Liars and Saints

 Over the weekend, the NYT named Victoria Clark one of the actors you have to see. In other words, if Clark's name is in the ad, you just buy the ticket. I can't argue with that. The mini-essay claims that Clark acts *through* the notes, not on top of them. I think I know what this means. Here are three examples: *"Before I Go." Clark sings, "Maybe you'll see me while I'm still here. I'm still here." By the end of the line, she is running out of breath--the fight to get to the last word conveys a sense of exhaustion and exasperation. It's not that Clark doesn't understand breath control; she could easily "reengineer" her delivery so that every note is fully supported. But the choice she makes tells us something about her character. This is deliberate. *"Yes, you can." The climax of "The Light in the Piazza." Clara is fretting that she cannot steer herself through the adult world. Clark's Margaret cuts thr...

 Variety says that Jule Styne wrote a second work that came close to the greatness of his own "Gypsy." That second work was not "Funny Girl." It was "Bells Are Ringing." I love "Bells." I love the pun in the title. (Ella answers the bell of the telephone--but, also, when you're in love, "bells are ringing.") I love that this is a musical that is *not* an adaptation--how often does that happen? (Yes, the plot borrows from "Cinderella," but it does this in a very loose way.) I love that the answering service is run by Sue and is called "Susanswerphone." "Bells Are Ringing" is now known mainly for "Just in Time," a perfect love song: Just in time. You found me just in time. Before you came, my time... Was running low. Now you're here-- And now I know just where I'm going. No more doubt or fear-- I've found my way. For love came just in time. You found me just in time. And changed my l...

 When she teaches a writing class, Alice McDermott often tells a kid, "This is actually not your story. The strange little gremlin who appears on page five for one paragraph? The one who sells dentures? THAT should be the focus of your story." Watching the new Broadway play "Punch," I couldn't help but think of Alice McDermott. The focus of "Punch" is a young man named Jacob--but this is a somewhat cliched choice. Jacob is not actually all that interesting--despite a strong performance by Will Harrison. Jacob makes a dumb choice--by punching a stranger--but this is no dumber than driving aggressively or cheating slightly on your taxes. It's just by accident that the victim lands on a hard wedge of concrete (and later dies). Jacob has been somewhat passive in his life--and the passivity persists. He participates in restorative justice, not because of his own wish, but because the opportunity is "pitched" to him. He begins speaking out abou...

  My favorite Broadway diva is, of course, Victoria Clark, who will be returning to a NY stage this year. One of Clark's finest moments is in "How to Succeed in Business," when she easily upstages both Matthew Broderick and Sara Jessica Parker. "How to Succeed" is a work of genius by Frank Loesser, the man who once rhymed "it's true" with "so....nu?" Loesser also wrote "Baby, It's Cold Outside" for his spouse--and people who later decided that the song was sinister are among the people I like least in this world. See how much fun Loesser has when he writes: Hey, there's a yummy Friday special at Stouffer's. It's a dollar-ninety vegetable plate. And at the bottom of the ad--huh--not bad... "Service for two: three-fifty-eight. To make a bargain, make a date...." I love that you save approximately twenty cents by bringing your date. Loesser's use of "huh" and "oh" in this song is al...

 In his most recent book, Andrew Rannells writes about heading (solo) to a performance of "Follies," wishing "to have my heart broken by Bernadette Peters." I know what he means. Peters's character--Sally Durant Plummer--has a special place in my own inner landscape.  One kind of musical theater heroine tells the audience exactly what she wants: I'm thinking of Maria ("I Have Confidence"), Dolly ("Put on Your Sunday Clothes"), Marian ("My White Knight"). Certainly, Sondheim was capable of writing this kind of character: I'm thinking of Momma Rose ("Some People"). But Sally, in "Follies," doesn't fit the mold. Sally's "I Want" moment--when we expect her to be candid and articulate, i.e., "I'm not throwing away my shot"--is actually a song called "Don't Look at Me." And--though she is a stranger to herself--she suggests to us that her great, unexamined wish is t...

