It Takes Two. No, Really.

"Murder For Two" at the McGinn/Cazale Theater

            Genius often goes relatively unappreciated.  This is most often the case with brilliant comedy, which can be comparable to great art but is often relegated to obscurity.  And so it is that Joe Kinosian and Kellan Blair’s revolutionary “Murder For Two” is currently running at the McGinn/Cazale Theatre (through August 17^th), a 108-seat venue on 76^th and Broadway, when by rights it should be running every two hours at a real Broadway theater with approximately two or three thousand seats.  Fate can be a complex mistress.

            This superb musical stars an admirably energetic Brett Ryback as an up-and-coming police officer, Marcus Moscowicz, in a small New England town who aspires to be a detective and plans to earn this laurel by solving the case of the murder of Arthur Whitney, a prominent novelist and local resident.  All of the suspects were present at Whitney’s surprise birthday party and had a motive to kill him — Whitney wrote an expository novel about each of them.  The problem is that the suspects are being frustratingly uncooperative.  By the way, all of the suspects (and I do mean all of them) are played by the magnificent Jeff Blumenkrantz.

            This is a difficult premise to pull off.  In order for Mr. Blumenkrantz to portray these seemingly countless possible murderers — some of whom are female — he must resort to accents, props, and complex gestures unique to each different character.  Beyond that, during every musical number, while one actor is singing, the other plays the piano.  No wonder that, by the end of the show, both actors are visibly drenched in sweat.

            But they do it — oh, do they do it.  Both Mr. Ryback and Mr. Blumenkrantz are hugely talented pianists (both have acted as composers on other projects) and even better comic actors.  Mr. Blumenkrantz manages suspect after suspect and quirk after quirk with the aplomb of one man standing in for the full “Saturday Night Live” cast, and Mr. Ryback shines as an idealistic overachiever commensurate to Kevin Price in “The Book of Mormon.”  Not only are the actors perfect, but so is the gorgeous, hysterical score (the lyrics are Blair’s and the music Kinosian’s).  Mr. Ryback’s character is gifted with an utterly catchy ode to crime scene protocol and the role of the pianist in Mr. Blumenkrantz’s countless madcap numbers.  Mr. Blumenkrantz himself, meanwhile, is inexhaustible with song after song, each funnier than the last.  Highlights: “So What,” a semi-confessional number by the psychotic ballerina Barrette Lewis; and the breathtakingly hilarious “It Was Her,” in which he plays both halves of a bickering couple as one half accuses the other of having committed the crime, trying to send her off to jail and away from him.  Have I mentioned that Mr. Blumenkrantz himself actually plays the piano during this number?

            “Murder For Two” is so incredibly good that only its ingenious creators could not fail for words in attempting to describe its vaudevillian perfection.  Not only is it musically and lyrically spectacular, the comedy is Marxian (as in the brothers) in its appeal.  (Actually, at one point an intense interrogation devolves into the two men playing the piano together, like Harpo and Chico at the mall in “The Big Store.”)  It has no flaws.  Even its kitschiness is so well-executed that it plays as something akin to high art.  In the world of comedy, this is the genius that we look for so often and so rarely find.

When a Woman Loves a Bag...

"Margarita and Max" at the Dorothy Strelsin Theater

            Manuel Igrejas’ God-awful “Margarita and Max” plays the last of its three performances on July 28^th at 8:30, but I tell you only reluctantly at the risk that you might actually visit the Dorothy Strelsin Theater on 36^th Street between 8^th and 9^th, and subject yourself to a thoroughly excruciating experience you’ll have nightmares about for months.

            The play is supposedly 60 minutes long but actually runs about 40.  (Don’t let this fool you into believing it’ll be over quickly enough for you.)  In the bare-bones, black-painted Strelsin, with only two chairs to approximate setting, Margarita (Kim McKean) waits for a bus.  Out of the blue—with absolutely no buildup and little explanation—she finds herself talking to a sentient plastic bag, whom she nicknames Max (Craig Fox).  When, later, on the bus, she kisses the bag (don’t ask), it turns into an annoyingly ignorant human, to whom Margarita rapidly finds herself becoming attracted.  Or perhaps it would be better to say that the audience is forced to assume this in retrospect, given that Margarita’s final appearance implies it, but there is no precedent given for this burgeoning love, and when it disappears, there is no sympathy to spare for Margarita’s predicament.

