I can't say I ever had much interest in this. And I can't say I'm suprised by all the reactions this has recd so far.
If we're not having fun, then why are we doing it?
These are DISCUSSION boards, not mutual admiration boards. Discussion only occurs when we are willing to hear what others are thinking, regardless of whether it is alignment to our own thoughts.
Joey; I'm guessing Mayer, who's hands are all over this. Or the creepy Slater who's just, well creepy. After these reviews, we will probably never know.
I sincerely hope this is recorded. The problems would not be evident on the recording, I don't think, and it would preserve the best part of the score.
"Art, in itself, is an attempt to bring order out of chaos."-Stephen Sondheim
"The approximate fun quotient of a day in an M.R.I. machine." -BEN BRANTLEY, THE NEW YORK TIMES
"Never mind trying to figure out the logic of all this. Reincarnation, I’m sure, has its own transcendent laws." --BEN BRANTLEY, THE NEW YORK TIMES
"Mr. Turner, an actor of wit and charm...is here required to be witless and charmless."--BEN BRANTLEY, THE NEW YORK TIMES
"Ms. Mueller, who has a fetching affinity for swing-era song stylings, comes off better....But in reshaping Melinda as a concept, someone forgot to make her a character as well." --BEN BRANTLEY, THE NEW YORK TIMES
Mr. Connick...has the look of a man just out of grueling dental surgery, who is both in pain and still semi-anesthetized. And he makes even an up number like the title song sound like an exquisitely sung dirge." --BEN BRANTLEY, THE NEW YORK TIMES
"An exquisitely sung dirge!" --BEN BRANTLEY, THE NEW YORK TIMES
"I couldn’t help feeling that members of the talented supporting cast — who include Kerry O’Malley...Sarah Stiles...and Drew Gehling wished they were somewhere else, in more attractive costumes, doing less spasmodic dances. --BEN BRANTLEY, THE NEW YORK TIMES
Rather makes B&C's reviews not look so awful, doesn't it?
If we're not having fun, then why are we doing it?
These are DISCUSSION boards, not mutual admiration boards. Discussion only occurs when we are willing to hear what others are thinking, regardless of whether it is alignment to our own thoughts.
Ya gotta love how Benny is able to praise his girl Cheno, even if she's not in this production. He takes Gay/Diva worship to a whole new level, N Y Times style.
How is it possible that THIS was the show the decided to waste Harry Connick Jr.'s talents on? Is there no other revival in the rich history of Broadway that they could have selected? This show was a bomb in the 60s for a reason.
Curiously, Connick's label - Columbia - had decided NOT to record this one.
Cast albums are NOT "soundtracks." Live theatre does not use a "soundtrack." If it did, it wouldn't be live theatre!
I host a weekly one-hour radio program featuring cast album selections as well as songs by cabaret, jazz and theatre artists. The program, FRONT ROW CENTRE is heard Sundays 9 to 10 am and also Saturdays from 8 to 9 am (eastern times) on www.proudfm.com
Who records 905% of the cast albums made today? Not the labels. It's the producers. It's their dough - if they want to spend it, they'll record it. If not, they won't. The labels get handed this stuff - they have nothing to do with the financial end anymore - if the producers weren't popping for these things, very few cast albums would be made these days - next to none.
The show even comes with a caveat from the chief surgeon:
A warning: All those elaborately mixed patterns of circles and squares can affect your vision. I found myself seeing double at the shows beginning, until my eyes had adjusted. What a relief when things fell into normal focus again. One Clear Day at a time is more much more than enough.
City Center is the right place for a new look at PAINT YOUR WAGON. The original book isn't much, but the score is terrific, and the piece is way better than the unwatchable movie with singers the calibre of Lee Marvin and Clint Eastwood!
IT WAS the best of mistakes, it was the worst of Gambles, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Revision, it was the season of Darkness, it was the fall of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had Evita before us, we had no Funny Girl before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, on the S.S. Bernard Cohn, we were all going direct the other way, on a boat leaving soon - or not - but after all, yes, indeed! - for New York; in short, the revival was flawed so very much and so very unlike the original, that some of its noisiest authorities, yours truly, insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.
There were a Dr. with a Sinatra croon and a queen with a plain face, in the 1970s; there were a Dr. with a Sinatra croon and a princess with a fair face, in the 1940s. In both times it was clearer than Clyde across the River Jordan to the lords of the State preserves of Bonnie loaves and fishes, that things in Other Desert Cities were settled for ever.
It was the years of Our Lord one thousand nine hundred and seventy-four. and one thousand nine hundred and forty-four, and two thousand and eleven. Critical revelations were conceded to Chicago at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Mueller had recently attained her Broadway debut, of whom a prophetic tour in the U.S.O. had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of her airplane. Even the ghost of Burton Lane had been laid only a round fifteen years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this theatrical less than golden age (supernaturally deficient unlike the original) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come from Mr. Sondheim in a letter to the Times, from a congress of Webberites in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the starstruck throng than any communications yet received through any ill-begotten expose of Mr. Jackman's theatrical sexuality.