Godspell (2011 Revival)

Circle in the Square

Next to the enormous Gershwin Theatre is the tiny, scrappy, and innovative Circle in the Square Theatre. In 2011 it housed the, dare I say cult-classic, Godspell. This production would mark the first official revival of the show on Broadway, although a popular off-Broadway rendition played in 2000. The 2011 production did not receive much critical acclaim. In fact, it was shut out from the Tony's. However, the memories from the show will stick with me still.  

. . . 

The only other time I had been to a theatre-in-the-round was to see a local college's performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream. It was utterly confusing when I saw it. I had no idea what was going on, plus I was dangling over a balcony, which, quite literally, put me on edge. 

When I took the escalator down the New York theatre and turned the corner into the auditorium, I was taken aback. It was so small! I couldn't believe a theatre in New York could be so intimate.  

Additionally, the setup of the stage and "pit" also perplexed me. I didn't know how the sound would work with the tiny pit sprinkled throughout the room. I feared that I would be distracted by the band's placement throughout the audience, but I wasn't. Yet, I wasn't seated right next to a guitarist. 

I also wasn't sure how the show was going to start. Of course I figured the lights would dim, but how long would it be for the show to really start after that point?

Well, there was no confusion there. Uzo Aduba stalked onto the stage with such ferocity that I honestly was wondering if some crazy person had bustled in from the street and was just making a scene (pun intended).

Nope. It was just the actress delivering her lines with the most energy and passion I have ever witnessed onstage. I think the smallness of the environment and the projection she had was the perfect recipe for a dynamic start to the show. 

. . . 

Throughout the beginning of the show I recall how many contemporary, topical jokes were thrown in to the script. On the one hand, it was funny. On the other hand, most of the jokes felt cheap. It felt forced. It felt like putting a square peg through a round hole (pun intended, once more). 

. . . 

To see how the director overcame blocking challenges was satisfying. What was even more satisfying was to see how inventive the set designer was. One would think that condensing the space would limit a designer. In this case, the designer found clever solutions: cut-outs. The wooden floor had slats that were retracted to reveal something new. In the first song, the slats opened up to small pools of water in which the disciples walked on water. For "We Beseech Thee," the slats unveiled individualized trampolines. In "By My Side," fog spewed from the slats. Trap doors are nothing new, but these trap doors were multipurposeful. 

. . . 

The start of Act 2 disoriented me. No entr'acte I knew of had actors singing nonchalantly. Telly Leung came out to the piano and broke the fourth wall. He then brought out two other actors to perform a reprise of "Learn Your Lessons Well." At the time, it seemed like three people just pal-ing around with each other, but now I realize how it was almost a somber foreshadowing. It was the last time the actors would interact with the audience directly before the future had to take its course. It was our last supper -- I mean, really -- they gave us food at intermission on stage (another disorienting practice). 

. . . 

Christ's crucifixion is the obvious climax of the show. When it came time for the scene, the entire mood had shifted in the room. Everyone knew what was going to happen. What I most recall is not watching the actors during the scene's buildup, but watching the other audience members. That is a joy of theatre-in-the-round: you can more easily see how those around you in the audience are reacting. Sure, it can be awkward, but it can also be inspiring. When it became "real" that Jesus was going to be nailed to the cross, I watched a young girl's face drop. She turned to her mother with a look of, "Wait -- you don't mean they're actually going to do this?" That moment in the theater perhaps is the most important moment I've witnessed. I couldn't help but think, Who all had that same exact reaction at the actual crucifixion? I was witnessing a girl experiencing empathy for someone who was depicting the Savior. I was witnessing someone understand the humanity of Jesus. I was witnessing life change. It can seem abstract and vague for people to talk about the power of theater, but that moment made the advocacy of theater real to me. 

. . . 

The end of Godspell can vary. I knew this heading in to the show, and I was quite anxious to see what spin this production would have on the finale. Ultimately, I was relieved by the optimism. When the disciples carried Jesus's body over their heads, it was symbolic. What surprised me is when they practically threw his body into the air upon the start of the chorus. That movement exclaimed victory, hope, and joy. Catharsis occurred. 

. . . 

The next show I would see would be another Stephen Schwartz hit. This revival far surpassed Godspell in its critical acclaim. The show was Pippin.  

Phantom of the Opera (2011)

My Eyes! My Ears!

The Phantom of the Opera has been housed at the Majestic Theatre since January 9, 1988. It is the longest-running show in Broadway history. It won 7 Tony Awards: Best Musical, Leading Actor, Featured Actress, Direction, Scenic Design, Costume Design, and Lighting Design. That's right: no victory for Andrew Lloyd Webber's score (the prize went to Stephen Sondheim for Into the Woods). In many respects, it is a distinct, universal theater-lover's rite of passage to see Phantom of the Opera.

