The Problem Child Grows Up

Charley (Daniel Radcliffe), Frank (Jonathon Groff) and Mary (Lindsay Mendez). Photo: Joan Marcus

One of Broadway’s most legendary flops, Stephen Sondheim and George Furth’s 1981 show, “Merrily We Roll Along,” is enjoying a renaissance. I’ve written before about my love for this musical, and it was wonderful to finally see it live on stage last week after years of listening to cast albums of its phenomenal score.

The current Broadway production, now playing a limited run, is directed by Maria Friedman who did the honors ten years ago for the Menier Chocolate Factory in London (You can view a full performance of this, taped in 2013, on YouTube). Physically the two productions are very similar, but are incredibly different in tone–all because of casting. For want of a better word, the protagonists in the London version come across as more adult. There are some excellent performances here, especially from Frank (Mark Umbers), Charley (Damian Humbley, who has a terrific singing voice and looks like a young Nathan Lane) and Gussie (Josefina Gabrielle). But the Broadway version is sweeter, all due to the obvious affection the characters as well as the actors exhibit for each other. They appear younger than their London counterparts, even when on stage as their 40-ish selves; consequently it’s not difficult to imagine their idealistic start despite their later frayed friendship.

The musical is famously based on the Kaufman and Hart play of the same title, and to a certain extent shares its faults and kinks. The gimmick of course is that both versions are in essence played in reverse. The musical opens in then-present day 1976, and each succeeding scene moves further back in time until we see the three main characters as their younger selves viewing Sputnik from a rooftop in 1957. I think this set-up hurts the show in at least two instances. We’ve just been introduced to Charley when he goes off with “Franklin Shepard, Inc.” while being interviewed on TV with Frank by his side. While the song is a showcase of satire as well as Charley’s bitterness, we’ve yet to know the source of his hurt. It’s not until later that we learn Frank has virtually been running their collaboration for years, setting it aside when it suits him to pursue more lucrative work.

However, the most glaring example of the backwards chronology hurting the story is the opening of the second act. There we see Gussie va-va-vooming through “Good Thing Going,” Frank and Charley’s song that she insisted be co-opted for her show. It’s not until we hear Charley sing it in the next scene, at Joe and Gussie’s party, that we experience its sweetness and appreciate what a travesty Gussie made of it (aided and abetted by a satirically excessive orchestration which makes me laugh every time I hear it). As she sings it, the context is gone–there’s more than a little of Frank, Charlie and Mary’s friendship alluded to in the song. This of course is a Sondheim trademark: dual purpose lyrics. We hear it in Gussie’s rendition of the verse she performs to “Good Thing Going.” The “baby” and the “man I’m married to” clearly refer to Frank and Joe, respectively, as she contemplates her future with the former.

The three leads in the Broadway production are a treat to watch. Lindsay Mendez’s performance as Mary Flynn has Tony Award written all over it. You only wish the show gave her more opportunity to display her wonderful singing voice. Daniel Radcliffe makes a terrific Charley, performing the best version of “Franklin Shepard, Inc.” I’ve ever heard, and his rendition of “Good Thing Going” at the second act party scene is lovely. Jonathan Groff may come across as a bit too likeable while Frank is in narcissistic mode, but he de-ages very well as the show demands.

Just a few more notes:

Maria Friedman did a wonderful job with this show, but I have a couple of quibbles. I think Gussie is misdirected (and for the record, frequently inaudible), to the extent you wonder how Frank could have been taken in. And Beth’s version of “Not a Day Goes By” during the divorce court scene, with her acting like she should be in a straitjacket, is a bit much. Given the song and the fact that we’re hearing it for the first time, simple tearful regret would have been in order.

It sounds like the original Jonathan Tunick orchestrations have been kept. But what I miss from the original version of the score is the setting of the last chorus of “Our Time” in which the women top off the melody with a couple of bars of soprano descant in a particularly spine-tingling moment. While it’s performed that way in the 2013 version, its absence from the current production is a mystery since there are a number of excellent voices in the chorus, some of whom are readily identifiable as understudies for the leads.

I wonder about audience reaction, both present and future, to topical references of which “Merrily We Roll Along” contains more than a few. When I saw the show last week the audience laughed at the Irish jig music of “Bobby and Jackie and Jack,” as well as the number of Kennedys mentioned, but the then-current cultural references to Auden, Leontyne Price, Galina Vishnevskaya, etc., fell flat. Tellingly, when Frank and Charley audition for Joe, who illustrates his complaint about the lack of melody in their output by singing a few bars of “Some Enchanted Evening,”(Sondheim’s little dig), the audience just didn’t get it–I was the only one in my immediate vicinity who was laughing. Perhaps it doesn’t matter in the long run–Cole Porter was even more topical than Sondheim and his work remains very popular. However, EMI, which released a complete and excellent recording of Porter’s musical “Anything Goes” a number of years ago, made sure the audience got it by including a glossary of all of his topical references in the CD’s accompanying booklet. We may see more of this in the future.

Try to see “Merrily We Roll Along” if you can (And if you can get tickets!)

It’s Now a Musical????

Sometimes the most unlikely stories are turned into musicals. At first blush, it would seem that “Days of Wine and Roses” could easily fit into that category, but judgment should be reserved in the case of the version now being presented by the Atlantic Theater Company in New York.