  The Tony Awards this year could be a showdown between "Cabaret" and "Merrily We Roll Along." Sondheim admired Kander and Ebb, so I like this possibility. "Tomorrow Belongs to Me" is diegetic music: It's a folk song that exists within the world of "Cabaret," so characters are *aware* when a waiter begins to sing it. Other characters can comment on the song (and, by contrast, you would not have a character commenting on "Defying Gravity" or "Send in the Clowns," as these are not diegetic songs). Again and again, "Tomorrow" starts with beauty and ends in corruption: The sun on the meadow is summery warm; The stag in the forest runs free. But gather together to greet the storm.... Tomorrow belongs to me. The "storm" is almost buried in the stanza; it rears its head toward the end. This is like Katie Britt cooing at us in her kitchen, then slipping in some racist rhetoric before the big finish. The branch ...

  Before the Act One curtain, a story needs to shift its gears. Rose needs to forget June, and to put her focus on Louise. The Cossacks need to disrupt Motel's wedding. Sweeney needs to commit to cannibalism. In "Kimberly Akimbo," the villain, Aunt Debra, has a scheme to move to Hawaii. But she needs a group of teens to assist with her elaborate crime; though she doesn't mention this, she really needs the help so that her own fingerprints aren't on any documents. She needs the help because she doesn't actually want to do the work.  Right before the Act One curtain, Debra secures the assistance that she needs. People have a bottomless capacity for self-delusion; this is what makes Aunt Debra interesting. As she sings of her plans, you can't help but feel queasy; there is so much tension in the room. Debra's song--"This Time"--has a double meaning. There's the sense of a promise: "I'll get it right  this time ." But time is al...

  Maury Yeston is a gifted composer and a mediocre writer. His score for "Titanic" is ravishing--not just because of the opening choral piece, but also because of a memorable marriage proposal, an anthem for the third class, and a climactic number in which families are torn apart. These are overwhelming melodies. But Yeston's sentences are thudding, redundant, sometimes desperately groping for a rhyme. We did not attempt to make with mammoth blocks of stone a giant pyramid-- No, not a pyramid.... And here I cringe: Be thee well! May the Lord who watches all watch over thee. May God's heaven be your blanket as you softly sleep. Thank goodness we know she is *softly* sleeping! "Titanic" is profoundly weird for a few reasons. It's a musical without a protagonist. It speeds gracefully through several days in Act One, then trains its focus on one single hour in Act Two. It features song-and-dance numbers about people who actually lived on this planet, people ...

  Victoria Clark had no intention of becoming an actor; she wanted to direct. But certain colleagues recognized a talent. And, like George Washington, reluctantly accepting the calling, Clark did what she had to do. Early in her career, Clark was known as a clown. (Clowning is still something she makes use of. She has an irreverent attitude toward "The Light in the Piazza," which, after all, is about getting kicked in the head by a horse. Once, during an improvised moment in "Kimberly Akimbo," Clark turned to her co-star and said, almost inaudibly, "I can't give you my address, because I don't remember it. I was kicked in the head by a horse, at a child's tenth birthday party....") It seems to me that Clark's career really began to change during "Titanic." (This is when I "discovered" her.) Her character, Alice, does have clownish qualities. Like a fan of  People Magazine , she whispers about moneyed Americans: He's ...

 I learn so much on a solo trip to New York; I'll just go ahead and share some things: * If a Broadway star has a planned absence from a show, the producers don't always have to advertise this.  If the star wattage belongs to Hugh Jackman or Josh Groban, then I guess you can expect clear, blunt announcements. But Victoria Clark can take a vacation with her family, and her show's website can keep mum. You have to go to "Broadway Covers," on Twitter, or you have to visit the star's Instagram. * "The Shark Is Broken" has seriously miscalculated its ad campaign.  Everything I've read suggests that the play is awful, but that it offers three or four minutes of Colin Donnell in a speedo. It seems clear that the director understood the importance of the speedo; "Americans might hate the script, but at least they get that three-minute interlude." So, obviously, the speedo needs to be on every poster, and it should be displayed (also) above the ...

