Random Notes on This and That: 2/7/05

Last year's Broadway revival of Fiddler on the Roof was widely noted for director David Leveaux's naturalistic approach to a text that had previously been treated more robustly. The performances of Leveaux's leads, Alfred Molina and Randy Graff, were very much in line with this approach, considerably more understated than most previous accounts. So it's ironic that the production at the Minskoff has acquired as replacements a pair of larger-than-life comic actors known for their take-charge, oversize performances.

Molina's satisfactory but relatively bland performance has been replaced by one that's eccentric and full of colorful detail. True, one never quite forgets one is seeing Harvey Fierstein playing the role of Tevye. Because Fierstein's stage persona is so distinctive, one can't help seeing and hearing traces of the star's celebrated characterizations of Arnold and Edna. As for the singing voice, it's not much more than an on-pitch rasp, yet Fierstein's "If I Were a Rich Man" is considerably more interesting than Molina's.

If Fierstein's turn is likely to be controversial, it's also a warm, funny, and inventive performance, both touching and stellar. And it shouldn't be too difficult for audiences to accept the notion that the star's operatic delivery of dialogue and flamboyant mannerisms could belong to Tevye.

Andrea Martin's Golde is quite fine. True, the role doesn't really allow this comic demon to cut loose. But she's able to put her comic instincts to fine use, while also supplying a loving presence to match Fierstein's.

The one larger-than-life performance in the original cast --John Cariani's Tony-nominated Motel the tailor-- should be more at home with the production's new stars. But while Cariani still has appeal, the performance has become so extreme as to resemble a marionette on strings. The other principals, both new and holdover, are entirely satisfactory.

Seeing this Fiddler again, I admired Tom Pye's scenic design more than before, and found Leveaux's subdued approach less resistible. But then it has been considerably enhanced by the heartier new stars. Their presence makes a revisit to this Fiddler imperative.

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Unlike most reviewers, I found almost nothing to like about Little Women. That's not to say that the show's leading lady, Sutton Foster, isn't well-suited to the role of Jo. But this talented young actress remains an overeager performer who fails to conceal how hard she's working. And the material of this Little Women lets Foster down, causing her to push all the harder.

During its lengthy gestation, Little Women replaced its original pair of songwriters with a new team. And now that the show has arrived, it seems in need of yet another score. On the basis of a first hearing, I didn't detect a single outstanding number, making it difficult to believe that the Jason Howland-Mindi Dickstein score is an improvement over the rejected one. Jo's big first-act closer, "Astonishing," is a generic power ballad that comes off as a reject from Wicked. Several of the songs are abruptly or awkwardly cued, while others are simply unfocused or by-the-numbers, the lyrics often downright poor. Maureen McGovern wraps her luscious tones around two nondescript solos. And this Little Women has its share of floppish numbers, notably "Could You?" for Jo and Aunt March.

Alan Knee's book goes in for broad, clownish characterizations that are not what Louisa May Alcott envisioned; this is especially true for Amy McAlexander's Amy and Robert Stattel's Mr. Laurence. The show captures little of the warm atmosphere and heart of Alcott's novel, something that all three film versions had no trouble doing. At the top of both acts, time is wasted with elaborate enactments of Jo's early, melodramatic stories. Much of the evening feels off key, and it's never really affecting, not even when sister Beth dies.

Susan direction leaves several performers looking less than their best. These include McGovern, whose acting doesn't match her singing; Jim Weitzer's Mr. Brooke; and Janet Carroll's Aunt March. Foster's singing is impressive, and one can't help admiring the actress's valiant efforts to drive the evening. But this Little Women tends to botch material that seems to resist musical treatment in the first place.

Little Women isn't even as good as another recent, unlamented literary adaptation, Jane Eyre. But at the moment, it appears that musicals targeted to a particular audience tend to survive. Years ago, it's unlikely that a mediocre musical version of Little Women would have thrived. Today, though, it seems likely that this Little Women will stick around. After all, if Brooklyn can still be playing........

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By the time the critcs were invited to see Good Vibrations, the show had been dismissed in the press as an utter disaster. So expectations were certainly lower than they were for Little Women. And if Little Women was fairly dismal, Good Vibrations arrived in an utterly hopeless state. One of the new batch of jukebox musicals, Good Vibrations didn't even seem to be trying, so weak are its script and staging.

It's a show that makes one appreciate that jukebox-musical smash Mamma Mia! Unlike that show, this one has a flimsy, skeletal book that's little more than an excuse for the songs. The show is almost entirely songs, but, unlike Mamma Mia!, no humor or interest is derived from seeing how the songs fit into the book. Richard Dresser's pitiful book is woefully unfunny when it's not completely idiotic. And there's surprisingly little know-how or cleverness in John Carrafa's staging.

Pleasant as the Beach Boys songs are, there's not a lot of variety in them, and they lack the theatricality that the ABBA songs had in Mamma Mia! It's touching to see the gamely energetic cast knocking themselves out while probably knowing all too well that their show is a dud. Leading lady Kate Reinders comes off well. Good Vibrations appears to have been unwisely rushed to Broadway; while it probably could never have been top-notch, it could have been improved in a regional production, one open to critics' reviews.

For the record, this is the second New York musical disaster built around the music of the Beach Boys. In the spring of 1985, at the Entermedia Theatre where Grease, The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas and the Joseph.... revival had their local premieres, an elaborate off-Broadway musical called Surf City: The Beach Boys Musical began previews. Staged by Dennis Rosa Dracula '77, co-produced by Carole J. Shorenstein, and featuring the music and lyrics of the Beach Boys, Surf City closed in previews.

In terms of new Broadway musicals, the 2004-2005 season thus far has given us The Frogs, Dracula, Brooklyn, Little Women, and Good Vibrations. There's got to be better ahead.

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More interesting than Little Women or Good Vibrations is Jerry Springer: The Opera, the acclaimed London show, which I recently saw via its BBC television broadcast from September 8. This program was the subject of considerable controversy, and it's not for nothing that it carries multiple warnings about the potential offensiveness of its content.

At this writing, it's unclear when or if the multi-award-winning Jerry Springer will be coming to Broadway. Filmed live at the Cambridge Theatre, the two-hour telecast makes a strong case for the show, with co-author Stewart Lee's staging translating to television quite well. Still, watching this telecast, one has to wonder if the show would thrive in an extended Broadway run, even one likely to receive a rave review from New York Times critic Ben Brantley, who praised the London production.

Jerry Springer is a work I admire rather than love. Its second act, with Jerry in hell, works much less well than the first act, which is more or less a Springer show set to music. But it's a pleasure to encounter a contemporary opera with an accessible score and a great subject; there's nothing more operatic than "The Jerry Springer Show," and the Richard Thomas-Stewart Lee score has many handsome passages.

In the non-singing title role, former "Starsky and Hutch" star David Soul is excellent. Among a uniformly potent company, David Bedella's Olivier Award-winning warm-up man/Satan and Alison Jiear's pole dancer/Eve are outstanding. I can certainly accept Jerry Springer as a successful and intriguing one-off, a fairly daring experiment that works.

The BBC is to be congratulated for airing a program that was bound to offend various factions. One hopes that this telecast will be released on DVD to join in stores the live Jerry Springer cast recording on CD. The TV version of Jerry Springer could also be shown in this country, of course, if any network is brave enough to air it.