Review - Liza's at The Palace…: You Are For Loving

"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."

Now, I'm not saying that opening night of Liza's at The Palace... was the first time those exact words were ever exchanged between Ms. Minnelli and an anonymous voice from a darkened auditorium but, as Fred Ebb once wrote, it's the strangest thing... her reaction to shouts of joy, words of love and a few thousand hands clapping themselves red can make you believe in the healing power of an audience.

Sure, despite looking quite smashing in her glimmering Halston designs and throwing volts of committed energy into every moment on stage, there are times when there's no covering up the fact that she's breathing pretty hard between songs, her diction can get a tad muddy and time has devalued a few of her money notes into spare change. But heck, she's the first one to laugh at the inevitable wear and tear ("Remember when I used to go down on one knee at this part?") because this isn't a show about Liza Minnelli not having changed a bit. This is a show about an artist who, despite being past her physical prime, is still perfecting the talents that really matter; like an ability to shrink a house as large as the Palace into an intimate room where everyone watching can believe she's singing especially for them. Like an underrated acting ability that brings spontaneity to songs she's been singing for over 35 years. And that rarest and most valued of qualities, the fearlessness to be unique.

So by the time she's taking in her ninth or tenth standing ovation of the first act, the reactions of a crowd going nuts for her nourishes her performance of "Cabaret" to the point where the newly found strength of her voice and the age-defying grace of her movements burst into a mesmerizing force that would be considered the high point of any show that didn't end its second act with a "New York, New York" so powerful and emotionally vibrant you'll be checking the theatre's water fountains for the one marked "youth."

And the rest of the night ain't so shabby neither.

Director/choreographer Ron Lewis, a Minnelli collaborator since 1970, packages a theatrical concert that shows off his star in style. Conductor/drummer Michael Berkowitz leads a dynamic 12-piece on-stage orchestra that features the fabulous Billy Stritch on piano. (Stritch also serves as music supervisor, contributes to the vocal arrangements and nicely croons a bit.) Ray Klausen's scenic designs and Matt Berman's lights frame and accent the star's signature moves and poses with the proper doses of elegant glam and David Zippel is on hand to help create her patter. The evening is saturated with class from start to finish.

The two-act program includes her four Kander and Ebb classics ("Cabaret," "New York, New York," "Maybe This Time," and "And The World Goes Round"), along with an assortment of selections from past concert tours and Broadway engagements, all sung with her informed sense of thinking person's dazzle. Her opening, "Teach Me Tonight" (Gene DePaul/Sammy Cahn) eases us into a first half that includes a very well acted "What Makes a Man a Man" (Charles Aznavour) and a defiant "My Own Best Friend" (from her time filling in for the ailing Gwen Verdon in Chicago). The act's showpiece is a medley of songs her mother once sang on the Palace stage honoring four great ladies of vaudeville who headlined at this cathedral of variety: Nora Bayes ("Shine On, Harvest Moon"), Sophie Tucker ("Some of These Days"), FAnnie Brice ("My Man") and Eva Tanguay ("I Don't Care").

The bulk of the second act is a tribute to her godmother, career advisor and divorce consultant, Kay Thompson, the exuberant, life-loving vocal coach and arranger for MGM's great movie musicals, who coaxed the world to "Think Pink" in the film of Funny Face and penned the series of Eloise books. With her back-up quartet of The Williams Brothers (yes, Andy Williams was one of them), Thompson created what Walter Winchell called, "the greatest nightclub act ever," writing her own songs and arranging great standards to suit her glitzy talents.

Joined by the sensational song and dance quartet of Johnny Rodgers, Cortes Alexander, Tiger Martina and Manhattan cabaret gem Jim Caruso, they recreate the excitement of a live Thompson performance with "Hello, Hello," "Jubilee Time," "Basin Street Blues" and a breakneck speed "Clap Yo' Hands," all snappily staged with Lewis's period supper clubby choreography.

And it was in the middle of that medley when Minnelli took a long pause during a break in a number to catch her breath. She joked about it, with loud huffing clearly heard through her body mic, and the crowd responded with understanding laughter that was maybe tinged with a bit of concern. But perhaps the many shouts of encouragement and unconditional love were what did the trick and gave her the energy to keep going. Sounds corny, sure, but it makes for some terrific theatre.

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And while there turns out to be no truth to the rumor that Christine Pedi will be standing by for Ms. Minnelli during her Palace engagement - seriously, just try telling the difference from the second balcony - she did do quite the nifty turn as Kay Thompson in a memorable Forbidden Broadway bit, teaching the cast of Rent how to "Think Punk."

The delightfully daffy Pedi, one of the best cabaret entertainers in town, returns to Gotham after a stint in South Africa to celebrate the holidays with her Holly Jolly Christmas Folly, playing ten more dates throughout December at the Laurie Beechman Theater. I understand she'll once again be performing her legendary "12 Divas of Christmas," where twenty names like Liza, Ethel, Bernadette and Carol are placed in a hat and audience members pick them at random to find out who'll be singing of partridges in pear trees and who hits the big notes on five golden rings. It's a different show every night, folks. And if you've never seen her heat up a room with "Santa Claus is Coming To Town" sung a la Roxie Hart, trust me, if they had her aboard the Titanic there wouldn't have been a surviving iceberg for miles.

On her trip to the lower hemisphere Pedi recalls one interesting encounter with an unusual branch of her fan base as she woke up one morning to, "Not one, not two, not three but four monkeys on my terrace! I mean, it was a small terrace and they were big monkeys. And they are not shy. I tell ya it's a whole other continent."

And while a very favorable exchange rate and fresh mango juice every morning proved themselves to be lovely perks, the New York gal still sighs, "There's no place like 42nd & Broadway Auntie Em."

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Sadly, I'll not be able to catch the hilariously low-key antics of comic singers Booth Daniels and Patrick Frankfort (a/k/a Booth and Pat) at this weekend's two-night gig at The Duplex, but if you're in the mood for some cheap laughs (Ten bucks & two drinks - such a deal!) you should definitely, as Duke Ellington didn't suggest, take the 1 train.

The last time I caught Pat, the dim-witted guitar player with a goofy smile and a delusionally high regard for his appeal to the ladies, and Booth, the hyper-intense voice of reason and understated sarcasm, they were knockin' em dead with nutty songs like "Where Have All The Straight Girls Gone," a medley of popular hits that feature nonsense lyrics ("coo-coo-cachoo," "hi-de-hi-de-hi," "doo wa ditty ditty dum ditty doo," etc.) and a big Spice Girls medley.

The boys fly solo tonight but on Saturday they team up with FUCT, a sketch comedy troupe they encountered while hosting a night at the SkitSkat Sketch Comedy Festival.

Says Booth, "After watching the first two groups do their thing, this lunatic group of men and one woman get up in loincloths and execute a brilliantly timed yet angry tribal dance, that completely captivated and freaked out everyone in the room. Pat and I were in awe during the half hour of their set. It was love at first sight."

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