Written by J.P. Miller for television’s Playhouse 90 in 1958, the original version of “Days of Wine and Roses” starred Cliff Robertson and Piper Laurie as Joe Clay and Kirsten Arnesen. Better known of course is the 1962 film with Jack Lemmon and Lee Remick, giving what were among the best performances of their careers (In Jack Lemmon’s case, though, pride of place may go to his Jerry/Daphne in “Some Like It Hot”). Aside from length, the television and film versions differ in one significant respect—in the former, Joe and Kirsten are both drinkers when they meet; in the latter Kirsten is initially a teetotaler whose path to alcohol is paved by Joe. Both versions share the same tragic story—a young couple of promise devolving into what Joe ultimately calls “a couple of drunks afloat on a sea of booze and the boat sank.” While he eventually achieves sobriety by story’s end, Kirsten does not, though at least in the film we see her walk past a bar rather than entering it after Joe refuses to take her back unless she commits to staying sober.

Does this work as a musical? Based on the performance saw last Saturday, I’d have to say “sometimes.” In tone, this version of “Days and Wine and Roses” tends to follow the bleaker television play as opposed to the film, with some inventions such as a military backstory for Joe and a more prominent role for the couple’s daughter. But without a doubt, the show’s biggest asset is the pairing of Brian d’Arcy James and Kelli O’Hara as Joe and Kirsten. They’ve got chemistry, an essential component in making this story work, and it’s a pleasure to watch them perform.

However, the addition of song to this story does very little for the most part, and it’s not necessarily the fault of the show’s creators. A musical version of “Days of Wine and Roses” would have to overcome two major issues—the familiarity of the material and its dramatically powerful nature. Music can’t heighten what are already dramatic peaks—Joe’s cajoling Kirsten into drinking while she’s nursing, his attempted rescue of her from that seedy motel, and the crushing final scene, when Kirsten, unconfident of her ability to keep sober, flees Joe and their daughter. Nevertheless, there are stand-out moments in Adam Guettel’s score. The “Evanesce” duet with its Sondheim-like tonality and rhythm, while initially playful, takes on a darker hue later in the show when Joe and Kirsten no longer drink for enjoyment but to feed their addiction. Joe’s heartrending apology to Kirsten in song after he loudly arrives home drunk late at night, waking their baby, is another standout, as is Kirsten’s reprise of Joe’s “Forgiveness” song, when at last we hear Kelli O’Hara’s radiant soprano soar above the staff.

“Days of Wine and Roses” is currently playing through July 9. See it and decide for yourself.

Champion and Other Opera Notes

©New York Daily News

Certain images are guaranteed to stay with you your entire life. For me one of the most vivid is the photo you see above, which first appeared on the back page of a New York City tabloid on March 25, 1962. This was the conclusion of a nationally televised welterweight title fight between Benny “Kid” Paret (white trunks) and Emile Griffith (black trunks). Although Paret wound up in a coma and died ten days later, there’s no doubt this photo captured the man literally dying on his feet after seventeen unanswered punches from Griffith.

Emile Griffith’s life is now the subject of Terence Blanchard’s opera, “Champion,” currently enjoying a run at the Metropolitan Opera through May 13. At curtain’s rise we see an older Emile, sung by Eric Owens, suffering from dementia and haunted by Kid Paret’s death. The road to that fight and its aftermath are inextricably tied to who Emile Griffith was—a gay, closeted champ at a time when the love that dare not speak its name was deafeningly silent in sports. We flash back to Emile in his prime (Ryan Speedo Greene) who leads us through his history as a hat designer, singer and baseball player before he departs his native Virgin Islands for New York City where he turns to boxing.

“Champion” is an interesting amalgam of jazz, Caribbean rhythm, louche dive bar tunes and especially soaring vocal lines. This last is most evident in young Emile’s aria “What Makes a Man,” though for me the more striking aria belongs to Emile’s mother, wonderfully sung by Latonia Moore, which skirts atonality and seems to float in the ether as she describes her early life.

This production of “Champion” is particularly inventive, especially in its depiction of the Paret/Griffith bout (punches are thrown but freeze before landing). At the performance I attended the singers were uniformly excellent: Eric Owens was especially touching in depicting Emile’s dementia and his quest for absolution from Kid Paret’s son, Stephanie Blythe did an amusing, jazzy turn as the owner of a gay bar, and above all, Ryan Speedo Greene was extraordinary as both singer and actor, whether as an up-and-coming fighter or as the reigning champ, eventually forced to face retirement.

I can’t leave this discussion without mentioning the excellent documentary, “Ring of Fire: The Emile Griffith Story,” which clearly demonstrates that Griffith’s furious beating of Paret after the latter had called him a “maricón” (“faggot”) at the weigh-in, was not the sole cause of Paret’s eventual death. Paret had lost his previous five fights and did not feel well prior to his bout with Griffith. Yet his unscrupulous manager wanted to squeeze the last possible dollar out of his prize money, the New York Boxing Commission should never have allowed Paret to get into the ring with Griffith, and the referee should have stopped the fight before he did, though whether this would have made any difference is something we’ll never know. “Champion” covers all of this, but unfortunately omits the words Benny Paret, Jr says to Emile when they finally meet in the most poignant scene in the film: “No hard feelings.”

