I always take Brantley with a grain of salt--but he really got it right on this one.....
'Never Gonna Dance,' which opened last night at the Broadhurst Theater, is not one of those screen-to-stage conversions that make you want to run screaming for the nearest Buddhist monastery. It stands out as an inoffensive, gracefully danced and pleasantly sung diversion, a quieter answer to the current revival of '42nd Street.'
But that's about as lavish as praise can be for this spiceless production, directed by Michael Greif ('Rent') and choreographed by Jerry Mitchell ('Hairspray,' 'The Full Monty'). Like 'Swing Time,' this show celebrates dance as a love potion, in a universe fueled by the swoon-making melodies of Jerome Kern and set in an Art Deco never-never land of Depression-era Manhattan.
Mr. Mitchell's choreography doesn't build from one emotional state to another, despite Lucky's initial pretended awkwardness. The same paradoxical sense of kinetic stasis pervades the show. A couple of numbers break the monotony, but overall, the individual dances aren't shaped to go anywhere or tell a story. They're mostly happy tap routines that could be inserted pretty much anywhere.
It doesn't help that the characters have been reconceived in flatteningly generic terms, without the oddball quirks that defined their prototypes. A similarly ersatz quality comes through in Robin Wagner's sets, which translate Manhattan glitter into mostly two-dimensional painted backdrops.
The story is no sillier than that of the original 'Swing Time.' But it has to be enacted with a certain conviction -- so that a sparkly surface becomes a self-contained reality with its own depths -- for the audience to care whether Lucky and Penny wind up together. And Mr. Greif has led his cast into casual, throwaway performances that lack the conviction of either sincerity or all-out spoof. Only Peter Gerety and the wonderful Karen Ziemba -- in variations on the best-friend roles played by RKO character actors like Helen Broderick, Victor Moore and Edward Everett Horton -- evoke a 1930's-style comic whimsy and tartness.
Give due consideration to the brave, likable young dancers who have taken on the Astaire and Rogers roles, Noah Racey and Nancy Lemenager. They move and sing with an effortless-seeming assurance. They are refreshingly free of that show-off aggressiveness that is so common to Broadway performers these days and would be fatal to the aspiringly insouciant charms of a show like this one.
Mr. Racey, in particular, has the makings of an elegant and original character dancer. In his solo numbers, he glows with a wonderfully goofy, free-wheeling glee that gives spontaneity to his meticulously choreographed steps, bringing to mind a baby-faced Ray Bolger.
But whenever he and Ms. Lemenager dance together, the flame sputters out. They look tasty and soigné in William Ivey Long's custom-fitted period costumes. But a couple of lyrical moments aside, their teamwork is a matter of the bland leading the bland. Astaire and Rogers were worldly figures, though there was nothing jaded about them. Mr. Racey and Ms. Lemenager, for all their technical proficiency, have the dewy, unformed look of ingénues. They would be lovely second leads -- as one of those vulnerable young couples on the run whom the stars shepherd into romantic safety -- but they don't give the show its much-needed core of Personality with a capital P.
Theatergoers hoping for a glimmer of the old Astaire-Rogers magic, in which dance is the language of love, won't be entirely disappointed. In the climactic pas de deux, if you squint, you can even believe that Mr. Racey and Ms. Lemenager are worthy substitutes for Fred and Ginger. By that point, though, you should be well beyond having to squint.
Updated On: 2/19/08 at 08:33 PM
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