. . . 

As I trekked up to the balcony, I remember finding the curtain a little off-putting. What was with all the glum drapery? (I had forgotten how the show started at the auction in the run-down theater.) I scanned for the chandelier. I was curious about the mechanics of it -- I wondered if there were tons of cables hooked up to it for the famous crash sequence. I can't remember what I saw.

I do remember seeing shadows dart around backstage. I, in all of my teenage haughtiness, was furious. Are you kidding me? This is a professional show and the cast members do not know better than to remain unseen to the audience before the show starts?! I would never make that error . . . 

I don't know whether to cringe or laugh as I reflect upon that reaction. What I then saw as laziness and unprofessionalism I now view as the thrill of live theater. I could have just rejoiced in the thrill of being reminded that theater isn't about perfection. Ultimately, it isn't about things going without a hitch. It is about the we've-got-to-do-this-thing-one-way-or-another mentality. It is about anticipation. It is about adrenaline. It is about backstage magic.

I now look back at that moment with gratitude. I think of how the pacing actors were swept up in preparing themselves. While I could hardly relate to the actors then out of condescension, I can absolutely identify with them now as I think of how flurried I feel when preparing for my work day to start.

. . .  

Part of the show's allure is the always intensifying mysterious atmosphere. Everything (the music, the lights, the sets, the script, etc.) works toward that goal. The sound team was in on it, too. During one of the scenes, the Phantom's voice was heard coming from various sections in the theater. It was thrilling, terrifying, and unusual. I had never thought about the concept of placing amplifiers in various locales to focus sound. After all, I was most familiar with seeing large amps in a small school theater and I had never thought to observe the monitors at the touring productions (what middle school student would?). The effect made me realize how creativity in the theater far extends past the interpretations/performances from the actors.

. . .  

Another spectacular part of the show is the costuming. Even from the balcony, the costumes wowed. I was enamored at how much the costumes reflected each character's personality. The costumes did not distract, but they helped visually characterize the roles. Most notably, at least to me, was Madame Giry's costume. Her black dress perfectly depicted her essence. The cane was a superb prop to add to the costume; it reminded us she was old and it assisted her in demonstrating her ability to command others. It both softened and hardened her.

. . .  

Lastly, I recall flames shooting up through the stage floor during a scene. I swear that the flames went 40 feet in the air. What most amazed me was not their height, but their brilliance. My eyes actually hurt when I saw them. I can only imagine that I would have had permanent eye damage had I been seated any closer. This moment stood out to me because it made me acknowledge that with more funding, more effects can happen. I knew that I could not see that effect at any high school in my area. Certain effects can only be seen from major productions, and that can be part of the enticement of going to the theater. Yes, movies can engage your senses in new ways, but I'll argue that the stage offers that more frequently and in more ways. I am not the biggest fan of going to see a show for its glitz and glamour, but Phantom reminds me that there is no shame in indulging, if not harming, your senses.

. . . 

The next show I would see gave me my first true experience in theater-in-the-round. Although unmet with critical acclaim, the 2011 revival of Godspell would deepen my appreciation for the agency of theater. 

Anything Goes (2011 Revival)

It's All Under Control

The 2011 revival of Anything Goes was housed at the Stephen Sondheim Theater. I recall being taken aback at how modern the inside of the building was. It felt more like a movie theater or college lecture hall than it did a well-worn auditorium.

Every musical must decide how to alert the audience that the show is officially starting. Sometimes the transition into the show is intentionally jarring. Sometimes the transition is dangerously coy. Sometimes, lights dim and an eardrum-rattling ship horn shakes the seats. At least, that was the case for this show. Upon the bellow, we were no longer in a state-of-the-art, Roundabout Theater Company-funded auditorium; we were about to board a boat.

.     .     .

On board, the audience anticipated the arrival of the show's star and recent winner of the Tony Award for Best Leading Actress, Sutton Foster.

Ah, the age-old debate: entrance applause or no entrance applause? There are several convincing arguments that can be made. Personally, I believe that entrance applause is destined to occur in major productions. I most appreciate when directors keep this in mind as they block the show. It is a gift to be cared for by a director who knows that it's important for the audience to hear every word.

Foster's first scene set the tone for the production. Could I tell you what happened in the scene? Nope. Can't remember. Here is what I can remember, though: she entered the stage so quickly and delivered her line so abruptly, that there was not a chance for the audience to interrupt her line.

The crowd erupted after her quip.

Then dialogue happened.

Then "I Get a Kick Out of You."

Her voice was as dumbfounding as I had hoped it would be. The song was beautiful, but that wasn't the part that stood out to me. The part that stood out to me was her exit. As she held on to the last note, the set was smoothly, automatically swept offstage.

