This year on Broadway is all about family
By Bruce R. Miller Journal staff writer | Posted: Friday, June 13, 2008
LIn-Manuel Miranda wrote the music for "In the Heights" and stars as a bodega owner. He's a multiple Tony nominee.
NEW YORK - In a year filled with revivals, one thing about Broadway's originals stands out: Family.
Whether it's the dysfunctional brood of Tracy Letts' "August: Osage County," the extended family of "In the Heights" or the reconstituted family of "Young Frankenstein," the message resonates.
Even the revivals - "Gypsy," "South Pacific," "Sunday in the Park with George" - explore different shades of family.
Originality? Amid the tourist attractions ("The Little Mermaid" and "Mary Poppins"), there's much to be found.
Before Sunday's Tony Awards, we look at six contenders - six new shows that prove its creators have followed a key credo: Write what you know.
August: Osage County
When a green bean casserole is accidentally dropped at a post-funeral dinner, it becomes an apt metaphor for a family turned upside down.
In Tracy Letts' "August: Osage County," that casserole is about the only comfort its characters have. Possessing countless types of dysfunction, they're thrust together when a patriach is reported missing, then dead. After they assemble, secrets spill out as randomly as those green beans.
The matriarch (a wickedly blunt Deanna Dunagan) survives on a diet of pills and liquor. Her daughters dine out on problems with infidelity, incest and pedophelia. They don't warm to mom, either, choosing their own addictions for comfort.
Amy Morton - as daughter Barbara - is the most outspoken. She has been down the rehab road before and isn't afraid to travel it again. In the second act, she gets such powerful speeches everyone should cower in her wake. Dunagan, however, faces her head on and gets the kind of moments most actresses only dream of.
Letts has written a beautiful part, too, for Rondi Reed as Dunagan's casserole-wielding sister Mattie Fae. She got out of the line of fire years earlier - and could even the score. Instead, she travels her own road of denial.
Director Anna D. Shapiro peels the drama like an onion. She lets the tears flow naturally and uses sound to punctuate the deterioration. The house (an impressive multi-layered set) creaks as its foundation is rocked.
Letts writes like an offspring of Arthur Miller. His examination of family is so intense it frightens. At his most brutal, he's brilliant. Other times, he's at least as good as Beth Henley. While "August" has the familiarity of "Steel Magnolias," it's hardly as obvious or calculated. This is like a family reunion without the love. It's a tribute to Letts' writing that it holds our interest for more than three hours.
While Dunagan, Reed and Morton are a powerhouse trio, they're hardly alone. Even Kimberly Guerrero as an outsider pulled into the family's drama makes an impact.
"August: Osage County" isn't an easy play to shake. Its message is powerful; its lines are unforgettable.
When Morton admits, "This madhouse is my home," you understand immediately. Family is not an easy concept to digest.
A Catered Affair
Based on a '50s TV drama, "A Catered Affair" is just as moving as "August: Osage County."
At times, in fact, you'll forget the show is a musical. That could be because John Bucchino hasn't written hummable songs. Or, it could be because Harvey Fierstein has crafted such a detailed book.
A middle class couple, returning from a memorial service for their son, has to decide what to do with the money given them by the military. When their daughter (Leslie Kritzer) says she's going to get married, mom (Faith Prince) decides to erase a lifetime of slights by financing a proper wedding - a catered affair. Dad (Tom Wopat) would really like to use the money to buy a bigger share of the cab he drives. Still, he remains silent and lets the planning begin.
Surprisingly, the show is incredibly stark and unadorned. Director John Doyle has removed so many trappings it could easily be performed on a bare stage and seem just as effective.
Fierstein - as Prince's gay brother - doesn't say much, either. He and Wopat wait in the wings while Prince practically waltzes away with the show. If this weren't Patti LuPone's year (she's a wowser as Mama Rose in "Gypsy"), her performance would tower. It's a textbook example of restraint. When she talks about the wedding that could be, "A Catered Affair" comes sharply into focus. Still, she shouldn't have to do all the heavy lifting.
Toward the show's end, Wopat gets a powerful solo - "I Stayed" - that redeems much of his silence, but the move is almost too much too late. Writer Fierstein needed to give him more to do; Doyle should have insisted on it.
Kritzer works as the daughter, but seems miscast. Matt Cavenaugh is underused as the fiance and Fierstein needs something more than a few good entrances and exits.
Nonetheless, "A Catered Affair" does say plenty about its view of family. It's never too late to say "I love you," we learn, but there's really no point in waiting.