            This Princess and the Frog-esque story has been appropriated over and over again over the years, each time with the same degree of success—none.  “Margarita and Max” isn’t helped by its piddling running time, its drifting, uninteresting characters, or the fact that it seems to be attempting to appeal to its audience on two separate and disparate fronts.  On the one hand, “Margarita and Max” seems to fancy itself to be a rather funny play.  (So, apparently, did the audience—Saturday night’s crowd at the Strelsin guffawed at every lame joke, leaving this critic scratching his head.)  Mr. Fox is obviously meant to fill that slot, and attempts to do so by practically screaming his simplistic dialogue, inspiring nothing but a splitting headache.  On the other hand, Mr. Igrejas fancies himself a philosopher, too, and a connoisseur of fine poetry, knowledge he shows off through Ms. McKean.  Margarita’s inner monologue and almost elitist hatred for television and love for Edward Field (really?) are extremely unappealing.  In short, Mr. Igrejas has tried to balance the lowbrow and the ontological, and has failed spectacularly.

            Ms. McKean and Mr. Fox, the only two actors in the show—shoving even two plus an audience into this theater leaves barely enough room to breathe—put in the bare minimum of effort.  With their contributions, they have managed to add zero substance to an already insubstantial piece.  But frankly, there’s very little they could have done even had they tried.

            This is because “Margarita and Max” has nothing whatsoever to say.  I’m forced to assume the play was written for a reason (if only someone could explain it to me), but it never becomes clear what that reason was.  Through the course of the show, Margarita never evolves as a character.  I realize this may be a bit too much to ask given the feeble running time, but one: I didn’t realize there was a time limit on playwriting; and two: Part of the challenge of writing short works, be they theatrical or cinematic, is endowing a short period of time in a character’s life with meaning that will resonate with the character far after the audience has left him or her.  Whatever ridiculous “magical” plot points this play may boast, one leaves the theater with the feeling that the banal events of Margarita’s day will be forgotten after a glass of wine and an Emily Dickinson marathon.

Anything Can Happen--This is Live

"Nobody Loves You" at the Tony Kiser Theater

            Second Stage has picked another winner in “Nobody Loves You,” a musical by Itamar Moses and Gaby Alter that had its premiere at San Diego’s Old Globe last spring (and runs through August 11^th in New York).  The music is terrifically peppy and bright, the lyrics are surprisingly witty and well-formed, and the cast takes to the story like fish to water.  This show is an achievement.

            In the all-too-real present, ontology Ph.D candidate Jeff (the skillfully whiny Bryan Fenkart) has just lost his shallow girlfriend Tanya (Leslie Kritzer) over differing opinions on Tanya’s favorite TV show, also called “Nobody Loves You.”  On the show, a complex combination of audience votes and mix CD-bestowment (the rules are never exactly made clear) results in the success of one couple out of fifteen original contestants.  (The other thirteen are told “Pack up your bags and leave the house, because nobody loves you” by host Byron, an ebullient moron played with aplomb by Heath Calvert.)  Tanya loves the show, but Jeff—in the vein of many real-life counterparts—can’t stand the construction the show calls “reality.”  But when Jeff finds out his ex is auditioning for the show’s next season, he can’t resist doing the same to try to win her back.  Unfortunately, his cynicism appeals to the producers, and Tanya doesn’t.  He’s left on the show alone, doing his best to expose the show’s lies to the world with the help of production assistant (and, eventually, love interest—spoiler alert) Jenny (Aleque Reid).

            Some of the songs are almost inordinately clever.  One of the show’s utility players, Rory O’Malley, plays three parts, but his most entertaining is that of Evan, the world’s biggest fan of “NLY” (the TV show).  Early on in the show, his inspired performance of the excellently written “The Twitter Song” lets us know that this show will not be a flashy piece lacking intricacy, like one of the shows it portrays.  Jenny and Jeff’s first duet, “So Much to Hate,” is so offbeat and yet somehow still magnificent that it feels like the beginning of a new class of love songs.

            And “Nobody Loves You” (the musical) subverts our expectations at every turn.  Jeff and Jenny is not the classic love story, and the contestants do not, as we might expect, immediately pair up and remain with their partners for the remainder of the show.  Sometimes, as on a reality program, people who were seemingly meant to become important players are simply voted off.  “Nobody Loves You” is real.  That word is thrown around a lot during the musical, in varying forms and with varying degrees of sarcasm, to implicate the unreality of “NLY” and its ilk.  But the way the characters act, and the way they are portrayed (very well) seems legitimately real to the audience. 

