Review - Pal Joey: I Could Rewrite A Book

In case this is your first time reading one of my reviews of a Broadway revival of a classic musical, allow me introduce you to my personal prejudice. I completely abhor the now very common practice of revising the book and messing with the score of any musical theatre piece after the authors are deceased. If a composer, bookwriter or lyricist is around to approve of changes, that's swell, but all too often their estates will allow anything from the sparse, but significant, tweaks to South Pacific to the wholesale revisions of The Pajama Game and The Music Man. Even more deplorable is the practice of letting these changes go uncredited, as was done in the three examples just cited, giving audiences no clue that what they are watching is not wholly the musical the original authors wrote.

Some will argue that the theatre is a living, breathing art form and that it's healthy for contemporary artists to put their creative mark on old material. I agree. But when the authors are no longer living and breathing I believe that creative mark should be limited to interpreting what they wrote without imposing changes into the text.

That said, Richard Greenberg, whose name is fully credited, did a damn fine job revising the original book of Pal Joey. I'd rather he utilize his talents to writing brand new book musicals, allowing contemporary audiences the pleasure of experiencing the story fully from the pens of John O'Hara (book), Lorenz Hart (lyrics) and Richard Rodgers (music), but he's done an excellent job expanding on ideas that were only hinted at when the musical premiered in 1940 and introducing new and sensible character motivations which increase the dramatic impact of the story. Director Joe Mantello's dark, naturalistic production is stylishly presented and loaded with some terrific acting, adding up to a compelling evening of clever, melodic and crackling good musical theatre.

Pal Joey deservedly carries the reputation of being a landmark musical that was underappreciated during its initial 11 month run. Based on John O'Hara's 1939 novel, first published episodically in The New Yorker, the Joey in question is a punk kid emcee in a seedy Chicago nightspot who sweet talks (or sings, actually) pretty, but lonely, young Linda into bed but dumps her for wealthy, older and married Vera, who is happy to finance his career in exchange for sex. O'Hara's authorship of the musical's book was his only Broadway venture and director George Abbott is known to have tinkered with it a bit before the opening. Rodgers and Hart's sterling score includes the jaunty "You Mustn't Kick It Around," the deceptively romantic "I Could Write A Book," the topical strip-tease parody "Zip," the wryly funny "In Our Little Den of Iniquity" and the elegantly smutty "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered." (If you think of that last one as a romantic ballad that means you've only heard the cleaned-up lyric penned for radio play.)

While certainly not a flop, this harsh, cynical adult entertainment wasn't exactly taken to the theatre community's bosom. In his New York Times review Brooks Atkinson praised every individual aspect of the show, which starred Vivienne Segal as Vera and young, unknown Gene Kelly as Joey, but the closest to a recommendation he could muster was, 'If it is possible to make an entertaining musical comedy out of an odious story, Pal Joey is it.' But a 1950 studio cast recording with Segal and Harold Lang was successful enough to propel a 1952 revival and with the emergence of the anti-hero in American post-war culture, Pal Joey became a popular hit.

Greenberg's new book has been kicking around since a 1992 Boston production and, as is frequently done when revising a classic old musical, the new author eliminates crossover scenes and reprises that used to be performed in front of the curtain to cover up set changes. Some of his ideas are inspired, like taking the gleeful "Happy Hunting Horn" number, originally sung as a celebration of Joey's new benefactor arrangement with Vera, and reinterpreting it as an ugly, predatory threat of sexual conquest when Joey prepares to sleep with Linda for the first time. As he prepares for the pounce, chorus ladies enter, dressed in black widow's weeds as if mourning the loss of his willing victim's innocence. Another smart move is to expand on a brief exchange that hints at one character's homosexuality and utilize it for an important and believable plot point later in the game.

