"Nice Work" Indeed

Nice Work If You Can Get It at the Imperial Theater

            There were few musicals during this Broadway season—or any other, for that matter—that seemed larger than life, glitzy and glamorous and resplendently reminiscent of a bygone age of laughter, joy, and enforced black-tie dress code.  I am happy to say that after the experience of viewing the new musical Nice Work If You Can Get It, with an assembled score of singles by the Gershwins, that I have seen the Promised Land.  That is to say, I’ve seen the possibility that every musical can exude the pure jubilation that washed over me from this marvelous production, starring (memorably) Matthew Broderick and Kelli O’Hara, with a book by Joe DiPietro (Memphis) and directed/choreographed by the brilliant stage-mistress Kathleen Marshall (who performed the same duties for one of my recent favorites, Anything Goes).

            DiPietro plucked classics from such musicals such as “Oh, Kay!,” “Lady Be Good,” and various Gershwin-scored films for Nice Work, then linked them in an impressive display of talent and created the story of a wealthy playboy, Jimmy Winter (Broderick) who falls for a bootlegger in disguise, Billie Bendix (O’Hara), whose pseudonyms include Gertrude and Bobbie Billie, all while she’s storing her ill-gotten booze in the cellar of Broderick’s spacious Long Island beach house.  Judy Kaye makes an appearance as a tightly wound Prohibitionist who clashes hysterically with Billie’s co-conspirators, Cookie McGee (a supremely talented Michael McGrath) and Duke Mahoney (Chris Sullivan).  All this while singing and dancing to some of history’s greatest songs (the title number; “Sweet and Low Down;” “Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off;" “S’Wonderful;" “Fascinating Rhythm," and “They All Laughed”, to name a few) —not bad for only two acts.

            While Matthew Broderick is not exactly a dynamic stage actor (nor is he, as his character proclaims, “very good-looking”), that’s part of his appeal and part of what made him so great in 2001’s The Producers.  His unthreatening and slightly goofy style is endearing, and he has a sweet and quiet voice not unlike that of the great singers of the Gershwins’ time.  Kelli O’Hara, meanwhile, is a fantastic, belting whirlwind up on stage, with a readiness to do anything the script might ask.  And it asks a lot.  The great thing is that the cast delivers.

            Even supporting characters have their star turns.  Michael McGrath is a superb Cookie McGee, who shines in his duet with Judy Kaye’s entertaining Duchess Estonia Dulworth, a mash-up of “Sweet and Low Down” and “By Strauss.”  Stanley Wayne Mathis portrays a police chief after the bootleggers’ blood who sings, quite beautifully, parts of “Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off” and “Delishious.” The dancers are nimble, quick, and beautiful to look at, and Marshall has instilled the fast-paced steps of the Roarin’ Twenties into their routines.  Flapper dresses are prevalent; pinstriped suits even more so.

            The book, while it is fun and ties the numbers together especially well, does have some weak points.  The jokes are rather repetitive and seem to pile up, especially at the end, when DiPietro makes a ten-minute scene out of humdrum references to a stalled Congress and the utter uselessness of American government, as well as some ill-placed swipes at prohibition, which understandably go right over the audience’s head.  If Joe DiPietro had as good a taste in humor as he did in music, he’d keep it simple and subtle, as actors like Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly did in films with scores by the Gershwins.  Just let the songs speak for themselves.

            But even above the din, they do.  Nice Work is a fantastic musical with an inspired cast and creative team, and makes brilliant use of every Gershwin piece imaginable.  Even as the curtain falls, the orchestra triumphantly blasts the electrifyingly perfect strains of George Gershwin’s magnificent masterpiece Rhapsody in Blue, which not only makes the audience happy to be in New York City, but happy to be watching Nice Work If You Can Get It.  As the title song asks, “Who could ask for anything more?” I certainly couldn’t.

A Troupe of Candidates Quite Unlike Our Own

Gore Vidal's The Best Man at the Gerald Schoenfeld Theater

            One’s first thought upon the end of the first scene of Gore Vidal’s The Best Man, playing through July 1^st at the Schoenfeld Theater, is the wish for a presidential candidate like Secretary of State William Russell (the absolutely brilliant John Larroquette).  Russell is intellectual, open-minded, cares about policy first, and gives off the impression of being an all-around good guy.  But perceptions are warped and everything changes throughout our journey through the worlds of the candidates and Vidal’s brilliant expose of American politics.

            Russell, a capable Secretary of State under former president Art Hockstader (James Earl Jones), is cautious yet astute, and, with the help of the superior script, comes off just as smart as Gore Vidal himself.  His opponent, Senator Joseph Cantwell (Eric McCormack), is a classic politician: evasive, smooth, and with just a hint of a Midwestern accent.  Both crave Hockstader’s endorsement at the national convention at which the play takes place, and each has a line of dirt on the other (both of which may or may not be true) so inflammatory that mutually assured destruction seems imminent.

            But aside from Best Man’s captivating plot, it also boasts a script chock-full of beautiful use of the English language coming to us courtesy of its brilliant playwright, a co-writer of the 1959 film version of Ben-Hur.  As the candidates slowly destroy each other, and, eventually, themselves, the audience is drawn in by deep and real interest, and the viewer develops stakes in the happenings and intricate twists and turns of the storyline, until it eventually comes to its deeply satisfying conclusion.

