Happy belated Pride...

Instead of prancing about in daisy dukes and skintight tank, I spent my Pride weekend sweating it out in a theater detail-painting a trolley car. Which, when you think about it, is pretty gay, too. Most of the set for Meet Me In St. Louis, this year’s high school show for our Conservatory kids, is already completed. We’ve decided to try and minimize our late nights at the theater this summer and actually pre-build the set. Thankfully, there’s not much major construction for this one, unlike that behemoth Les Mis barricade. Who’d have thought a pile of junk would be so difficult to construct?

We start rehearsing MMSL today, but sadly, I will not be able to join the cast for today’s 95-degree scorcher in the un-air-conditioned CDC theater. Am I disappointed? As Whitney circa 2000 would mutter while wiping the crack sweat from her brow - hells to the no! Instead, I will be luxuriating in the cool comfort of my 36th floor desk overlooking Times Square. Ah, the corporate life. But come July 12, my fat ass - or as we assistants have affectionately termed it, “banker butt” - will be sweating with the youngsters for three weeks of “Banjo”-ing (perhaps one of the stupidest songs ever written for a musical - up there with the “Garlic” song from Dance of the Vampires).
I mean, it’s not even a real historical dance. And let me tell you, I’ve researched the dances of the period to get some choreographic inspiration and they are not exactly musical theater friendly. The cake-walk? The two-step? They all look rather silly. We’re going to have to push to the more exciting, though historically inaccurate, Jitterbug / Charleston. Oh well, it’s high school summer theater, so I’m not going to kill myself over it. I’m already forced to include a Waltz and a Square Dance. Have you ever tried to teach 14-year-old boys how to Waltz? Not pretty.

Coming up - our second annual July 4th weekend in DC at the lovely Omni Shoreham.  Frozen drinks and fried food poolside, here I come!

Quote of the day...

I was browsing the opera blog, Parterre, today during a particularly slow day at the office and came across this gem posted by BETSY_ANN_BOBOLINK:

MANON from Opera Ottawa features Michael Schade and Nathalie Paulin, not negligible vocalists by any means, but not the sort of cast to make queens wet their jeans.

So for the next week, I will try to use the phrase "...make queens wet their jeans" at least once a day.  I encourage you to do the same.

My name is Fausto and I'm a...

Is there a 12-step program for reality show addiction? Because I just can’t stop. Thank you networks for the particularly cheese-tastic array of choices available for summer viewing. These are my drugs of choice:
Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List
Mall Cops: Mall of America
The Fabulous Beekman Boys
Losing it With Jillian
So You Think You Can Dance?

I literally had to delete shows from my DVR list because it can only record two shows at one time (sorry Intervention and Hoarders, you will be missed but not forgotten). And there are still shows that I want to see but am physically unable to squeeze into my 18 waking hours a day (Cupcake Wars anyone?). Here’s why I can’t live without them (OK, maybe that’s a bit dramatic, but I am a thespian and a homo - the perfect storm of theatricality):

Kathy Griffin - A gay man with a vagina, Kathy lacks any trace of subtlety and tact, but she is fuckin’ hilarious. I like that she calls celebrities (and herself) out on their bullsh*t and would be honored to have her as my hag.

Mall Cops - This show is brilliant. If I hadn’t known any better, I’d think it was a parody a la "Waiting for Guffman." I mean, a show about the dangers of being a mall security guard? Last night’s episode had the guards stopping an ice cube fight, chastising a fast food manager for blocking a fire exit and helping a special needs customer find his slushie. You can’t write that shit.

The Fabulous Beekman Boys - A gay NYC couple, one an OCD former doctor and VP with Martha Stewart and the other a former drag queen turned advertising exec, buy a farm upstate and attempt to run it using information gleaned from Google and advice from Farmer John, a gay animal lover whose love for his llamas literally brings him to tears in the first episode. ‘ Nuff said?

Losing it - I love watching people cry.

SYTYCD - The only talent show on TV that actually rewards people for having legitimate training. Imagine that?

And speaking of TV, I caught the first two acts of Live from Lincoln Center’s HD broadcast of Simon Boccanegra last night starring Placido Domingo. The man is 69 and still sounds incredible (although that wig - yikes!). I’m 40 and feel used up. It’s just not fair.

Crazy Sh*t on the Tonys OR Who knew Lea Michele was British?

What a crazy, mannered, I’m-going-to-force-this-down-your-throat-whether-you-like-it-or-not rendition of a classic. Yes, girlfriend can belt but she obviously can’t feel a downbeat and only has two volume settings, loud and really loud. And what’s with the British accent? She always sounds fantastic on glee - granted, they auto-tune the sh*t out of everyone and have multiple takes - but she was quite lovely in Spring Awakening only a few years back. What happened? She also exhibited not a bit of charm, humor or charisma needed for the character or song. She made Fanny Brice seem like a total b*tch - “Don’t rain on my parade, God Dammit!” To hear how it should be sung, check out Barbra’s original or Ms. Lillias White’s non-traditional, but a thousand times more moving, rendition from Seth’s Broadway 101:



Some other random Tony observations:

Sean Hayes was charming and funny. He was self-effacing, comfortable and at ease in a live, on camera situation. But some of those presenters, Oy! You’d think theatre actors had absolutely no sense of humor, reading the copy like they were auditioning for King Lear. Lighten up, people. And those play synopses - dear God - they actually made me NOT want to see these plays. Why is everyone so serious? The guys from Next Fall were the only two who seemed to have any idea how to entertain or engage an audience. Too bad their show (which I enjoyed, but didn’t love) wasn’t as good as their Tony schtick.

