boy culture

What A Day To Be Gay In The Sea!

One of those gays!

We had tickets to City Center’s limited-run Encores! show No, No, Nanette! for tonight; we got them even before we had the idea of getting two puppies, or we might have thought twice. I mean, they would be alone for quite a while. So I dashed home twice to exhaust them and shower them with puppy treats for the long haul, and met José at the theater. Let me tell you something—No, No Nanette! is the equivalent of puppy treats for rich, old broads. I saw canes, walkers, wheelchairs and gurneys filled with classy carcasses sporting giant-framed glasses and tasteful bobs. More plastic surgery than the cast of Desperate Housewives. Oh, and Polly Bergen and Fran Drescher (complete with parents and gay-seeming ex-husband) showed, too.

The show has gotten raves. It grew on me (the first couple of songs are so stupid and forgettable I was rolling my eyes hard) as a good example of how—if not why—to stage a period show with style and energy. The star is Sandy Duncan, in a role that brought Ruby Keeler out of a four-decade retirement in 1971, but both Beth Leaven as her frenemy and the titular Nanette (Mara Davi) probably have meatier roles in this frothy romp about a young girl tired of hearing “no” and the Three’s Company-style shenanigans encompassing her aunt, uncle and pretty much everyone else in the vicinity.

Still, there was something heartwarming about seeing Sandy Duncan, a familiar face absent for a while, doing two elaborate tap-dancing, high-kicking routines at the age of 62!

Equally winning was Rosie O’Donnell as wise-cracking maid Pauline. She gets the best one-liners and delivers them with far better comedic timing that she seems to have at her disposal if you judge her based on her stand-up act. And when she emerges toward the end and performs a nifty tap routine, it nearly brought the house down. What a pleasant surprise! I’d gotten tickets in case she wound up being a spectacle and she turned out to be spectacular.

The show is a little creaky, but if done this energetically works fine. There were several phrases that sounded surprisingly more modern, making me wonder if they’d been inspired by the show—Michael Berresse as Billy Early exclaiming, “Get busy!” comes to mind.

I can’t say this would be a Broadway smash, but a lot of work obviously went into it, and if Thoroughly Modern Millie could soar, why not this? (Just go from two intermissions to one, please.)

Before the show, Patti LuPone gave an award to Douglas S. Cramer, whose name you’ll recognize from schlocky TV shows (Love Boat, Dynasty, you name it) yet whose real passion has always been the stage. I found the story created by her speech and his acceptance more interesting than the show itself—a gay man who makes multi-millions in bad TV only to spend all his free time sponsoring the revitalization of classic Broadway scores. Plus he’s ancient and openly gay, all the more inspiring.

Sigh, Baby

Cry-Baby star James Snyder (along with hot dancers from the show) looks slinky in stripes in Out (June/July 2008):

After the jump, tons of hot models from the same issue...

A Dream Within A Dream

While in Vegas, there is a handful of things to do, many of which I don’t currently do, never did or am not allowed to do. I play slots to exce$$ and I can be counted on to stroll through shopping areas, but that’s it. Las Vegas is not exactly our cultural mecca, but we had a free night so we booked tickets for La Rêve at the Wynn.

I’m so glad we saw this show because it was totally captivating. It’s an astonishing acrobatic show with a water theme, but this doesn’t begin to sum up the daring feats accomplished—people are hauled up out of sight only to plummet straight down several stories into a pool, are hoisted into the air where they cling to each other using only their legs and pile on top of each other in ways that would crush me and that look graceful for them.

The men are incredible, though spookily all shaved to look identical

One highlight had two men balanced at the shoulders (first video). It was gasp-inducing.

Plot-wise, this was more an impressionistic piece than a true story. I saw it as a collection of dream fragments, the only ineffective part being the broadly comic men who reminded me of Roberto Benigni and seemed designed to appease any poor schlumps who’d been dragged in by the wife.

Mainly, sitting back and watching the gravity-taunting feats was alternately eerily calming and momentous, like when you see the mother ship in Close Encounters Of The Third Kind.

My video is even more piecemeal than the show’s structure, so just use that for a taste and promise me you’ll give it a try if you hit Vegas.

I don’t know what they pay those guys, but it’s worth it.

Sob Story

Tears & clowning.

After having seen a brief, no-frills press run-through of a few numbers from Cry-Baby: The Musical, I was sufficiently interested in seeing how the whole thing would come together. With creative contributions by Mark O’Donnell & Thomas Meehan (book), David Javerbaum & Adam Schlesinger (songs), choreographer Rob Ashford and director Mark Brokaw—not to mention consultation by the near-cult, near-classic film’s near-legendary director, John Waters—Cry-Baby turns out to be a spirited hodge-podge of sparkling and dull performances, memorable and forgettable songs and truly spectacular dancing, all tenuously held together by one thing the ‘50s music it offers had in spades (spunk) and one thing it didn’t have at all (irony).

