'Annie Live!' (NBC, 2 December 2021) – Part 2

 

[In the second part of my report on NBC’s Annie Live!, I cover the rest of my assessment of the performance, focusing on the physical production, and then report on my survey of the published critical reception.  ROTters who are just picking “Annie Live! (NBC, 2 December 2021)” up should go back to 7 February and read Part 1, which covers the background of the play and the NBC telecast, a summary of the plot of this version, and the first segment of my assessment.

[Readers will see, in that latter segment, that nearly all the reviewers, regardless of their outlet (newspaper, magazine, entertainment periodical, website) focused on the same elements of the show.  The reviews ranged only slightly—no outright pans or raves—and the same elements in the production came up over and over again (Connick’s bald pate, the disappearance of Sandy from the stage, the acrobatic dancing of the child actors, and, to a lesser extent, the faulty camera work).]

I have little to say about the physical production.  Though there was an audience present, the performance was filmed on a television sound stage, not in a theater.  It was a large, circular space, which was fine for the 360-degree view the cameras provided us out in TV Land.  The set-up also made for quick and seamless transitions, which was important for a precisely time-limited TV broadcast.

One amusing consequence of this stage circumstance: When Annie first arrives at Warbucks’s mansion, she asks if people “really live here or is it a train station?”  She could have been commenting on the performance venue as much as the fictional locale.  A little metatheatrical joke, unintentional though it may have been.

The open nature of the stage, of course, called for a fragmentary and suggested set rather than anything realistic, but that’s not out of line for any musical play, which must leave room for dancing—and Annie Live! included lots of large, ensemble dances. 

(One small set-related quibble—and I can’t fathom why this happened at all.  Both deBessonet and Rudzinski should have caught it and had Jason Sherwood fix it immediately.  The U.S. flag that formed the backdrop of the Oval Office scene with Roosevelt and Warbucks, when Annie bucks the prez and his cabinet up with a rendition of “Tomorrow” and FDR coins the signature label for his administration, The New Deal—is a 50-star Stars and Stripes from 1960!  In 1933, there were still only 48 states.)

As far as I was concerned, this all worked fine.

So did Tazewell’s costumes.  Perhaps Miss Hannigan’s glad rags were a little over the top, what with her cat’s-eye glasses (on a lanyard, no less) and her big hair, but that was fitting for Henson’s portrayal. 

My survey of reviews of Annie Live! shows the response to have been mixed.  Some writers seemed to have been distracted by technical issue like camera movements and sound problems, which I didn’t cover, and others with the plot issues like those I mentioned.  Others took the whole show into account and found it entertaining and even delightful. 

Coverage of Annie Live! seems to have extended beyond U.S. borders.  Claudia Smith of the London Daily Mail was almost entirely positive about the broadcast (with “a few minor technical glitches” noted).  Claudia Smith was mostly taken with the work of Celina Smith, it seems.

Reviewer Smith dubbed actress Smith’s performance “mesmerizing,” writing that she “stunned” in the role and gave a “powerful performance” of “Tomorrow.” 

She also found that the orphan ensemble “mesmerized the audience with a synchronized dance number” and pronounced Henson a “commanding presence” who “did not hold back when she belted out her song Little Girls.”

Scherzinger “put on an elegant, sophisticated display” as Grace Farrell and “dazzled when she danced and sang.” 

Back home, Emily Yahr observed in the Washington Post:

Unless you’re a fan of musicals or happened to be seeking some family-friendly programming on Thursday night, you probably tuned in to NBC’s “Annie Live!” for one reason: to see if it would be a train wreck.

Yahr affirmed that “we can report that it was completely fine.  Perfectly pleasant, even,” dubbing Smith “clearly the breakout star and often surpassed the singing ability of the adults around her.” 

Smith, the WaPo entertainment reporter determined, was “surrounded by other very talented child actors . . . who exuded theater kid energy to the highest level.”  She labeled Henson “terrific . . . in her role” and reported that Connick and Scherzinger “did very passable jobs.”

While generally positive about the show, Yahr does get very specific about some of the problems (several of which I also mention): Connick’s “bald cap,” the camera glitches, the dog that just “disappeared,” and Annie’s “wild” plot.

In the New York Times, Noel Murray, a freelance writer whose articles about film, TV, music, and comics appear in the Times and other publications, asserted that, even after 44 years since Annie was on Broadway, “The material still plays.” 

Sticking close to the 1977 Broadway original, reported Murray, Annie Live! didn’t “disappoint in any significant way.”  Indeed, he effused, “If anything . . . it was a treat to watch a lot of talented people gather in one place to sing and dance their way through a bipartisan fable” (Warbucks is a “proud Republican” who’s buddies with FDR, the newly-elected Democratic president).

The Timesman gave “a lot of credit to NBC’s two winning leads,” Smith and Connick.  “The supporting performers kept the evening from slipping too far into stodginess,” felt Murray.  “Henson followed in the footsteps of great scenery-chewing Hannigans like Carol Burnett [1982 film] and Nell Carter [1948-2003; 1997 Broadway revival], playing the character as a chaotic force of malevolence.”

The review-writer noted

occasional gaffes in blocking, with actors or crew members momentarily obstructing shots.  In general, the visual side of the show felt a little repetitive, relying on many of the same tight frames and sparse sets, over and over,

but they seem not to have spoiled his overall reception of the production.

Murray dubbed the musical “feel-good entertainment” and noted that,

aside from the multiracial cast and a pointed, crowd-pleasing, post-pandemic mention of “Broadway getting back on its feet,” NBC’s “Annie” stayed pretty firmly stuck in the past.  It was not, in any overtly apparent way, a comment on the modern world.

(A note about the line the Times writer quoted above: Connick may have been referring to the COVID-era Broadway comeback, but Warbucks was talking about the Great Depression.  In any case, the line got a huge applause from the studio audience.

(Along with Annie’s question about the train station, it’s another instance of Annie Live! conflating the play’s fictional setting with the real world in which it was being performed.  Warbucks’s line was an intentional allusion; Annie’s was a serendipitous accident.)

Murray concluded:

So perhaps it was only proper that this musical about earnest, plain-spoken yearning arrived on TV in 2021—when it would hit the hardest—instead of in 2013 [when The Sound of Music Live! was presented, NBC’s first foray into the world of live broadcasts of Broadway musicals].  This show may be dated by design, but when it’s clicking, it can still clear away the cobwebs and the sorrow.

In USA Today, Patrick Ryan revealed that “it didn't exactly spark excitement this summer when NBC announced it would” present Annie Live! on television.  “If you're bringing back ‘Annie,’” admonished Ryan, “you’d better have a star who can shine like the top of the Chrysler Building.”

(Those last words are part of the line Miss Hannigan uses to threaten the orphans if they don’t scrub their dorm to her satisfaction: “If this floor don't shine like the top of the Chrysler Building . . . .”  It’s the cue for “It’s the Hard-Knock Life.”)

“But our skepticism dissipated minutes into the network’s ‘Annie Live!’ on Thursday night,” added Ryan, “as young triple threat Celina Smith took the stage to sing ‘Maybe,’” the show’s opener.  Smith, USA Today’s writer felt, “brings a world-weary sadness and almost desperate optimism to her otherwise chipper character.”  Ryan predicted, “Factor in her easy confidence, infectious smile and powerful, crystal-clear voice, and it’s only a matter of time until Smith’s name lights up a Broadway marquee.”

Ryan credited the productions success to “Smith’s star-making performance,” but also praised “her consummate castmates.”  Scherzinger “brings palpable warmth and pathos to the often thankless role of” Grace “and delivers one of the night’s few genuine showstoppers in the jazzy ‘We Got Annie.’”

He also praised Burgess and Hilty for their “perfect balance of cheese and sleaze, . . . while the orphans’ thrilling ‘It’s a Hard Knock Life’ was enough to make us wish Annie never left the orphanage.” 

Ryan complained that Connick’s “stilted acting made Warbucks more awkward than endearing, and felt that Henson “doesn’t merely chew the scenery as the villainous orphanage head—she swallows the whole proscenium in a shrieking, mugging turn that whiffs on all the punchlines.”

This reviewer, too, had complaints about the physical production, noting that the “the bare-bones design” marred the presentation of “N.Y.C.”  “The production’s cameras also frequently dropped into frame and obscured the actors,” reported Ryan, “while mic issues left some inaudible.”

In conclusion, Ryan determined:

But what it lacked in style, “Annie Live!” ultimately made up for in heart, with indelible showtunes and a winning lead performance that left us grinning.  And after all, you’re never fully dressed without a smile.

Kathryn VanArendonk and Jackson McHenry, on Vulture, the website run by New York magazine, declared, “Annie Live! really hit the thematic nail on the head.” 

Vulture’s reviewers deemed, “The NBC version was not perfect; it suffered from rushed pacing early on and strange stilted momentum toward the end.”  They warned everyone that Connick’s “uncanny bald cap . . . would haunt his every scene.” 

Nevertheless, the two writers held that “Celina Smith was fantastic in the lead role, supported by a stellar ensemble of Annie’s orphan friends dancing their hearts out.”  Smith. the pair felt, “brought a clear voice and all the sunny enthusiasm necessary to carry the show.”

