t the only problem, however. The set isn’t the best the Muny has made, either. The cut-out Alps, sitting center upstage, look like the same ones used the last time the show was here. Worst of all is the von Trapp living room, painted a sorry shade of pale orange, with periwinkle blue paneling and saturated orange trim. I’m really not a fan of orange (I think it’s ugly) so using it as a base color for a huge set isn’t too pleasing for me. But beside that, it really doesn’t look stately. A cream or ivory color with the pale orange or periwinkle blue trim would have been beautiful, and it would have fit the color pallets frequently used in Central European churches and wealthy homes.

The orchestra pulls itself above these problems, as usual. Also, the Nuns’ Chorus is delightful to listen to. If only they were all there was to hear, this show would be worth the evening.

West Side Story - The Muny

2005-08-09T10:58:00.000-05:00

There are few modern musicals that are as well-written, and in this production, well-done as West Side Story. Arthur Laurents’ book, while placing the action clearly in the 1950s, moves quickly and respects the oft-forgotten unity of time. Stephen Sondheim’s lyrics reflect the simple, humble histories of their characters, even if they are some of his least-favorite songs (e.g. “I Feel Pretty”). The best of the show, however, gets split between Leonard Bernstein’s amazing score and Jerome Robbins’ breathtaking choreography. The music grabs the audience and holds it captive for two and half hours, and the dancing wows the crowd with one amazing combination after another. Never mind these boys are in gangs – they can dance!

The material is very challenging – there were two replacements for Riff alone before it opened – but the cast was well able to give it to everything it needed. Mathew Scott (Tony) doesn’t look quite Polish, but he’s a big improvement over the Muny’s last Tony: Eric Kunze. He can act, dance, and sign – all at once!

Andrea Burns (Maria) was last seen as Mary Magdalene, and I think he does better with material, even if her accent isn’t the best. Her weak accent is noticeable when she’s with the other Puerto Ricans, but oh well. She’s at her best with she’s with Scott, and if I had to pick between an authentic Spanish accent or good chemistry with Tony, I’d take the latter.

Natascia Diaz (Anita) puts in an amazing performance. She is a powerful actress in her own right and she pulls through well in some difficult numbers (not just “America,” but also “Tonight (Quintet and Chorus)” and “A Boy Like That”).

The Jets’ and Sharks’ – the two rival gangs – members can get lost in all the romance, but their roles are huge. Tony and Maria make the show romantic, but the gangs make their love so tragic (or “star-crossed” as some would say). Where does one demonstrate this? In “Tonight (Quintet and Chorus);” the rumble under the bridge; the nightmare of “Somewhere;” The Jets’ taunting of Anita; Tony’s death? Any number of these events shows the importance of the ensemble for this show. Thankfully this ensemble is up to snuff. I don’t have the space or energy to offer laurels to each actor for their work, but each deserves them.

Not only do they sustain the energy (anger?) so well, but they sing and dance well too. I suppose that a higher quality of ensemble is the natural product of holding open auditions in New York instead of automatically bringing last year’s chorus back. As I said earlier, I think that the music and the dancing are the best parts of the show, and the ensemble does them justice. To their credit, Bernstein’s irregular rhythms and strange harmonies (who else uses a tri-tone for a melody in not only one but two songs?) aren’t easy to master, but this cast doesn’t have a problem with his complicated score. They also have a good handle on Robbins’ choreography. Not only is there so much of it, but it’s also very demanding. Unlike 42nd Street, where tap takes center stage, this dance requires the entire body’s participation. It’s a wonder that the cast only had two injuries, then.

In my opinion, this show is the highlight of the entire season. Nothing has come close to equaling West Side Story’s beauty, appeal, and timelessness. It is truly in a league of its own.

Mame - The Muny

2005-07-30T19:53:00.000-05:00

I’ve often been critical of the shows that The Muny produces, but due to the recent backlash over another’s review of this week’s Mame, I feel that I need to preface this one with a brief discussion about reviews.