Thankfully, Prince's timing is impeccable. She makes the most of silence and space, prompting tears as readily as Fierstein does laughs.
"A Catered Affair" isn't a traditional musical (it's too slight to even be considered a Broadway musical) but it is a viable one. Like weddings, it proves "good" can come in all sizes.
In the Heights
Even though old warhorses like "South Pacific" and "Gypsy" have generated plenty of buzz, they're not the year's only story.
Indeed, this could be the year the torch is passed. Two strong writers - Lin-Manuel Miranda and Stew - have crafted musicals that are as diverse as their authors.
Both mine the writers' lives for their drama.
Drawing on his past, Miranda shuttles audiences to Washington Heights, a Hispanic stronghold, in "In the Heights."
There, he shows how important extended family can be.
As Usnavi, a Puerto Rican bodega owner, Miranda introduces us to the regulars - the matriarch (Olga Merediz), the graffiti artist (Seth Stewart), the joker (Robin DeJesus) and the beautician (Karen Olivo). They're determined to get out - to prove themselves - if only they had the money. A $96,000 lottery seems like just the ticket (and, perhaps, too pat a concept for a show this complex) but it's not the only hope. A cab company owner (Carlos Gomez) fuels his dreams through his daughter (Mandy Gonzalez), a student at Stanford. She's enjoying a life he never had. When she returns home - with a shocking piece of news - his dream becomes a mission.
Miranda tells the stories through a variety of beats. He mixes rap with rock, hip-hop with show tunes. One song even references Cole Porter, proving Miranda knows the territory.
While director Thomas Kail is often hampered by a set that overwhelms the stage, he knows how to give his story cinematic heft. "In the Heights," in fact, could jump to the big screen without much effort. It's meant to breathe.
Andy Blankenbuehler's choreography attempts much but doesn't always succeed. Again, that could be because the stage is so filled with storefronts and apartment buildings.
Miranda, though, is a charismatic host. He gets the best out of everyone and gives them ample time to shine. DeJesus is brilliant comic relief; Merediz is the glue that holds everyone together. When they get epiphanies, "In the Heights" achieves a level of excellence we haven't seen since "Rent."
The show is just as seminal. It gives voice to a new generation and introduces Miranda as one of the best new composers on Broadway. Listen to the cast album and you'll understand why it seems like he's already home.
Passing Strange
If you've never heard of Stew, don't feel bad.
Until "Passing Strange," the rocker with a message hasn't grazed much of America. Soon, though, he could be the great bridge between cultures.
The new musical -- the "sort of" story of his life -- shows how valid all experiences are.
"Nobody in the play knows what it's like to hustle for dimes on the mean streets," Stew admits before the end of the first act. So if you think you're getting a story about a kid growing up, against all odds, in the ghetto, you're wrong. Stew (that's all he goes by) details his life as a middle-class black guy growing up in a largely white world. He joins his church's choir and longs for the kind of artistic epiphany he thinks he needs.
Journeying to Europe, Stew thinks he can find that rebirth. He embraces the world of free love in Amsterdam; he marvels at the ordered life of Berlin. The free spirit waiting to come out? It takes something more to emerge -- and that's what makes "Passing Strange" so inspirational.
Done on a bare stage with little more than chairs, it's like a rock concert folded into a standup routine. There's a heavy dose of role-playing and an awful lot of reader's theater.
Daniel Breaker plays the leading character -- a guy simply called "Youth." He's, supposedly, the younger Stew. We make the connection because both wear red shirts. The older, "real" Stew serves as the show's narrator. Breaker plays the kid on the journey. He's wonderful at all junctures. His little boy is instantly recognizable. His world-weary twentysomething is, too. Chad Goodridge, Colman Domingo, de'Adre Aziza, Eisa Davis and Rebecca Naomi Jones play all of the people around him.
While moments seem like a graduate school improvisation class, whole chunks of "Passing Strange" are entirely new. Director Annie Dorsen creates great new worlds with little more than lights and chairs. She's blessed with great performers (Breaker is a wonderful find) and that guiding light known as Stew.
The music, too, is instantly infectious. Listen to the cast album and you'll want to discover more. It's not hip hop. It's not rhythm and blues. It's not punk or rock. It's a new creation that benefits from the openness that comes from being on Broadway.
When Stew makes his point about that artistic search, it's a powerful one.
Best of all, "Passing Strange" says we all take journeys that are worth recording. Sometimes, though, we don't need to leave home to find them.
