The Ladies Who Sing Sondheim

A well-known producer's wife was overheard exclaiming, “This wasn't just a benefit concert; this was a show.” The Ladies Who Sing Sondheim, a benefit for The Acting Company, was a beneficence to the celebrity-studded audience, whose unbridled enthusiasm was entirely commensurate with what radiated from the Gerald Schoenfeld Theater stage on April 7.

The director John Doyle was conceiver and commentator for what was to feature six leading actresses from Sondheim musicals. Four of them were there, but Gypsy stars Patti LuPone and Laura Benanti, pleading illness, abstained. Even the four-woman Chorus, who, between divas, sang a number of songs in attractive special arrangements, comprised an unannounced member.

But no matter: Doyle managed to find replacements every bit as starry as the luminaries they went on for on short notice. They provided, moreover, a surprise element that added a further frisson.

In theory, nothing is more boring than the listing of song numbers, but in the case of such a concert it is of interest to note the particular choices of these divas. They ranged from early Sondheim, from shows such as Saturday Night and Evening Primrose, to the most recent standards. Performers sang not only songs with which they are associated, but also others, with equal aplomb and to like applause.

Doyle contributed some impish English wit as compère, and, as commère, shepherded his chicks with brood-hen solicitude. He even indulged in a guessing game, tossing out the first names of Sondheim leading ladies and challenging the audience to call out the last names—a test they passed with resoundingly flying colors.

Jenna Russell, star of the current Broadway revival of Sondheim's Sunday in the Park with George, started things off, following up a lively “Losing My Mind” with pleasantly subdued versions of “I Remember” and “What More Do I Need?” and poking endearing fun at her not really fancy but “cheap” British accent. Next, Pamela Myers gave us, first, “Another Hundred People,” her big number from the original Company, not quite as freshly as 38 years ago, but just as spiritedly.

There followed that popular darling Debra Monk, a nonbeliever in less is more, who brought down the house with the notorious number cut from Follies, “Boy, Can That Boy Foxtrot.” She squeezed the maximum from its titular double entendre, as also from that survivor's anthem “I'm Still Here,” and her show-stopper from Assassins, "The Gun Song."

The first surprise guest, the striking Barbara Walsh—flying in from Baltimore where she stars as Desiree in A Little Night Music—did wonders for “The Ladies Who Lunch” (her show-stopping number in last season's Doyle-directed Broadway revival of Company) and gave a poignantly understated rendition of “Send in the Clowns.” Like most of the participants, she enticingly acted out her songs as much as she sang them.

[IMG:R]Equally enjoyable was another surprise, the ageless Donna McKechnie, with a fine “In Buddy's Eyes” from Follies and, in a hilarious duet with Pamela Myers, “You Could Drive a Person Crazy” from Company. It took guts for her to sing Momma Rose's “Some People,” in competition with the role's current triumphant incumbent, but she acquitted herself gallantly.

Connective tissue by the Chorus, dubbed here The Broadway Babies (some of them, in Doylian manner, also playing instruments), yielded delightful work in ensembles as well as in a few solos, notably from Heather Laws in “Getting Married Today” and the delicious Leenya Rideout (who also expertly doubled on violin and double bass) in “Steps of the Palace” from Into the Woods.

Then came, emerging from the auditorium, the biggest surprise: a leading non-lady, Raul Esparza, reprising his much-lauded “Being Alive” from Doyle's Company, with, if possible, even more electrifying fervor.

Finally, what Doyle called “the shank of the evening,” Angela Lansbury, archly proclaiming her relish of shankhood. Wearing her well-earned, long-standing celebrity lightly and gracefully, she sang (or crooned) with consummate artistry what may be her signature number from Sweeney Todd, “The Worst Pies of London” and, from the same show, “Not While I'm Around.” Her thunderous standing ovation, unlike so many nowadays, was amply merited.

Stephen Sondheim took a concluding bow, his thanks to the cast and Doyle manifestly heartfelt, and his rumpled looks emblematic of the externals-ignoring artist. The audience responded with wall-shaking enthusiasm.

I left reflecting on Sondheim's career. At first justly hailed for his lyrics, he had to wait a while for equal recognition of his no less masterly music, whereupon his rhyme-rich lyrics began to be routinely taken for granted. This evening proved to me yet again, among many other things, Sondheim's supreme mastery as lyricist, probably surpassing even that of such giants as Ira Gershwin, Lorenz Hart, John Latouche, and “Yip” Harburg. He is easily the equal of those master composer-lyricists Cole Porter and Irving Berlin.