I think that it is entirely appropriate to critique the structure of a play or musical in a review. After all, the audience witnesses a plot unfold as well as watch the actors recite their lines, so to discuss the faults in how a show is written is, in my opinion, totally fair game. What is unfair is judging a performance based on how the show is written. There is a difference between what is written and what is presented and the reviewer is obligated to separate the two. In my reviews I have tried to do this; that has usually come in a caveat that may begin with something akin to: “despite these structural problems, the cast does very well.” Just as it’s unfair to judge an actor’s performance against how someone else did it (truly the hallmark of an amateur reviewer), it’s equally unfair to judge an actor’s performance against how well the book is written. Best Actor Tony Awards ™ are graded separately from Best New Play awards, and reviews should follow suit.

However, the review in question doesn’t even do that. The reviewer didn’t even try to look at how well the actors did with the book – and in my opinion, they did pretty well. Is Mame different from traditional book musicals? Definitely. Does that make it inferior? Only if Ionesco and Beckett are also inferior.

I think that this show can be difficult to sit through because it lacks a linear plot – or any plot really. It’s not as plot-less as, say, Cats, or An Evening of Richard Rodgers; it’s episodic and the only thing binding it all together is love. That classic love that makes musicals so bubbly – here between Auntie Mame and nephew Patrick – guides the audience and it is how their peculiar relationship changes in time that creates all the other action. Some songs leave me wondering why they are there (including the first one, “St. Bridget”) but what musical doesn’t have a few throw-away songs? Jule Styne once told a young Stephen Sondheim that not every song needs to be a showstopper; perhaps it’s time we were reminded of that.

Dee Hoty, in the title role, can’t sing or dance really but she still has her comic flair and uses it to her advantage. I think she throws a few lines away, but some of them are obviously there for a cheap laugh, and I can’t figure out how better to play it myself. In all she comes off as a very loving – if very unorthodox – aunt-turned-mother, and that the audience gets that is more important than perfecting the imperfect lines.

Christian Probst plays young Patrick Dennis with the adorable energy needed for the part. He also plays well with Hoty (and vice versa). Unfortunately we do not get him for the whole play – he must grow up, but we are graciously left with Colin Donnell as the older Patrick. In the middle of a song at the beginning of Act II, he grows ten or so years, and in the meanwhile goes from the top of his class to the bottom. He also looses his youthful innocence and sense of adventure and falls in love with the snooty Gloria Upson – a young lady whose entire life has been top-drawer. Why or how any of this is unexplained, of course. We’re supposed to accept that, I suppose. Donnell does, and that’s probably best, since explaining too much of this show wouldn’t improve it much.

Georgia Engel plays Agnes Gooch, Patrick’s nanny. Ms. Gooch should be young at the beginning of the play, so that she can still get pregnant in the middle of Act II, but I suppose that since conventional story-telling is out here, so are the rules of human reproduction. Oh well. Engel has the simple nurse act down, and her absurd age just compounds the humor of the whole pathetic situation.

Francis Jue, playing Ito the Japanese butler, plays up Asian stereotypes, just as he did when he originated the role of Bun Foo a few years ago in Thoroughly Modern Millie. It’s not at all politically correct, but PC humor isn’t really funny anyway. Besides, I can only imagine how much they make fun of Americans in Japan. I hope they’re laughing at us, too.

Beth Leavel plays Vera Charles, an actress and friend to Mame. For comedy, there is probably no more relationship more crucial than theirs. Leavel works well as Hoty’s counterpart, and gets a few good numbers out of it.

The dance in this show is particularly bizarre. Hoty, as I mentioned doesn’t really dance, so instead the ensemble picks up most of the slack. It’s not as bad as Karen Morrow as Reno Sweeney in Anything Goes, but it is frustrating. Some of the dance numbers didn’t need to be there, such as the dance break in “Open a New Window.” It’s a shame that the Muny doesn’t – or can’t – orchestrate numbers for itself, because that would be another great opportunity to make things work for today on its own stage. Also, the ballet danceurs in the “Man in the Moon” sequence didn’t have very good turn out, and some females had their legs bent. Can’t they do ballet? Or, are they trying to play up to humor? Whatever the objective was, it looks trashy.

