Review - Spider-Man: Turn Off The Dark

The funny thing about 70 million dollar musicals is that the paper used to write them costs no more than the paper used to write church basement showcases budgeted on the limit of someone's maxed-out credit card. And twenty thousand years from now, when intergalactic societies consider our generation's artistic ambitions based on which words and music written on that paper we chose to support with extravagantly-financed productions viewed by over ten thousand purchasers of high-priced tickets every week, let's hope we don't have to sheepishly shield our faces in our afterlife abodes as they flabbergastedly wonder, "What the hell were they thinking?"

Some people say the magic of musical theatre comes with the singing and dancing talents of wonderful performers, the dazzle of the sets and costumes and the thrill of, in the case of Spider-Man: Turn Off The Dark, watching actors soar above the audience in a high-flying death match. They all can be terrific, I agree. But there's a limit to how amusing it is to have your nose tickled by champagne bubbles when they're propelled from a lackluster vintage. For all its elaborate design and unique staging (Maybe "airing" is the more appropriate word.), Spider-Man suffers from that most basic of musical theatre ailments; the dramatically anemic book and score are incapable of generating magic on their own. Peter Pan flies because he's a perpetual child who has never learned limitations. Mary Poppins flies because a change of the wind takes her to where she's needed most. At the Foxwoods Theatre, Spider-Man flies because he's hooked up to cables.

I didn't see the musical while it was under the creative control of Julie Taymor, who still retains directing credit on the huge sign outside the theatre. (Her Playbill billing reads, "Original Direction by...") I heard the buzz, of course, of the thinly-veiled symbolism of the Geek Chorus and of a dance number featuring eight-legged spiders hoarding New York's shoe supply. The word about town, before Phillip Wm. McKinley took over the production (He's billed as "Creative Consultant" in Playbill with nobody named as director.), was that this was going to be a legendary train wreck. Worse than Thou Shalt Not, which featured one of our very fine stage actors playing a mute paraplegic trying to reveal the identities of a pair of murderers by using Scrabble tiles. Worse than In My Life, where a very entertaining singer/actor played a flaming queen angel assigned by God to create a "reality opera," singing lyrics like, "There's a little rumor / Someone's got a tumor."

But no. To call Spider-Man a train wreck wouldn't be fair to the other train wrecks, which at least are interesting. Spider-Man is more of a train delay. A two and a half hour train delay. With no Wi-Fi.

The book, originally by Taymor and playwright Glen Berger with comic book specialist Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa later added it the mix, is emotionless and workmanlike, doing little more than connecting the dots between scene changes as it shorthands the story of high school nerd Peter Parker (Reeve Carney) who acquires super powers after being bitten by a mutant spider in the laboratory of scientist Norman Osborn (Patrick Page), who, by act two, has himself mutated into the villainous Green Goblin. Peter's new responsibility as a crime fighter cuts into his relationship with sweetheart Mary Jane Watson (Jennifer Damiano), who makes an inexplicably quick leap from high-school actress to above-the-title Broadway star who is apparently so good that the critics' raves about her are on the marquee before opening night has ended. His Uncle Ben (Ken Marks), who I understand is a major character in the comics, is reduced to an afterthought, leaving room for a Taymor creation, the air-suspended spiritual guide, Arachne (T.V. Carpio, in a role first intended to be the musical's major villain and provider of a dangerous love interest.).

Though the stage-savvy Page can handily camp it up, most of the book's humor lands with a thud; particularly a bit about how Peter thinks The Fantasticks is a musical about The Fantastic Four. Like Page, Michael Mulheren, as the bossy, steam- shooting-out-of-his ears editor of The Daily Bugle, is also very successful at giving the appearance that the lines he speaks are amusing.

The respectable efforts of Carney, Damiano and Carpio are pretty much done in by the ballad-heavy score by Bono and The Edge; a collection of generically-lyriced tunes that seem far more intended for the pop charts and inspirational football highlight videos than for developing characters and advancing the plot. While Carney has to contend with ridiculous faux-poetics ("And you said 'Rise above. / Open your eyes above.') and clichéd excuses for sincerity ("I saw the you in me and the me in you."), Page at least gets to relish in the awfulness of "A Freak Like Me Needs Company," as he leads his evil cohorts in a disco march through Manhattan. (Actually, I can imagine the gang at Marie's Crisis rather tongue-in-cheekily belting that one out at 2am.)

Fortunately, if you're sitting in the front or middle of the orchestra section, you can always turn your head away during the songs and just watch the entertaining expressions of the always-enthused conductor Kimberly Grigsby on one of the monitors. But then, you really don't want to miss any of the excellent work by designers George Tsypin (sets), Eiko Ishioko (costumes), Kyle Cooper (projections), Donald Holder (lights) and, yes, even Ms. Taymor (masks), as they impressively replicate the angular excitement, melodramatic tone and occasional visual absurdity of the Spider-Man comic books.

Spider-Man: Turn Off The Dark arrives on Broadway with its text, music and direction by six people who collectively amount to zero experience in creating a wholly original book musical. Fresh blood should always be welcome in musical theatre, but it would be nice if they displayed some knowledge of what gives the genre a pulse. To borrow a phrase from a Broadway lyricist who not only knew something about the genre but who also worked well with spiders, audiences are strongly advised to learn how not to be where they are.

Photos by Jacob Cohl: Top: Patrick Page and Reeve Carney; Bottom: T.V. Carpio.

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