            Meanwhile, behind-the-scenes, the seven-person orchestra plays Mr. Alter’s fuel-injected numbers flawlessly.  The staging is thought out to the letter (the show is directed by Michelle Tattenbaum) and the lighting and sets (by Ben Stanton and Mark Wendland respectively) create a very real environment for the show’s studios and various other settings to coexist believably.

            This musical is about the “Truman Show”-esque creepiness of the average reality TV show (at one point, Jenny sits in a booth above “NLY”’s “house,” controlling the weather, electricity, and other circumstances of the contestants’ courtships), but a couple of the relationships this TV show creates actually work out, and end with the contestants living happily ever after.  So what does this say about Jeff’s initial cynicism?  Are we meant to believe that he was correct to begin with, or that reality TV can indeed help people find love?  Much like reality TV, it is up to the viewer to decide which of the messages of “Nobody Loves You” are real, and which are fabricated for the sake of story.

USA!

"Colin Quinn Unconstitutional" at the Cherry Lane Theater

            In his new one-man play, “Colin Quinn Unconstitutional,” which runs at the Cherry Lane Theater through August 8, the eponymous Mr. Quinn displays his ineffable talent for informal comedy with the compelling aplomb of a one of the orators who founded this great nation, had they gotten slightly tipsy before delivering a speech.

Mr. Quinn can undoubtedly be called one of the greatest comic minds active in this country today, and proves it in this 75-minute tour-de-force of loving criticism for America and all it holds dear.  He ridicules the more obvious targets, like the Kardashians (his riff on Bruce Jenner is both touchingly wistful and brilliantly hilarious), but he also compares, accurately, the Constitutional Convention of 1787 to a barroom, in several increasingly accurate and descriptive metaphors.  (Mr. Quinn actually seems to have an intimate knowledge of the Convention, and uses it.  His jokes about Grand Committee member George Mason are just as effective as those that lampoon George H.W. Bush.)  The shape of the show is mostly a rundown of the articles and sections of the Constitution.  Mr. Quinn ridicules the freedom of the press, the formation of Congress, and even the rules regulating international commerce with equal success.  It takes a great comedian to make constitutional study so very funny.

            Indeed, his delivery is not that of a speechmaker or one of the usual actors putting on a one-man show, or even that of the usual comedian.  It’s that of the good friend sharing funny ideas in a bar.  He talks as if he was pulling his jokes out of thin air, or writing them on the spot, and it catches with the audience.  Often Mr. Quinn seems not to know where he’s going, stumbling or catching himself, but it’s all part of the act, and he’s always going somewhere. 

Mr. Quinn’s impressions, which followers of his previous career probably have yet to see, are spot-on.  When discussing the presidents of the past fifty years, he does an excellent Reagan, a great Bush Sr., and near-perfect impersonations of Bill Clinton (he claims that while watching Mr. Clinton make a speech, “the entire country thought ‘The president’s in love with me’”) and George W. Bush (whom he portrays as a nervous wreck desperately trying to rectify his mistakes as his father “passive-aggressively hangs out with Bill Clinton”).  He also identifies, correctly, that comedians are unwilling to make fun of President Obama because they find it subconsciously racist.  “He goes up there and kills at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner every year,” says Mr. Quinn.  “Why do you think he kills?  Because they’re all new jokes!  No one’s made them before!”

The most accurate summation of “Unconstitutional” is that it’s very good stand-up comedy.  Further, it’s stand-up comedy that is only enhanced by Mr. Quinn’s unique style, which, since his days anchoring SNL’s Weekend Update, no stand-up has been able to replicate.  The best stand-up comes when the audience is fully able to identify with the issues the comedian is pointing out.  Since Mr. Quinn has chosen America, a fairly well-known topic, for his latest venture, there is little danger that the audience will be unfamiliar.  And the greatest triumph of the show is that every joke Mr. Quinn makes, every chink in the armor he points out, is absolutely accurate.  The flaws of the American system of government may never be solved outright, but it’s pleasant to hear that someone sees they’re there, and is even capable of turning the predicament our country is in into a thoroughly enjoyable evening.