Sorry, August Wilson

The LA Times has an interesting and slightly disturbing (to me, at least) article that wonders if white directors should direct "black plays" (meaning, plays written by black playwrights). The article specifically refers to August Wilson, who only allowed black directors to do his work. With the Broadway revival of Joe Turner's Come and Gone, Bartlet Sher became the first and only non-black director to have worked on an August Wilson piece--setting a precedent that worries some people.

The article contains quotations in defense of racially matching directors with writers. The main point--that directors who aren't white are almost never on the radar when the piece is by somebody who is--is definitely valid, and it's an issue that really bothers me. But playwright/director Charles Randolph-Wright remarking that "Now I won't even get the black project" worries me. The idea that there are "black plays" and "white plays" really makes me uneasy; it implies that your race determines who is going to connect to your work, and that is not my experience at all. I also think that entrenches the ghettoization of minorities in theatre, and that just makes the problem worse.

Sheldon Epps, the artistic director of Pasadena Playhouse, sums up his position--and mine--perfectly: "I don't have a problem with it aesthetically. I have a problem with it in actuality. When there is a free flow in both directions, then it is no issue at all to me." I'm not sure what the best way to achieve that free flow in both directions, but I don't think eliminating any flow at all is the solution.

Speaking of West Side Story...

Alyssa alerted me to this crazy MTV West Side Story parody, and after watching it twice, I actually kind of enjoy it. It's ridiculous, and I find the Katy Perry section incomprehensible--she's hacking at those bushes like they're about to attack her--but that's part of the fun. Something about its weirdness reminds me of how MTV used to be, or at least how I thought of it from the late '80s to mid-'90s. It was definitely cool and mainstream, but there was a kind of off-beat, countercultural element. The largely music video-based programming had a lot to do with that, and so did the shows: pretty much everyone around my age misses Daria.

I think maybe the unexpectedness of this ad and the complete dedication to the song's highly performative nature brought back some of that quirkiness for me. I mean, West Side Story is incredibly well-known and loved even by people who aren't theatre fans, but it's never been exactly cool. For MTV to use musical theatre in this way is kind of awesome. I even think a lot of it is well done. The opening vamp sounds fantastic, and I love the musical differences between the "Jets" and the "Sharks." And it's not making fun of the song, the show, or theatre in general; if anything, MTV is making a little fun of itself.

I Write Songs, Too!

I don't want to turn this blog into a vehicle of self-promotion, but in case anyone wants to hear my work, my song "Mandarin" (lyrics by me, music by the brilliant Julianne Wick Davis) will be performed in Songs by Ridiculously Talented Composers and Lyricists You Probably Don't Know But Should, a cabaret at Barrington that Bill Finn puts together every year. He teaches a master lyric writing class in the Graduate Musical Theatre Writing Program at NYU, and the cabaret is made up of his favorite material from current and previous students. I'm really excited something of mine is included this year, especially since this particlar song is very personal.

And while you're out there, check out Memory Is The Mother Of All Wisdom, a two-person musical with words by my friend and classmate, Sara Cooper, and music by my thesis collaborator, Zach Redler.

The cabaret is September 4-5, and Memory is playing September 5-6. Pittsfield, MA is pretty isolated, but you're in for some great theatre if you make the trip.

Un Lenguaje Asi

I'm pretty disappointed to hear that the current Broadway revival of West Side Story has changed some lyrics back into English. I'm fairly lukewarm about that show in general (don't hate me, my devotion to Gypsy more than makes up for it, I promise), and while I haven't heard the greatest things about this production (which I haven't seen), just the idea of having the Sharks sing and speak in Spanish has excited me from the beginning. If this is a deeply passionate story about deeply passionate people, of course these characters should be using their native language. I feel that's even more critical when the racial and cultural differences between characters ignite the story in the first place. How can Anita insist that Maria "stick to [her] own kind" if we only hear her speak English? Moreover, Anita's such a fascinating character herself that her ability to switch from Spanish to English would add tremendously to her arc. An all Spanish "A Boy Like That," for example, would be even more chilling if her "America" had been entirely in English.

Theatre--musical theatre in particular--lends itself amazingly well to playing with language in that way. All language has an inherent musicality; say the same phrase enough times consecutively, and its meaning will fade, leaving its rhythm and pitch behind. I love going to my parish's Italian Mass for that reason; that's also why I really enjoy listening to Jpop. When I listen to a language I don't understand, I hear the musicality of speech much more clearly. When I listen to lyrics in another language, I listen to the words as I listen to the music--which lyrics really are, anyway.

