Kristin Salaky - Page 8

ImagiNe You're in Washington DC watching your father receive the National Medal of Arts, but you're more exited about dad's co-honoree, the man who helped turn your life in a direction away from your father, Stephen Sondheim. That was the unique experience of Dan Guerrero, star and author of ¡Gaytino!, the very funny and informative solo play about his personal clashing of Mexican and gay cultures that recently closed a two-night run as one of the final productions seen at the beloved Zipper Factory.

'Exciting' is not a word normally associated with productions of Thornton Wilder's Our Town. Heartwarming? Sure. Chilling? When its climax is done well, certainly. But director David Cromer's non-traditional take on the play - which remains completely faithful to the author's text and themes - is one of the most exciting theatre events of the season.

I just got back from Avery Fisher Hall, where Frank Rich was partaking in a fireside chat (sans fireside) with Stephen Sondheim. I scribbled down as much as I could from the 90 minute conversation. Some of the more interesting topics included the inability for most theatre critics to critique the music in a musical and the greater gratification Sondheim gets from composition than lyric writing because of the way language can restrict him from expressing exactly what he wants to say. ('There are very few lyrics that are perfect lyrics.') I wish there was more time to discuss his observation that Jerry Bock's music has the same edginess as Fred Ebb's lyrics and John Kander's outpouring of music matches Sheldon Harnick's elegant lyrics, giving great dramatic tension to the songs of both teams.

That is, if I have anything to do with it. Who is Savannah Rafferty? Well, my dear readers may remember 2-year-old Savannah singing 'Don't Cry For Me, Argentina' in my year-end column, '2008's Ten Memorable Theatre Moments You May Have Missed.'

In my 30+ years of Broadway theatergoing there have been a few special moments that I know will stick in my memory forever. Michael Jeter dancing his giddy Charleston in Grand Hotel, is one example. Jerry Orbach, in 42nd Street, proclaiming 'musical comedy' as, 'the most glorious words in the English language,' is another. I witnessed the newest addition to my little list at Wednesday night's performance of Soul of Shaolin, when Yu Fei stood on the Marquis Theatre stage, lifted his left leg straight up in the air with his foot to the ceiling, then leaned over and hit the floor in a perfect split, groin first. He did it again at curtain call.

Although no one under 16 is permitted to enter the Duo Theatre for Company XIV's playfully sexy theatre/dance piece, The Judgment of Paris, there's really, as they say in Texas, nothing dirty going on. Perfectly placed within the faded elegance of the cozy 4th Street venue, conceiver/director/choreographer Austin McCormick's literary frolic taken from Greek mythology (he, along with Toby Burns and company members, adapted the text from several sources) mixes aspects of baroque dance with some pop culture and several spirited can-cans to prove one undeniable fact; guys go nuts over blondes.

You don't need an economic crisis to appreciate some good theatre at less than the price of a top shelf martini but at $15 a pop the Fifth Annual Under The Radar Festival (running through Sunday at various venues, but mostly at The Public Theater) can keep you stimulated all day with an international grab bag of adventurous productions for less than the price of freezing your butt off on line to buy a TKTS twofer.

As Broadway prepares for another mounting of Hair, the theatre community has received the sad news that the innovative director who helped make that musical such a success, Tom O'Horgan, has passed away. I asked the legendary and colorful playwright Robert Patrick to share a remembrance...

It's such a shame that Second Stage's crackling production of Becky Shaw, Gina Gionfriddo's comedy of ill manners, is scheduled to close on February 1st. I can't think of a better Valentine's Day entertainment for cynically single urbanites looking to combat the champagne and roses splendor with which the coupled celebrate February 14th than this acidic portrait of the down and dirty business of allowing oneself to be emotionally available. Populated with smart, articulate characters who say clever things while living sad little lives, a night at Becky Shaw can do wonders for the self-esteem of the lonely hearted looking to both be entertained by and feel superior to those in or looking for love.

