Everybody's Got the Right

A Good Summer Going, Going, Gone...

Everybody has a favorite moment—a combination of sight, sound, and sense that simultaneously summons comfort and evokes excitement. For me, that moment occurs approximately seven minutes past the hour, when I sit ensconced in whatever happens to be passing for a theater, and the lights begin to dim. There’s a split-second when I’m not sure if my eyes are playing tricks on me—I wonder if in my eagerness for the show’s start I have seen a change in lighting that did not actually occur— but as the darkness creeps over the theater, I remember to exhale. Some people clap at this point, probably relieved that the wait is over; I don’t, as I believe I would be overly compensating the techie who turned down the house lights. Instead, I shut the playbill in my lap, fold my arms, and simply stare at the stage. It doesn’t matter whether I’m about to see a show for the first time or the fifteenth, that moment still gets me.

This summer, I experienced that moment many times, taking in shows ranging from Shakespeare to farce, in places as varied as an outdoor amphitheater in the D.C. area and a cavernous theater on London’s West End. What follows is a catalogue of those theatergoing experiences, a sort of journal, compiled in chronological order for your reading pleasure (not to mention my writing convenience).

THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE LONDON

The journey began in London, where I touched down within 48 hours of departing Cambridge, allowing only a brief stopover at my New York home. No rest for the weary in London, though—four shows in four days.

Stop number one? Les Mis. Why? Well, I don’t know exactly, it wasn’t my pick. Actually, I love the show and was not disappointed at the prospect of seeing it on the West End and getting a peek at how long-running mega-musicals look over there. In the case of Les Mis, at least, they don’t look too good; it is the first show I have ever left at intermission. There was no passion, no movement, no acting—and therefore, no me to begin Act 2.

Things perked up considerably with one of the shows I chose, the Royal Shakespeare Company’s production of the musical, The Secret Garden. Though I’ve always found the show’s score lovely, the slow-paced book and pedantic staging of the original and licensed production made for an underwhelming experience. The RSC’s streamlined adaptation, while not perfect, drew on the source material far more effectively than the original staging, creating an immensely enjoyable and genuinely beautiful production. If you can get your hands on the hard-to-get recording of the new production, do so, for the reorchestrations, new beginning, and revised song order all deeply enhance the dramatic experience.

While in London, I also was able to catch the Broadway-bound revival of Michael Frayn’s hysterical farce, Noises Off. The play remains one of the funniest stage delights ever conceived, and the fact that its author also composed the constantly gripping and intellectually stimulating Copenhagen speaks volumes for his across-the-board talent.

Before departing the United Kingdom, I took in the long-running West End production of Yasmina Reza’s Art. The play was as enjoyable as when I first viewed it on Broadway in 1997, and two-thirds of the cast sparkled. The one dull spot? The lone American, George Segal, sadly best known these days for his role on the insipid Just Shoot Me, was flat throughout. Still, I left London having enjoyed three of the four productions and fired up for some good ol’ American theater.

IT’S A HELL-OF-A-TOWN

Washington was to be my residence for most of the summer, but prior to heading down to D.C. for my internship, I had five days in New York— just long enough to squeeze in three shows. I checked up on RENT for the fourth time and, after celebrating its fifth anniversary, it’s still going strong. Despite a performing cast filled with understudies for the performance I saw, energy was high on stage and in the audience.

The next show up had me a bit apprehensive; after the disappointment of George Segal, I was unsure about watching another Must-See-TV star. I was quite pleased, however, by what I saw from Will and Grace’s Eric McCormack in his Broadway debut as The Music Man, Harold Hill. With tremendous charisma, a pleasant, if unspectacular voice, and a great deal of enthusiasm, he was a perfect complement to Rebecca Luker’s beautifully sung and just old-fashioned beautiful Marian in a classic show that Susan Stroman has lovingly restaged.