They praised the kid dancers for “[f]lipping all over the stage, bouncing on the mattresses and hard knock life-ing it all over the place, but miraculously not running into each other and hard-knocking their brains out.”  They complained, though, about that “breathless pacing,” which deBessonet set “as if . . . to make sure the TV audience didn’t get bored.”  Too much was lost as a result, they found.

The tandem reviewers caviled that “Henson’s Hannigan was all big silly thirst and not enough sadness and threat,” but praised Connick’s Warbucks because he could actually sing, as opposed to his film predecessors, who usually weren’t singers at all.

(VanArendonk and McHenry had several more “Highs” and “Lows,” but one hits a musical number that had me thinking—in a different vein, but  never mind that.  They liked that “the oft-cut ‘We’d Like to Thank You Herbert Hoover’” was left in because, “It’s important for the kids of today to learn about the existence of Herbert Hoover through song.”

(I don’t know about that, but as it was being sung, when Annie’s out of the orphanage the first time and comes upon a Hooverville, a shanty town the homeless built during the Great Depression, for which President Hoover (1874-1964; 31st President of the United States: 1929-33), the Republican incumbent who was defeated in 1932 for a second term by FDR, was widely blamed.  The final verse ends with the lines “You dirty rat, you Bureaucrat, you / Made us what we are today.”

(I wondered if Margaret Hoover, the great-granddaughter of Herbert and the host of PBS’s conservative interview show Firing Line, had ever seen Annie when this song was included.  She was born the same year that the original Annie opened, so it’d have to have been a revival.  It’s not part of the soundtrack of any of the previous screen adaptations. 

(By all accounts, she’s very proud of her family background, and I kept wondering if she’d ever heard this song, which is very derogatory toward her ancestor.)

In Variety, Daniel D’Addario observed that, coming at an opportune moment for the show that Annie Live! is, “made its goofy eagerness to be liked, and its occasional raggedness, into assets.” 

“The show’s staging,” D’Addario felt, “allowed songcraft and showmanship to be the stars; numbers played out against minimalist backdrops.”  In his view, “The scant amount of stage dressing . . . seemed intended to rhyme with the show’s message of scrappy resilience and high-spirited hope.”

He judged that despite “the resources of NBC, it was possible to believe that this was something like the best sort of community theater.”  The Variety reviewer determined that this way, “certain flaws could get written off.”

D’Addario pointed out Connick’s “surrealistic bald cap” and noted his “occasionally being a beat behind on lines” and his “iffy styling.”  He stepped around these kinds of faults, however, because “[i]t feels unsporting . . . to pick on a production that seemed so resolutely determined to entertain—and one whose key flaws may be inherent in the source material, a show one loves, if one does, because of its flaws as much as despite them.”

The review-writer called Scherzinger “polished” and Burgess “lightheartedly wicked” and said that “Henson’s performance as an unusually vituperative Miss Hannigan—[was] alternately both brutally nasty and deliriously pleasure-seeking.”

“Smith’s performance,” affirmed D’Addario, was “the most intriguing of contrasts.  While she was certainly polished, hitting her dance cues with aplomb and in strong voice, Smith was . . . appropriately kid-like.  She brought to ‘Annie Live!’ sweetness and a certain naivete, an innocence to the machinations of adults around her that seems essential to the part.”

Entertainment Weekly’s Maureen Lee Lenker and Lauren Huff opened their notice with a reminder: “You're never fully dressed without a smile—and Annie Live brought plenty to our faces.”  They labeled the broadcast “a feel-good, rousing rendition of crowd-pleaser Annie.”

Lenker and Huff averred that “NBC crafted a fantastic production with a stellar cast that made for a touching reminder of why this show is a gateway to musical theater for so many kids,” but also expressed the opinion that “[i]t’s hard to mess up the winning score from Charles Strouse and Martin Charnin.

The two writers went on to list “the many, many highs from this big-hearted confection,” which included “It's the Hard Knock Life” with the orphans “adding in aerial stunts, flips, and a superb stepping sequence”; “Easy Street” with Henson, Hilty, and Burgess “warbling and strutting their way through its jazzy strains”; “getting to watch Connick Jr. tinkle the ivories”; and “Newcomer Celina Smith,” who “carries the show,” “[a]t turns, adorably cheeky and heartbreakingly vulnerable.”

Daniel Feinberg, paraphrasing Stephen Sondheim, lamented in the Hollywood Reporter, “Annie isn’t good or bad, it’s just nice.  It’s a warm cup of a cocoa-flavored beverage that lacks enough natural ingredients to call itself ‘chocolate.’”

Feinberg pointed out that the play is “crazily front-loaded and just keeps doing reprises of its three best songs . . .; that Daddy Warbucks is a character with no arc at all; that Miss Hannigan, indisputably the best character in the show, vanishes for most of the second act; and that it’s presented as a happy musical in which . . . a creepy rich guy excitedly [tells] a small child that her parents are actually dead and not a pair of rubes with the last name ‘Mudge.’”

“These, of course,” continued the HR writer, “are problems with Annie as a musical and not necessarily problems with NBC’s Annie Live!  Then Feinberg affirmed, “They just also happen not to be problems that director Lear deBessonet had any power to mitigate, and problems that definitely don’t get better when you have NBC breaking for commercials every seven or eight minutes.”

Feinberg reported that “if I’d stopped watching Annie Live! [after the first 20 minutes] and called it a night, NBC would have had a minor triumph on its hands.”  In that time, he had enjoyed

Celina Smith’s thoroughly winsome rendition of “Maybe”; a group of orphans krumping and cartwheeling their way through “It’s a Hard Knock Life”; the introduction of Taraji P. Henson’s slithering interpretation of Miss Hannigan as The Grinch Who Tried to Steal an Orphan’s Christmas; one very well-behaved dog; and Smith belting out the anthemic “Tomorrow.”

In the end, though, the HR reviewer asserted, “The audience in the venue was happy to be there and the audience at home was probably happy to have live TV musicals back.  And when everybody is happy to be happy, Annie is right in its element.

On CNN, Brian Lowry asserted that “the show more closely approximated the energy of a theatrical experience, with its main flaw stemming from trying too hard to please.”  He added, for instance, that he found “the audience (one suspects with a degree of coaching) sounded a bit too appreciative and enthusiastic, applauding during numbers and carrying on as if this ‘Annie’ was frankly a better show than it is or was.”

“Quibbles aside,” Lowry continued, “the show boasted considerable talent, with young Celina Smith ably filling the title role after a slightly shaky start.”  The CNN reviewer added, “Taraji P. Henson also gamely dove into the juicy role of Miss Hannigan . . . with Tituss Burgess and Megan Hilty providing an extra boost of theatrical flair.”

Lowry ultimately judged that

“Annie” benefited from its sheer unpretentiousness, offering the can't-miss (or at least miss entirely) combination of cute kids, buoyant dance numbers, a little girl with a big voice, that trademark red dress, and of course a very well-trained dog who shows up just long enough to make everyone swoon.

Valerie Complex of the entertainment industry news website Deadline found that Annie Live! was “somewhere in the middle” of NBC’s foregoing live telecasts of a Broadway musical, “with several positive elements and equally negative ones.”

“The Annie Live! ensemble is simply fantastic,” effused Complex.  “They are the most exciting part of the show and the glue holding the production together.  These talented people don’t miss a beat.”  She singled out “their ode to President Hoover’s downfall,” which she found was “harmonized to perfection.”

The Deadline writer singled out Scherzinger’s performance and the song “You’re Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile.”  She objected, however, to the emphasis on Warbucks’s being a Republican—even though she acknowledged that it’s mentioned in most of the other incarnations of the play.

Complex pointed out that the production “isn’t perfect.”  She noted, “The staging of the set is sometimes awkward.  Some shots show audience members sitting behind set pieces with no way to see what’s happening in front of them.”  The reviewer also reported that “the show starts with shots out of focus and shaky and that aren’t rectified until 90 minutes in.”

“While Annie Live! doesn’t always fire on all cylinders,” Complex felt, ”a story of hope and belonging is undoubtedly what the country needs right now.  And for many Annie fans, this version will hit the spot.”

On the Daily Beast news website, senior entertainment reporter Kevin Fallon was of the opinion that “we have reached peak ‘it’s nice to watch something nice’ television.”  He explained:

We’ve spent these [last two] years giving thanks for the diverting, wholesome antidotes to our cynical, nihilistic existence.  Quality doesn’t matter when the public service is this essential: making us feel happy in spite of [gestures at the world (insert original with Fallon)] all of this.

Then Fallon got specific: “Annie Live! was a good version of the musical Annie.  That isn’t intended as a compliment.”  He even asks, “[H]ow have we gaslit ourselves into thinking Annie is a good musical?”  But the Daily Beast reporter backed off a little:

I can make fun of so many aspects of Thursday night’s Annie Live! broadcast on NBC, but those things are an issue with the material itself and, mostly, not to do with the wholesome enthusiasm with which the production was mounted. 

Fallon went on to list and characterize some of the performances of Annie Live! that he appreciated, but he actually apologized for posting what he labeled “a messy review.”  This was due to the fact that “I’m not even really panning the show.  I genuinely loved all three hours of watching Annie Live! on Thursday night.”