“Champion” has already enjoyed a Live in HD showing (actually the performance I attended in-house). Watch for the repeat when it runs on PBS in the coming months.

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The Met recently presented an especially well-cast revival of its Robert Carsen production of “Der Rosenkavalier.” I first saw this when it premiered in 2017, and while I enjoyed the elimination of the powdered wigs in favor of a 1911 setting, I’ve got some reservations now. The cannons in von Faninal’s Vienna town house are a bit much, but over the top honors go instead to the third act set in a brothel (if memory serves the libretto calls for a “disreputable inn” for Ochs’ assignation with Mariandel). While Octavian’s selection of Mariandel’s “look” from a parade of prostitutes is amusing, the tawdriness becomes predictable, not to mention that Octavian and Sophie’s making out on a bed in view of von Faninal and the Marschallin is one big “Why?”

Fortunately the three female leads made the performance I attended just glow. Lise Davidsen, in her role debut as the Marschallin, surprised me with the sensitivity of her portrayal. Samantha Hankey was an excellent Octavian, both vocally and dramatically, and I’d very much like to see her more frequently at the Met in seasons to come. Erin Morley, who may be the best musician among opera singers today, was as always just perfect as Sophie. If I could have asked for more, I would have liked to have seen Matthew Polenzani’s egotistical Italian Singer again, as he autographs his latest record for the Marschallin with a supreme flourish.

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Once of the best Saturday afternoon broadcasts from the Met came several weeks ago with “La Traviata.” Angel Blue made a fabulous Violetta, and the best part of the performance came in the second act, when she was partnered by Artur Rucinski’s Germont. What made this so refreshing was the sound of two artists with beautiful voices playing the scene with such attention to the emotional shifts of their characters’ confrontation, and (surprise!) adhering to the written dynamics of the score. If only more artists would follow their lead.

The Hours, The Automat and Those Ohio State Murders

Happy New Year to one and all!

Kelli O’Hara, Renée Fleming and Joyce DiDonato: “The Hours” (© The Metropolitan Opera)

December at the Metropolitan Opera brought “The Hours,” based on Michael Cunningham’s novel and the movie of the same title. The source material, so grounded in inner reflection, seems an odd basis for an opera, the most expressive art form going. Nevertheless what led to sold-out performances was the audience’s familiarity with the film if not the novel, and above all, the appearance of three stellar leads: Renée Fleming, Kelli O’Hara and Joyce DiDonato.

Not all was smooth sailing. I have no idea why Composer Kevin Puts and Librettist Greg Pierce opted for the participation of a full chorus which did very little but clutter up the stage and announce the date on which the action takes place. Ditto for the dancers whose appearance only made sense in the scene where Laura Brown (Kelli O’Hara) bakes that ill-fated birthday cake for her husband—Mother’s little helpers. In terms of writing for character, I felt Puts consistently succeeded only with the music for Richard (Kyle Ketelsen) and Virginia Woolf (Joyce DiDonato)—wonderfully contemplative, and her scenes with Leonard Woolf (Sean Panikkar) were excellent. In contrast I thought Kelli O’Hara’s Laura Brown was the least served by the opera’s creators. The character is so recessive, but because this is an opera, she has to verbalize what was best achieved by the novel’s third person narration.

Despite these problems, “The Hours” works best in its second act, especially in a sort of non-duet duet, as Laura ponders her life and “Mrs. Dalloway” while Virginia relates her intent with respect to the work. Also gripping were the flashback to the summer that Clarissa (Renée Fleming), Richard and Louis (William Burden) spent together, resulting in a marvelous vocal exchange between the characters, and the last, heart-rending scene between Clarissa and Richard, culminating in the latter’s suicide.

“The Hours” is due for a return engagement at the Met next season, and it wouldn’t surprise me if some tweaking of the work wasn’t accomplished by then. Nevertheless I’m looking forward to another viewing when it shows up on the Met Opera in Demand website.

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After seeing “Ohio State Murders,” I now understand why Audra McDonald has won seven Tony Awards

There’s a bit of wordplay in that title, since playwright Adrienne Kennedy, who finally made it to Broadway with this work, makes it clear that “murders” should be read as both a noun and a verb. While there are in fact two homicides in the play, of equal import are the macro-aggressions we see the university and its white students impose on Black students, such as those experienced by Ms. Kennedy in the 1950’s. Having to request permission to major in English Lit? And almost always being turned down? Not to mention being accused of theft every time something does missing from a dorm room.

This 75-minute play alternates between a lecture delivered by a middle-aged author returning to Ohio State University to discuss the violence in her work and flashbacks to the source of that violence, stemming from her time as a Thomas Hardy-loving undergraduate. Although Kennedy envisioned the character to be played by two different actresses, Audra McDonald easily undertakes both roles. Not wanting to spoil, I can only say that the last minute of the play is heartbreaking, and how she manages to perform that eight times a weeks is astonishing.

“Ohio State Murders” is now playing in a limited run on Broadway.

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“The Automat,” a lovely documentary now available on HBO Max, revisits the world of nickel coffee and sandwiches and pie behind those little windows that popped open when you put the coins in the slot and twisted the knob. Mel Brooks acts as Raconteur-in-Chief, though if you’re Catskills-orientated, he’s really the Head Tummler, keeping things lively while recounting the joys of those Horn & Hardart restaurants. He’s joined by a number of folks who unfortunately are no longer with us—Colin Powell, Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Carl Reiner, among others, who reminisce about growing up in New York City as patrons of the most accommodating eating spots around.

