Based on the iconic characters created by legendary cartoonist Charles Addams, THE ADDAMS FAMILY is an all-new musical comedy starring Tony Award winner Roger Rees as Gomez and stage and screen star Brooke Shields as Morticia. THE ADDAMS FAMILY features an original story. It's every parent's nightmare. Your little girl has suddenly become a young woman, and what's worse, has fallen deliriously in love with a sweet, smart young man from a respectable family. Yes, Wednesday Addams, the ultimate princess of darkness, has a "normal" boyfriend, and for parents Gomez and Morticia, it's a shocking development that turns the Addams house upside down when they are forced to host a dinner for the young man and his parents.
THE ADDAMS FAMILY has a book by Marshall Brickman and Rick Elice (librettists of the 2006 Tony Award-winning Best Musical, Jersey Boys), music and lyrics by Drama Desk Award winner Andrew Lippa (The Wild Party), direction and design by Phelim McDermott and Julian Crouch (Shockheaded Peter, The Metropolitan Opera's Satyagraha) and choreography by Sergio Trujillo (Next to Normal, Jersey Boys).
Every moment is a furious fight for life, an act of flop-sweat corpse puppetry worthy of Weekend at Bernie’s. Practically from the moment the curtain parts—courtesy Thing, the bodiless hand—you detect the grim, gray whiff of obligation. The Addams Family, like so many large-scale theatrical entertainments today, feels every inch a Musicalized Property. (To call it a “musical” suggests more joie de mort than the show can muster.) It’s a Broadway spectacular only because it must be, not because any of its creators felt particularly inspired. Alas, one can put the defibrillator paddles to a dead body only so many times before it starts to smoke, and long before the night is over, the air in the Lunt-Fontanne is a gritty haze of unrequited effort. “When you’re an Addams,” the ensemble sings (in an instructive, repetitive, highly unpromising opening number), “you’re happy when your toes are in the mud/You smile a bit the moment you smell blood.” Poe, this ain’t. But hey, it could be worse, considering the soupy lyrical terrain on which Andrew Lippa insists on building his flimsy, prefab songs.
McDermott and Crouch’s sets and costumes achieve both hilarity and charm. (Morticia’s decolletage stops precisely short of her nipples, while the cast moves from the fog-draped exterior of the family’s gothic pile, with prominent moon, to the heavy furnishings of gloomy interiors.) They are staunchly abetted by Basil Twist’s polymorphously perverse puppets and Natasha Katz’s cheeky lighting. The whole show is a menage a trois of the ghastly, the ghostly and the side-splitting. And you know what? Unlike in most current musicals, the songs really shine: Melody, too, has risen from the dead.
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