I’m going to skip the Daily Beaster’s specifics—he said largely what most other reviewers wrote about the NBC production (Celina Smith’s singing and acting performance, Harry Connick Jr.’s prosthetic pate, Nicole Scherzinger’s talent, Taraji P. Henson’s performance, the kids, and the song “N.Y.C.”)—so I can report what he was really writing about: “But Annie Live! was bad.  And I hate myself for saying it.  I feel like I’m not allowed to say it.”

“We’re still in this space where we are supposed to appreciate the effort and intention of anything like this,” posited Fallon.  “Everything is darkness, and here are some talented people trying to bring some light.” 

“I’m just more curious about when we’re going to allow ourselves to have standards again. I’ve appreciated nice things for a while now. . . .  And Annie Live! isn’t just a holiday event, but something worth adjudicating as television.”

Here’s Fallon’s final statement.  It’s flabbergasting:

Then again, who is the asshole who is going to write the “That Annie Thing They Did on NBC for Families to Watch Together Was Bad” piece?  I guess, at this point, it’s me.

'Annie Live!' (NBC, 2 December 2021) – Part 1

 

[In December 2021, I watched the live television broadcast of the musical Annie with the intention of writing a report on the performance for Rick On Theater.  I didn’t anticipate that the report would be so long, so, rather than chop it up, I’ve decided to post it in two sections.  Part 1, below, will include the specifics of the production, the history of the musical play up to December’s live broadcast, and my assessment of the cast’s performance work.

[Part 2, to be posted on Thursday, 10 February, will pick up with my discussion of the performance’s physical production and close with my survey of some of the published reviews.]

On 28 January, I posted “Alexander Calder: Modern from the Start (MoMA, 2021-22),” my account of the first in-person art exhibit I’d seen since the pandemic shut-down in March 2020.  In that same time period, I also hadn’t been back inside a theater to see a live play. 

Because theaters have been canceling performances, sometimes at the last moment—even sometimes after theatergoers are in their seats—I haven’t been comfortable buying tickets and committing an evening to a performance that might not even happen.

So, no live theater, no play reports for Rick On Theater.  As a substitute, I’ve watched a few online performances (“The Diary of Anne Frank Online,” 29 May 2020) and couple of television productions of plays (“One Man, Two Guvnors (PBS),” 21 January 2021), which I’ve written up for ROT. 

On Thursday, 2 December 2021, NBC broadcast Annie Live!, a television special for the holiday.  As the title implies, this was a live performance of the hit 1977 Broadway musical (it ran for 15 previews and 2,377 regular performances and had two Broadway revivals, winning the Best Musical Tony and six other Tonys).

I decided, in the absence of live theater I could see comfortably, I’d watch Annie and perhaps report on it for ROT.  As it happens, I never saw any of the Broadway productions, nor any of the screen adaptations; I only knew the musical by reputation—and, of course, the songs “Tomorrow,” which was nearly ubiquitous on the airwaves and lips of dozens of singing children, and “It’s the Hard-Knock Life,” which was featured in the TV commercials.

As I did for my blog report on One Man, Two Guvnors as presented on PBS’s Great Performances, I’m going to write up Annie Live! for ROT just as I would a live show.  I watched the 2 December broadcast, which aired here at 8-11 p.m. on WNBC, channel 4 in New York City.  The performance was rebroadcast (on tape) on Monday, 20 December, just before Christmas.

(Peacock, the video streaming service owned and operated by NBCUniversal, is streaming the musical to subscribers.  The soundtrack to Annie Live! is available on CD as of 21 January.)

The show ran 127 minutes (two hours and seven minutes), but it had commercial breaks, so the program was a full three hours.  It was broadcast from the Gold Coast Studios in Bethpage, New York, on Long Island.  The stage production was directed by Lear deBessonet and the television director was Alex Rudzinski.

Sergio Trujillo choreographed the production.  Recipient of the Tony Award for Ain’t Too Proud (2019-2022) and the Olivier Award for Memphis (Broadway, 2009-12; London, 2014-15), his credits also include the Broadway hits Jersey Boys (2005-17) and The Addams Family (2010-11).

Paul Tazewell designed the costumes for Annie Live! and Jason Sherwood the scenery.  Tazewell is a veteran of two NBC live musicals, The Wiz Live! (2015; Emmy Award) and Jesus Christ Superstar Live in Concert (2018; Emmy nomination).  He recently designed costumes for Steven Spielberg’s film remake of West Side Story (2021) and was the designer of Hamilton (Broadway, 2015-present – Tony Award; film, 2020).  Sherwood is a two-time Emmy-winning production designer for Rent: Live (2019) and the 2020 Oscars.

The original Broadway musical, with a book by Thomas Meehan (based on the comic strip Little Orphan Annie by Harold Gray), music by Charles Strouse, and lyrics by Martin Charnin, had its world première on 10 August 1976 at the Goodspeed Opera House in East Haddam, Connecticut, under the direction of Michael P. Price.  The première closed on 3 October.

The show, with lyricist Charnin now directing, began previews at the Alvin Theatre on Broadway (now the Neil Simon) on 8 April 1977, opening there on 21 April, later briefly transferring to two other houses in 1981.  Annie finally moved to the Uris (now the Gershwin Theatre) in December 1981 and ran there until 2 January 1983.

Revivals were mounted on Broadway in 1997 at the Martin Beck Theatre (now the Al Hirschfeld) and from 2012 to 2014 at the Palace Theatre.  The play had its London début in 1978 in the West End and there were West End revivals in 1998 and 2014.  National and international tours went out and foreign productions were mounted in every decade since the Broadway première. 

There was an attempt at a sequel, called Annie 2: Miss Hannigan’s Revenge in 1988. but it opened and closed in Washington, D.C.  A second sequel, Annie Warbucks, had an Off-Broadway run in 1993-94.  Annie Jr., a shortened adaptation for children performers, is available from Music Theatre International, and Annie KIDS, a 30-minute version meant for elementary-aged performers, is also marketed by MTI.

There’ve been three principal previous screen versions of Annie, some less faithful to the original Broadway script than others.  First was the 1982 theatrical film directed by John Huston for Columbia Pictures, starring Carol Burnett and Albert Finney.  The plot was simplified and several new songs were added that have subsequently become part of the stage version’s score.

A 2014 theatrical film directed by Will Gluck, starring Cameron Diaz and Jamie Foxx, was produced by Will Smith, Jada Pinkett Smith, and rapper Jay-Z.  Producers Jay-Z and Smith envisioned this version as “a modern re-imagining of a beloved musical.”  Though a modest box-office success, the film was badly received and isn’t often shown today.

In 1999, a television film directed by Rob Marshall was shown on the Wonderful World of Disney (on ABC television, owned by Disney), starring Kathy Bates and Victor Garber.  Though it was often called a remake of the 1982 film, it was closer to the stage play; however, there were several changes, including added songs, from both preceding versions.

The musical play, which was conceived in 1972 by lyricist Martin Charnin (1934-2019; Mata Hari, 1967; Two by Two, 1971) and book-writer Thomas Meehan (1929-2017; The Producers, 2001; Hairspray, 2002; Elf: The Musical, 2010).  Meehan read collections of the comic strip by Harold Gray (1894-1968), which ran daily in newspapers across the country from 1924 to 2010, but found little useful except the characters of Annie, Oliver Warbucks, and Sandy.

So Meehan invented his own plot.  He eventually saw the story as that of an American, female version of Charles Dickens’s (1812-70) Oliver Twist from the 1838 novel (with a little David Copperfield [1849-50] added), transposed to the Great Depression (1929-39) in New York City.  (All three of the show’s creators, including composer Charles Strouse [b. 1928; Bye Bye Birdie, 1960; Applause, 1970], were New Yorkers.)

Wrote Hartford Courant reviewer Malcolm L. Johnson after the opening of Annie in Connecticut, “From the start it is clear that this ‘Annie’ is really ‘Oliver!’ in drag, lost in Depression America.”

(ROTters may know that Oliver Twist was the foundation of its own popular musical, Oliver!  That play was written and composed by Lionel Bart [British, 1930-99] and premièred on 10 June 1960 at London’s Wimbledon Theatre for a two-week preliminary run before opening at the New Theatre, now the Noël Coward, on 30 June 1960; it ran for 2,618 performances.  The Broadway transfer opened at the Imperial Theatre on 6 January 1963 and closed on 14 November 1964, after 774 performances.)

Therefore, if Annie is Oliver, then Miss Hannigan is a sort of Fagin-manqué (with a dollop of Mr. Bumble thrown in) and the other orphan girls are Fagin’s thieving street urchins . . . more or less.  I suppose that makes Rooster Hannigan, Miss Hannigan’s conniving brother, and Lily St. Regis, Bill Sykes and Nancy.  Mr. Brownlow, who adopts Oliver at the end of that story, is a sort of bookish and kindly Warbucks.  There are other minor parallels, too.

Meehan’s first libretto was plot-heavy, as can still be seen even in the 2021 rendition, and had to be trimmed during and after the Goodspeed première before Annie made it to Broadway.  (It almost didn’t make it.  Reviewing the out-of-town début, Hartford Courant reviewer Malcolm L. Johnson declared, “It’s a disaster.”)