In addition to that fond look back, “The Automat” is excellent sociology as it explores the origins of Horn & Hardart’s partnership, their first automats in Philadelphia and later New York City and the restaurants’ role as the great equalizer. Well-to-do or blue collar, everyone’s nickel was the same, and the ambience of the restaurants reflected the founders’ philosophy. Changing times unfortunately did the Automat in, specifically the relocation of businesses from urban to suburban, and the dwindling of lunchtime crowds. While I would have thought McDonald’s and other fast food restaurants were the final nail in the coffin, stiff competition came earlier with the emergence of Chock Full O’Nuts and their brand of java.

In addition to reminiscing, Mel Brooks also performs a song he wrote in praise of the Automat at the close of the film. He’s not alone in his musical efforts—as he earlier mentions, Irving Berlin paid homage in 1932 with his “Let’s Have Another Cup of Coffee (And Let’s Have Another Piece of Pie),” as featured in his show “Let’s Face the Music.” The Automat was quite the place to be. I miss it.

“American Pie” Meets “Peter Grimes”… and The Dude, Too

During my college days there was nothing as intriguing as a rock mystery. I still remember a 2:00 AM debate in my dorm bathroom as to whether the rumor was true that Paul McCartney was dead. We scrutinized album covers and tried to play “Revolution 9” backwards in an attempt to hear “Paul is dead,” which the circulating story maintained was possible (P.S. We didn’t hear it).

So when Don McLean’s song “American Pie” came along a couple of years later we were in absolute heaven. Who were the King and Queen? The Jester? Were the Beatles those “sergeants playing a marching tune”? But most of all we loved the imagery of the lyrics, filled with allusions to ’50’s rock ‘n’ roll—“The Book of Love,” but especially “I was a lonely teenage broncin’ buck/With a pink carnation and a pick-up truck…” All with a rocking chorus.

“The Day the Music Died,” an excellent new documentary about Don McLean, the song and how it all came together is available to stream on Paramount Plus. It’s fascinating to hear what “American Pie” means to those too young to have been around when it first aired in 1972. They see it as an optimistic affirmation of the future despite the repeated “This’ll be the day that I die,” yet the view of Ed Freeman, the producer of “American Pie,” is closer to what was intended: “A eulogy for a dream that didn’t take place,” but still “an acknowledgment of what we’d been through so we could move on.” At the end of the documentary Don McLean discusses what he had in mind as he wrote the song, yet there remain more questions than answers. He denies any references to Elvis Presley or the Beatles or “the girl who sang the blues” (Janis Joplin?)—“If I meant them, I would have said them”—yet there’s no discussion whatsoever between interviewer and interviewee about “Jack Flash” who so clearly is Mick Jagger.

But the heart of the film are the scenes in the recording studio, all demonstrating how an expert producer can make a work truly memorable. It was Ed Freeman’s idea to add a rhythm section to McLean’s guitar and best of all, Paul Griffin on piano, so that the rocking rhythm of the song could best be realized. In the end it’s not just the lyrics, but the music, too, that so well serve the man to whom the song pays tribute—Buddy Holly.

“The Day the Music Died” is well worth your viewing time.

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It’s not often that an opera performance features a singer who seems to become one with the character he or she portrays. However, the British tenor, Allan Clayton, who sang a memorable Hamlet last season, effortlessly managed to do so during his recent run as Peter Grimes at the Metropolitan Opera. While outwardly a bit of a tough character, you felt his yearning as he voices his wish to settle down—to marry the widow Ellen Orford (an excellent Nicole Car) and own a shop. Yet how he treats his second apprentice immediately made me think Grimes had been batted around more than a few times when he was that boy’s age. That’s the type of detail Allan Clayton brought to his performance. And he absolutely broke my heart during his mad scene before Grimes sails off to drown himself.

Allan Clayton as Peter Grimes (Photo © Richard Termine)

I saw the Met’s production of “Peter Grimes” when it premiered several years ago, but this time I was amazed at how well the opera plays, not just musically, but dramatically. For my money you can keep all your horror movies because there’s nothing as frightening as hearing the chorus as towns folk, assembled en masse on stage calling out “Peter Grimes! Peter Grimes! Peter Grimes!” fortissimo, as they prepare to hunt him down.

Here’s hoping the Met has Allan Clayton inked in for more roles in seasons to come.

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Mark me down as exceptionally late to the party, but I only just recently watched “The Big Lebowski” from start to finish. I had seen bits and pieces over the years as I channel-surfed, but for some reason it had never caught on with me until now. It was worth the wait because I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that. And while I love Jeff Bridges, I think John Goodman is something of a genius (not to mention the Coen Brothers). The Dude abides, man.

Jeff Bridges as “The Dude” hangs out at the bowling alley with his buddies Walter (John Goodman) and Donny (Steve Buscemi). Courtesy Universal Studios.