Scanning a few fan boards, you might think Cry-Baby was a disaster-in-the-making, that its backers might be in tears over its prospects. Some Broadway fans, posting over and over to create the impression of a quorum, have speculated that the show is terrible, that it’s destined to fail, or even that it will close before opening. I’m not a Broadway expert, but based on the preview I saw (it opens April 24), I would be a little surprised if the show didn’t at least make a go of it—it’s got much to recommend it even if it can’t quite live up to Hairspray. (Something that could definitely be said of the films both were based on, as well.)

***READ ON for my review, or win tickets at HunkDuJour and make up your own mind.***

The infected.

The musical follows the seemingly cursed existence of charming bad boy Wade “Cry-Baby” Walker (James Snyder), a Baltimore “drape” (hood) with a giant chip on his shoulder thanks to the unjust execution of his parents for allegedly being Communists. Ever since they went to the chair, his tear ducts have been dry in protest.

Cry-Baby makes the mistake of falling for ultimate “square,” Allison Vernon-Williams (Elizabeth Stanley), a Sandra Dee type who longs to be bad, but whose uptight grandmother (Harriet Harris) and obnoxious prepster boyfriend Baldwin (Christopher J. Hanke) disapprove. Cry-Baby’s motley crew of tag-alongs—the aptly named “Hatchet-Face” (Courtney Balan), slutty Wanda (Lacey Kohl), his crass, preggo sister Pepper (Carly Jibson) and black (that’s all it took in the ‘50s) Dupree (Chester Gregory II)—aren’t much help in winning them over.

The plot is, if anything, simplified from the already unadorned film—it’s a series of encounters during which good (Allison) meets bad (Cry-Baby) with hopes of rubbing off on each other while attempting to resist resistance from the powers that be. If anyone in the audience doesn’t expect true love to prevail, they’re really new to this whole entertainment thing.

What I liked about Cry-Baby, I loved.

Beulah, Peel Me A Drape

I had the pleasure of being invited to a press run-through of some songs from the forthcoming Broadway musical Cry-Baby that had a successful out-of-town run in La Jolla—and the big bonus was that John Waters attended. When I was a teenager, I discovered Pink Flamingos and Polyester on VHS at my local video store and thought I was the most avant-garde thing to ever hit Flushing, Michigan, for liking and getting these fucked-up flicks. In college, I ran to see Hairspray when it opened, and it became my favorite of his films, even if it bore so little resemblance to the rest of his "ew!"-vre.

Waters, waiting in the wings to begin Cry-Baby's press presentation.

Political Perversity From Chicago

Chronicler of the (in)human condition veers right.

Incendiary playwright David Mamet has gone all conservative on us in a new piece for The Village Voice, thoughtfully entitled, "Why I Am No Longer A 'Brain-Dead Liberal.'" I suppose the quotes are to soften the blow.

In the context of hyping his new play November (with Nathan Lane, who in December of 2005 belittled Brokeback Mountain in a very conservative way), which Mamet impartially describes as "being a laugh a minute," he lays out what he feels conservative vs. liberal is:

"The play...is a disputation between reason and faith, or perhaps between the conservative (or tragic) view and the liberal (or perfectionist) view. The conservative president in the piece holds that people are each out to make a living, and the best way for government to facilitate that is to stay out of the way, as the inevitable abuses and failures of this system (free-market economics) are less than those of government intervention."

He feels, and some other conservative activists would argue, that to be liberal is to presume the world—and specifically this country—is "always wrong":

Oh, What Heights We'll Hit

In the Heights comes to Broadway after a critically-acclaimed off-Broadway run in which it was compared to classics like Rent. Having heard this, I expected an edgy look at life in Washington Heights. While it has much to offer, In the Heights is nothing like Rent—people had gender issues, money issues and HIV in Rent, while the characters in this show have nothing worse going on in their lives than what you might find in garden-variety sitcom.

Conceived and written by Lin-Manuel Miranda, the show follows the life of Usnavi (Miranda himself), a shop owner aided by his baby-lothario Sonny (Robin DeJesus) and deeply connected to his loving grandmother Abuela Claudia (Olga Merediz). Usnavi is falling in love with Vanessa (Karen Olivo), a bewitching around-the-way girl.

The Grey's About The Naked Guy

Star (March 17, 2008)—among others—ran this shot of Grey's Anatomy star Sara Ramirez backstage at The Play About The Naked Guy with its titular star Dan Amboyer. Unlike the other 'bloids, Star claimed this was a good example of "NOT Normal." I'm going to have to disagree on that one:

Cry For Her

Someone Madonna can out-sing. In the realm of cheekbones, we'll call it a draw.

With thanks to Gareth, these are Michelle Pfeiffer's demos from when she was virtually guaranteed to star in Evita. (When I published Encyclopedia Madonnica, Madonna had lost the role to her.) Pfeiffer later begged off due to pregnancy, a condition that didn't faze Madonna, but I would argue that without massive studio tinkering—more than Madonna needed by miles—she would not have been able to sing the role pleasingly enough. And of course, for once, Evita was a movie actually helped by Madonna's personal history—people liked the idea of her succeeding in a role she was "born to play."