Annie is so well known that I don’t think a detailed summary of the plot is necessary.  Besides, since Annie Live! is so close to the Broadway plot, it would also be very long and, most likely, confusing.  So here’s a simplified synopsis of the storyline.  (Caveat: it differs from the popular 1982 movie.)

The production began somewhat unconventionally, and I don’t know that this gambit was used in any other staged performance of Annie: cast members came on stage wearing ordinary, casual street attire.  They then quickly took their outer garments off, revealing their costumes underneath.  This sort of Brechtian, metatheatrical bit wasn’t used again in the production—it was a one-off.

Once the play itself starts, it’s Christmastime 1933, the heart of the Great Depression.  Eleven-year-old Annie (Celina Smith) had been left by her parents at the Hudson Street Home For Girls the year she was born and the only things she retained from her family was half a heart-shaped locket and a note saying that her parents would come back for her (“Maybe”). 

The orphanage is run by the tyrannical Miss Hannigan (Taraji P. Henson), who feeds the orphans (Arwen Monzon-Sanders, Audrey Cymone, Cate Elefante, Felice Kakaletris, Sophie Knapp, Tessa Frascogna) on warm mush, dresses them in rags, and forces them to do char work and sweatshop labor (“It’s the Hard-Knock Life”).  When Miss Hannigan’s distracted, Annie hides in Mr. Bundles’s (Jacob Keith Watson) dirty-laundry bin and succeeds in escaping after many failed attempts.

While out on her own, Annie befriends a dog hiding from the Dog Catcher, whom she names Sandy (Macy, a rescue dog from Oklahoma City and a vet of many previous Annies) (“Tomorrow”).  But a cop (Ben Davis as Officer Ward) catches her and returns her to the orphanage.

When billionaire Oliver Warbucks (Harry Connick Jr.) decides to take in an orphan for Christmas, his secretary, Grace Farrell (Nicole Scherzinger, formerly of the Pussycat Dolls), chooses Annie.  She brings Annie and Sandy to the wealthy Warbucks’s estate on upper Fifth Avenue (“I Think I’m Gonna Like It Here”).

Although at first uncomfortable with Annie—he expected a boy, because “Orphans are boys”—Warbucks is soon charmed by her.  He desperately wants to adopt Annie, but Annie still wants to find her real parents, so Warbucks announces on the Bert Healy (Jeff Kready) radio show, The Oxydent Hour of Smiles (Oxydent, the sponsor, is a toothpaste), that he’s offering a $50,000 reward (worth over $1 million in 2022) for anybody “who can prove they’re Annie’s parents” (“You’re Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile”).

Miss Hannigan learns of this from her younger, con-artist brother Rooster (Tituss Burgess), and he and his dimwitted “moll,” Lily St. Regis (Megan Hilty), cook up a scheme to get the reward by posing as Annie’s long-lost parents (“Easy Street”).  Miss Hannigan, who has all of Annie’s possessions left by her parents, gives her brother the other half of the heart locket.

Rooster and Lily present themselves at the Warbucks mansion as “Ralph and Shirley Mudge” with the locket and Annie’s (forged) birth certificate.  By the time they return to pick up Annie, Warbucks has learned who they really are.  President Franklin D. Roosevelt (Alan Toy) arrives with his Secret Service detail and a Marine and informs Annie that the FBI has ascertained that Annie’s actual parents, David and Margaret Bennett, “passed away a long time ago.”

Miss Hannigan and the orphans arrive at the mansion and Miss Hannigan rats out her brother who tries to attack her.  Warbucks points out that Rooster and Lily are guilty of fraud, and that fraud is a federal crime (though I’m not convinced that’s true).  Since the president’s Secret Service detail has the power to arrest, they can take custody of Rooster and Lily (I’m not sure that’s true, either)—which they do.

Through Annie’s intercession, Miss Hannigan is let off without legal consequences despite her complicity in her brother’s scheme to kidnap—and then “disappear”—Annie because she did play a part in saving Annie’s life.  Warbucks, however, coerces her to become President Roosevelt’s first volunteer for his New Deal agencies that will be putting unemployed Americans back to work to end the Great Depression.

Although Annie’s saddened that her real parents are dead, she is cheered up when Warbucks officially adopts her.  The little orphan girl withdraws briefly to find a surprise in her room, and returns for the finale in the iconic red dress with the white collar.  (The other iconic costume piece, Annie’s red wig, has been dispensed with throughout the show in deference to Smith, an African American, in the title role.  It would have looked ridiculous, as I’m sure deBessonet and Tazewell knew.)

Now-“Daddy” Warbucks and Grace become engaged, and Annie, the orphans, Warbucks’s staff, and Sandy all celebrate the happy ending with “Annie” and a grand reprise of “Tomorrow” for the curtain call (though what becomes of the other orphans isn’t actually specified—so what are they celebrating?).

This plot is a pinball game—in addition to some unlikely actions.  For instance: Would even Mr. Bundles set an 11-year-old girl loose on her own in the streets of New York?  Would no one even lift an eyebrow when a bachelor quinquagenarian takes a preteen orphan girl into his home?  Really?

Of course, we’re not supposed to worry about that—any of it—because Meehan’s story line and the Strouse-Charnin score are throwbacks.  It’s a feel-good musical, much like Oliver! in 1960 (1963 in the States).  Change came that decade; by 1970, Broadway was cheering Stephen Sondheim’s Company, dealing with contemporary relationships: dating, marriage, and divorce.  It was pronounced “misanthropic,” “jaundiced,” and “sophisticated” by Walter Kerr in the New York Times.  It won Tonys for Best Musical, Best Direction of a Musical, Best Book of a Musical, Best Original Score, and Best Lyrics.

(In 1977, Annie’s rivals for its Best Musical Tony were Side by Side by Sondheim, a revue of the songs of the Company composer-lyricist; I Love My Wife, a satire of the sexual revolution of the 1970s with a book and lyrics by Michael Stewart and music by Cy Coleman; and the Broadway début of 1929’s Happy End, a satirical, anti-capitalist musical based on a story by Elisabeth Hauptmann, with music by Kurt Weill and lyrics by Bertolt Brecht.  Annie was the odd man out in this group.)

As I’ve admitted, I’d never seen any of the incarnations of Annie, not the Broadway début, not any of the revivals, not the 1982 movie, not the Disney TV version.  (I did read Little Orphan Annie when I lived in D.C.; the Washington Post carries comics, but the New York Times doesn’t.  It’s not the same, though.)

The upshot is, Annie Live! was my first real exposure to the pop phenom that is Annie, not counting the TV ads when it was running in theaters here in N.Y.C. (as the big village is called in the play—anachronistically, I suspect) and some of the score.

Now, I have nothing whatsoever against throwbacks.  I’ve confessed my enduring love for the old musicals, on which I grew up.  (As I explained in “A Broadway Baby” on 22 September 2010, “I can’t be very critical about those classic musicals . . . .  They’re like theatrical comfort food to me—I hardly see any faults.”)

I admit that I was afraid I’d just hate Annie when I watched the NBC broadcast.  I mean, I’m not the target audience for the show, either now or in ’77.  It’s a so-called family show . . . and I don’t have one.  I was 30 when the Broadway production premièred; I was almost 75 when I saw Annie Live! 

I didn’t hate it, though.  I can’t say I loved it—there’s too much wrong with it from my perspective—but I appreciate why many people, especially young ones, do.  Even now, I can’t shake some of the songs—including the overexposed “Tomorrow.” 

(I’m still a sucker for sentiment.  My friend Kirk, a frequent contributor to ROT and a playwright-composer-lyricist himself, used to have a thing about aspirational songs like “The Impossible Dream” and “Climb Every Mountain”—I’m sure “Tomorrow” is on his list—but I don’t.  They still get to me, even now that I’m in my dotage!)

I think I’ve mentioned most of the cavils I have with the play—the über-twisty, Franken-plot; the unlikely things Meehan has his characters do; the too-obvious cribbing from Dickens—so I’ll dispatch that examination quickly.

I’ll add only a couple of character aspects that disturbed me.  The most troubling have to do with Warbucks.  Meehan essentially whitewashes the billionaire’s character.  First, little is made of the fact that he wants to host an orphan not because he’s such an altruist who wants to give back, but because it’ll look good for his PR. 

Second, those factories he’s been away for six weeks inspecting?  They’re munitions plants.  (That’s not from Dickens; it’s from Shaw—Major Barbara’s Andrew Undershaft.)  Warbucks—it’s in the name—is an arms-manufacturer, and with war brewing in Europe, he’s on track to make more billions.  Can you say “war profiteer”?

No wonder he needs an orphan to make him look good.

These matters don’t make a lot of difference in the play since Meehan doesn’t raise them at all, really.  I think they’re brought up in the 1982 movie, but I don’t know about any of the other Annie incarnations.  A viewer of Annie Live! probably wouldn’t even notice, since Warbucks is pretty well sanitized in that script.  But Grace Farrell’s character is missing something, even in this new version, that leaves a big hole in the drama.