Echoes

Max (Chanté Adams) and Carson (Abbi Jacobson) Compare Notes

Prior media recently gave birth to two series I’ve been watching—Amazon Prime’s “A League of Their Own” based on the 1992 movie of the same title, and “House of the Dragon,” a prequel to HBO’s most popular series, “Game of Thrones.” One succeeds by departing from the blueprint of the original, the other is in desperate need of borrowing some aspects of what made its predecessor so great.

Both the film and the series versions of “A League of Their Own” focus on the Rockford Peaches, a team in the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League during World War II. As with the film, we gradually become acquainted with the players and their quirks. Although there are quotes from and allusions to the film (I could have done entirely without that cringeworthy setting of “There’s no crying in baseball”), the series is at its best when it digs into a couple of hard truths the film only alluded to–that a good number of the players were gay, and that equally-talented Black women ballplayers were excluded from the all-white League. We experience all this through the Peaches’ catcher (and later, coach), Carson Shaw (Abbi Jacobson, who co-created the series) and Max Chapman (Chanté Adams), pitcher extraordinaire, who seemingly can’t find her niche as a player.

To be honest, “A League of Their Own” gets off to a somewhat slow start, and it isn’t until the fourth episode that the storytelling snaps into place with some sex and baseball, not necessarily in that order. Carson, whose husband is serving in the Army, becomes involved with first baseman Greta Gill (D’Arcy Carden, who’s got charm and charisma for days), and Max vacillates not only between her baseball aspirations and working in her strict Mama’s hair salon, but also between women and men. From this point on, “A League of Their Own” comes into its own, culminating in a stunning sequence in the sixth episode which cuts between the gay bar frequented by the Peaches and the very gay house party hosted by Max’s Aunt Bertie. It ends tragically, but not for whom you’d think.

There’s a great deal of talent at work here, both behind and in front of the camera. The casting is uniformly excellent—I particularly enjoyed watching Gbemisola Ikumelo, who plays Clance, Max’s best friend and super cartoonist, and Roberta Colindrez as Lupe, the pitcher who gives Carson fits. Whether “A League of Their Own” will get a second season is still up in the air as of now, but I’m hoping it does, mainly because there are so many directions the story can take. I’m looking forward to more Carson/Greta, as well as that barnstorming team Max has joined. May there be good times ahead for “A League of Their Own.”

They’re Back!

Another show with echoes throughout is HBO’s prequel. “House of the Dragon.” I intended to post a few words about the new series last week, but then thought it would be a bit unfair to comment after just one episode. Well, I’ve seen the second and my views haven’t changed.

True Confession #1: Unlike the vast majority of “Game of Thrones” fans, I didn’t go to war over how that series ended. I thought it had been established early on that the Targaryens were as nutty as fruitcakes, and Daenerys sure proved that point. As a result, True Confession #2: I was never much of a Targaryen fan. I was Team Stark from the get-go with a generous helping of Tyrion Lannister on the side, first last and always.

But what a grim affair “House of the Dragon” is—and I’m not talking exclusively about that Caesarian section sans anesthetic (flower of the poppy, my eye). Unlike its predecessor/successor series, there’s hardly anyone to root for, with the possible exception of young Princess Rhaenyra, who will soon be replaced as heir to the Iron Throne. Nor is there a quipster of which the show is in dire need, truth be told. I’m not advocating for a Tyrion clone, but gee whiz, Eve Best is in the cast, and she could definitely bring it. So far her talent has been virtually wasted—she’s only had one scene of merit in two episodes. Here’s hoping that’s rectified soon. And finally, the show needs to get out of that gloomy castle and open up more. Based on the promo for next week’s episode, it looks like we’re going to get a major battle which would help immensely.

It’s inevitable that “House of the Dragon” will be compared to “Game of Thrones” during the course of its existence, probably not favorably. I’m wondering if in the long run it’s really worth the effort (P.S.: I just started on HBO’s “Watchmen” which is so much more interesting).

Dodsworth

Walter Huston and Mary Astor in “Dodsworth”

There are certain movies I stop to watch whenever they pop up on TV, no matter how many times I’ve seen them. Pretty close to the top of my list is 1936’s “Dodsworth,” based on the novel by Sinclair Lewis. Fortunately we no longer have to wait for Turner Classic Movies to show it—the film is now available in a Blu-ray release, with image and sound both restored to pristine condition.

It’s an amazingly adult film, and not just in the context of its era. The Hays Code had been stringently enforced for two years at the time of this film’s release, but you wouldn’t necessarily know that while you watch. Certainly the subjects portrayed in “Dodsworth” weren’t routine fare post-Code: a middle-aged marriage falling apart, a married woman of a certain age openly displaying sexual interest in a man not her husband (or even her husband), a divorced woman living alone. The subtlety of the writing (by Sidney Howard, based on his stage adaptation of the novel), the acting and above all, the direction by William Wyler, make “Dodsworth” exceptional.

The participants in that twenty-year old marriage? Sam Dodsworth (Walter Huston), a recently-retired auto magnate now eager to travel. His wife, Fran (Ruth Chatterton), a woman who now seeks adventure, eager to break away from their “half-baked town” (Zenith, Sinclair Lewis’s created midwestern city). They’re a true study in contrasts—he’s wonderfully genuine, she styles herself as a woman younger than her age (“Nobody takes me for 32, or even 30”), though she has a newlywed daughter. As we’ll see during the course of the film, their marriage gradually disintegrates under the weight of her vanity and his growing refusal to indulge her after so many years.