Note: I can't 100% confirm the vocals are Michelle's, but they do sound like her to me.

Download now: Surprisingly bad "I'd be Surprisingly Good For You"

Download now: What's ewww!, "Buenos Aires"

[Postscript for revisionists: Evita and Madonna received largely favorable reviews, she won (probably undeservedly, considering she was up against Frances McDormand in Fargo!) a Golden Globe and the film earned $50 million in the U.S. (at the time the sixth highest-grossing musical in history) and another $140 million abroad—its b.o. take in 2008 dollars would be $77,222,116 U.S.]

Hold Your Applause

A bumpy night.

I was so annoyed when I waited too long to get tickets to Applause at New York City Center with Christine Ebersole until the last second, winding up with lousy seats in the front (upper, upper) gallery. As it turns out, the show turned out to be the sound of one hand clapping—and instead of regretting waiting too long, I regret not having waited a bit longer.

Applause is a 1970 musical based on All About Eve, one of the greatest movies ever made. Except it's less a musical than a star vehicle, one created for Lauren Bacall. If you don't think the show is weak musically, take note that the singing-challenged Bacall nonetheless nabbed a Tony for the role. It wasn't for her warbling, it was for her Bacallness.

Margo Channing is a legend of the stage and screen (and of coffee commercials), too jaded to truly appreciate her lofty position, to be as good as she once was or to recognize that her lover Bill Sampson (Michael Park) is more important to her than play-acting. Her undoing is that she is also too caught up in herself to see that a starstruck fan-turned-personal assistant named Eve Harrington (Erin Davie, who's not so much channeling as sending up Anne Baxter) would gladly take all of it off her hands.

Applause is a treasure...I think I'll bury it.

With comic relief provided by her hairdresser Duane Fox (a listless Mario Cantone, who for once in his life really needed to amp it up to Mario Cantone heights) and moral support from misguided friends Karen Richards (a bland Kate Burton) and her playwright husband Buzz (Chip Zien, who's game enough), Margo will slowly come to grips with the fact that Eve's flattery has gotten her everywhere, and will leave Margo with nowhere to turn.

Bye, bye, Birdie—hello, Mario.

If only it weren't set to (this) music.

I had thought Ebersole would be a great diva for the role of Margo Channing, but while she displayed her beautiful range in a couple of the show's more tolerable songs, she's basically miscast. She has all the Broadway star power required but very little of the edge that fans of the movie would hope for. It's not all her fault—as written, the show is filled with fluffy love songs and a paper-thin book that conspire to make this Margo a forgettable push-over lacking spirit, danger...Bacallness.

I'll say this for her—Bette Davis was only 41 when she shot All About Eve, and Ebersole is 55, yet I could not help thinking she was too soft, too youthful for the part. She looks gorgeous and seemed to be her own light source. She looks as young as Park. She looks younger than Davis ever did.

Still, ya know a show based on All About Eve is going to stink when it disposes of Addison DeWitt, and along with him most of the juicy psychological warfare, not to mention most of the venomously witty lines.

The 1970 "Applause" with a far superior...Bonnie Franklin!!!

But nothing quite prepared me for one of the all-time worst sequences I've ever seen on stage, an attempt at show-stopping (if only) involving the titular song (sample lyric: "Applause, applause!"). Probably because Bacall was no singer, this massively important number was entrusted with the "gypsies," the dancers who wait in the wings for their big chances to rise to the level of stardom that Margo has and that Eve is about to get. They're headed up by Bonnie (Megan Sikora, not in good voice). The song's shtick is to steal melodies from several other, much more memorable shows (I'm no expert, but I heard more than a little Fosse). Forget about waterboarding, hearing "Applause" sung to the tune of "All That Jazz" would transform the population of Gitmo into Chatty Cathys. Director Kathleen Marshall grossly miscalculated here.

And let's not get into the ooey-gooey "Good Friends," which ends with Burton doing a great, big oopsy-daisy on the stage, legs in the air, Red Skelton-style.

The "hip" ’70s setting is laughable nowadays, reminding me of another recent useless (but still at least marginally more entertaining) revival, The Ritz. There's a pained recreation of a gay bar that winds down with a queen exclaiming his love for Channing in a way that might have seemed knowing and funny 38 years ago, but that is taken for granted today.

The much more enjoyable ’70s originals.

Most of the show I spent wishing it had been chucked entirely and a whole new piece commissioned based on that amazing movie, but there were a couple of highlights worth noting. First, while I think its gay-bar trappings are silly, "But Alive" is the show's stand-out song, a pithy number with real energy and a timeless quality. Unfortunately, Ebersole—who's been battling flu and barely made opening night—was just getting warmed up.

She fared a lot better on the show's only really caustic tune, "Welcome To The Theatre," probably her finest vocal moment. But with very little support from Davie, this is no Grey Gardens.

Don't look for Applause to make it to Broadway. But more importantly, don't listen.