The best, most recent example of that in musical theatre is The Light in the Piazza, which boldly included entire songs and scenes in Italian. I don't know anyone who had trouble figuring out the story as a result, not even my non-theatregoing parents when they saw the PBS broadcast. For me, the show has a great deal to do with who understands you and what happens when you can't be understood, and watching Clara and Fabrizio navigate their language barrier was a big part of it. And so is the moment when Fabrizio pours out his heart in beautiful Italian--or the moment when his family argues furiously in front of a bewildered, increasingly panicking Clara--while the audience knows exactly what's going on without understanding a single word.

If Only Sinestro Had Thought of a Yellow Inner Monologue

Any comic book fan who hasn't seen these I'm a Marvel...and I'm a DC  videos needs to drop what they're doing and watch them immediately.  They're not just brilliant parodies; they're hilarious takes on the characters--and the Marvel/DC division.  

And besides, who doesn't love a singing Deadpool?

Spider-Man: Turn Off the Cash

It’s rare that I get to talk about musical theatre and comic books AT THE SAME TIME, so I’m excited the Spider-Man musical gives me that chance. I wish it were under better circumstances, though, since the (rumored) $40 million Broadway production is apparently experiencing a “cash flow” problem, making it doubtful that it’ll open in February.

This doesn’t surprise me—or anyone else, really. If its budget is as big as the word on the street claims, Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark will be the most expensive Broadway musical ever. Add to that its sky-high weekly running costs, and it’d have to be a bigger phenomenon than Wicked to make that money back. I hope things work out for the show and that it still makes it to Broadway; I don’t want to see all the people that have been working on it for so long out of a job.

I’m also kind of excited for it, although I’m also kind of sad about it at the same time. I’ve loved Spider-Man since watching the cartoons as a little kid, and I feel even more strongly about the character now. There are a lot of things I find compelling about the story, but I ultimately connect with the identity issues Peter faces. Who is Peter Parker? The geeky goody-goody who can’t talk to the girl next door and doubles as Flash Thompson’s punching bag? Or the wisecracking, skyscraper-swinging defender of the weak whose humility won’t let people see his face? Bruce Wayne is undeniably the mask Batman puts on in daylight; Superman is at heart a farm boy from Smallsville. But with Spider-Man, it’s never been clear if donning that red and blue jumpsuit lets Peter put on a disguise—or take it off.

I generally enjoyed all three Spider-Man movies, despite being mortified at the second half of the third and being annoyed by a few things in the second. All three were a little too action-centric for me, but in a big summer blockbuster superhero movie, that’s what people expect, and I appreciated that the films don’t ignore the psychological aspects of the story. For the record, I like seeing things explode and I love a good fight, but other superhero stories have plenty of that. I loved last summer’s Iron Man and The Dark Knight partly because of how those films used violence. But Iron Man and Batman are different kinds of characters with different relationships to violence. Nobody wants to see Tony Stark or Bruce Wayne sit around narrating their feelings, partly because (in Bruce’s case) it’d be a boring emofest, but mostly because that’s not what those characters do. That’s not who they are

But that’s who Peter Parker is, and my favorite incarnations of Spider-Man reflect that. Spider-Man Loves Mary Jane is nowhere near as fluffy a work as its title implies. Told from the teenage Mary Jane’s perspective, the comic addresses all the story’s core themes in a high school setting. The characters uniformly talk and act like teenagers without sounding petty or stupid. It’s hard to write attractive and popular 16 year olds well, but Sean McKeever and his successor, Terry Moore, give Mary Jane, Liz Allen, Flash Thompson, and Harry Osbourne the respect they deserve. Equally impressive is the artwork. This series introduced me to two of my favorite artists: Sean McKeever’s initial collaborator on the project, Takeshi Miyazawa, and Craig Rousseau, who joined when Terry Moore did. There’s a brilliant sequence at the end of the second volume where Mary Jane breaks up with Harry, Peter almost breaks up with Gwen Stacy, and Spider-Man breaks up with the flirtatious superhero, Firestar. The panels rotate through the three couples in a way that’s breathtakingly cinematic, and the panels themselves are gorgeous in their simplicity. I’ve never seen anything convey Peter’s weariness more than this sequence, as he tries to do what’s right both as Peter and as Spider-Man, knowing full well that he can’t be with Mary Jane in either identity.