We begin with the Dodsworths sailing for Europe on the then-brand new Queen Mary (The Italian Line’s Rex makes a cameo appearance later in the film). En route we see two events of consequence: Sam makes the acquaintance of Edith Cortright (Mary Astor), a very attractive divorced expatriate on her way back to Italy, and Fran, trying to be sophisticated, flirts with the English Captain Lockert (an incredibly young David Niven), who takes her at her word and attempts a seduction on their last night out. When Fran angrily rejects him, he somewhat cruelly responds, stopping just short of calling her a tease and adding “Give up starting things you’re not prepared to finish…You think you’re a woman of the world but you’re nothing of the sort” (David Niven makes a great cad). The contrast between these two encounters could not be greater. Sam and Edith share an easy camaraderie from the start—he’s totally without pretense and she’s warm and intelligent. On the other hand, it’s clear Fran is out of her depth with Lockert from the beginning, and her later “Oh, Sam!” confession to her husband makes us sense trouble ahead.

And so there is. Fran becomes entangled first with Arnold Iselin (Paul Lukas), supposedly a financier and art collector, but who has “gigolo” written all over him, and later with Kurt, a titled but impoverished Austrian who’s several years her junior. Both relationships end abruptly, but not before the Dodsworths resort to separate bedrooms, followed by a separation as prelude to divorce when Fran announces her decision to accept Kurt’s marriage proposal. Her preoccupation with appearing youthful is an obsession—on more than one occasion she reminds Sam she was a child bride, and snaps at him “You’re rushing at old age and I’m not ready for that yet.” When her daughter Emily gives birth to a son, and Sam remarks “We’ll have to learn to behave ourselves since we’ll be a couple of old grandparents,” Fran looks like she’s been shot through the heart.

Alone, Sam travels to Naples where he encounters Edith Cortright again (The sequence of their near-misses in an American Express office is beautifully staged). She invites him to her villa for lunch where she proposes he move in with her rather than spend money on hotels. While she makes it clear her motives are strictly platonic, we know where this is headed. Walter Huston’s Sam Dodsworth is a very attractive man who draws the eye of more than one woman, and when he’s in Edith’s charming presence, we enjoy his enjoyment of life. Love and a desire to return to “doing,” as he foresees playing a role in aviation with Edith by his side, would seem to be the perfect ending.

But not before a huge bump in the road.

Her romance with Kurt having gone kaput, torpedoed by his Mama (Maria Ouspenskaya) in a classic confrontation, Fran drops the divorce and sends an SOS to Sam who sees no way other than to return to her and go back to America, much to Edith’s sorrow. We next see them on board ship, awaiting cast off, and it’s evident he’s not happy being there. It’s immediately apparent she’s learned nothing—she runs down Kurt and his mother, among others, and the topper is her “After all, when I look back, I don’t blame myself. . . You know, you were a good deal at fault too.” It’s this last that clinches the deal. Sam corners a steward to retrieve his bags and returns to Fran only to say “You and I can’t make a go of it any longer,” leading to her plaintive “What’s to become of me?” His rejoinder is something we’ve been waiting for throughout the film: “I don’t know. You’ll have to stop getting younger someday.” There’s a wonderful moment of suspense as to whether he can leave the ship before the gangplank is pulled up, and the last shot is movie direction at its finest—Edith’s expression as she spots Sam’s return is one of the most joyful close-ups on film.

“Dodsworth” is an exceptionally well cast movie. I’ve already sung Walter Huston’s praises, but the actors who appear with him match his artistry. You may want to yell “Grow up!” at Fran, but it’s Ruth Chatterton’s skill that makes her that way. And Mary Astor? Her Edith Cortright stands next to her portrayal of Brigid O’Shaughnessy in “The Maltese Falcon” as probably her best work. The rest of the cast is equally brilliant. Keep a lookout for Spring Byington as a Zenith friend of the Dodsworths whose key scene with Walter Huston is film acting at its finest, and don’t overlook the young and incredibly handsome John Payne as the Dodsworths’ son-in-law.

What a great movie.

The Music Man . . .

Enticing the school board into barbershop quartet-dom (Photo Credit: Julieta Cervantes)

. . . or why some critics have rocks in their heads.

This past Saturday I had the extreme pleasure of seeing the current revival of “The Music Man” on Broadway, starring Hugh Jackman and Sutton Foster. When this show opened a few weeks ago the critics weren’t kind, to say the least. In no particular order, they carped at the number and length of the dance sequences, Hugh Jackman’s portrayal of Harold Hill, Sutton Foster’s not being a soprano, the politically-corrected lyrics in our MeToo age (rest assured, though, Professor Hill is still rooting for Hester to win just one more “A”) and the plain-looking sets, among other things. Before I start telling you why they’re off the beam, I’ll give them one tiny benefit of the doubt—because of the nature of theater, they of course did not see the performance I saw, and it’s possible some directorial tweaking occurred after opening night. But by and large, as Eulalie Mackechnie Shinn would say, I think they’re a bunch of fuddy-duddies.

