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.
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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).
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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.
