Today’s a good day to think about the theater, post-Tony Awards, and it’s a particularly good day to think about the state of American musicals, which both Charles Isherwood of the NY Times and Charles McNulty of the LA Times criticized, in their pre-Tony musings, for “stitch[ing] together new narratives with already recorded (and popular)
music” (Isherwood’s words) so that “there’s rarely a true marriage between storytelling and music” (McNulty’s words).
As it happens, the day before the Tonys (Saturday), I attended one of the most critically acclaimed new musicals now running in New York (Off-Broadway—not Tony territory). Bloody
Bloody Andrew Jackson (at the Public Theater to June 27) bucks the play-it-safe trend by marrying a brash and inventive original score, composed by Michael Friedman, with a clever, sharp, but intentionally tasteless and occasionally offensive (in deriding gays and the wheelchair-bound) political satire, both written and directed by Alex Timbers.
The music of “Jackson” derives from the whiny “emo” subdivision of punk rock, so you are not likely to leave the theater humming show tunes (which are not even listed in the program, as is the Broadway custom). But these lyrics—“Life sucks! (and my life sucks in particular)”—from the mouth of the petulant, later-to-become 7th U.S. President, did stick in my mind like a burr.
What really stuck, though, was my (very) personal participation in this drama. Previously unbeknownst to me (where’s Ben Brantley when we really need him?), there’s a moment during the uninterrupted 90 minutes when the “fourth wall” is rudely shattered by the title character, played by the charismatic Benjamin Walker as a lubricious punk-rock star and populist political heartthrob.
In the middle of the action, he descends from the stage and walks over to Seat D2. Before I knew who was hitting on me, there was CultureGrrl in the spotlight, the object of an Obama-esque pick-up line:
How would you like some of my stimulus package?
Whereupon, not heeding my startled (and lame) negative reply, Old Hickory commenced grinding against me. Where is the National Organization for Women when we really need it?
Saturday happened to be my wedding anniversary, and my co-celebrant was seated in D1. Neither of us particularly minded this unexpected visit, but I’m not sure that my right eye was comfortable, less then three weeks after cataract surgery, in the bright spotlight (not to mention the mist that permeated the theater for much of the time, lending the play a phantasmagorical atmosphere).
I’m relieved to report that the eye seems okay today, but it was tearing all day yesterday. Perhaps I should stay in museums and galleries, where I belong. (I did manage to squelch my desire to stand up, turn around and take a bow during the curtain calls.)
Back to the Tonys: You already know what I think about the safe-choice winner for Best Play, “Red,” and its highly accomplished supporting player whose name starts with the eponymous color—Eddie Redmayne, the deserving winner for Best Featured Actor. I think “Red” owes its success more to cultural correctness than dramatic excellence.
Meanwhile, a far superior play was largely snubbed, not just by the Tonys but also by American audiences: Enron, a big hit in London, closed in New York almost as soon as it opened. But to my mind, it is much better written and more powerful than the pale paean to the wroth Rothko.
To me, Lucy Prebble‘s amorality tale for our times had the stuff of Shakesperean tragedy, with Jeffrey Skilling as the flawed, hubris-heavy hero with great gifts, whose heady, heedless rise is followed by the inevitable, catastrophic fall. I felt the requisite pity and awe, but there’s no sense of redemption, let alone catharis, at the finish. Shakespearean tragedy would have called for the hero to gain belated insight and self-knowledge—not possible in this tawdry true-to-life saga.
Enron’s fallen and now incarcerated “hero” is appealing his conviction to the Supreme Court (decision expected this month). And he is unrepentant, as evidenced by a prison interview just published today, conducted by for Fortune magazine. What’s more, the business headlines keep bringing us fresh evidence that the lessons of Enron have not been learned by the business or financial communities. There is no comfortable conclusion to this modern tragedy.
To appreciate this American tale (writ by a Brit), theater critics would need a head for business and finance, or at least a willingness to get beyond econo-phobia. The NY Times‘ Ben Brantley, who was (dis)credited by some London critics for bringing down “Enron,” candidly acknowledged in his review that he’s “admittedly not a biz whiz.” Similarly, if you can’t stand punk rock (or perhaps more intimate assault), you won’t want to be in the same room (or in Row D) with Benjamin Walker.
We don’t know if Ben Brantley had the power to kill “Enron.” But could CultureGrrl have saved it? I intended to publish my praise, but my usual art beat took precedence, and before I could say “mark-to-market,” I had missed the bubble.
Wait a minute! My gig is visual arts, not performing arts. No one cares what I say about the theater. Let’s get back to business-as-usual.
But first, speaking of high-finance, my warm thanks go out to CultureGrrl Repeat Donor 133 from New York and CultureGrrl Donor 134 from San Jose, who hit on my “Donate” button without the stimulus of one of my nagging reminders. For those of you sitting complacently in Seat D2, it’s time for me to assault you: If my posts click with you, please click me back (yellow button, middle column).
I never have gotten a Tony. And it’s unlikely I’ll get an Obie for my part in “Andrew Jackson.” But I did, after all, win an award for Best Blog!