Similarly brilliant is The Spectacular Spider-Man animated series. It’s a kids show—it premiered on Kids CW and now airs on Disney XD, Disney’s channel for animated shows. The first season has just been released on DVD, and I strongly urge anyone who loves quality superhero shows—and quality children’s television—to pick it up, since higher DVD sales make it more likely there’ll be a third season. Like Spider-Man Loves Mary Jane, the show focuses on the teenaged Peter Parker, and it equally succeeds at depicting Peter and his classmates as actual high school students. The Spectacular Spider-Man has the additional challenge of being aimed at young children. I don’t know anything about the show’s actual demographic, but I’d imagine “young children” really means “4-10 year old boys.” (Although I hope a decent number of girls watch it, too.)

As I’ve mentioned, there are a lot of complex psychological issues inherent in Spider-Man, and it’d be so, so easy for a kids’ version of the story to be more about Spider-Man and less about Peter Parker. I only have vague memories of the Spider-Man cartoon I watched as a kid (I don’t even remember the title), but everything I do remember involves Spider-Man tossing off one-liners as he beats up bad guys. I don’t even remember what that show’s Peter looked like. I doubt any kid watching The Spectacular Spider-Man would have that trouble, however. The show certainly has enough action and simple enough storylines to hold an eight year old’s attention, but it never shies away from heavy topics, such as Harry’s addiction to a performance-enhancing drug, and Liz’s brother’s severe gambling problem. It’s also got some of the funniest and smartest writing I’ve seen on television. One of my favorite moments is in the second season, when Peter and his classmates are ice skating at Rockefeller Center. Peter burns his tongue on hot chocolate right before supervillains descend on the students…causing Spider-Man to make barely intelligible quips because of his burnt tongue. There are also delightful little details throughout each episode; one villain drinks from a mug that has “Evil Genius” printed on the side. It may be for kids, but The Spectacular Spider-Man has gotten me and my boyfriend completely hooked—and we’re both in our mid-twenties.

That’s my Spider-Man, and that’s the Spider-Man I wish so desperately we’d see in a Broadway musical. Spider-Man doesn’t need to be big budget special effects. Maybe at did as a movie, but not as theatre. For all my hopes that Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark is visually brilliant with an awesome rock score, I feel the story and its characters would fit so much better as a character piece with a tiny cast in a black box. It’d certainly be cheaper.

...And A Musical In 140 Characters, Too.

Just a quick follow-up to my Twitter opera post: the acclaimed Broadway musical Next to Normal has been adapted to Twitter. I'm excited that the creatives didn't just summarize the show, but used Twitter as a chance to expand its world.

An Aria In 140 Characters

Technology has always influenced art. Mathematical advances enabled Renaissance painters to experiment with perspective. In the early days of the record, nearly all popular songs were around three minutes long—just what one side of a record had room for. And the introduction of sound in the movies changed the nature of cinematic storytelling.

There’s been a lot of discussion about how cell phones and the internet have changed the way theatre is done—how casting gossip spreads through message boards like wildfire, and how people can blog about a show in previews during intermission. But how will this technology change the way shows are written?

In Japan, cell phones are upending the book industry, as keitai shosetsu—cell phone novels—have become wildly popular. Their authors are usually young women in their late teens and early twenties, rapidly tapping stories of love and its complications on their cell phones during long commutes. Told in short sentences and slang, cell phone novels are light on plot and character development, but that hasn’t discouraged millions of girls and young women from devouring each installment—or from snapping up hardcover versions of the novels that have been published.

Keitai shosetsu seem only natural to me. A novel is a text-based medium, after all, and it’s one where such experimentations in form aren’t uncommon. But I am curious about how such a thing would translate to theatre, where you can’t replicate exactly what you type into your phone; where words disappear as soon as they’re uttered, instead of being preserved on the page for the reader to go back to.

The Royal Opera House in London will deal with these issues at its performance of the first Twitter opera. In hopes of making opera more accessible to the public, the Royal Opera House has invited people to contribute to an opera libretto written entirely on its Twitter page. Two currently unannounced singers will perform excerpts from the completed work.

I think that’s a fascinating idea, and it’s a great way to use technology to get audiences directly involved—and to work against the belief that opera belongs fully in the past. I also like the concept of a 140 character limit on each entry. Especially for first-time writers, restrictions can be more helpful than confining; with only 140 characters to work with at a time, every word and piece of punctuation becomes a deliberate choice. That’s why I love writing lyrics. With song structure, rhyme scheme, and scansion a few of the elements governing a lyric, I have to really think about what I’m trying to say. I’m a much more disciplined writer because of that.

