This debacle is bad summer stock on steroids, with one of the worst pieces of Broadway casting in decades -- the nearly 42 year old Chenoweth as the 21-ish Fran. Oh, the irony -- Chenoweth finally abandons her child-woman demeanor and affectations... for a role she might've played effectively 12-15 years ago ... as a child-woman. Now we get a tough, Douglas Sirk-like Fran, in her Lana Turner worthy gowns (how the hell would a restaurant hostess pay for those togs?), behaving as a world-weary sophisticate when a naive ingenue is called for.
It's a parallel universe version of this material, with a Cougar Fran in act 2 and the root for couple -- who knew? -- Chuck and the charming, multi-dimensional Marge, as played by Finneran. No navel-gazer, our Marge: unlike the long-suffering Fran, she has a sense of the ridiculous about herself, Chuck, and the insane world of men and women. And gee, she has no desire to self-destruct. When survivor Marge exits the stage and Chuck's story, to leave the comotose Fran, she takes the last traces of musical comedy with her.
Miss Chenoweth: if you want to start playing grown-ups, don't take on a victimy, girlish lamb lost in the big jungle, and try to turn her into Gloria Graham. And Mr. Ashford: shame on you for not knowing a damned thing about story structure, character, and how to weight an evening. Ending act one with the ludicrously inappropriate -- by any standards, even juke box musicals -- "House Is Not a Home" is one of the most amateurish decisions ever made.
And all of it framed in a proscenium that would better befit a musical version of The Flintstones.
"I'm a comedian, but in my spare time, things bother me." Garry Shandling