Xanadu
Take a bad movie, add a hefty dose of camp and you get "Xanadu," the Broadway musical.
Hardly one for the ages, this "Xanadu" succeeds because it’s like sitting next to someone who’s able to make snarky comments during a very bad film.
To send up the Olivia Newton-John/Gene Kelly musical, director Christopher Ashley has instructed Kerry Butler to duplicate Newton-John as closely as possible. That means a spot-on accent and an '80s sensibility that’s eerie. Butler's not just an impressionist. She's a channeler.
She plays a muse who has been sent to the Santa Monica Pier, circa 1980 to help a clueless guy in jean shorts (Cheyenne Jackson) realize a dream. He’d like to open a roller disco in a decaying building. Unfortunately, two of the muse’s sisters have burdened her with a spell -- she’s going to fall madly in love with the guy.
Using plenty of songs from the era ("Have You Never Been Mellow?" anyone?), the show is like a time capsule of trends. Ashley uses every inch of space in the tiny Helen Hayes Theatre to duplicate the disco, the heavens, Venice Beach. Even better? He puts his actors on roller skates (not rollerblades) and runs them through the kind of paces that would make Denny Terrio weap.
Mary Testa and Jackie Hoffman are the wicked muses (think Lainie Kazan and Mary Wickes) who get a kick out of thwarting their sister and ribbing the audience. Because there are seats on the stage, the two have ample opportunity to ad lib. And they do.
The slight, 90-minute show even prompts Testa to comment on the twice-as-long "Gypsy" next door.
Jackson is everything a show could want in a leading man. He’s bright, he's funny and he sings like the lead in a gospel choir.
Butler is even better -- which helps explain why "Xanadu" is nominated for Best Musical.
In other years, this would seem like a late-night off-Broadway dessert. Sandwiched between big and bigger shows (with multi-million dollar budgets), it’s a pleasant surprise. Unlike some mechanical behemoths, it relies on creativity to entertain.
Sure, "Xanadu" follows the path of least resistence (it, too, takes a movie and adapts it for the stage). But it has the benefit of a book by Douglas Carter Beane. His work says there’s merit in the bad -- it's just a matter of how you view it.
As Tony Roberts says midway through the show, "Nothing turns a crap neighborhood around better than the arts."
"Xanadu" isn't "Phantom of the Opera." And, for that, we can be thankful.
Young Frankenstein
"Young Frankenstein" practically writes the book.
Building on his success with "The Producers," Mel Brooks dug into his film bag and found his little horror movie spoof. Instead of opening it up, he practically blows it apart.
The show is huge -- in every sense of the word. The sets are big, the performances are big, the production numbers are big. Anything small gets lost.
And that’s too bad. Brooks' film was so delightful because it preyed on the genre’s conceits. This "Young Frankenstein" all but ignores them.
Rather than give her show a classic black-and-white look, director Susan Stroman beams it in Technicolor. Dr. Frankenstein's laboratory is among the most impressive sets on Broadway, but little is played out on it. A number with a ghost is pretty lame, too, and some of the big song-and-dance routines exist simply because they're expected.
Roger Bart has inherited Gene Wilder's role. He plays Frederick Frankenstein, a professor at Johns, Miriam and Anthony Hopkins School of Medicine. He gets the "other" Frankenstein's place in Transylvania and, with it, the fear that he might reanimate another human.
Bart plays the role as a cross between Jerry Lewis and Mario Cantone. He mugs too much for his own good, but finds the laughs when he needs them. Megan Mullally plays his off-putting girlfriend (though we saw her understudy -- who was just as Megan-like) and Sutton Foster turns up as Inga, the looker who just wants to "roll in ze hay."
Brooks has provided plenty of off-color humor (every dirty joke known to "Frankenstein" is here) but gets his best laughs from Andrea Martin (as Frau Blucher), Christopher Fitzgerald (as Igor) and Shuler Hensley (as the Monster). They don't duplicate their screen counterparts. They find new laughs (Martin in particular) and understand the film-to-stage process.
"Putting on the Ritz," the one song Brooks didn't write, is "Young Frankenstein's" highlight. It pulls in a bunch of monsters to do a little soft shoe. Interestingly, Bart looks incredibly nervous throughout. Hensley is an old hand, so to speak.
While "Young Frankenstein" isn't what one would expect (after the phenomenal success of "The Producers"), it does have plenty of fun.