Regardless of how successful this Twitter opera is, I find it heartening that an institution like the Royal Opera House is willing to embrace technology in this way—even if it’s just a publicity stunt. I think there’s a lot for writers and artists to gain from the different writing structures and formats of social networking sites, text and instant messages, blogs, and message boards. And I think everyone can gain from trying to write a pivotal plot point within the limitations of a Twitter update.

Just When You'd Thought They'd Gone...

Playbill.com has just announced that the West End revival of La Cage aux Folles that originated at the Menier Chocolate Factory is moving to Broadway in spring of 2010.

I'm thrilled for the Chocolate Factory. I saw their production of tick, tick...BOOM! (with Neil Patrick Harris as Jonathan!) back in June 2005, when nobody had even heard of them. I don't remember how I'd heard about the production since the Chocolate Factory was in its initial season, and since I knew nothing about it, I didn't know what to expect. But since I loved both the show and Neil Patrick Harris (his version of "If You Can Find Me, I'm Here" off The Frogs/Evening Primrose recording had me sold), I figured it was worth the risk. Clearly, it was, since the Chocolate Factory has been having success after success with its musicals--the most notable being its Olivier and Tony Award winning revival of Sunday in the Park with George. In the past few seasons, the theatre has joined the Donmar in providing an intimate space for musicals that aren't exactly commerical hits--something that, in my experience there, London needs.

Consequently, I'm excited that yet another Menier musical is not only on the West End, but is moving to Broadway. But does it have to be a show whose last Broadway revival was five years ago?

I'm worried that the recent success of the 2008 Gypsy revival has set an unhealthy precedent. Since I'd missed the Encores! production the summer of 2007, I was desperate to see Patti LuPone and Laura Benanti's takes on the show, and was ecstatic upon hearing it was getting a Broadway run. Sure, there'd been the revival with Bernadette Peters in 2003, but that was a different production with a different director and a different star. And it was GYPSY. Come on. Who doesn't want that show constantly playing somewhere in New York? I hadn't gotten hooked on musicals until fall of 2003, so while I'd seen that Gypsy revival twice, I'd been too busy catching up on other shows to see it more than that, and I'm not sure how much I'd fully appreciated it, anyway. The Patti Gypsy was my chance to make up for that.

I wasn't too upset with Les Miserables coming back to Broadway a mere three years after the original production closed, either. I like the show well enough; it's got some thrilling moments, and I can understand why it appeals so strongly to so many people (though I'm not one of them). It's not anything I'd go out of my way to see, and even if it was, reviving a show three years after the original production closed is ridiculous any way you look at it. Especially when the show in question originally ran for sixteen years.

But it was easy to justify even this revival. For one thing, it was a limited run of a touring production--not an open-ended run of an entirely new one--and my understanding is that it was filling a house that would have been dark otherwise (correct me if I'm wrong) until the next scheduled tenant moved in. Granted, the revival did extend multiple times if I remember correctly, but it always had an end date in sight.

The other thing about the Les Miz revival was the cast. With Norm Lewis as Javert, Alex Gemignani as Valjean, Daphne Rubin-Vega as Fantine and Celia Keenan-Bolger's Eponine, it was a theatre queen's dream. Daphne and Celia were particularly fascinating. Daphne because her portrayal of Fantine was the rawest I'd ever heard or seen, with her "I Dreamed A Dream" so jagged you knew life had broken this woman beyond repair; Celia because her Eponine revealed in the romantic fantasty she had to actively remind herself was a lie. It's hard to complain with a cast like that.

This 2010 revival of La Cage aux Folles, however, doesn't have any of those factors, so it's difficult to see what the point is. I'm sure the West End production deserves to be on Broadway, but I don't see a reason for bringing it over so soon--if at all.

These sorts of things are tricky for me, because I can be far more forgiving when it's a show I love. Or, in the case of Les Miz, when there are cast members I love. When it's a show I don't like, don't care about, or don't know, that's when I can look at an issue without adding "...but...it's [insert show obsession here]." I try as a general rule to think about how I'd feel if weren't Gypsy, if it weren't Norm Lewis in Les Miz.

Now I'm forced into objectivity with La Cage, and I have to say I'd rather forgo Patti!Gypsy than have Broadway houses filled with boomerang shows--or worse, boomerang revivals. I feel very strongly about revivals, especially ones that re-interpret the material in some way; that's how you keep older shows from becoming museum pieces, and how you help a modern audience connect to a world that might otherwise seem dated and foreign. But you need distance from a piece to get something new out of it. That's why I can go for years without listening to my favorite recordings, and why I need to take breaks from the shows I write. If something becomes too familiar, it stops becoming a challenging, living reflection of its audience, and starts becoming comfort food.