 A theme in "Kimberly Akimbo" is: seeing. In the first number, the title character describes her peers: Sure, tonight, I'm getting looks... But, tomorrow, they might see me... (They never really see me....) Because of her disease, Kimberly is labeled odd, and she is dismissed. To an extent, this happens even with her own parents (and we observe the result in the explosive climactic number of the show): There's always you, and always me, And there's the ghost of a girl I'll never be.... Before I go....let go of the ghost. Just let her disappear. And then, maybe, you'll *see* me-- While I'm still here. The reason "Anagram" is so special is that Kimberly has just met a person who actually sees her. This is really the only "seer" in her life (with the occasional exception of her grifter aunt): I wonder how you see the things you see. With a change of perspective.... Nothing's defective.... I wonder what you see....when you *see* me....

  I'm on board with the critic Adam Feldman, who has cited the songs from "Parade" and "Sweeney" as the highlights Sunday night. The "Parade" choice was predictable (in fact, it's the same choice that the 1990s producers made) -- but it put a useful spotlight on Micaela Diamond, and it had a sense of momentum. An awards clip needs momentum. The opening of "Sweeney" is among the four or five great openings in Broadway history; Sunday highlighted the "Sweeney" choreography and the "Sweeney" chorus (two things I love). Do you see how the dancers seem to be "quoting" Lady Gaga and Michael Jackson? I can't get enough of that! I might have tossed a few lines to Annaleigh Ashford, but maybe Ashford just wanted a quiet night in her aisle seat. Is it odd to omit Mrs. Lovett? She is *the* protagonist of the show; when Angela Lansbury bows, she bows last. Oh, well. It's just one number. "Anagram" is a ...

 The first number in a show just needs to set a tone; it can tell you a bit about the planet you're visiting, and it can communicate sexiness or humor or anxiety. With "All That Jazz," we don't really need to know much about "buckle shoes" and "rouged knees"; we just need to note Chita Rivera in a slinky gown, and we need to see her beckoning to us: Start the car.....I know a whoopie spot.... Where the gin is cold, but the piano is hot.... "Little Shop of Horrors" broadcasts its own artful silliness right away: Shang-a-lang.... Feel the sturm und drang in the air! And "Dear Evan Hansen" makes us worried, even though we're just witnessing a family breakfast in suburbia: Does anybody have a map? Does anybody happen to know how the hell to do this? I don't know if you can tell, but this is me just pretending to know. So where's the map? I need a clue. Because the scary truth is: I'm flying blind.... And I'm maki...

  In "Kimberly Akimbo," the 11-o'-clock number is a breakup song, and it's a show-stopper: I was never the daughter you wanted. That's the thing we never say. But that's the truth, and that's OK. We live in a house that's haunted. There's always you, there's always me. And there's the ghost of a girl I'll never be. There's the ghost of a girl I'll never be. This ending seems to allude to "Next to Normal": "Day after day, wishing all our cares away, trying to fight the things we feel--but some hurts never heal." Both songs are about a noble loss. It's painful to admit you have been in denial, but it's also liberating. I was never the girl you intended. She was young, and she was bold. She'd hold your hand when you got old. Let's admit the dream has ended-- And what you wished for wasn't me. She was the ghost of a girl I'll never be. She was the ghost of a girl I'll never be.  Before...

  Kimberly Levaco is dying -- just as everyone else is dying -- and she'd very much like a "great adventure." She'd like to travel. She'd also like to have "a normal family." The stakes are high for Kimberly because she might not see her seventeenth birthday; she has a rare disease that causes her to look sixty even as she makes her way through high-school biology.  To raise money for a barnstorming cross-country trip, Kimberly chooses to "wash checks." She has a law-breaking aunt who steals a mailbox, and then she just needs a kind of flytrap device to suck sealed checks up and out of the box. This actually works -- and Kimberly has a breezy time dressing as a friendly grandmother and chatting with an innocent teller at her local bank.  But if money is easy, family is hard. Despite being wise, Kimberly can also be foolish; she thinks she can force her narcissistic parents to behave themselves. When Mom and Dad forget to find gifts for Kimberly...