The show should be much better when it goes on the road. Without a set that looks like it belongs in a theme park, "Young Frankenstein" will have to make do with the parts it's given.
Then, the acting can begin.
Now, it's in the shadow of that enormous set.
Whether it's the dysfunctional brood of Tracy Letts' "August: Osage County," the extended family of "In the Heights" or the reconstituted family of "Young Frankenstein," the message resonates.
Even the revivals - "Gypsy," "South Pacific," "Sunday in the Park with George" - explore different shades of family.
Originality? Amid the tourist attractions ("The Little Mermaid" and "Mary Poppins"), there's much to be found.
Before Sunday's Tony Awards, we look at six contenders - six new shows that prove its creators have followed a key credo: Write what you know.
August: Osage County
When a green bean casserole is accidentally dropped at a post-funeral dinner, it becomes an apt metaphor for a family turned upside down.
In Tracy Letts' "August: Osage County," that casserole is about the only comfort its characters have. Possessing countless types of dysfunction, they're thrust together when a patriach is reported missing, then dead. After they assemble, secrets spill out as randomly as those green beans.
The matriarch (a wickedly blunt Deanna Dunagan) survives on a diet of pills and liquor. Her daughters dine out on problems with infidelity, incest and pedophelia. They don't warm to mom, either, choosing their own addictions for comfort.
Amy Morton - as daughter Barbara - is the most outspoken. She has been down the rehab road before and isn't afraid to travel it again. In the second act, she gets such powerful speeches everyone should cower in her wake. Dunagan, however, faces her head on and gets the kind of moments most actresses only dream of.
Letts has written a beautiful part, too, for Rondi Reed as Dunagan's casserole-wielding sister Mattie Fae. She got out of the line of fire years earlier - and could even the score. Instead, she travels her own road of denial.
Director Anna D. Shapiro peels the drama like an onion. She lets the tears flow naturally and uses sound to punctuate the deterioration. The house (an impressive multi-layered set) creaks as its foundation is rocked.
Letts writes like an offspring of Arthur Miller. His examination of family is so intense it frightens. At his most brutal, he's brilliant. Other times, he's at least as good as Beth Henley. While "August" has the familiarity of "Steel Magnolias," it's hardly as obvious or calculated. This is like a family reunion without the love. It's a tribute to Letts' writing that it holds our interest for more than three hours.
While Dunagan, Reed and Morton are a powerhouse trio, they're hardly alone. Even Kimberly Guerrero as an outsider pulled into the family's drama makes an impact.
"August: Osage County" isn't an easy play to shake. Its message is powerful; its lines are unforgettable.
When Morton admits, "This madhouse is my home," you understand immediately. Family is not an easy concept to digest.
A Catered Affair
Based on a '50s TV drama, "A Catered Affair" is just as moving as "August: Osage County."
At times, in fact, you'll forget the show is a musical. That could be because John Bucchino hasn't written hummable songs. Or, it could be because Harvey Fierstein has crafted such a detailed book.
A middle class couple, returning from a memorial service for their son, has to decide what to do with the money given them by the military. When their daughter (Leslie Kritzer) says she's going to get married, mom (Faith Prince) decides to erase a lifetime of slights by financing a proper wedding - a catered affair. Dad (Tom Wopat) would really like to use the money to buy a bigger share of the cab he drives. Still, he remains silent and lets the planning begin.
Surprisingly, the show is incredibly stark and unadorned. Director John Doyle has removed so many trappings it could easily be performed on a bare stage and seem just as effective.
Fierstein - as Prince's gay brother - doesn't say much, either. He and Wopat wait in the wings while Prince practically waltzes away with the show. If this weren't Patti LuPone's year (she's a wowser as Mama Rose in "Gypsy"), her performance would tower. It's a textbook example of restraint. When she talks about the wedding that could be, "A Catered Affair" comes sharply into focus. Still, she shouldn't have to do all the heavy lifting.
Toward the show's end, Wopat gets a powerful solo - "I Stayed" - that redeems much of his silence, but the move is almost too much too late. Writer Fierstein needed to give him more to do; Doyle should have insisted on it.
Kritzer works as the daughter, but seems miscast. Matt Cavenaugh is underused as the fiance and Fierstein needs something more than a few good entrances and exits.
Nonetheless, "A Catered Affair" does say plenty about its view of family. It's never too late to say "I love you," we learn, but there's really no point in waiting.
Thankfully, Prince's timing is impeccable. She makes the most of silence and space, prompting tears as readily as Fierstein does laughs.