You know when someone says something is "breathtaking"? I have only twice literally experienced that sensation from art. One of the two occasions was seeing Monet's lilies. (I was stunned by the size of the paintings, the beauty of the colors, and the movement of something blatantly static.) The second occasion was Foster's first exit in the show. I think I was just sucker-punched by the execution of it. The speed at which the set moved in conjunction with the final measures of the song was perfect. The actors didn't budge an inch or show any awareness that they were being swept away. In that moment, all I could think was: "They have this under control. I can trust them." Now, that might sound like a silly thing to think--of course I could trust professionals to do their job for which they have won awards . . . I didn't head into the production not trusting them . . . I just  . . .  I just was surprised at how well the whole production was taking care of the story and the audience.

.     .     .

Not only did the director, Kathleen Marshall, take care of the audience, but the director took care of the cast, too. In the title song at the end of Act 1, there is a marvelous dance break. Foster nailed the whole thing. Then she had to sing some more. The blocking and choreography of this particular version was iconic. The part that has always stood out to me is near the very end of the song. Foster turns around and listens to the rest of the cast singing. This strategic decision is to be celebrated for several reasons. First, it allows Foster to regain her breath without the audience watching. Second, it forces the audience to acknowledge the rest of the incredible cast -- it isn't the Sutton Show, after all. Third, it allows for the audience to whoop and holler when Foster eventually turns around to belt the final notes of the act. Not only is the build-up great for the Act 1 finale, but Foster's pose is brilliant, too. As she hits the last note, she raises her arms. It is an image of victory: I just delivered a stellar performance. It is an image of freedom: the last words are "anything goes" and the pose suggests that. (Side note, it also helps expand the ribcage, which is important for the actress to be able to sustain the note, but that's beside the point).

.     .     .

If I had all the time in the world, I would like to study the beginnings and endings of acts in musicals. I think it would be interesting to see if there are any trends in how these particular scenes function on an emotional level with the audience. 

I have nothing to back up what I am about to say. I feel like older musicals were more concerned about reorienting and exciting the audience at the start of act 2 than newer musicals. I think of Kiss Me, Kate, for example, and the seemingly dying Act 2 entr'acte.

In Anything Goes, the first song is "Public Enemy Number 1," a cheeky reminder of the conflict at hand. The song is somewhat of a snooze-fest, though, especially compared to the next number, "Blow, Gabriel, Blow." I recall at the end of that song, Foster slid up the octave as jaws dropped. It was superhuman. Then I noticed a few people giving a standing ovation. I didn't join--I think I was in shock and I didn't know what was proper theater etiquette.

.     .     .

The last moment that has stuck with me from this show was a moment in which the entire cast delivered a punchline in unison. I cannot recollect the line. Yet, I do remember how effective it was for a rather large cast to say a line together. The line, whatever it was, would not have had the audience laughing as hard if not everyone was involved or if the company failed to maintain synchronicity. Once more, I realized how "under control" the show was set out to be. 

The next show I would see drew my attention to the importance of costuming and sound design -- parts of theater I hadn't paid much attention to before. The show was Phantom of the Opera, starring Hugh Panaro as the titular character.       

Impetus

An exhilarating train ride without wheels. A shooting over a stolen purse. A curtain that looks like a neon hairdo. Statues that come to life. Typewriters powered by tap shoes. African animals bustling through aisle-ways. A city-wide blackout.

When I was a child, I witnessed it all.

The Music Man had been a family staple. I couldn't give you an age when I was officially indoctrinated, but I could estimate that I could perform the soundtrack backwards and forwards by the end of elementary school.  The original movie with Robert Preston and Shirley Jones far outshines the more recent movie version with Matthew Broderick and Kristen Chenoweth. Yet, the movie versions fail to spark the audience's imagination like the stage version does.

Here's why.

The curtain rose and there was no train. Of course there was no train. But, the first scene takes place on a train . . . So . . .

Child me was not ready.

The actors sat upright on benches. The train whistle blew. They all lurched forward with gusto, and I believe I did, as well.

You see, it did not matter that there was no train on the stage. They made me believe they were on a train. I was in awe of their commitment to bouncing up and down for a four-minute song while they delivered a perfect tongue-twisting, witty expository. It was a moment in the theater that I will never forget.

That's exactly what this blog is dedicated to -- enshrining the moments from shows that have stuck with me from over the years.

To start, I will provide a crash-course in the other shows I saw in Columbus as part of Broadway's National Tours. The other posts will focus on each show I have been fortunate enough to see in New York.