Okay, we know that Grace was sent to pick out an orphan for Warbucks’s publicity stunt.  He expected a boy orphan, though he didn’t specify that to Grace—so she goes straight to a home for girls.  Why?  Just a whim, or did she have something up her sleeve?  We never find out; it’s not in the script.

She takes one look at Annie—who makes herself conspicuous, so that’s no surprise—and that’s it.  Grace immediately sets her mind on bringing Annie back to her boss.  She’s practically obsessive and even bullies Miss Hannigan, who doesn’t want Annie to go (another question, but I’ll let that one slide), into letting Annie leave the orphanage for the gig at Mansion Warbucks.

Except that if Annie doesn’t get to Warbucks’s place, there’s no story, what’s Grace’s motivation?  After Annie arrives chez Warbucks, and especially when Warbucks coerces Miss Hannigan into letting him adopt the little orphan, Grace goes absolutely bonkers for Annie.  Again: why? 

We know that Annie can charm the pants off just about anybody—we know that because the script says so, but there are no scenes of Annie enchanting Grace.  It’s as if Puck, the mischievous fairy from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, sprinkled his magical juice on Grace and, poof, she falls head over heels for Annie.  Whatever really motivates efficient, controlled Girl Friday Grace to become so besotted remains a mystery.  It’s a secret Meehan never reveals.

Putting aside these text and character glitches, let me look at the performance of NBC’s Annie Live!  As I said earlier, I’m treating Annie Live! as I would an in-person theater production.

The production was announced in May 2021, though casting wasn’t completed until June with the results of a nationwide audition process for the title role, which eventually went to 13-year-old Celina Smith, who toured with the national company of The Lion King as Young Nala and appeared on Tyler Perry’s Young Dylan, a sitcom on Nickelodeon (2020-21).

Rehearsals started in October, but changes occurred that must have disrupted the work.  In November, Jane Krakowski stepped down from her role as Lily St. Regis because of a breakthrough case of COVID-19 and was replaced by Megan Hilty.  Andrea McArdle, Broadway’s original Annie, had been cast as First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt, but in late November, she was forced to step away from the production because her father was hospitalized.  The role was cut.

I can’t know for certain, but as a former actor, I have to believe that this threw off the company at least somewhat—and it showed in the performances.  While no one made noticeable gaffes, the whole show seemed muted and rote.  No one, with some notable exceptions, seemed fully committed to their roles, as if they just weren’t sure what they were doing.

I’ve attributed this to under-rehearsal, but it’s possible that the cause was the nature of the play—particularly that patched-together plot and/or the incongruities; or it could have been a combination of both the script and the disrupted rehearsals.  In any case, the cast seemed unengaged a lot of the time, with spurts of energy when it came to the musical numbers.

The exceptions were, first, the orphans.  They all really went at this task, gobbling it up and spitting it out.  They were less “cute kids” than distaff Dead End Kids.  One wonders why they just didn’t revolt against Miss Hannigan and bust out.  They sure could’ve, I’d have thought.  (Given some of the lyrics they had to sing in “The Hard Knock Life,” maybe they should’ve!)

When it came to singing, young Smith sure can belt.  At 13, she’s still small—she easily passes for 11, as the play says—but her voice can get pretty mighty! 

Speaking of the kids, I was astonished by the dancing they did in Annie Live!  There was a lot of acrobatics—cartwheels and flips—and they were executed to a T (kudos to choreographer Trujillo).  I was especially impressed with the “Hard Knock Life” bit when the orphans slide scrub buckets around from one girl to another. 

It takes a lot of physical control not to overshoot the target or undershoot it, and none of them ever missed her mark.  Remember, these are actual little kids, not young adults playing children.  (Mary Martin was nearly 41 when she opened as Peter Pan on Broadway.) 

Also fully committed were the villains, especially Tituss Burgess’s Rooster Hannigan and Taraji P. Henson’s Miss Hannigan herself.  They seemed to relish playing the bad guys—which, I must add, is great fun for an actor anyway. 

Megan Hilty seemed to have suffered from joining the cast with less than a month of rehearsal time left, and her Lily St. Regis was still a little tentative—especially since she always appeared next to Burgess and usually Henson as well.  The comparison didn’t show her to advantage, but it wasn’t her fault.

I’ve already noted that Grace Farrell lacks clear motivation for her principal purpose: to save and protect Annie.  Nicole Scherzinger is at a loss, then, to fill in what the script doesn’t provide and it leaves the character without a center.  Scherzinger supplies energy—particularly in the dance numbers—but it’s ambiguous, directionless force.  Director Lear deBessonet doesn’t seem to have helped her find a motivation for her main function in the play.

The emptiest performance, in my estimation, came from Harry Connick Jr.  (He wasn’t helped by the laughable pate he wore as the bald Oliver Warbucks.  It kept making me think of the heads of the extraterrestrial immigrants in the 1989-90 TV series Alien Nation.  (One reviewer invoked Megamind from the 2010 movie of the same name, another compared the look to Voldemort.)  Connick would have been better off if he’d shaved his head!)

Connick doesn’t have a lot of stage experience in plays (and I haven’t seen any of them), so that may be his problem.  He seemed to me to have been working in a different performance than everyone else.  I don’t know if he was doing a bad imitation of Hugh Grant or if he was actually having trouble with his words, but he spoke at a lower volume than everyone else and did a lot of hesitating.  Even his singing was sort of off-hand—maybe because he’s a pop singer, not a musical theater singer.

(Speaking of Connick’s other career: I wondered why there was a grand piano in the foyer of Warbucks’s home, except to remind us that Connick is a piano player.  Then he has one number when he sits at the keyboard and plays a few bars as he breaks into "Something Was Missing." 

(Annie says, “Gee, Mr. Warbucks—you play the piano?” just to make the point about who’s playing the role.  Then, Connick abandons the piano so he can dance with Annie—and the piano’s never featured again.  It sure was a good thing that Connick isn’t a world-famous dressage rider, otherwise NBC would have had to put a horse in the Warbucks house!)

[Thank you for reading Part 1 of “Annie Live! (NBC, 2 December 2021).”  I invite all ROTters to return to the blog on 10 February to read the final part of my performance report on Annie Live!]

More Vintage Reviews from the Archive

 

[As I reported in “Some Vintage Reviews from the Archive” (15 March 2021), I wrote reviews for the New York Native, a biweekly gay newspaper published in New York City from 1980 until 1997, in the late 1980s and early 1990s.   

[The notices were relatively short because the paper ran reviews in pairs, so there were two plays covered in most columns.  (For most of the reviews republished here, the companion play has been omitted—though it may have been posted in another location on Rick On Theatre.)

[I covered mostly Off-Off-Broadway and occasionally Off-Broadway, and sometimes, the artists in the productions, including the dramatists, were prominent—or, at least familiar to theatergoers.  For “More Vintage Reviews from the Archive,” I’ve collected some of those notices.]

ARISTOCRATS

by Brian Friel

Manhattan Theatre Club

Theatre Four

15 May 1989 

[My review of Irish playwright Brian Friel’s Aristocrats was part of "Family Problems," which also included a review of The Rug of Identity (posted in “‘I’m So Confused . . . !’” on ROT on 4 July 2012) in the New York Native of 15 May 1989.

[Friel (1929-2015) was a popular short story-writer and dramatist who was considered by many as one of the best playwrights in the English-speaking world.  His plays produced on Broadway included Philadelphia, Here I Come! (1966; revived, 1994), The Loves of Cass McGuire (1966), Lovers (two one-acts: Winners and Losers; 1968), The Mundy Scheme (1969), The Freedom of the City (1974), Faith Healer (1979; revived, 2006), Dancing at Lughnasa (1991; Tony for Best Play, 1992), Wonderful Tennessee (1993), Translations (1995; revived, 2007).

[Many of these plays were also presented Off-Broadway.  In addition to Aristocrats, which won a 1989 Drama Critics' Circle Award and a 1991 Lucille Lortel Award, Friel’s drama Molly Sweeney also received a Drama Critics' Circle and a Lucille Lortel Award for OB runs, both in 1996.]

Family and relationships play an important role in a serious vein in Aristocrats, the 1979 play by Brian Friel.  Compared by some to Chekhov’s plays, particularly The Three Sisters and The Cherry Orchard, and bearing the mantle of Friel’s Irish predecessors William Butler Yeats and Sean O’Casey—both invoked here—Aristocrats, as staged by British director Robin Lefèvre, takes a very careful look at a disintegrating aristocratic Irish Catholic family.  With some wonderful performances, most notably from Dubliner Niall Buggy, on a John Lee Beatty set so evocatively real you can smell the must and mildew, Aristocrats tries to make the O’Donnell family of Ballybeg stand in for all of Ireland, their problems being analogies for those of a whole people.

Despite the richly textured work of cast, director, and designers, however, the cross-over never really happens.  As a study of an eccentric, all-but-decayed family desperately in need of new, peasant-stock blood, the details are often fascinating in themselves.  Son Casimir’s possibly imaginary family and his fuzzy-at-best memories of past O’Donnell glories are so charmingly evoked by Buggy I wanted them to be true.  The vitality and strength of Willie Diver (John Christopher Jones) is so refreshing and robust, I wanted him to come to the rescue of the family and its moribund manor. 