A bit of background: I adore “The Music Man.” It’s creator Meredith Willson’s loving tribute to his Iowa roots, and a wonderfully feel-good show in the best sense of the term. I was 10 when I first saw it, the first live adult theater I experienced. The star was Bert Parks (“Here she is, Miss America…”), and while his brash personality was a great fit for the show, “The Music Man’ works just as well in a somewhat more intimate mode. Three years ago I saw a revival at the Goodspeed Opera House in Connecticut, that gem of Victorian architecture, and though scaled to fit the house, the piece lost none of its charm. The story of a con man turned romantic hero plays so well that it will always entertain. 

While the current revival is not without fault, there is so much to enjoy. Hugh Jackman’s take on Harold Hill is somewhat different than that of Robert Preston, who created the role. There’s a welcome slyness to him at the start, and he charms us into the con without putting down the good folks of River City. He’s exceptionally warm with Mrs. Paroo and the kids he wants in the band, especially Winthrop, Marian Paroo’s tongue-tied younger brother, and his falling for Marian is remarkably genuine. Most of all, I marveled at Hugh Jackman’s energy. He dances full out in all the ensemble numbers, and it’s somewhat incredible that he can do this eight times a week (and twice on matinee days!).

Marian Paroo is a classic soprano role, originally played on Broadway by Barbara Cook, and later by Rebecca Luker, among others. I had my reservations when I learned Sutton Foster had been cast in the role, primarily because she’s known as a belter, many degrees away from Marian’s high vocal lines. As a result Ms. Foster is now singing several steps above her natural range, even though the keys of her songs have been lowered, if my ear is to be trusted. Similarly I’m fairly certain that the keys were raised for Hugh Jackman, since he’s a tenor. This may explain why the two of them don’t perform the duet portion of “Till There Was You.” However, Ms. Foster sings this song beautifully, with phrasing, tempo and emotion beyond reproach. No wonder Harold Hill is smitten.

What I most admired about her performance, though, was the sense of humor she brought to the character she played. Marian Paroo usually starts off as a bit of a pill, but not in Ms. Foster’s version. Her exchanges with her mother and with Amaryllis, her piano student, crackle, and her vamping of Charlie Cowell, the anvil salesman out to expose Harold Hill as a fake, is terrific satire. As a result, her Marian’s no ingenue, no “dewy young miss who keeps insisting” as in “The Sadder But Wiser Girl.” To the contrary—she’s definitely “a lady who knows what time it is.”

The musical highlight of the show for me has always been “Lida Rose/Will I Ever Tell You.” This revival features a fine foursome for the River City school board members turned barbershop quartet. All are in terrific voice, especially the bass. Although the tempo for “Lida Rose” was a bit brisk, the quartet’s dynamics were perfect. As I’ve noted before, this is where the show invites us to savor a warm summer night in pre-World War I America, and I would have liked to have lingered just a bit longer. On the other hand, I enjoyed the show’s new orchestrations, which some critics carped about. Jonathan Tunick, one of Broadway’s best orchestrators, composed these, and I loved the touches of ragtime he added, which after all rightly reflect the era. As another example of critics’ sometimes non-existent frame of reference, not one mentioned that this production’s backdrops of Iowa fields and small town Main Street are totally in the style of painter Grant Wood, a son of that state. They added a lot to the flavor of the production, as did the appearance of the Wells Fargo wagon. How they could miss that is beyond me.

Until “The Music Man” it had been two years since I had seen a show on Broadway. What a wonderful way to break the COVID drought. Go see it!

Welcome to the 21st Century

Eurydice (Erin Morley) in the Underworld

The Metropolitan Opera has finally turned a new leaf. This season the Met is featuring not one but three contemporary operas: “Fire Shut Up in My Bones,” Eurydice” and “Hamlet.” Fortunately Music Director Yannick Nézet-Séguin, unlike his predecessor James Levine, champions new music, so we can look forward to more of the same in seasons to come.

Last Saturday I attended a performance of “Eurydice,” with music by Matthew Aucoin and libretto by Sarah Ruhl based on her play of the same title. While there have been many retellings of the Orpheus myth in literature, drama, opera and ballet, this work has a special slant—we view the story through Eurydice’s eyes, and her tie to the Underworld ultimately proves stronger than that to her husband. Although I have some reservations about the music, there’s no doubt this opera benefits greatly from an excellent production directed by Mary Zimmerman, and above all, a superlative cast of singers headed by Erin Morley in the title role, Joshua Hopkins as Orpheus, Jakob Józef Orlinski as his double, Nathan Berg as Eurydice’s father and Barry Banks as a marvelously malevolent Hades.

One problem is apparent from the outset—Aucoin employs a large orchestra which results in a very dense sound at times. The unfortunate result is too much bombast in the first few scenes to the extent that key elements are lost in the house. It’s difficult to hear Erin Morley when she’s not above the staff, and the wonderful effect of having the countertenor sound of Orpheus’s double surround the baritone vocal lines is inaudible (It was only when I attended the encore presentation of the HD telecast that I was able to hear these singers in full during the beginning of the opera). While there are some interesting arias and set pieces along the way, especially the wedding dance and Eurydice’s scenes with Hades, it isn’t until the third act that music and libretto coalesce. The orchestration is more transparent, the music becomes more lyrical, we finally hear Orpheus’s song, Eurydice’s father says farewell to memory and most heartbreakingly, Eurydice writes a letter to Orpheus with advice to his next wife in the most touching aria of the opera. I would have liked more of this contemplative style earlier in the work.