            The play is delivered by what can only be described as a veritable pantheon of a cast.  Besides giants Jones and Larroquette, and Will and Grace star McCormack, Candice Bergen plays Russell’s estranged wife, Alice, who agrees to pose as a devoted wife to help him get elected.  Michael McKean appears as Russell’s campaign manager, Dick Jensen, so desperate for his man to win his party’s nomination that he digs up an nearly blasphemous accusation of Cantwell.  And—for who could not mention her?—Angela Lansbury, in a laudable and exquisite performance, is the Southern belle Chairman of the Women’s Division of the party.  (What party it is exactly is never explicitly stated, and Russell and Cantwell are on such opposite sides of the aisle that it’s difficult to tell.)  These godlike thespians bounce off each other with such perfection that sparks seem to fly, and the stage becomes their own, corrupt world wherein nothing is off limits when the presidency is on the line.  Perhaps this isn’t so different from our own world, but what is changed is human interaction.  That, perfect fodder for a political satirist like Vidal, is transformed into something infinitely more entertaining than our own conversations.  Even if Gore Vidal, in his infinite wisdom, had left the intrigue out of the play, I for one would be satisfied only to watch the characters converse over copious amounts of alcohol in their hotel rooms.  But the intrigue’s still there along with the conversation, and most theatergoers, myself included, could do with a bit of both.

            All in all, The Best Man does not disappoint.  With Tony nominations both for Best Revival of a Play and Best Leading Actor in a Play for James Earl Jones, patrons of the arts in New York will no doubt run, not walk, for seats to this masterpiece of modern theater.  If you’re interested in an evening you won’t soon forget, I’d suggest you do the same.

The Gershwins Drag Some Dead Weight

The Gershwins' Porgy and Bess at the Richard Rodgers Theater

George and Ira Gershwin, authors of such theater as Oh, Kay!, Of Thee I Sing, and Lady Be Good, and of such singles  as “Embraceable You” and “I Got Rhythm,” most famously composed, along with playwriting team DuBose and Dorothy Heyward (DuBose wrote the novel Porgy, and he and his wife wrote the straight play that would later be adapted by the Gershwins to the 1935 opera), Porgy and Bess. The non-operatic musical version made its return to Broadway last August.  And why shouldn’t it?  It has always been my firm belief that the appeal of any musical—and, indeed, any show—should be its creative team and not its cast (except on rare occasions when the two work perfectly together), and this production certainly takes that to heart, as the stylized name you’ll  see on the marquee isn’t Porgy and Bess but The Gershwins’ Porgy and Bess. 

The Gershwins were that rare phenomenon—a Gilbert and Sullivan; a Kander and Ebb; or any other duo: a match so perfect they would seem to be made in heaven.  And for that team to be brothers is even rarer.  George and Ira worked better with each other than anyone else, and when George Gershwin died of a brain tumor two years after Porgy and Bess’s debut, at the age of 39, Ira and his lyrics were never the same.  That syncopation is evident in this production, where the less than inspiring  cast allows you to look past stage presence and into the heart of the music.  While it would be easy to blame the production for its faults, more easily than the classic show, I have to mention that when DuBose Heyward contributed his lyrics to George’s jazz-inspired score, as he did in songs including “My Man’s Gone Now,” “What You Want With Bess,” and “Oh, Doctor Jesus,” the result is lackluster.  The rhyme scheme, when there is one, is sparse and ill-placed, and you can tell DuBose is much more comfortable writing novels and plays, where he can say whatever he likes without worrying about his cadence.  What you notice are numbers like “I Got Plenty o’ Nuttin’” and especially “It Ain’t Necessarily So,” a song with some of the best lyrics in musical theater, and, it must be noted, the most accurate explanation of religion ever written.  Is it coincidence that these songs had lyrics by Ira Gershwin? I think not.

But the Heywards’ lyrical contributions aren’t my only beef with this opera.  Though I was thoroughly impressed by the performances of most of the male leads, including Norm Lewis as a dedicated Porgy, Joshua Henry as Jake, Philip Boykin as the possessive murderer Crown, and especially David Alan Grier as Sportin’ Life (whose smile brightens and step becomes lighter during “It Ain’t Necessarily So,” as if he too can tell it’ll be the best part), I was less blown away by the females.  Bess (Audra McDonald) and Serena (Bryonha Marie Parham), to name two of the offenders, are more suited to classical opera than they are Broadway, as evidenced by their operatic beltings of some of the Heywards’ more mundane numbers.  Whatever it is they’re saying is unintelligible beneath their doubtlessly beautiful voices.  This is an opera that was written to be heard, not to impress.  The music is most of the story, and McDonald and Parham can’t help but detract from that.  What’s more, McDonald seems nervous and jumpy throughout, as if something more than Crown and the drug dealer Sportin’ Life is stalking her, and we can’t get behind her character because we can’t seem to figure out what she wants.

Don’t misunderstand.  All in all, Porgy and Bess was a success (excuse my rhyme, Mr. Heyward), despite being stripped down by a new trio of editors (director Diane Paulus, playwright Suzan-Lori Parks, and composer Diedre L. Murray) and losing most of the greatest parts of its score.  But it's only made it so far, and achieved whatever success it has, in my mind or those of the public, because it’s a Gershwin musical, and it can’t help but succeed.  If you’re headed to the Richard Rodgers Theater, do it because of the thing the producers are counting on to bring in sales, the element that’s printed the largest on Porgy and Bess’s monochrome posters: the Gershwins.