The minutiae—some fantasy, some real—of the O’Donnell history so lovingly laid out for the scrutiny of Tom Hoffnung (Peter Crombie), an American sociology grad student, give the play the impression of weightiness.  The script, unfortunately, never ties it all together into something that makes the family and its fate greater than the sum of the wonderful parts. 

The researcher-catalyst doesn’t ever seem more than a contrivance and a foil to point out the historical inaccuracies in family lore.  The impending wedding of daughter Claire (Haviland Morris) to a much older man and the alcoholism of daughter Alice (Margaret Colin) never provide the apotheosis I was led to expect. 

The enigmatic appearances of crazy Uncle George (Thomas Barbour) end up being little more than a brief joke.  In the end, the death of District Judge O’Donnell (Joseph Warren), supposedly marking the end of an era like the sale of the Ranevskys’ cherry trees, just puts a period at the end of a run-on sentence that was finished long ago.

[Aristocrats was first performed at the Abbey Theatre, the National Theatre of Ireland, in Dublin in 1979.  The Manhattan Theatre Club revival started previews Off-Broadway at Theatre Four (55th Street between 9th and 10th Avenues – no longer functioning) on 11 April 1989 and opened on 14 April; the production closed on 24 September.  There was a revival of Friel’s play in New York City by the Off-Broadway troupe Irish Repertory Theatre in 2009.

[The MTC presentation won several performance awards and two for Friel’s play: the 1989 Drama Critics' Circle Award for Best Foreign Play and the 1991 Lucille Lortel Award for Outstanding Play.]

*  *  *  *

“HELLO, BOB”

by Robert Patrick

La MaMa E.T.C.

First Floor Theater

29 October 1990 

[I’ve mentioned Robert Patrick’s “Hello, Bob” several times on ROT.  The review was part of the column "Broadway Revisited" (with the review of the musical Two By Two [see below] in the New York Native of 29 October 1990.

[Patrick (b. 1937) was the most prolific playwright of Off-Off-Broadway back in the early ’60s when that cultural venue was just emerging in Greenwich Village and the East Village (see my articles “Greenwich Village Theater in the 1960s,” 12 and 15 December 2011, and “Caffe Cino,” 11 and 14 September 2018).  A list of his plays is way too long to reproduce here, but his biggest success in terms of public attention was Kennedy’s Children, presented on Broadway from 3 November 1975 to 4 January 1976.  

[As you’ll read, “Hello, Bob” is about the repercussions of the mainstream success of Kennedy’s Children on playwright Patrick.  He particularly lambastes Shirley Knight, who received a 1976 Tony as Best Featured Actress In A Play, for her performance in the play.  I have quipped that Knight ought to consider suing for defamation of character for the things Patrick says about her in “Hello, Bob.”]

Robert Patrick’s current play has two connections to his 1974 piece, Kennedy’s Children.  First, like Kennedy’s Children, “Hello, Bob” is a series of monologues; second, all the monologues relate in some way to the success of Kennedy’s Children and the effect of that success on Patrick.  The links end here, however. 

The threads that keep Kennedy’s Children cohesive—the interwoven speeches as each character, however unconnected to the others, take and then relinquish focus; the omnibus setting of the bar to which the characters retreat out of the rain—are absent from “Hello, Bob.”  Here the twenty-one speeches, sometimes one side of elliptical conversations with an invisible Patrick, range in time from 1975 to 1981 and take place, in Act I, all over New York and, in Act II, around the country.  The only adhesives are an unseen and unheard Patrick and the frequent allusions to his unnamed Broadway play.

Further, whereas Kennedy’s Children considered “the death of the idea of heroes as guides for our lives,” according to Patrick’s note in the published text, “Hello, Bob” seems only to be concerned with praising Patrick—the man, the artist, the Samaritan, the lover.  There are many references to Patrick as a “great guy” and to his “great play.”  Over and over again, he is shown to be a tireless teacher, dauntless crusader for noble causes, and unwavering friend.  Everyone loves “Bob.”  In one bit, a cabby, declaring himself straight, offers to jump into the back seat for a little off-the-meter fun “just because I like you.”  In another scene, Bob’s lover, about to leave him, proclaims Bob a “wonderful lover” and offers a quickie before departing.  Everyone is ready to sacrifice something for this terrific man; even a New York Times reporter risks his job to inform Patrick that his interview will be edited to make him look foolish. 

Under the author’s direction, a four-actor ensemble performs the monologues, with Patrick’s “favorite actress,” Carol Nelson, subject of a recent Native profile, taking all ten female characters.  With a minimal setting of black metal folding chairs and a couple of cafe tables on a black-painted, two-level stage, the actors must evoke not only their characters, but the locales and, often, a mimed Patrick’s presence as well.  (This last seems most troublesome for the cast.  Patrick keeps changing height, from a very tall standing figure to a very short seated one.  In one piece, Nelson holds Patrick’s invisible hands as if they are as flat as paper.)  Except for their costumes and their words, few of the characters are clearly delineated or imaginatively portrayed.  Arnold, a working man on a bus, has a generalized southern accent to indicate an uneducated, red-neck bigot—and he’s from Maine; Wren, who spent some time in Ireland, produces a cartoon brogue. 

Characterization is not deeply grounded, either.  Wren, for instance, relates what ought to have been a horrific experience: being tied to a bed next to her IRA lover while he is executed.  She tells of being unable to free herself “from dawn till noon” while his blood soaks her gag and flies feed on his brains leaking out of the hole in his head.  Nelson pauses not a moment, catches her breath not once, gulps back not one gasp during the description.  The audience reacted more viscerally than does the actress.

Disjointed and undifferentiated as the moments are, one is amusing.  Edmond Ramage delivers an evocative telephone monologue as Tennessee Williams.  Ramage endows “Tennessee” with wry humor, a perception of the absurdity of the worlds of art and journalism, and a neat sense of revenge.  I cannot vouch for the accuracy of the portrayal, but as theater, this was, for me, the most interesting character and most intriguing scene of the evening.

[Robert Patrick is mentioned often in my early Rick On Theatre article “Is Waiting For Godot Trash?” (17 April 2009), on which the playwright also left several Comments.  He also figures in my two-part report “Caffe Cino” (11 and 14 September 2018).

[“Hello, Bob” was produced at Manhattan’s East Village La MaMa E.T.C. (Experimental Theatre Club) from 11 to 28 October 1990.  It was developed in several Off-Off-Broadway theaters before being presented at La MaMa.  A 1995 production of “Hello, Bob” was presented at Chicago’s Retro Theatre and a 1996 revival was mounted at L.A.’s Lionstar Theater.  (Patrick’s complete play is available on YouTube at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eJ1K8wNcNmI.)

[Kennedy’s Children was produced at Playwrights Horizons from 30 May to 9 June 1973 before it transferred to Broadway’s John Golden Theatre.  Under the direction of Clive Donner, it began previews there on 30 October 1975 and opened on 3 November; it ran for 72 regular performances and five previews, closing on 4 January 1976.  Kennedy’s Children was nominated for the 1976 Outstanding New Play Drama Desk Award.]

*  *  *  *

TWO BY TWO

by Richard Rogers, Martin Charnin, and Peter Stone

Triangle Theatre Company

Church of the Holy Trinity

29 October 1990 

[The other half of "Broadway Revisited" (see above) is this notice for Two By Two, a 1970 Broadway musical with music by Richard Rodgers (1902-79), lyrics by Martin Charnin (1934-2019), and book by Peter Stone (1930-2003).  At the Imperial Theatre, the show ran from 10 November 1970 to 11 September 1971, for 351 performances.  Danny Kaye played Noah; also in the cast were Joan Copeland (Arthur Miller’s younger sister), Marilyn Cooper, and Madeline Kahn.

[The creative team, adapting The Flowering Peach, the play by Clifford Odets (1906-63), was led by the great stage composer Rodgers, former partner of Lorenz Hart (1895-1943) and Oscar Hammerstein II (1895-1960), whose output includes classic American musicals such as The Girl Friend (1926), A Connecticut Yankee (1927), Jumbo (1935), On Your Toes (1936), Babes in Arms (1937), The Boys from Syracuse (1938), Pal Joey (1940), Oklahoma! (1943), Carousel (1945), State Fair (film, 1945 and 1962; stage, 1996), South Pacific (1949), The King and I (1951), Cinderella (TV, 1957; Broadway, 2013), Flower Drum Song (1958), and The Sound of Music (1959), among many others.

[Charnin wrote the lyrics for the musicals Mata Hari (1967), Annie (1977), Cafe Crown (1989), and Annie Warbucks (1993).  Stone wrote the book for Kean (1961), 1776 (1969), Sugar (1972), Woman of the Year (1981), My One And Only (1983), The Will Rogers Follies (1991), and Titanic (1997). (Stone also wrote the screenplay for my favorite thriller movie, 1963’s Charade.)]

The Triangle Theatre Company’s twentieth-anniversary revival of the Richard Rodgers-Martin Charnin-Peter Stone musical, Two By Two (1970), is a small, gentle pleasure.  The story of Noah and the flood, adapted from The Flowering Peach (1954) by Clifford Odets, is an old-fashioned musical, and perhaps not one of Rogers’s greatest scores, but it is fun and sweet, and excellently performed in the small space at the Church of the Holy Trinity.