The rest of the ensemble did pretty well. The Men’s Ensemble particularly has several parts in different songs, and their enunciation and tone were not lost on these ears that lament that pop-ification of Broadway’s sound.

Singin' in the Rain - The Muny

2005-07-24T11:05:00.000-05:00

You remember the plot. You love the characters. You know “the song.” But it still doesn’t add up quite right at the Muny this week.

Most of the problems are technical this week, which is a nice change from the usually second-rate actors that trot across the stage. Of all the technical glitches, Cosmo Brown’s microphone is the worst. I’ve learned that his sweat, rolling down his bald head, has been getting into the microphone to give him a strange distant, muffled sound. It’s bad enough when he’s just standing there, but it gets worse during numbers like his big “Make ‘Em Laugh.” There are some other actors who have similar problems with their equipment; I don’t know what their excuse is, but it does get in the way of the production.

Also, there are some lines and things that I just don't understand. When R.F., the owner of the studios, demonstrates the talking picture at the party, people think it's him talking behind a screen, but it doesn't look or even sound like him. Also, why does Kathy Seldon believe Don when he admits that he's Don Lockwood when she just heard him deny it - and she thinks that he's an attacker? Some things just don't jive in this show, but these are mostly script problems that the Muny can't work around easily.

Most of the acting actually is pretty good. Co-incidentally enough, most of the actors have never performed at the Muny before, either. Only John Friedman, the little old man the Muny can’t say no to, is a repeat performer, and he as owner of the studio where Don Lockwood and Lina Lamont act does just fine. So does everybody else, really. None of the characters are deep or complex. Kathy Seldon, the chorus girl whose voice is dubbed in for Lina’s, falls in love with Don Lockwood because, well, he’s Don Lockwood. He’s dashing. He’s dancing. He’s single. Who could ask for anything more? And Lockwood falls in love with Seldon because, well, she called him to the carpet on his acting in silent movies. Really, that’s about all that distinguishes him from real actors; most of them can’t take criticism; he apparently finds it romantic.

Most of the choreography is ripped straight from the movie, which would be fine if they acknowledged that on the credits. The choreographer is not really the choreographer; he’s simply staging movements he saw on the screen. Most of the dances, however, work fine on the stage, including the big Act Two “Broadway Melody” dance segment and the Act One finale, “Singin’ in the Rain.” BTW: Yes, it does rain on stage. One dance, however, doesn’t work so well: “Make ‘Em Laugh” doesn’t work because the delivery just isn’t there. That scene was made for Donald O’Connor and just giving it to someone else and expecting them to match it is both unrealistic and unfair for the actor. It also doesn’t work because of the size of the stage and the distance between the action and the audience. Seeing a little guy do flips and other feats on the stage is simply dwarfed against a background of a stage that is half the size of a football field and giant oak trees.

The dancing overall, whoever choreographed it, is amazing. The “Broadway Melody” segment seems shorter than it ought to be: one wants the dancing to just keep going because it’s so good and it’s complemented by the orchestra – lush as always – so well. The dancing and the orchestra lift up the show – as they can be expected to – and aside from the technical problems and the others I mentioned above it’s a decent show.

Jesus Christ Superstar - The Muny

2005-07-16T21:45:00.000-05:00

The question the Apostles should ask, more appropriately, is: “Why the buzz? Tell me, what’s the hype about?”

From the opening notes of the orchestra’s overture, you know there’s something wrong here. I’m not talking about the biblical inaccuracies that populate the book; those are worth discussing somewhere else. The bass is too loud sometimes, and the electric guitar too faint. Also, too often all we hear is a drum set and the guitars. Don’t we have a full orchestra down there? Those not familiar with Webber’s score could miss what’s going on in the pit if they’re not paying close attention.

