Forbidden Broadway - Rude Awakening
Theater queens, you may once again rejoice. After another year in the Broadway wilderness, Gerard Alessandrini has once again performed his alchemy. Out of the dross of another lackluster season, the great satirist pulls out (mostly) gold for yet another iteration of Forbidden Broadway.
This year, the subtitle is Rude Awakening, which should give you some indication of which pretentious rock musical adapted from an obscure fin de siécle play about misunderstood youth comes in for savage ribbing. Things begin on a typically hilarious and unexpected note when a couple from the suburbs find themselves sitting on the stage (itself a trend ripe for Alessandrini’s pen). The interplay between them and a cast member of Spring Awakening sets off the theme of the night: that the Great White Way is teetering between the rock of self-conscious High Art--Company, Coast of Utopia (and every other straight play), Love Music--and the hard place of low expectations of everything else.
In fact, if there is a problem with the night, it’s that a satirist of Alessandrini’s caliber is only as good as the material he’s satirizing. And Broadway this year was more near beer than Champagne--a point made over and over again throughout the night. Although Hairspray gets its own mini-number, Grease survives only as a means to get shows like Legally Blond, Xanadu and Mamma Mia out of the way, fast.
It’s obvious that Alessandrini barely thinks such tween drek worthy of notice, let alone his Hirscheldian (if not downright Shavian) wit. Alessandrini used to poke fun at Disney musicals one by one ("Beauty’s Been Decreased" was priceless). He still takes time to mock Mary Poppins and the upcoming Little Mermaid. But we don’t get The Lion King’s neck braces anymore. And Tarzan barely rates a mention.
It’s not great revelation that behind Alessandrini’s satire is the soul of a true Broadway show queen. Although he makes fun of the metaness of "The Drowsy Chaperone," you can tell he pretty much likes the show. I’d take issue with his making fun of the star of Chaperone simply because she isn’t an above-the-marquee name, however.
If anything, that whole metamovement in contemporary theater, in which shows are about spoofing shows, seems to make Alessandrini genuinely mad. That can be dangerous for a satirist, as is shown in this revue’s weakest moment. After a nice introduction to the tune of the Richard Rodgers’ Camelot sung by King Arthur, he segues into a rendition of The Song That Goes Like This that surprisingly doesn’t change any of the lyrics until well into the number, when the Lancelot and Lady of the Lake start complaining that Eric Idle (Spamalot’s creator) stole Alessandrini’s ideas. Well, yes, he may well have done so. But so what?
Alessandrini of all people should know how flattering imitation is. Instead, he seems a tad--dare I say it?--jealous.
He needn’t be. Despite all those Idle riches, he’s got, as his favorite Broadway star sang, the sun in the morning in the moon at night. Yes, we once again get yet another variation of The Merm teaching the (barely) living young’uns how to carry a tune to the back of the mezzanine without benefit of body mikes. This time, it’s the Phantom of the Opera who benefits from her expertise, but the song remains the same.
That’s just as it should be, because it’s Ethel Merman who is the presiding household goddess of this enterprise. Throughout Forbidden Broadway, Alessandrini’s alternating love for, and consequent exasperation with, Broadway comes through. The final number, an elegiac request for better shows so that he can have red meat to work with, even spares the Chorus Line revival. It’s as though Alessandrini is saying, "Well, this is a show about shows that shows how wonderful shows can be."
The cast of two men and two women is, as usual, perfect. These rubber faced acrobats can become David Hyde Pierce (in a very funny number about how s-l-o-w-l-y TV actors sing and move on stage) one minute and an over-emoting Raul Esparza (making like Chopin over Chopsticks in a Company spoof) the next. Special mention, however, must be given to Valerie Fagan, who belts it out of the park as the Merm. She also does well as a man complaining of having to sing falsetto as the lead in Jersey Boys, which incidentally completes the evil triumvirate (as a jukebox musical, with Disney and film adaptations).
Also, the onstage piano player, Steve Saari, is as cute as the rest of the cast (and seems to be having the time of his life up there).
Aside from Spring Awakening, by the way, the show that gets the most onstage time is the revival of Les Miserables. Alessandrni has had fun with this British megamusical import since it first arrived. This time, he lays into the show’s turntable gimmick, its endlessness and the boredom of the cast ("On My Phone" is Fantine’s way of coping with all of the downtime she sits in the back of the stage waiting for her cues).
Let’s hope that Broadway has more first-rate shows along the lines of Spring Awakening so that Alessandrini can have some better material to work with. But in the meantime, we theater queens (you know who you are) will have to settle for this year’s edition. Believe me, it’s still the most fun you’ll have on or off Broadway. Even someone who doesn’t know his or her Merm from Martin will love it.