On a tiny set designed by Bob Phillips, with a lopsided hut the size of an outhouse at its center (there is an outhouse, too—even smaller), painted purple and green and gray, the cast of eight portrays the family of Noah (Kip Niven) and Esther (Meredyth Rawlins) as a bickering, disrespectful, loving, prototypical Jewish family.  If Noah sounds a little like Billy Crystal’s old Jewish man, he is less caricatured and warmer of heart.  Niven’s love song to his dying Esther is a real two-hanky moment.

Most remarkable in this production are the voices.  While all the performers sing creditably, standouts are Tom Lloyd as Japheth, who has the strongest voice and the most character when he sings, and Mary Lee Marson as Rachel.  Also excellent singers are Bryan Batt as Ham, Wendy Baila as Leah and Lindsey Mitchell as Goldie.  Singling these out should not detract from the nice ensemble acting of the cast on the sometimes cramped set.

If Two By Two isn’t one of the all-time great American musicals, it is still nice occasionally to return to the old-time shows when you could sing the songs and for which the term “musical comedy” was coined.  The Triangle show is such a respite.

[Triangle’s revival of Two By Two ran at the Church of the Holy Trinity (East 88th Street between 1st and 2nd Avenues) from 4 to 28 October 1990.  The show is a favorite in community theaters and church groups, and there’ve been a number of revivals over the years with stars such as Milton Berle (The Muny in St. Louis, 1971) and Shelley Berman (National Tour,1972-73).

[Odets’s Flowering Peach, the last original play by the playwright produced in his lifetime, ran at the Belasco Theatre in the Theatre District from 28 December 1954 to 23 April 1955, 135 performances.  Staged by the author, the play starred Menasha Skulnik, a Polish-born star of the Yiddish theater, as Noah.]

*  *  *  *

MAMBO MOUTH

by John Leguizamo

American Place Theatre

3 December 1990 

[My review of John Leguizamo’s Mambo Mouth was paired with my notice for Invitation to the Beginning of the End of the World (Invitation to the Beginning of the End of My Career) by Penny Arcade in a column entitled "Come To The Cabarets" (see “Penny Arcade: Two Performances,” 15 November 2013). The two reviews appeared in the New York Native on 2 December 1990.

[Mambo Mouth wasn’t a play, but a stand-up routine in the vein of popular monologuists of the time like Whoopi Goldberg (Broadway event, 1984-85) and Danitra Vance (see “Short Takes: Some Unique Performances,” 28 July 2018).  Born in Bogota, Colombia, Leguizamo (b. 1964) is an actor, writer, and stand-up comedian who drew on his youth in Queens, New York, for the characters he played in his monologues.

[Today, Leguizamo works mostly as an actor in film, television, and theater, but in the ’90s, he was a stand-up comic with a growing reputation.  He’d been creating his own material since the 1980s, trying it out at the performance art spaces on Manhattan’s Lower East Side and in the East Village.  This eventually became Mambo Mouth which was his breakthrough as an autobiographical monologuist; the reviews launched that aspect of his budding career. 

[Leguizamo’s texts have been published, including Mambo Mouth (Bantam, 1993), which was also recorded for HBO and aired in 1991, giving the performer a national audience.  He performed all across the country to excellent reviews.  (His other published texts are Spic-o-rama [Bantam, 1994] and Freak [Riverhead Trade, 1998]; all three, plus Sexaholix, are collected in The Works of John Leguizamo [Ecco, 2008].)]

On the tiny stage of the American Place Theatre’s SubPlot, a cabaret in the theater’s basement that’s more a passageway than a room, John Leguizamo creates seven Latino characters during his hour-and-fifteen-minute Mambo Mouth.  Aside from costumes and a few props, he does this mostly with a superb physical sense of his characters.  Leguizamo is, according to his biography, an actor (rather than a writer or comic), and though I haven’t seen his film or stage performances, I’d bet he’s a terrific character actor.

[On the film website IMDb, Leguizamo is quoted as saying that he often plays supporting—that is, character—roles “[b]ecause you get to be free.”  He added, “There are more, better written supporting parts than there are leading parts.”  I don’t know the source of this quotation however.]

Directed by Peter Askin, Mambo Mouth is pretty straightforward.  One by one, Leguizamo presents his characters in brief scenes: Agamemnon, an oily Latin-lover type hosting “Naked Personalities,” “the most dangerous show on public access TV”; Angel, a street punk busted for knocking one of his many girlfriends around; a young teenager telling his friend that he just became a man at Nilda’s Bodega & Bordello; an illegal immigrant caught in an INS sting; a streetwalker consoling a friend; a stoned-out street vendor who calls himself an “Inca god” selling ointments and artifacts; and, in his cleverest persona, “The Cross-Over King,” a Latino who “became” Japanese selling the concept in a slide lecture.

There’s some Spanish in Leguizamo’s routine, and there were a number of Hispanics in the mixed audience, but his material is readily accessible to all of us—especially if you watch TV.  Leguizamo’s brief is to use Latin stereotypes to bust them open and his characters—except the last one—are recognizable from our pop culture. 

Along with his thorough and natural physical portrayals, Leguizamo’s lines are clever and pointed.  They are also often vulgar and belligerent.  Agamemnon, for instance, tells us his father dismisses him with “Out of a hundred thousand sperm, I can’t believe you were the quickest!”  The knife-wielding hooker regularly threatens to cut off the “peepee” of anyone who annoys her.  Sex, sexuality, and the genitals are the most common focus, as if they were the only forces in these people’s lives.  

Mambo Mouth is billed as “A Savage Comedy,” but it isn’t always really funny.  It’s clearly not meant to be.  Underlying the humor is a base of anger and bitterness, and, disturbingly, an apparent self-hatred which ultimately made me uncomfortable.

[In a 1991 interview with Glenn Collins of the New York Times, Leguizamo said, as if in response to my last comment above, that counselling sessions at Manhattan’s Youth Counseling League “helped me to get over my rage and my negativity toward myself."

[In another interview, he told the Los Angeles Times’ Patrick Pacheco, “Writing this play was like an exorcism . . . from the self-loathing and all the ugly things that I feel I carry around in myself . . . .”

[Mambo Mouth began performances at the American Place Theatre (on 46th Street west of 6th Avenue) on 8 November 1990 and, after a short hiatus, transferred to the Orpheum Theatre in the old Yiddish theater district along 2nd Avenue (between 6th and 7th Streets in the East Village) on 4 June 1991.  Altogether, the show ran 187 performances, closing on 25 August.  It later played in LA.

[Directed by Peter Askin, the performance piece garnered the 1991 Obie Award for Leguizamo’s performance and the 1991 Outer Critics Circle’s John Gassner Award  for his writing.  Productions have been mounted all over the country, as well as abroad, Other actors have performed Leguizamo’s texts, such as Peter J. Mendez who did Mambo Mouth in Baltimore in 1997 and Riley Faison in 2015 at the University of Wisconsin–Madison.]

*  *  *  *

LYNDON

by James Prideaux

John Houseman Theatre

28 January 1991 

[I reviewed James Prideaux’s Lyndon, a one-man bio-play about Lyndon Baines Johnson, the 36th President of the United States, as part of “Talking Heads,” combined with my review of Steeplechase by Eric Stephen Booth, in the New York Native of 28 January 1991.  (The playwright described Steeplechase as “a 21st century black gay love story.”)

[Prideaux (1927-2015) was principally a writer for film and television, but his best-known stage work was The Last of Mrs. Lincoln (1972), which won him a 1973 Drama Desk Award for Most Promising Playwright.  It also won Julie Harris a Tony for Best Actress In A Play for her performance in the title role.

[Several other of his plays were performed on the summer straw-hat circuit with stellar casts and his TV movie, Mrs. Delafield Wants to Marry (1986). was nominated for an Emmy for Outstanding Drama/Comedy Special.  It starred Katherine Hepburn as the title character, for which performance she was also nominated for an Emmy.  Prideaux’s memoirs are entitled Knowing Hepburn and Other Curious Experiences (1996).]

Laurence Luckinbill’s performance in Lyndon is remarkable.  While he may not look or sound exactly like the real LBJ, he doesn’t look or sound like LL either.  With the aid of an incredible make-up job (designed by Kevin Haney and taking a 2½-hour session with costuming), he completely convinces you that you are watching someone real up on the stage.  His gestures, movements, and business, his inflections, phrasing, and rhythm are all natural and unforced. 

The experience was not unlike that of watching Pat Carroll as Gertrude Stein or Hal Holbrook as Mark Twain.  It’s mesmerizing to watch Luckinbill, especially when he dons Johnson’s signature Stetson, as he reminisces on the former president’s political career from the late ’20s through his announcement in 1968 that he would not run again for the presidency. 

There is some serendipitous juxtaposition of history with current events when Johnson discusses the Congress’s 1964 Gulf of Tonkin Resolution, the escalation of the war in Vietnam, and the protests in Lafayette Park across from the White House.  [President George H. W. Bush had led the U.S. into the Gulf War against Iraq, August 1990-February 1991, on the strength of a U.N. resolution and weakly supported Congressional authorization.]  