Since the ear is left out on a limb (so to speak), there is instead plenty to distract the eye. There are cheesy dances with the dance ensemble and the teens. Honestly I’m pretty sure that I’ve never seen a bunch of gayer guys than the apostles. They even have the Fab Five beat. Peter – you know, the violent one that cuts a guy’s ear off – couldn’t wield a sword, much less a prop knife, to save his soul. His three denials of Jesus are understandable, however, in this production, in a completely different perspective: he’s a sissy. And this guy’s The Rock? More like sand.

The dances are pretty minimal – which, I’m sad to say, is good. Two songs really have a dance with them: “Simon Zealots” and “Superstar.” The Zealots song is pretty good. The choreographer got the kids out of the way by putting them on the back of the scaffolding/set so that the adult chorus could dance. I personally feel that the Muny’s stronghold is in its dance, and it comes through in this number.

That being said, “Superstar” doesn’t follow up. To summarize: Judas is getting jiggy with the teen angels. I never saw so many angels shake their ta-tas or bump and grind. Heaven must be one groovin’ place – and Jesus quite the party animal – if this is what it’s like.

Speaking of Judas: who’s bright idea is it to always cast that role to a minority? First it was a black guy. Now it’s an Asian? Tisk, tisk. With my tongue in my cheek, I’d like to say that non-traditional casting gives us some strange ensembles sometimes. Also, his death is pretty lame: the lights go off and he runs into a tunnel in the set. Was there really no more creative way to kill him? No loose to hang him? Something?

Mary Magdalene (Andrea Burns) has a beautiful voice, but she leaves me questioning her character and her delivery. Where’s her emotion, her struggle, her internal fight? Ms. Burns has a wonderful tone but her delivery is better for a review than a character part.

Jesus – played by Eric Kunze – is pretty hit-or-miss. He’s got the love-your-fellow-man thing down pretty well (haha) and he gets most of Jesus’ struggle out during “Gethsemane” but other times he doesn’t transition emotions well (at the Temple, for example). A firm mastery of beats is important here.

Really, the most consistently played characters are those we shouldn’t like – Caiaphas, Annas, Pontius Pilate, and King Herod. They also don’t have much of a character arc either, so I suppose it’s doesn’t make their performances more nuanced anyway.

There are other little things that seem silly to have. For instance, the Temple Maid, played by Judith Newmark’s daughter, is completely unnecessary. Why have her at all? All she does is go around the priests as they talk, swinging incense. Quite inconsequential to the plot. Also, the sandals the men wore: c’mon. Buy jazz sandals or something. Consider it an investment. Furthermore, the Roman soldier’s costumes looked S&M: leather straps across the chest and capes. Was that the look that they were going for, for the guys who whip and kill Jesus? It’s just another of the many things that will leave the audience thinking, “well that was interesting!”

Annie Get Your Gun - The Muny

2005-07-06T09:28:00.000-05:00

Annie Get Your Gun, which returns to the Muny after a twelve-year break, strikes me as a very different type of musical from the rest of those written during the era of “big” musicals. This era, beginning with Oklahoma and including My Fair Lady, South Pacific, and Hello, Dolly!, was a very different era for Broadway. Compared to today: shows were longer; casts were larger; dances were bigger, etc. This show does not have those, and yet it is still a classic and in some ways a product of its time.

First, the running time for this show is just over two hours, including a fifteen-minute intermission. That’s short when you compare it to My Fair Lady, which can stretch to almost three hours. The cast is about twenty people (that is almost enough for just the Waiter’s Dance in Hello, Dolly!), including the chorus, so the set designer has been creative about not making the stage look empty when everybody is out on it (with good results, too). On top of that, there is practically no dancing. I usually like watching dance at the Muny (A Chorus Line, 42nd Street, to name a few), so not getting any is more than a little disappointing.