"A Catered Affair" isn't a traditional musical (it's too slight to even be considered a Broadway musical) but it is a viable one. Like weddings, it proves "good" can come in all sizes.
In the Heights
Even though old warhorses like "South Pacific" and "Gypsy" have generated plenty of buzz, they're not the year's only story.
Indeed, this could be the year the torch is passed. Two strong writers - Lin-Manuel Miranda and Stew - have crafted musicals that are as diverse as their authors.
Both mine the writers' lives for their drama.
Drawing on his past, Miranda shuttles audiences to Washington Heights, a Hispanic stronghold, in "In the Heights."
There, he shows how important extended family can be.
As Usnavi, a Puerto Rican bodega owner, Miranda introduces us to the regulars - the matriarch (Olga Merediz), the graffiti artist (Seth Stewart), the joker (Robin DeJesus) and the beautician (Karen Olivo). They're determined to get out - to prove themselves - if only they had the money. A $96,000 lottery seems like just the ticket (and, perhaps, too pat a concept for a show this complex) but it's not the only hope. A cab company owner (Carlos Gomez) fuels his dreams through his daughter (Mandy Gonzalez), a student at Stanford. She's enjoying a life he never had. When she returns home - with a shocking piece of news - his dream becomes a mission.
Miranda tells the stories through a variety of beats. He mixes rap with rock, hip-hop with show tunes. One song even references Cole Porter, proving Miranda knows the territory.
While director Thomas Kail is often hampered by a set that overwhelms the stage, he knows how to give his story cinematic heft. "In the Heights," in fact, could jump to the big screen without much effort. It's meant to breathe.
Andy Blankenbuehler's choreography attempts much but doesn't always succeed. Again, that could be because the stage is so filled with storefronts and apartment buildings.
Miranda, though, is a charismatic host. He gets the best out of everyone and gives them ample time to shine. DeJesus is brilliant comic relief; Merediz is the glue that holds everyone together. When they get epiphanies, "In the Heights" achieves a level of excellence we haven't seen since "Rent."
The show is just as seminal. It gives voice to a new generation and introduces Miranda as one of the best new composers on Broadway. Listen to the cast album and you'll understand why it seems like he's already home.
Passing Strange
If you've never heard of Stew, don't feel bad.
Until "Passing Strange," the rocker with a message hasn't grazed much of America. Soon, though, he could be the great bridge between cultures.
The new musical -- the "sort of" story of his life -- shows how valid all experiences are.
"Nobody in the play knows what it's like to hustle for dimes on the mean streets," Stew admits before the end of the first act. So if you think you're getting a story about a kid growing up, against all odds, in the ghetto, you're wrong. Stew (that's all he goes by) details his life as a middle-class black guy growing up in a largely white world. He joins his church's choir and longs for the kind of artistic epiphany he thinks he needs.
Journeying to Europe, Stew thinks he can find that rebirth. He embraces the world of free love in Amsterdam; he marvels at the ordered life of Berlin. The free spirit waiting to come out? It takes something more to emerge -- and that's what makes "Passing Strange" so inspirational.
Done on a bare stage with little more than chairs, it's like a rock concert folded into a standup routine. There's a heavy dose of role-playing and an awful lot of reader's theater.
Daniel Breaker plays the leading character -- a guy simply called "Youth." He's, supposedly, the younger Stew. We make the connection because both wear red shirts. The older, "real" Stew serves as the show's narrator. Breaker plays the kid on the journey. He's wonderful at all junctures. His little boy is instantly recognizable. His world-weary twentysomething is, too. Chad Goodridge, Colman Domingo, de'Adre Aziza, Eisa Davis and Rebecca Naomi Jones play all of the people around him.
While moments seem like a graduate school improvisation class, whole chunks of "Passing Strange" are entirely new. Director Annie Dorsen creates great new worlds with little more than lights and chairs. She's blessed with great performers (Breaker is a wonderful find) and that guiding light known as Stew.
The music, too, is instantly infectious. Listen to the cast album and you'll want to discover more. It's not hip hop. It's not rhythm and blues. It's not punk or rock. It's a new creation that benefits from the openness that comes from being on Broadway.
When Stew makes his point about that artistic search, it's a powerful one.
Best of all, "Passing Strange" says we all take journeys that are worth recording. Sometimes, though, we don't need to leave home to find them.
Xanadu
Take a bad movie, add a hefty dose of camp and you get "Xanadu," the Broadway musical.