My last show on this trip was A Class Act, a musical constructed out of the songs left by the late Ed Kleban, the Tony-winning lyricist of A Chorus Line. A Class Act is not a revue of Kleban’s material, but rather a somewhat fictionalized account of his life, told with his own songs—for which he wrote both words and music. The result was the best musical of the season, a work richer in music and deeper in resonance than either The Producers or The Full Monty. Though its Broadway-run ended after it failed to garner any Tony’s, it is survived by a top-notch cast album that I cannot recommend highly enough.

Intermission

Unfortunately, the following nine weeks were filled with far too little theater, as my Washington schedule kept me busy and even caused me to miss a production at the Signature Theater of the Sondheim revue Putting it Together. I was able, though, to catch an outdoor production of King Lear that made me pray for rain—and when it didn’t come—forced me to the car at intermission, making the second show in my life, but also the second this summer, that I simply couldn’t endure past intermission. Mixing too many dramatic and visual styles, as well as lacking a firm grasp of the material, this Lear came quite close to the textbook definition of bad Shakespeare.

The only other theatergoing experience I had in D.C. was attending a performance of the national tour of Kiss Me, Kate at the Kennedy Center. When I was able to look at the stage (and away from the dreadful red velvet motif of the auditorium), I saw what looked very much like a national tour of a show currently on Broadway. Same book, same songs, slightly scaled back set, medium level stars who were inferior to their Broadway predecessors, and an audience who loved it all-the-same. Truth be told, if Brian Stokes Mitchell, Marin Mazzie, Amy Spanger and Michael Berressee weren’t so dazzling in the Broadway production, I might too have found the production wunderbar, but the cast largely disappointed, and try as he might, rock star-turned-leading-man Rex Smith always seemed artificial and forced to sing in a register below his comfort level. The one bright spot was Chuck Wagner, a man with a long list of Broadway credits, who stole all his scenes as General Harrison Howell, thanks to his booming baritone, robust comic persona, and classic good looks (all of which suggest that the tour would be better served with him in the lead, but c’est la vie).

My mind is clearer now

I must admit that I went a bit stir-crazy in D.C. and stole back to New York for a weekend. While in town I was lucky enough to see a reading at Lincoln Center of William Finn’s A New Brain. Though this work did not enjoy a particularly long NY run, it has had a healthy regional life, and I would love to see it come to a Harvard stage. Its off-Broadway cast is featured on one of my favorite recordings, with Malcolm Gets, best known as Richard on Caroline in the City, but also an accomplished musical theater performer and Yale Drama grad, beautifully assaying the lead role.

Once back in New York for real, I headed out to catch another overlooked musical, Parade, which was receiving its first regional production at Long Island’s Cultural Arts Playhouse. I won’t comment much on the production, which was fine for a low-profile regional theater. However, I can say that I missed Parade during its quite brief stint at Lincoln Center a couple of years back, and knew and loved it only from its recording. I began to understand its mixed reviews when I noted how poorly the book serves the music and the dramatic purpose of the piece. Still, with Jason Robert Brown’s varied and moving score and the powerful true story of Leo Frank, a Brooklyn Jew falsely accused of murder, convicted and eventually lynched in turn-of-the-century Georgia, Parade should rise again in New York, hopefully in a revised production, and hopefully soon.

This summer also included my third and fourth trips to the Rocky Horror Show on Broadway. Little has changed since the show opened last year; it is still tremendous fun and all the original performers still with the piece have only deepened their portrayals. Of particular note, Ana Gasteyer, on summer hiatus from Saturday Night Live, made for a winning Columbia, and theater vet Terrence Mann, who originated leads in Cats, Les Mis, Beauty and the Beast, Assassins, and the Scarlet Pimpernel, has recently taken over Frank-n-Furter’s high heels and lingerie from the dazzling Tom Hewitt. He was quite promising in his debut and should be a top-notch Frank.

Unable to stay in one place for too long, I made a brief overnight trip to Vermont, to catch some summer stock, and particularly to watch blockmate Samuel H. Perwin ’04 star as Harold Hill. Ah, theater in a barn—yep, it was summer stock—and it was pretty good. Despite the heat and the rain, the young performers were quite appealing and, wow, are they worked hard. After the show, they put on a cabaret performance, as they routinely do, before ending the night and getting up early the next morning to rehearse their next production. Some impressive talent in that show, not the least of which can be found singing in the halls of Currier House this year.