Other changes seem inconsequential, like switching the scene where Joey meets Linda from in front of a pet store to inside a diner, and one or two are annoying, like interpolating lyrics from the 1957 film version of the show into "Zip." ("Who the hell is Margie Hart?" is replaced by the ho-hum "Every movement from the heart.") But the most significant and effective move Greenberg makes is to mature Linda from a gullible innocent to a disillusioned Depression era loner who can see right through Joey, but is still willing to take him. Incorporating Rodgers and Hart obscurities like "Are You My Love" and "I Still Believe In You" adds texture to their scenes without cheapening the moments by inserting better-known standards.

I'd be doing an unfair disservice to Matthew Risch, an actor I've never seen before, to say that the great success of his performance comes more from excellent casting than skillful acting, but given that this former understudy was suddenly thrust into the title role in the middle of previews when it was announced that previous star Christian Hoff would be permanently sidelined with an injured foot, I think I can safely say that his relative inexperience in leading roles works out to be a plus for him. While he dances with sharp athleticism and sings with an appealing baritone timbre, there is no natural charm in Risch's Joey and that's what makes it work. With his deep, working class accent, steely eyes and perpetually moist brow (in a great moment he actually towels off his face in the middle of a love song) you constantly see the effort Joey goes through to make himself appealing to lovers and audiences; as if there any difference between the two. In a new opening ballet, which begins with the title character getting slugged by a tough guy, Risch shows the determination of a fellow continually digging himself out of the gutter in a world where nothing comes easy for him. There's no finesse to his Joey; it's all survival instinct at work just laid out in front of the audience. I couldn't say if Mr. Risch will wake up a Broadway star tomorrow morning, but I'm damn certain he went to sleep tonight a perfect fit for Joey.

While Stockard Channing's singing voice is more of a suspended murmur, her dry, wry Vera superbly drops sardonic barbs while looking smashing in William Ivy Long's evening wear. With "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered," now initially sung in bed beside a snoozing Joey the morning after their first tryst, Channing underplays the lyric's humor in favor of hung-over self-loathing. Fully aware that the laugh really is on her, she subtly highlights the repeated word "again" while considering the anonymous figure of her latest boy toy lying beneath the sheets, turning the lyric into less of a love song and more of a recount of repeated self-destructive behavior. The interpretation is perfectly acted and vocally mesmerizing.

In contrast, Jenny Fellner gives Linda an appropriately plain quality, singing with a pretty but uncomplicated soprano. But her scene work is where she displays more touching moments as the lonely lass out to get the best life she can settle for.

The versatile Martha Plimpton, making her musical theatre debut, is the greatest beneficiary of Greenberg's new book. Her role of aging chorine Gladys Bumps is not only juiced up by making her one of Joey's former flings, but she also receives the choice Act II showstopper, "Zip," originally sung by a reporter character eliminated for this version. Plimpton is the unexpected find of the night, singing with husky brass, performing dance steps with charismatic lowbrow moxie and cracking wise with shameless sass.

Most of Pal Joey's dance moments occur in nightclub performances where characters who are third rate entertainers execute routines staged by Joey himself, so understandably choreographer Graciela Daniele's few high points come when Risch is allowed to take center stage. Daniele, Greenberg, Mantello and Long succeed nicely in the tricky task of keeping the show's many performance scenes from interfering with the flow of the plot by having the staging of each number tell you something about Joey's advancements as an entertainer and entrepreneur. The best example comes in the contrast between an Act I ballet where Joey imagines himself owning a club with an elegant floor show featuring beautiful showgirls dressed as flowers and the second act opening which reveals the tacky, real life version of what he envisioned.

Scott Pask's dingy settings lit in atmospheric shadows by Paul Gallo help establish the seedy character of the surroundings and Don Sebesky's actor-friendly orchestrations, played by conductor Paul Gemignani's 15-piece ensemble, allow songs to creep up on scenes in a natural flow from the dialogue.

In praising a performance in a show he found repulsive Brooks Atkinson wrote, "If Joey must be acted, Mr. Kelly can do it." To that I say, if Pal Joey must be rewritten, Mr. Greenberg can do it. And he's done it quite well.