Will Liverman as Charles in “Fire Shut Up in My Bones”

A world away from “Eurydice” (literally), Terrence Blanchard’s “Fire Shut Up in My Bones,” which opened the Met’s current season. has received much critical acclaim and rightly so. With a libretto by Kasi Lemmons based on Charles Blow’s memoir of the same title, the work is a cohesive whole, gaining in strength throughout and culminating in an absolutely perfect third act. Along the way there’s so much to admire: the embodiment of Loneliness singing with a blues-y tinge (nothing beats a good musical pun); the gorgeous ballet music that opens the second act; yes, the show-stopping step dance routine that opens the third act; the lyrical love duet of Charles and Greta, his college girlfriend; and the culmination of Charles’s journey with the line “Mama, I’ve got something to tell you,” as he finally opens up about the molestation he suffered at the age of seven by his cousin. As with “Eurydice,” Yannick Nézet-Séguin led the opera, and the singers, Will Liverman (Charles), Walter Russell III (Char’es-Baby), Angel Blue (Destiny,/Loneliness/Greta) and Latonia Moore (Charles’s mother, Billie) could not have been better (I would gladly listen to Ms. Moore sing the phone book, but I’d much rather hear her in “Il Trovatore.” Peter Gelb, you listening?)

Brett Dean’s “Hamlet” is still to come, and we can look forward to the presentation of another Terence Blanchard opera, “Champion,” during the next Met season. The good news is that audiences are responding—several performances of “Fire Shut Up in My Bones” sold out, including the one I attended, and more opera goers were in the house for “Eurydice” than at the performance of “Boris Godunov” I saw in October. Let’s hope the interest continues.

Dopesick

CAUTION–SPOLIERS ABOUND

One of the best series I’ve seen in a long time is Hulu’s “Dopesick,” based on the book of the same name by Beth Macy. It explores the many aspects of the opiod crisis, specifically the creation, marketing, prescribing and effect of Purdue Pharma’s OxyContin on those who became addicted to it as well as their families, friends and communities. Fortunately Ms. Macy co-wrote the series with Danny Strong, who has gone from acting the hapless Jonathan in “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” to becoming an Emmy-winning writer and producer. He and Ms. Macy should dust off their respective mantles now, because more statuettes will probably be headed their way, courtesy of this show.

Just one caveat about this series: at times it will break your heart.

Shifting between the late 1990’s to the present day, “Dopesick” covers a wide spectrum: the activities at Purdue Pharma, both at the executive and marketing levels; the practice of a physician (Michael Keaton) in a mining community in western Virginia; the eventual addiction of an injured miner (Kaitlyn Dever) and its impact on her family; and the investigations into Purdue’s activities separately conducted by a DEA deputy director (Rosario Dawson) and a pair of dogged Assistant U.S. Attorneys (Peter Sarsgaard and John Hoogenakker).

No punches are pulled with respect to Purdue or the crisis it caused; we see all the half-truths, outright lies and evasions they used to promote OxyContin, not to mention the “grants” they made to hush the opposition and the jobs they offered to those regulators who were in a position to put the brakes on this drug. Was it cynicism or shrewd marketing that caused Purdue to focus on selling to areas like Appalachia? And when their newly hired expert opines that the issue is not addiction but under-prescribing for pain so that dosages should be doubled, your jaw may well drop. All of this of course resulted in billions of dollars in Purdue’s coffers. If the face of this tragedy, Purdue President Richard Sackler (played by Michael Stuhlbarg), had had a mustache, we might have seen him twirling it. But “Dopesick” makes it very clear that Purdue had a prime enabler in its corner—the F.D.A. which consistently minimized the risks of OxyContin, bought Purdue’s line that less than 1% of the drug’s users became addicted, and in fact approved that labelling for the product in an unprecedented move.

This is a very smart show, many scenes of which will stay in memory. When Peter Sargaard’s character rallies his employees to keep digging for evidence against Purdue, you can’t help but flash back to scenes of that company’s marketing director revving up his sales force by offering trips to Bermuda to the rep who produces the highest dollar volume in sales. When Rosario Dawson’s DEA character, overcome with victory after scoring points against Purdue at a meeting, screams into a ladies’ room mirror, “I’ve got you now, motherf****ers!,” you cheer. But the down sides are many. It’s very difficult watching Michael Keaton’s character get hooked on OxyContin after being injured in a car accident, but even worse, seeing him steal drugs from his own patients. By the time he gets clean and pursues therapy, his guilt over prescribing the drug is overwhelming.

But the story that resonates the most belongs to young Betsy. Prescribed OxyContin to cope with the pain of a back injury she sustained in a mining accident, she soon becomes addicted. The worst follows in short order: she’s so stoned at work that she causes a serious accident and is fired; she loses her girlfriend; she steals her mother’s jewelry to hock it for drug money; she trades sex for drugs. Her religious parents (in tremendous performances by Mare Winningham and Ray McKinnon), who had previously thrown her out of the house for admitting she was gay, do a complete reversal by inviting her now ex-girlfriend to participate in an intervention; her strict father tearfully tells her “We just want you to get well.” Would that it were so.

There’s very little to fault in “Dopesick.” The performances are uniformly excellent, and the story merits its eight episodes. I highly recommend it.