Unlike today’s shows, however, character development is very stunted. In a theatre world that has grown used to complex characters that do not neatly fall into categories – we have Stephen Sondheim to thank for that one – these characters seem very flat, to the point that South Pacific – written by Oscar Hammerstein, who really had a black-and-white outlook on life – looks like a study of very complex people (and we all know that Nellie Forbush is no Sweeney Todd).

We must, however, remember why these characters are so flat: Ethel Merman. Merman I insist was an entertainer – and a very good one at that – but not an actress, so I imagine that a character any deeper than a shallow pond would have been asking too much, so just keep it simple. Of course, if the title character (and leading lady) is flat, nobody around can be any more complex or interesting. Flatness usually goes to the supporting roles, so they can’t make her look like she really is playing second fiddle to Frank.

Thus, I guess I am trying to say that with everything (which isn’t much) that’s been given to the cast, they have pulled it off quite well. Liz Larsen isn’t the inimitable Merman so she doesn’t even try to be; good for her. She gives off humor and spunk, which is all Annie Oakley needs to succeed. Even better than that, Karen Morrow, who scared us all into thinking that she was Merman-in-waiting after 1999’s Anything Goes (and now Angela-Lansbury-in-waiting after Beauty and the Beast) is not Annie. That’s cause enough to go see it. Brian D’Arcy James, a fresh face at the Muny, is excellent as Frank and plays against Liz very well. Together the two carry the evening nicely.

The plot is also as thin as the characters. This isn’t the Muny’s fault, either; it’s just how Irving Berlin et al. wrote the show. This is not necessarily a bad thing. Normally a lighter plot means that there is more emphasis on character (e.g. Hedda Gabler, Sunday in the Park with George), but in the golden era of musicals it also meant that the show was supposed to be good ol’ entertainment. In that era, going to the theatre was a special occasion: people dressed up, went to dinner somewhere nice, and then saw a show. This normally meant that shows were longer, as discussed above, but this one is not, and I cannot help but wonder if this is partly a result of Berlin’s age when he wrote it. When he was approached about writing the music for it he thought that he was too old. He took the job anyway and wrote a marvelous score (including "There’s No Business Like Show Business" and "I Got the Sun in the Morning," both are performed well here) but compared to some other shows even the score seems light – about a dozen songs, including reprises.

Overall the show is a marvelous evening of entertainment. Its one drawback is that it is a product of its time, most notably in its final theme: she can’t do better than Frank with a gun, so she’ll be his “partner” and marry him. Not exactly a post-feminist message, so all you folks who are still mad the Equal Rights Amendment failed had better watch out. Everybody else, however, should do just fine.

Welcome!

2005-06-28T22:58:00.000-05:00

Hello and howdy ho, everybody. I'll be getting this thing set up in time, but eventually I want to have a few things going here: a regular blog (the usual I'm-a-person-so-hear-my-story stuff); a review of the different theatre events (plays, musicals, ballet concerts, etc) I go to; and a look at things related to law and/or politics, especially (but not limited to) in Missouri.

So check back every now and then. I should have my first review up soon, of the Muny's Beauty and the Beast.

'Til then....

Beauty and the Beast - The Muny

2005-06-28T11:39:00.000-05:00

The hardest part of evaluating a show, I think, is being able to evaluate it on its own merits, without holding it up against other productions in memory; the memory inevitably idolizes the good performances and demonizes the bad ones, beyond their actual goodness or badness, so those measures are inherently flawed. It gets even worse when one judges a stage production against a movie. Cameras can trick the eye into seeing things; music can be reworked into perfection for the soundtrack; Hollywood budgets can glitz the audience into submission. Live theatre cannot beat these, and it’s especially hard when the show’s source material is from a movie – a cartoon, no less.

And as hard as the professional review can try to eliminate these biases, the common theatergoer usually does not. Such is Disney’s Beauty and the Beast at the Muny in Forest Park. The Muny has a tendency to add its own special pizzazz to everything it does (consider The Fantasticks), but here it adds things in the wrong places.

