Leapin' lizards! This production of Annie is unfortunate. Maybe I'm too old. Or maybe it's just bad. But I can't think of a good word to say. Well, I adore Katie Finnernan. I do not adore her in this show. But I adore Katie Finnernan. The dialect coach for this production should re-think career choices. The orphan girls sound British when they sing, and Lilla Crawford's shrill tone sits somewhere between Cyndi Lauper and Ellen Green's rendition of Audrey in the Orginal Off Broadway cast of Little Shop of Horrors (and the film as well). Why is this happening? Poor Miss Crawford means well, is appropriately precocious and eager, but what voodoo are they doing with her voice and why? We get it - this desire to pretend that everyone in New York has a twisted vulger accent and have had them for the last two centuries - but we know better. In a city of immigrants, some do indeed have that harsh accent, but not everyone. We will accept it is New York because we see that it is New York (hell, they even sing the dreadful "N Y C" tune to be clear about it) - we don't need to pretend. Just let the kids sing! And, for many in my generation who are too young to have seen the original outing on Broadway 30-some years ago but old enough to have grown up with the original film version, it is no wonder that some songs were shaved from the score for the film. "You Won't Be an Orphan for Long" "Something Was Missing" "New Deal for Christmas" - Cringeworthy! But I'm sure the kids will like it, so by all means, bring them to the theatre. It is a holiday treat. But it's saccharine qualities will soon decay and this revival will hopefully decay along with them.
Annie is playing at The Palace Theatre. Tickets can be purchased here.
Jason Tam first became an object of my theatrical-hero worship after his appearance in Every Little Step as he delivered his heartbreaking audition for Paul in the latest revival of A Chorus Line. Thereafter, I endured the drek ofLysistrata Jones where he emerged as one bright light. Thus, upon reading of his latest appearance in Marry Me a Little, I jumped at the opportunity to see the show. Jason is wonderful. His costar, Lauren Molina was new too me yet she too was wonderful. This revue - ah - less so. For Sondheim lovers, I'm sure this is a dream. But for me, who is less inclined to love the sonic-chaos of Sondheim's 'smart' music, this was a jagged pill to swallow. And if there was more to hang your hat on than the music, it might not have been so jarring, but as this revue meanders from one song to the next trying desperately to weave together a tale of two unfortunate New York singles living literally on top of each other in an apartment building - yet this weave is so loose, it barely holds together at all. Alas, hero worship for the talents on the stage was all I had to hold onto, and I was very grateful that it only lasted 55 minutes.
In 2002, like many a New York commuter, I was sucked in by my fellow strap hangers who were all carrying the same book: The Corrections. Like a fool, I followed the heard and bought the book. Page after page, I grew to hate the characters more and more. And page after page, I kind of started to hate myself for not ending the torturous read. But, given the hundreds of pages and hours of time invested, I was finishing that book no matter how much I hated it. With that memory still fresh in my mind, when I saw the ad for Transport Theatre Group's production of House for Sale, I thought - there must be something hear. Last year, I LOVED their production of Queen of the Mist so much that I trusted their artistic choices. Alas, with Jonathan Franzen, I should know better - fool me once... This show is basically one long verbose first-person essay delivered (for reasons I cannot comprehend) by five actors. Franzen tells about his mother's death, his detachment from his family and his mother's earthly possessions - and basically, his utter douchiness. When I crawled through The Corrections, I wanted to hate him since he created the despicable characters that inhabit his narrative - and from the way he so clearly paints their picture, I felt he surely must love them - thus, I wanted to hate him. But, I couldn't be sure how much of him was there. Now I know. And now I am sure that I hate him. He is utterly self-serving, self-congratulating, and foolish enough to disguise a story that should clearly be about his mother in a story that is him, him, him. In the style of the most bland and unfortunate ethnodrama, this show is a disaster. With moments of unison, overlapping dialogue, repetition, curious wall climbing, and a bizarre Minnie Mouse costume (you have to see it to believe it), this plods along in such a "CRAFTY" way that you can literally see the director's anguish as he tries so desperately to make the undramatic dramatic. The most foolish convention of all is a series of small color-coded strip lights strategically placed around the set - each actor assigned a color - and when their color lights up, they speak. And when it goes dark, they go silent. Was the stage manager telling them when to speak? Prompting them? Going insane trying to keep up? Sometimes messing up, causing ever-so-slight snickers from the cast. We had unwittingly taken a trip to the nut house - and we wanted our money back.
House for Sale is at the Duke on 42nd Street through November 18. Tickets can be purchased here.