The Music Man
As mentioned, the opening train sequence stood out to me as memorable. I also vaguely recall the end of "Marian the Librarian" wherein the dancers unabashedly threw papers into the air. It was so rebellious. I think it is human nature to want to be loud in a library. The temptation always lurks. For at least one song, the audience gets to live vicariously and is better for it.

42nd Street
I would argue that 42nd Street has one of the best opening scenes in musical theater history. For the curtain to raise slightly to reveal the tap dancing feet is pure bliss. It's such a tease!

I also will vividly remember one of Peggy's dance breaks in "Go Into Your Dance." She does a lightning speed series of triples, and I am fairly certain I have worn out that part of the CD recording from my childhood.

The moment that most scarred me in all of my theatre-going can be attributed to watching the title number. All I know is that the slinky dancer who stole a purse was being pursued by a police officer and the music was crescendoing . . . I physically grew uncomfortable. I knew something bad was going to happen. It was like we were being pushed up a roller coaster slope. I was terrified of the fall. When the gunshot went off, I am surprised I didn't black out.

After the show, there were some cast members in the lobby collecting donations for some charity. I remember my mother introducing me to one of the cast members. It was an odd experience. Seeing an actor offstage moments after watching them perform as someone else was as disorienting to me as, say, seeing one of my elementary teachers at the grocery store.

The Hairspray curtain

Hairspray
When does the theater experience really begin? Is it with buying the ticket? Hearing about the show? Seeing the marquee? I'm not sure. I do know that I began to better understand how the theater experience is not limited to what happens when the curtain is up and the lights are on. I was so confused and perplexed by the curtain for Hairspray. The curtain wasn't a lush red velvet. Instead it was a silky, pink-ish, droopy fabric. What were they thinking?

Ohhhhhhh. That's what.

When the curtain rose, the curtain clearly resembled a 60s hairdo. I was hooked.

I will also remember the tight choreography to "I Can Hear the Bells." Sure, it is not the most popular song in the show, but it brought me the most laughs that night.

All Shook Up
Okay, so this show was pretty disorienting to me when I was a child. I wouldn't be surprised if it still confused me. I'm not sure why we chose to see it, but I'm glad we did.

The only scene that I remember was a scene in a graveyard (I think?). There were statues. Well . . . were they statues?

I pulled out the binoculars and examined the throats and chests of all the statues. No movement.

But they're going to move, aren't they?

I zoomed in for a closer inspection.

Hmmm, they've been still for this whole scene, I guess they really are sta--

NO, THEY ARE NOT!

Magic. Just magic. How did they do it? I still don't know.

I swear they never moved a muscle.


Thoroughly Modern Millie
As much as I have grown to adore this show, I honestly don't recall much from this production. I do remember "The Speed Test." How could you forget?! I also remember how creative I thought it was for Millie to use her tap shoes to sound the typewriting in that scene.

I also recall the use of the projected lyrics in "Muqin." I had never seen a musical use a projected screen before, and I felt conflicted. I think tween Gabe had an issue with anachronism (even though, I suppose now that the use of a projector wasn't actually anachronistic). How dare they use a technology that wasn't relevant to the time period! But . . . the effect of the closed captioning was also hilarious.


The Lion King
I do not like to be that person who makes assertions about what other people should or shouldn't do in their lifetime. However, I believe everyone should see the opening song to The Lion King on stage before they die. There is no other show I've been to that is as transcendent as The Lion King in terms of transporting the audience to another place. Wonder is instilled in all audience members. Suddenly we are all children, basking at creativity.


In the Heights
This is the first show I've ever been to where I was able to sit in the first row. It was a different experience. The whole "I could see their spit" thing was real. Once more, actors became more human to me.

What most blew my mind, besides the incredible choreography, were the ends to each act. On my unofficial, not-real list of best endings to acts, In the Heights would be at the top.

Now, if I had been paying attention to my playbill, I would have seen that the Act 1 finale included the song "Blackout." I think I was so immersed in the show, that I hadn't opened my playbill from the start, though. The club dance scene was working into a frenzy and my pulse was rushing. Suddenly, the entire theater experienced a blackout. It was so devastating! What was going to happen? How would the managme--

And then the actors started to sing. They opened up cell phone lights. They started dancing. A dark blue light slowly faded in.

It was all part of the show. The city in the show experienced a blackout. They gave us the feeling of a power outage, too. We were suddenly closer to the experiences of the characters. The crowd actually cheered when it realized that we had essentially just been played by the director.

Not only was that genius, but then the scene ended with digital fireworks and metaphorical fireworks as Benny and Nina finally realize their undeniable love for each other. The writing and direction was, and is, perfection in my eyes.

So what's next? The next Broadway show I saw was two years later in the summer before my senior year of high school. It would be my first show in New York.  It was Anything Goes starring Sutton Foster and Joel Grey.