In the end, however, I am left with the question of why this man’s life is worth dramatizing now.  Unquestionably, the mid-1960s were a dramatic and tumultuous era, but, despite some excellently mimed moments, Lyndon is essentially all talk as Luckinbill, directed by Richard Zavaglia, meanders around the simplified, gray-toned Oval Office set.  James Prideaux’s play, drawn from Merle Miller’s book, Lyndon: An Oral Biography (1980), is really a living history lesson, perhaps more moving for those of us who remember the events than for those born after Vietnam became little more than a bad dream. 

I also can’t shake the feeling that Prideaux and Luckinbill have sanitized the LBJ image, making him a more endearing, grandfatherly figure than he really was.  Though the reminiscences contain several admissions by Johnson that he made some deals and occasionally voted against his own beliefs on issues like civil rights and desegregation, the timbre of the performance is one of calm, thoughtful deliberation and righteous governance for the benefit of all Americans. 

That’s not the LBJ I remember, nor the man whose reputation for back-room infighting, self-interested wheeler-dealing, and even downright vindictiveness was reportedly well deserved.  President Johnson was not one of the nicest men to occupy the White House, though, by God, he got things accomplished.  Such is not the figure embodied by Luckinbill on the stage of the John Houseman Theatre.  Still, the fiction presented is an extraordinary performance for its own sake.

[James Prideaux’s Lyndon opened at the John Houseman Theatre (demolished in 2005) on Theatre Row on 10 January 1991 and closed on 3 May.  Luckinbill was seen in an earlier version, called Lyndon Johnson, on the Public Broadcasting Service on 8 April 1987.  (Jack Klugman portrayed LBJ in an earlier version of Prideaux’s play in 1984 at the Eisenhower Theater in Washington, D.C.’s John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts.)

[My reference above to Hal Holbrook’s Mark Twain was to the actor’s one-man portrayal of the writer in Mark Twain Tonight!, seen on Broadway originally in 1966.  I saw it on CBS TV in 1967.  Holbrook won both a Tony and a Vernon Rice Award (now the Drama Desk Award) for his Broadway performance; he was nominated for an Emmy for Outstanding Single Performance by an Actor in a Leading Role in a Drama for the TV version. 

[(Dick Smith, a special make-up effects artist, won the Emmy for Individual Achievements in Art Direction and Allied Crafts – Makeup for Holbrook’s transformation from the 41-year-old actor to the 70-year-old humorist—a four-hour long application.)

[The mention of Pat Carroll as Gertrude Stein was a reference to the actress’s one-woman, Off-Broadway play, Gertrude Stein Gertrude Stein Gertrude Stein at the Provincetown Playhouse in 1980 for which the actress won two 1980 acting honors: the Drama Desk Award for Outstanding Actress in a Play and the Outer Critics Circle Award for Best Performance.

[While I was watching the performance, I kept saying to myself, ‘Gee, Stein’s a really interesting person.  I’m so glad I got to meet her’!  When I realized what I was thinking—that that was actually Gertrude Stein in front of me—I was mighty glad I didn’t say that out loud so my companion and others near me could hear how deeply I’d fallen under Carroll’s spell.

[I don’t write fan letters, but I sat down and wrote one to Carroll and said that if she ever took on students, I was ready to sign up!]

*  *  *  *

ROAD TO NIRVANA

by Arthur Kopit

Circle Repertory Company

18 March 1991 

[Reviewed alongside Vivian Gornick’s A Fierce Attachment (adapted by Edward M. Cohen), Arthur Kopit’s Road to Nirvana was part of the column I called “Creating the Self—and Other Fictions” in the New York Native of 18 March 1991.  (Attachment explores the relationship between a liberated, intellectual journalist and her mother, a working-class Jewish socialist—with Tovah Feldshuh playing both parts.)

[Kopit (1937-2021; the dramatist died on 2 April at 83, while I was preparing this post) came to the theater world’s attention in 1962 with Oh Dad, Poor Dad, Mamma’s Hung You in the Closet and I’m Feelin’ So Sad (as much for the length of its title as for the content of the absurdist drama)—which won the Vernon Rice Award (now known as the Drama Desk Award).  He was nominated for another Drama Desk Award in 1979 for Wings (see my report on a later production on 26 November 2010).

[Kopit was a two-time Pulitzer Prize finalist—for Indians (1969) and Wings—and a three-time Tony Award nominee: Best Play, Indians (1970); Best Play, Wings (1979); and Best Book of a Musical, Nine (1982).  He was inducted into the Theater Hall of Fame in 2017.]

Arthur Kopit’s Road to Nirvana was first produced as Bone-the-Fish (1989, Actors Theatre of Louisville), a title reminiscent of Mamet’s Speed-the-Plow (1988) to which Kopit’s play is a reaction.  In fact, Kopit has said that the inspiration for Road to Nirvana was the casting of Madonna in Speed-the-Plow: “I became interested in the phenomenon of Madonna, partly because she was cast in this play and couldn’t have been cast in a high school play.  I wondered what it was like to be that powerful as a pop star, that untalented as an actor and yet mysteriously talented.”  The Nirvana of his play’s title is Kopit’s take on Madonna, with a little Shirley MacLaine thrown in.

But Nirvana doesn’t show up until the second act.  Until then, the play is about Hollywood deal-making at its most venal.  Not filmmaking; deal-making.  Have you ever heard anyone say, “I’d cut my wrists to get that . . . “? or “I’d eat shit for that . . .”?  Well, in Road to Nirvana, they mean it literally.  Jerry (Peter Riegert) is so desperate to get back into making feature films, he agrees to everything his old partner, Al (Jon Polito) demands to get in on the deal of a lifetime—a film, called Moby Dick, that is the life story of rock phenom Nirvana (Amy Aquino). 

Nirvana, it seems, has been a) strung out for so long, and b) reincarnated so many times, that she can’t remember her real life, so she wrote Moby Dick, changing Ahab’s name to hers and the whale to a giant cock.  Al and Lou (Saundra Santiago), his new partner and lover, want to make this flick so badly they’ll do anything to get the deal.  Eventually, so does Jerry, but he has to sway Nirvana.  He does this finally by agreeing to one last humiliation.  I’ll give you a hint: Have you ever heard anyone say, “I’d give my left nut . . . “?

The cast, under Jim Simpson’s sure direction, performs these absurdities with complete conviction, handling Kopit’s occasionally Stoppardesque dialogue stylishly and firmly.  They toss around obscenities, one in particular, until they are meaningless and make you believe completely in even the most meaningless phrases.  (James Puig’s performance as a confused and abused servant should be noted.  Never saying more than two words, Puig communicates volumes with a single look.)  

Trouble begins at the second act when the play splits into two.  Act one is fast, funny and absurd, but act two slows considerably, covering much of the same territory.  The character of Nirvana isn’t as ditzy or flaky as we are led to believe she would be.  She’s just a manipulative and paranoid control freak.  

If the second-act set, designed by Andrew Jackness, weren’t so exotic—a Roman bath-cum-Mayan temple—there would be little of interest save the not-so-surprise climax.  The act doesn’t so much end as stop—but, then, anything following a surgical castration would be (ahem) anticlimactic.

[Arthur Kopit’s Road to Nirvana opened at the Circle Rep’s theater in the West Village on 13 February 1991; it ran for 54 performances, closing on 31 March.  The play had been commissioned by the Actors Theatre of Louisville and premièred there (as Bone-the-Fish) in 1989. 

Between the ATL début and CRC production, Road to Nirvana was presented at the Wellfleet Harbor Actors Theater in Wellfleet, Massachusetts, in 1990.  Subsequent productions were mounted in L.A. (1991); Chicago (1993, 1997); Burbank (1993); Herndon, Virginia (1994); and Venice, Florida (2015).

[Mamet’s Speed-the-Plow’s première was produced by Lincoln Center Theater at Broadway’s Royale Theatre (now the Bernard B. Jacobs Theatre) in 1988.  Directed by Gregory Mosher, the artistic director of LCT, the cast included Madonna, Joe Mantegna, and Ron Silver.  It ran 23 previews and 279 regular performances and won the Tony Award for Best Actor In A Play and the Drama Desk Award for Outstanding Actor In A Play, both for Silver.

[Frank Rich wrote in the New York Times: “Madonna serves Mr. Mamet's play much as she did the Susan Seidelman film ‘Desperately Seeking Susan,’ with intelligent, scrupulously disciplined comic acting.  She delivers the shocking transitions essential to the action and needs only more confidence to relax a bit and fully command her speaking voice.”

[Frederick M. Winship of United Press International deemed, however, “The role of Karen, a young woman with no past that we know of, is an impossible one and Madonna has too little talent or theatrical imagination to make something of it, even with Mosher’s expert help.

[He continued, “She is rigid, almost as though she is terrified to be on stage.  Her voice has a one-note quality that becomes boring and her characterization is limited to superficialities that only establish Karen as an overly intent, patently naive young woman who is all too ready to admit she has done ‘bad’ things to establish rapport with a man all too ready to seduce her.”