This ain't your father's "Cabaret," old chum!

Regular readers of Connecticut Wit know that my preference in musicals runs Gershwin-Squared, Richard Rodgers (with Hart first then Hammerstein), Cole Porter, Cahn and Van Heusen, and the rare Sondheim (i.e., only when he's the lyricist for Jule Styne or Leonard Bernstein).  They'd also know that my preferred stage version of scandalous behavior is Pal Joey's approach to his "mice" --- to "treat a lady like a dame and a dame like a lady."   And they'd certainly be able to figure out that my musical-cum-Nazis of choice would be the one with the would-be-nun with the Viennese kids dressed in old curtains.

So how then can I give a rave review to the disturbing and erotic production of Cabaret that is playing at Playhouse on Park until July 21?
 

Photos by Rich Wagner

Because it's so bloody well conceived, directed, acted, sung, and danced.  Everybody involved in this production makes it work. 

Sean Harris' direction maintains the perfect balance between rousing production numbers of the Kit Kat Klub and the deadly serious social problems that rap, at first, lightly on its door, then come flying through its windows like a brick, and finally tear the place (not to mention Germany, Europe, and the world) apart. 

Colin Britt's musical direction is remarkable (yet again); his marvelously precise ensemble can raise the heat and chill to the bone in frighteningly swift succession. 

And what can be said of Darlene Zoller's choreography? In the intimate space that is Playhouse on Park's theatre, an audience member gets to know the scantily-dressed, lithe, and acrobatic chorus of dancers very well quite quickly.  Indeed, I think, after last Wednesday's performance, I'd be married to at least two of them in some southern states!
 

The performances are all very fine and several truly remarkable.  Brendan Norton's Emcee (above top) lords over the action like the twisted puppet-master he is -- yet with a manic energy that he somehow manages to have implode in front of us.  And while Erin Lindsey Krom's Sally Bowles and Jake Lowenthal's Cliff give us the full arc of doomed love (from naive devil-may-caring to disillusioned horror) that we expect from Cabaret, for this audience member, Kathleen Huber's Fraulein Schneider and Damian Buzzerio's Herr Schultz (seen below) take this production to a whole other level.  Huber is so natural and compelling that I have a hard time imagining her having to make her decision about marrying her Jewish suitor every night.  And if (Spoiler Alert!) you don't think a pineapple is a loving gesture after Buzzerio's ridiculously sincere gift, you have no heart. 



The production designers Erik Diaz (Scenic), Marcus Abbott (Lighting) and Erin Kacmaricik (costume) all contribute mightily to the power of the play, as well.  (But, let's face it, I haven't seen that much lingerie since I first learned about the Victoria's Secret catalogue in the 1980s.)

At times alluring, decadent, quotidian, and appalling, this superb production can't help but make us face our roles in this tragic dance.  It's not an easy night at the theatre, but you'll find few more fulfilling.
 

   

Frank Ad Nauseam

A little bit of serendipity, I guess you'd call it (or the product of a sick mind):

A 45-second "drop" ad that we recently made for "Frank, Gil, and Friends" features an outtake of Sinatra's 1958 recording session for Rodgers and Hart's "Where or When," during which he jokingly sings:

"It seems we've stood and talked like this before;
We threw up on each in the same old way
But I can't remember night or day."

This then brought to mind the chorus of the 1991 Morrissey song "Our Frank," which reads:

"So give us a drink
and make it quick
or else I'm gonna be sick
sick all over
your frankly vulgar
red pullover
see how the colors blend."

The "frank" in the Morrissey title is an adjective describing "conversation" and not anyone's name, but the juxtaposition of it and nausea just seemed too precious to pass up.

I must learn to control my instincts better.

Notes from the Tony Awards

In the "surprise" opening number, which considering it was merely a medley of things presently on the Great White Way and so hardly was surprising at all, Stockard Channing sang "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered" from the revival of Pal Joey, and, while it was far from a great performance, at least she was performing a song worth hearing – especially when paired with (and compared to) “I’m Alive” sung by some guy from Next to Normal. Why is it that most songs from contemporary musicals are so repetitive? I believe the only thing he sang was -- wait for it -- yes, “I’m alive.” There’s more wit and lyricism in any one line of almost any Rodgers and Hart song than anything recent I heard last night…and we won’t even mention the music.


Liza Minnelli looked and sounded terrible (to be polite). As my wife explained to our girls, “Like her mother, she’s had a very hard life which has included drug abuse, etc…” To which I added, “But her mother was smart enough to die before she turned into this.”


9 to 5: The Musical.
Shrek the Musical.
Rock of Ages (was that really “Don’t Stop Believing” I was hearing?)
And these are the ones the American Theatre Wing chose to put on stage to highlight itself. Broadway’s not dead; it’s simply gone senile…


From the vaults: Elton John writing an Aida is akin to Neil Simon offering his own Macbeth. Not saying they can’t do it, but, man, they really shouldn’t.