Hardly one for the ages, this "Xanadu" succeeds because it’s like sitting next to someone who’s able to make snarky comments during a very bad film.
To send up the Olivia Newton-John/Gene Kelly musical, director Christopher Ashley has instructed Kerry Butler to duplicate Newton-John as closely as possible. That means a spot-on accent and an '80s sensibility that’s eerie. Butler's not just an impressionist. She's a channeler.
She plays a muse who has been sent to the Santa Monica Pier, circa 1980 to help a clueless guy in jean shorts (Cheyenne Jackson) realize a dream. He’d like to open a roller disco in a decaying building. Unfortunately, two of the muse’s sisters have burdened her with a spell -- she’s going to fall madly in love with the guy.
Using plenty of songs from the era ("Have You Never Been Mellow?" anyone?), the show is like a time capsule of trends. Ashley uses every inch of space in the tiny Helen Hayes Theatre to duplicate the disco, the heavens, Venice Beach. Even better? He puts his actors on roller skates (not rollerblades) and runs them through the kind of paces that would make Denny Terrio weap.
Mary Testa and Jackie Hoffman are the wicked muses (think Lainie Kazan and Mary Wickes) who get a kick out of thwarting their sister and ribbing the audience. Because there are seats on the stage, the two have ample opportunity to ad lib. And they do.
The slight, 90-minute show even prompts Testa to comment on the twice-as-long "Gypsy" next door.
Jackson is everything a show could want in a leading man. He’s bright, he's funny and he sings like the lead in a gospel choir.
Butler is even better -- which helps explain why "Xanadu" is nominated for Best Musical.
In other years, this would seem like a late-night off-Broadway dessert. Sandwiched between big and bigger shows (with multi-million dollar budgets), it’s a pleasant surprise. Unlike some mechanical behemoths, it relies on creativity to entertain.
Sure, "Xanadu" follows the path of least resistence (it, too, takes a movie and adapts it for the stage). But it has the benefit of a book by Douglas Carter Beane. His work says there’s merit in the bad -- it's just a matter of how you view it.
As Tony Roberts says midway through the show, "Nothing turns a crap neighborhood around better than the arts."
"Xanadu" isn't "Phantom of the Opera." And, for that, we can be thankful.
Young Frankenstein
"Young Frankenstein" practically writes the book.
Building on his success with "The Producers," Mel Brooks dug into his film bag and found his little horror movie spoof. Instead of opening it up, he practically blows it apart.
The show is huge -- in every sense of the word. The sets are big, the performances are big, the production numbers are big. Anything small gets lost.
And that’s too bad. Brooks' film was so delightful because it preyed on the genre’s conceits. This "Young Frankenstein" all but ignores them.
Rather than give her show a classic black-and-white look, director Susan Stroman beams it in Technicolor. Dr. Frankenstein's laboratory is among the most impressive sets on Broadway, but little is played out on it. A number with a ghost is pretty lame, too, and some of the big song-and-dance routines exist simply because they're expected.
Roger Bart has inherited Gene Wilder's role. He plays Frederick Frankenstein, a professor at Johns, Miriam and Anthony Hopkins School of Medicine. He gets the "other" Frankenstein's place in Transylvania and, with it, the fear that he might reanimate another human.
Bart plays the role as a cross between Jerry Lewis and Mario Cantone. He mugs too much for his own good, but finds the laughs when he needs them. Megan Mullally plays his off-putting girlfriend (though we saw her understudy -- who was just as Megan-like) and Sutton Foster turns up as Inga, the looker who just wants to "roll in ze hay."
Brooks has provided plenty of off-color humor (every dirty joke known to "Frankenstein" is here) but gets his best laughs from Andrea Martin (as Frau Blucher), Christopher Fitzgerald (as Igor) and Shuler Hensley (as the Monster). They don't duplicate their screen counterparts. They find new laughs (Martin in particular) and understand the film-to-stage process.
"Putting on the Ritz," the one song Brooks didn't write, is "Young Frankenstein's" highlight. It pulls in a bunch of monsters to do a little soft shoe. Interestingly, Bart looks incredibly nervous throughout. Hensley is an old hand, so to speak.
While "Young Frankenstein" isn't what one would expect (after the phenomenal success of "The Producers"), it does have plenty of fun.
The show should be much better when it goes on the road. Without a set that looks like it belongs in a theme park, "Young Frankenstein" will have to make do with the parts it's given.
Then, the acting can begin.
Now, it's in the shadow of that enormous set.
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