First, consider the scary forest, where Maurice the father, played by St. Louis’ own Ken Page, encounters wolves. Well, not just wolves; he also encounters these strange hairless black creatures that hang out with the wolves. What are they? Muny Kids that the wardrobe department didn’t want to fully costume, I suppose. I figure that if you aren’t going to appropriately costume any actor, no matter how small, you shouldn’t send them out on stage. These black beasts, however, found a way to get out there.

The big show-stopping number is, of course, “Be Our Guest,” complete with dancing flatware and kitchen accessories and follies girls with plates that spin attached to their backs; both tasteful and well-executed. A series of individual vignettes follows à la The Nutcracker when the different candies dance for Claire. These are cute for a while but eventually one becomes anxious waiting for the big chorus part – you know, good old fashioned Muny-styled get-a-hundred-people-on-stage-and-make-them-dance-together-like-we-did-in-Forty-Second-Street chorus numbers – to come out, and when it does, at the tale end of the number, it’s over almost before they’re all out there.

The orchestrations also leave the audience hanging sometimes, although this is not the Muny’s fault. The orchestrations may have worked in some Broadway theatre where people are stacked on top of each other, but when you have a full house of eleven-thousand patrons, plus about a hundred staff watching in the wings, you need something fuller coming out of the orchestra.

Also, the book was, in my opinion, needlessly lengthened with songs we’d all rather forget, such as “No Matter What” or “Maison des Lunes.” The show – included in the season to attract children – is already two and a half hours long. These songs, which aren’t really necessary, could just as easily be taken out and replaced with regular dialogue.

The actors themselves do remarkably well with a script that left plenty of room for improvement. Lee Roy Reams, playing Lumiere, works well with lines that really ought not be there – mostly dialogue with Sharon Ann Farrell, playing Babette the maid. They are cute together but they digress too much too often for my tastes. Again, not the Muny’s fault. Blame Disney.

Bruce Adler handles himself well as Cogsworth, preferring to take the tone of the character in his own direction, rather than rely on the movie like one would be inclined. Karen Morrow is surprisingly decent as Mrs. Potts. Her vocal tambre leaves room for improvement still but at least she hits all her notes. Nat Chandler (Gaston) is disgustingly self-interested, as he ought to be, and the beast’s costume must weigh down on James Clow because sometimes hits a flat note when singing. Also, snaps for Katie Pees (Madame de la Grand Bouche) who actually wears a wardrobe for a costume. That can’t make movement or singing easy, but she still finds the energy – or adrenaline – keep going out there with planks of wood strapped around her neck.

Many of these same actors, also, have chosen to speak with a French accent. I can understand the temptation – it is set in Provençal France, after all – but generally I think it is better to used a heightened, trans-Atlantic English instead of a foreign accent whenever the action is in a foreign country. We won’t forget where they are, and as a cast they should have decided how they were going to talk. It doesn’t help when two people talking to each other on stage are talking with completely different accents. Also, some members found my pet peeve by mispronouncing what little French there actually is in the show. I never thought “rendezvous” or “bonjour” were so difficult to pronounce properly. Thankfully the random theatergoer won’t know the difference; at least Chandler’s pronunciation of “rendezvous” is mildly funny.

There are many other bright spots in this show. The kids during some of the dances (wolves scenes aside) help fill the stage and at least blend in when they're given appropriate costuming. The dancing chorus is simply amazing. Their precision and execution (not to mention form and simple beauty) of the ballet segments are incredible and worthy of extended praise (which I cannot give here). Even the bar scene, the dance with the beer steins is cute, clever, and well-done. In an era when ballet falls farther and farther away from its traditional roots and form and substance are lost, Beauty and the Beast returns many times to the foundations of all dances with artful and creative movements. Indeed, the dance is the best part of the show, and is a worthy reason of going to see this show.