Review: Bullying Survivor LISA JASON Sings Her Story 'Beautifully' at the Laurie Beechman

"I . . . am a survivor," Lisa Jason announces solemnly near the beginning of her poignant new cabaret show, Bullied to Beautiful, which premiered in its present incarnation last Wednesday night (it originally debuted last October at the Metropolitan Room) at the Laurie Beechman Theatre. Uprooted at seven from Long Island to a small, homogenous, anything-but-friendly town on Cape Cod, Jason encountered relentless physical and verbal abuse at the hands of "blue-eyed, blonde-haired" kids "with alligators on their shirts."

Small towns tend to be cliquish, but to a Long Islander with a funny voice, Cape Cod might as well have been a foreign country. Neglected by her parents--her father was out "saving the world" and her mother simply distracted--and subjected to a bitter, drunk Joan Crawford-like grandmother with severe eyebrows and garish nails, Jason's only solace in a town without "pizza, bagels, or cable TV" was music--specifically the singers and songwriters of the 1970s.

Jason interprets hits by the musicians who saved her life--The Carpenters, Barbra Streisand, Janice Ian, Bette Midler, Donna Summer, and her hero Barry Manilow--with varying degrees of success. But brilliant arrangements by musical director Ryan Shirar (a classical pianist who received raves for his work on Maxine Linehan's Beautiful Songs), and consummate playing by her band, carry the show through the rough patches. Sean Harkness is the best acoustic guitarist working in New York cabaret (as well as the only well-known musical director who doesn't play piano); Peter Sachon's doleful cello reflects the underlying current of sorrow in Jason's youth, which is never far from the surface, even in the show's lighter moments; and percussionist Mark Katsaounis works percussive magic on the cajon.

The show opens darkly with a too-loud recording of taunts ("ugly," "stupid," "nerd," "four eyes," etc) followed by the melodramatic "Crosses" (K'e and Michael Bernard), one of just three songs in the show not from the '70s. It's not the best vehicle for Jason's voice, which sounded far better on "Rainy Days and Mondays" (Roger Nichols/Paul Williams), a song nicely set up by the reminder that "words hurt more than punches and can last forever." The performer lacks Carpenter's signature clarity, but she also sings with genuine feeling what strikes some of us who didn't come of age in the '70s as a schmaltzy ballad. The same is true of the Manilow medley ("Mandy/Could It Be Magic/Daybreak") and the Streisand tune, "My Heart Belongs to Me" (Alan Gordon).

Jason's narration, co-written with director Stephen Hanks, is compelling throughout. But nowhere did story and song fuse as well as in "Cats in the Cradle" (Harry Chapin), which Jason sang flawlessly. Early on, we learned that Jason nearly died in childbirth. A priest had been called for Last Rites, and the doctor had already talked to her father about ways to break the news to her mother. Circling back to the dramatic story of her birth, Jason informs us that her father died last year. On his deathbed, he sought forgiveness from the daughter he failed to protect or, even on basic levels, to help feel safe. The number struck a chord with the Boomer audience; most were reaching for tissues after the final bar of Chapin's folk classic.

Not surprisingly, the nadir of Jason's youth was middle school (does anyone not hate that time of life?). Jason avoided classes so often she considered herself "the queen of the stomach ache," and recounts one particularly severe beating that drove her to seek help from a teacher. The teacher did nothing. Yet Jason doesn't project anger or victimhood. The pain is still raw and there is fragility about her, even in the show's lighter moments. But the second half of Bullied to Beautiful makes clear that Jason is no longer "invisible" or powerless; the show is a testament to her visibility and agency, two of the worst casualties of bullying.

High school was better than middle school, but that's not saying a lot. The numbers about school dances--"Dream Weaver" (Bobby Freeman) and "Because the Night" (Bruce Springsteen/Patti Smith)--provide welcome levity, though the boy she wanted so much to dance with asked her best friend. This, however, falls within normal ranges of adolescent disappointment. "Do You Want To Dance," another Freeman song famously sung by Bette Midler, fell flat, though it's one of those '70s tunes that just doesn't withstand the test of time and so not a matter of poor execution so much as dull material.

Two shards of hope ran through Jason's mid-teens: dance class (albeit with a typically tyrannical ballet teacher on the Cape) and a Mustang-driving, slightly creepy New Jersey boy who followed her everywhere but made her feel, for the first time in her life, desirable and beautiful. Emboldened by the television show Fame, Jason finally got off the Cape and moved to New York to pursue a career in the arts. It was the age of disco and while hardly healed, the move marked a turning point in the performer's life.

Musically, the last third of the show is strongest. When Jason tries to belt, her voice sounds forced (and at times she misses the mark altogether), so talkier songs without great vocal demands work best. Both "Two Out of Three Ain't Bad" (Jim Steinman) and "Alone Again, Naturally" (Gilbert O'Sullivan), with Sachon's haunting cello prominent, are both moving and well sung. But the best number, after "Cats in the Cradle," was Janice Ian's "At Seventeen," which Jason made her own and which captured the show's essence as powerfully as any verbal account of her trauma.

Jason finished with an original song, "Beautiful Child," which was more compelling lyrically and melodically than some of the '70s hits she performed. A call for greater empathy and compassion in us all, this "love letter" written in 2001 for an abused girl also spoke to the hurt child inside of Jason, suggesting that the now 50-something survivor of bullying might write more songs--as well as sing--in her ongoing effort to regain her voice.

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