As a rule, on trips to NYC, I don’t prioritize jukebox musicals or revivals. While I know there can be treasures in both, I tend to put new work higher on my to-see list…especially when the original casts are still in place.
That went out the window on my most recent New York trek. While I did see one new show (“Swept Away”), it was still in previews so I am respecting the (mostly) time-honored journalistic tradition of not commenting on this fresh, beautifully acted, musically terrific tale that I know is likely to face marketing challenges given its subject matter. Here’s hoping for a strong enough run to generate an original cast recording and future regional productions.
As for my “original cast” criterion, well, that’s not always under one’s control. In the cast of both Broadway shows, a lead was absent from the performance.
Anyway…
Thoughts on “Sunset Boulevard.”
— First, I want to make clear that I saw the show prior to lead Nicole Scherzinger’s social media red hat fiasco and so my thoughts on her performance weren’t influenced by implications of that incident nor by her apologetic follow-up.
— So while that incident may have soured her reputation among many, I was already soured by what I saw as a self-indulgent, disconnected performance that often was more about concertizing than characterization. The problem peaked during one number where the build up of desperation and need key to Norma Desmond was wrecked by look-how-long-I-can-hold-this-note showboating. Technically impressive? Yes. Momentum destroying? Also yes.
— Of course, the audience offered thunderous, enabling applause. Some stood.
— Scherzinger’s indulgences, though, were part and parcel in a production that didn’t care much about connectivity between scenes. Granted, “Sunset Boulevard” isn’t a high-water mark for composer Andrew Lloyd Webber, in spite of the memorable “Just One Look,” “As If We Never Said Goodbye” and “The Perfect Year” numbers. But director Jamie Lloyd’s approach seems to be to take its less-than-stellar ingredients and pour a different gravies over each. Melodramatic one moment, sincere another, and wink-wink when it felt like it, this “Sunset Boulevard” throws in anachronisms, takes video cameras into the dressing rooms and out on the street, blows up images on stage to Times Square-billboard size, and otherwise tries to play a shell game with the show itself. None of which adds up to caring at all during the final bloodbath (which you probably have seen in much of the marketing and social media so I’m not bothering with a spoiler alert.)
— For the record, the performance I saw featured Diego Andrew Rodriguez in the role of Joe Gillis. Given the production’s nature and his co-star’s limitations, he did remarkably well.
Cabaret at the Kit Kat Club
— In short, this is an impressive, fresh “Cabaret” although I was less impressed with the “at the Kit Kat Club” componant.
— Let’s get the latter out of the way first. Early arrivers at the August Wilson Theatre are led down a garbage-strewn alley into a side door, down stairs and into a club setting featuring a separate case of dancers and musicians as well as a pricey bar. (Try to tell someone just a few years ago that they would be packed into a windowless space, maskless, and they wouldn’t believe you.) If nothing else, it would all be Instagramable if folks were issued stickers to cover up their cell phone cameras. The not-Kander/Ebb klezmer-meets-electronica volume is high and the effort clearly is to put some distance between the real life outside the theater and the show itself. But it wasn’t long before tightness plus tedium sent my companion and I up into the theater itself. There similar acts played and writhed, interacting primarily with those who opted for the dining seats near the circular stage. A final group number capped the pre-show.
— And then we get to “Cabaret,” the musical by John Kander, Fred Eff, and Joe Masteroff (based on the play by John van Druten and stories by Christopher Isherwood). I’ll go on record saying it’s one of the strongest Broadway shows in history and it’s one I’ve seen too many times to be surprised or shocked by anything in it. Because of my familiarity with “Cabaret,” I also like to have someone at my side who hasn’t seen it before or has only seen the film version. I also find myself very aware of the audience given the nature of the the show.
— I was particularly fascinated this time by how the play makes some members of the audience unconsciously complicit in its message. At the end of Act 1, it’s clear that just about everyone on stage — the dancers from the Kit Kat Club included — is complicit in the rise of Nazism. “Tomorrow Belongs to Me” has gone from pastoral sweetness to Fascist anthem and our lead, Clifford, has gotten a taste of the horror. After intermission, though, audience members who have been indulging in their champaigne and charcuterie are more than happy to accept an invitation to come on stage and dance with the Nazis. In a meta-moment similar to that created by the disco atmosphere of 2023’s “Here Lies Love,” we see first-hand how easy it is to give up one’s soul if the party looks fun enough.
— I’m glad, that, going in, I didn’t know Adam Lambert from, well, Adam. My ignorance allowed me not to consider how Lambert-eque or Lambert-free his performance was and, instead, fully engage with a performance dramatically distinct from the icononic takes on the part by Joel Gray and Alan Cumming. With an arc different than that of either of those two precedents, Lambert’s emcee’s transition from what he is in the beginning to what he is in the final moments adds another fascinating layer to the material without stepping on what already works.
— What already works — and what was deleted from Bob Fosse’s film version — is the relationship between landlady Fraulein Schneider (Bebe Neuwirth) and fruit vendor Herr Schultz (Steve Skybell). More abstract productions such as this one blur the line between their more traditional book/song scenes and the cabaret numbers but the emotional connection stays intact here. As for the leads, it’s hard to avoid the implications of casting a Black actor (Calvin Leon Smith) as Clifford, especially when he is on the ground being beaten. At the performance I saw, Sally Bowles was covered by understudy Ayla Ciccone-Burton, who gave depth to a character who can easily be turned into just a wannabee by lesser actors. Sally, as seen here, is far from one note. Her painful rendition of the title tune is a great example of the way subtext and what-has-come-before can make an iconic song newly compelling
— Oh, and my previously “Cabaret”-uninitiated friend was knocked out by the show. I’m glad it still has that power. And concerned, given recent events, that it’s warning have not been heeded by those more than willing to dance to the music.
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