In praise of BOOM

Perhaps the theatrical highlight of my summer came after I returned to New York and was passively watching the remaining days drift away before my return to Cambridge. I went to the TKTS booth in Times Square, looking for discount tickets to any one of the few shows that would not still be running or would lose their original stars before my next visit home. When I got to the front of the line and saw what was available, I happily snatched up a seat for tick, tick,… BOOM!, an off-Broadway musical written by the late Jonathan Larson, a Tony and Pulitzer-prize winner for RENT. I had read much about the show and was excited to see a piece that Larson had written for himself to perform as a one-man show; its original title was 30/90 and it told of his anxiety at turning 30 in 1990. This production, directed by Scott Schwartz ’98, expanded the cast to three, adding two additional characters to portray Larson’s best friend and his lover (as well as various other small parts).

The brunt of tick falls, though, on the actor playing Larson, and in the lead role, Raul Esparza was an absolute revelation; he is now my favorite musical theater performer. This was not the first time I saw Esparza on stage—I was impressed by his turn as Che in the 20th anniversary tour of Evita that played Boston two summers ago and was wowed by his Riff-Raff in Rocky Horror—but as Jonathan he displayed such vocal power and genuine vulnerability, that there was no way I could pull my eyes off of him. Esparza is a theatrical force to be reckoned with and I’m sure he will captivate in this fall’s Broadway premiere of Sondheim’s Assassins, where he will play the would-be FDR assassin Zangara.

But don’t convey my effusive praise of Esparza to indicate the show itself was unspectacular. On the contrary, it is a beautiful piece full of hard-driving anthems of hope, which also features a witty commentary on yuppie life, infectious pop songs and an homage to Sondheim. Without being told the composer, one can recognize the voice that would later create RENT. The show, however, is more than an early work to be admired merely for its promise. Yes, it reminds of all the great musicals that Larson will never get a chance to write; but it also presents the public with another great musical that he managed to leave behind.

It’s smarter to be lucky than it’s lucky to be smart

On my last weekend of the summer, I prepared for a final trip to the theater, wanting to squeeze in a trip to David Auburn’s Proof, a play which, like Larson’s RENT, also claimed both the Tony and the Pulitzer. The show’s original award-winning star, Mary-Louise Parker, was scheduled to leave, and I had little interest in seeing her replacement, Jennifer Jason Leigh, a talented film actress who seemed lost on stage in Sam Mendes’ gripping revival of Cabaret. And so, determined to see the show, I embarked into the city without a ticket, and with the knowledge that the show was sold out. I got there early enough to stand on the line for standing-room only tickets… well, apparently, not early enough, because they sold 15 tickets and I was eighteenth on the line.

After standing room dried up, those of us still hoping to get in became a cancellation line, and we waited for people to reject tickets that we would gladly snatch up. Eventually the two people in front of me got in the theater—and then I lucked out. I was able to buy the canceled ticket of a very nice, very attractive actress, who co-stars on network television’s most critically-lauded drama; I also, then, had the opportunity to sit next to her in great house seats for the show and exchange a few comments. I draw so much attention to this part of the afternoon, for it was the most enjoyable. Proof featured solid acting, and was led by Parker’s fascinating, if somewhat hard to rationalize, portrayal. The play itself, though, seemed to lack depth and compensated with melodrama which, at times, make it decently suspenseful and enjoyable, but at the end, left me feeling that I had witnessed something less than substantial.

And so, back I came to Cambridge with a summer’s worth of theater behind me. My travels brought me to many shows and many venues—but it wasn’t enough theater, nor could it ever be. Yet I return eager for this year’s offering on Harvard’s stages, at the ART, at the new Market Theater and in Boston itself. And I wait for the next time I go into the theater, take my seat, and sense the lights dim—I wait for my next favorite moment.