That's not good for audiences, and it's not good for Broadway--or for musical theatre as a whole. Longer running shows mean fewer empty houses, and that means fewer new shows. When you can extend a show's life by bringing it back within five years--within a decade--you cut the number of new shows that can open in a given season down even more. That type of environment also discourages a culture of risk-taking; why bring in unknown work when you can bring in a show that's extremely fresh in the audience's memory? There's enough of that going on as it is.

I hope the La Cage revival is nothing like the 2004 revival. I hope it changes how people look at the piece, and I hope it brings even more acclaim (and money!) to the Menier Chocolate Factory. But I also hope boomerang shows don't become a trend.

A Five, Six, Seven, Eight!

Ballroom dancing show Burn the Floor has opened on Broadway for a limited engagement, sparking speculation on the public's newfound fascination with ballroom dance. Both this Reuters article by Michelle Nichols and this one by Newsday's Linda Winer note the somewhat unexpected popularity of ballroom dance reality shows like So You Think You Can Dance and Dancing with the Stars. Nichols reports that ballroom dancing classes have become significantly more crowded in the past few years, with the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre's public dance classes seeing a 40% jump this year alone.

I, however, have a lot of trouble watching dance. Of any kind. When I became hopelessly obsessed with the Cats video (I was thirteen, shut up), I would fast forward through the extended dance sequences. I was bored out of my mind when I saw performance of the Royal Ballet in London a few years ago. I respect dance immensely and think it can work powerfully in musical theatre (and on its own, for that matter), but I tend to zone out during dance heavy production numbers. And no, I haven't seen either So You Think You Can Dance or Dancing with the Stars.

When dance affects me--and sometimes it does!--it's because of story. I saw an Alvin Ailey performance in Boston a few years ago not expecting very much, but I was floored. Despite the lack of any words or a clear narrative in any of the pieces, I was incredibly engrossed in each one.

Movement, I realized, can express far more than stereotypical old-school Broadway production numbers led me to believe. I've only seen clips from the 2000 dance musical Contact, but from what I know of it, the piece strives to do just that. Same with Twyla Tharp's Movin' Out in 2002.

So I definitely think it's good that a dance show is playing on Broadway, if only for a little while. It's important that Broadway be a home for a range of things theatrical--not only because it exposes more people to live theatre, but also because every time something that's not quite a play or not exactly a musical opens, it makes us rethink the ways we cateogorize theatre. Musical theatre in particular.

I don't plan on seeing Burn the Floor. Dance isn't really my thing. But I'm excited that something so current and mainstream is on Broadway. And I hope that someone watching it gets inspired to use ballroom dance in a more narrative driven musical. A musical version of Strictly Ballroom, anyone?

All The World's A Stage: Literally

There's an article in yesterday's New York Times about theatrical performances in public places--there's been a lot of it this summer, apparently. I'd heard about Break Out in Song, but I hadn't realized this sort of theatrical events was so extensive.

I think presenting theatre in unconventional locations is really exciting. Aside from what it does to expand the boundaries of where and how you can stage theatre, it does so much for helping people look at theatre in a different way. Theatre, especially musical theatre, can be incredibly insular. Most people who are heavily into it--as performers, writers, crew members, or fans--tend to have grown up with it. Those that haven't often have very different and often inaccurate impressions of what theatre actually is. How many times have you heard someone unfamiliar with musical theatre describe it as "people randomly breaking out into song" or as being "unrealistic"? (As though cinematic conventions such as voiceovers, direct address to the audience, and background music are staples of everyday life...and as though all art forms strive to be as "realistic" as possible.) Admittedly, randomly breaking out in song is exactly what Break Out In Song does, but if nothing else, it may make someone who's anti-musicals realize just how fun breaking out into song can be. Which in turn could get them into a theatre, where they'd learn that, at least in a well-constructed musical, the songs aren't exactly random.

These performances are also important for theatre fans because of the questions they inherently raise. What makes something a piece of theatre and not performance art? What's the role of the audience, and how does that change depending on venue? What's different about watching two people argue from a chair in an air-conditioned Broadway house and watching that same argument take place outside your car? And then there's the issue of audience participation, and of course, that fourth wall.

I'm not sure how much I personally would enjoy these types of performances. I haven't even been to Shakespeare in the Park, and any audience particpation beyond Rocky Horror Picture Show level makes me nervous. But anything that blurs the line between theatre and reality fascinates me, and as far as I'm concerned, anything that exposes theatre to more people--especially people who wouldn't seek it out--is automatically a good thing.