Wipe off the green makeup, bulldoze the castle and get rid of the tap-dancing rats- no, keep the tap-dancing rats - and Shrek, despite its fairy-tale setting and gentle lesson about embracing the qualities that make us different, reveals itself as just a good ol' musical comedy. And a darn enjoyable one at that. Of course, whether you find it sophomoric or smartass might depend on your reaction to fart jokes, anachronistic contemporary references and visual quotes from classic musicals, but director Jason Moore has his terrific cast performing their goofy antics with slick professionalism. Add some very humorous puppetry and bright, catchy tunes and you've got a fun night out.

Ah, it's that time of year again when, while most theatergoers are assembling their lists of the top (and sometimes bottom) plays and musicals of the year, I prefer to focus on ten memorable moments that perhaps relatively few got to see. These moments don't necessarily come from the ten best productions, but in a city with the abundance of high quality theatre that Gotham enjoys, you never know when a great dramatic moment will come your way.

The daffy and delightful Christine Pedi's newest cabaret concoction, the Jolly Holly Christmas Folly is an inviting cocktail mixing old favorites with a few new routines; very merry, raucously funny and abundantly cheery.

Anyone who saw Mary Bond Davis as Broadway's original Motormouth Maybelle in Hairspray, or in her many cabaret and concert performances, knows that woman can sizzle on stage. But now viewers of The Food Network have a chance to see how she sizzles in the kitchen.

I somehow doubt that, despite Broadway's struggles in the current economy, Jeff Marx and Robert Lopez would be so cynical as to use the title of this entry as their new 'For Now' lyric in Avenue Q, but since it's only a matter of weeks before the sharply satirical children's educational musical for adults they penned with Jeff Whitty outlasts the current presidential administration, that infamous lyric, 'George Bush is only for now,' is about to be impeached.

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.

While there isn't anything terribly wrong with the new Broadway adaptation of the 1954 movie musical smash, White Christmas, hitting New York after four years of holiday season engagements across the country, there's also quite a bit that isn't especially right about it either. Yes, it's got those glorious Irving Berlin songs like 'Count Your Blessings Instead of Sheep', 'Let Me Sing and I'm Happy' and 'Blue Skies' - the kind of stuff that turns wearing your heart on your sleeve into a hip fashion statement - and Larry Blank's swing orchestrations provide choreographer Randy Skinner's dancers with a red carpet of sizzle, but too much of director Walter Bobbie's perfectly pleasant production settles snugly into a groove of innocuous entertainment that is swift, professional and rarely exciting.

Eugene O'Neill might not have been the first playwright to have time come to a halt mid-conversation while characters reveal hidden thoughts through internal monologues - a technique I'm sure is familiar to more Americans through Groucho Marx's spoof of his Strange Interlude in the film version of Animal Crackers than by having seen the play itself - and I'm certain Craig Lucas, whose Prayer For My Enemy has its share of supressed asides, won't be the last. But while I wouldn't opt for dramatic lighting and stylized acting every time someone has a personal moment, the playwright's desire, as stated in his script, that, 'the manner of separating the inner from the outer can and should change throughout,' can cause a tad of confusion in this play where lack of communication is key. Sure, we get the point when someone turns to the audience and starts talking, but a post-performance read of the text made it clear that a lot of the lines said while directly facing someone had actually gone unheard.

Everyone has their own idea of what makes great theatre. For some it's adventurous writing, for others it's well-detailed performances and for others it's dazzling production values. More often it's a combination of many qualities. Whatever your definition of great theatre is, where in New York are you most likely to find it? Let us know in our new poll…

'We love you, Liza!,' a faint, but audible voice yelled from what seemed to be a far corner of the Palace Theatre's mezzanine. And though the 62-year-old entertainer was understandably still catching her breath after a spirited vaudevillian delivery of Styne, Comden & Green's tongue-twisting comic masterpiece, 'If,' she suddenly stopped what she was doing, lifted her face to the direction of the adulation and with a soft, angelic look of wonderment, answered in a clear, strong voice, 'I love you, too. You know I do.'

That cultish assemblage that likes to recite my reviews from memory on open mic nights at the Nuyorican Poets Café (it's weird being an icon for the culturally disenfranchised) may notice many similarities between my following scribblings on Lincoln Center Theater's Broadway production of Horton Foote's Dividing The Estate and my review of this mounting's original Off-Broadway run last season at Primary Stages. But if director Michael Wilson can do a cut and paste job, with minor adjustments here and there, there's no reason I can't do the same.