I’m sorry, but I couldn’t make it through any of Fela!’s numbers. I’m sure they’re much better in context, but I just fast forwarded through them. Yes, I’m a racist.

The sound guy sucked. How many times did I need to see lips moving without sound? I can understand tweaking the levels as you go, but how about “on” and “off” for starters?

Catherine Z-J looked cra-cra during "Send in the Clowns"! I thought her eyes were going to pop out of their sockets. She had the expression of a crack whore desperately in need of a hit. Again, I saw and enjoyed her performance in the theater (what happened since?) but between the crazy-face, back phrasing and inappropriate breathing, it came off like she was singing in a different language that she didn’t completely understand. “Isn’t it … (crickets) … rich. Are we a … (crickets) … pair.” Could you please complete your … wait for it … thought. Without breaking it … wait for it … up? Someone get her to a vocal coach, stat!

Thank God Christiane Noll was on hand to show ‘em how it’s done. Her all too short snippet of “Back to Before” was welcome relief from all the screaming and screeching. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against rock or pop shows, but how come nobody seems to really sing anymore? It seems technique, phrasing and dare I say it, a nice tone, is just not a prerequisite for performers anymore. Sigh…

And until yesterday’s little reminders, I had forgotten that Annie (really?) is going to be revived in 2012 and that Ricky Martin is going to be Che in the upcoming Broadway revival of Evita next year. I’m just not sure if he has the acting chops for this one. Unless, of course, he’ll be performing shirtless. In which case, no one will be paying attention to either his singing or acting. I hope he proves me wrong (but still hoping for the naked concept).

Tonys and random sh*t

It's almost Tony time people. Closeted Midwestern teen boys, their unknowing hags and of course, yours truly, will be glued to their sets Sunday night. At the moment, I'm scheduled to be at the CDC theatre (again!) all day Sunday working on that damn trolley. Fingers crossed we'll be done in time to catch the opening number which is supposed to be a medley of pop tunes performed in current Broadway shows. This obvious attempt by CBS to make the Tonys, and by association, Broadway, more hip has “disaster” written all over it. I mean, pop songs sung by Broadway voices in little snippets out of context and in possibly ridiculous costumes may well just kill Broadway for good. Give it up already, CBS. Tony viewers are a niche audience. Your typical, beer-guzzling, football-loving, Ohio blue collar dude will not be tuning in because some unknown actor is doing a cover of a Green Day song. I’d like to keep my Tonys elitist, nerd-centric and totally gay.

Due to some recent replacement casting announcements, I may have to bite the bullet and pay for return trips to some current shows. Brian d’Arcy James, who I caught off-Broadway, is back for the Broadway run of Next to Normal. I’m hoping to find a date where Ripley’s out because I don’t know if I can take a another whole evening of her raspy, under-pitched singing. Girl can act, but her voice is a wreck (and I used to love it back in the Side Show days). Then I’ll probably have to go back again to see real husband and wife team Marin Mazzie and Jason Danieley take over the lead roles in July. That’s a lot of crazy in one month.

I may also have to suck it up and buy full price tick’s to A Little Night Music once Bernadette and Stritchie (that’s Bernadette Peters and Elaine Stritch for you straight people) start their run in July. I’m wet just thinking about it.

I also just subscribed to the Public Theatre for the first time ever so I can secure priority tickets to … wait for it … a 6 1/2 hour, 2 intermission adaptation of The Great Gatsby where the full text is read. I know, I’m a total masochist, but it sounds so crazy I have to be a part of it. Even crazier is that fact that it had a sold out run earlier this year in Boston!

Lost weekend...

It seems I must resign myself to a weekend-free life. Per usual, I spent this past weekend in the Cranford, NJ sweatshop known as CDC theatre. Remind me again why I toil in third world conditions for just pennies an hour? Ah, yes, for the love of the thea-tuh! And in this case, love stinks - both literally and figuratively. We’re talking rainforest-like heat and humidity and lethal levels of black mold and mildew [insert long, self-pitying sigh here].

Free time in general seems to be a rare commodity for me lately. Having just spent months in rehearsals and the last three weekends in performances of The Wedding Singer, I had hoped for at least a brief respite from all things Jersey [insert second long, self-pitying sigh]. Every night last week I commuted to NJ for rehearsals of our Young Artist’s production of Donizetti’s Elixir of Love. Unfortunately, there’s this little thing I do during the day called “a job” that has a pesky habit of getting in the way. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I do appreciate the steady paycheck and commensurate lifestyle it affords, but that damn NJ/NYC/Queens commute does me in. I may just have to bite the bullet one of these days and relocate to at least west of the East River. It will pain me to give up my New Yorker status, but…oh God, I just can’t think about it right now. It’s like considering a move to Siberia.

Anyway, the opera went as well as can be expected for a 90 minute reduction of a 3 hour opera translated into English performed by grade school kids and accompanied by an orchestra of three (violin, flute and me on piano) sight-reading the score. Given the unfortunate overlap with Wedding Singer, poor Val was stuck with the mammoth task of producing and rehearsing this one on her own. Despite the reduced rehearsal time, the kids still managed to pull their sh*t together in time to make us look good.

So after a week of tech hell, two performances (our final Saturday night performance was pre-empted by the Westfield HS prom!), how do I choose to spend the rest of my weekend? Luxuriating at an Upper East Side spa? Enjoying the services of a high-priced rentboy? No, silly. At the theatre, of course!

With the Summer Conservatory just around the corner, Val decided we should get a head start building the set for Meet Me in St. Louis, one of the summer shows we’re producing with the high school group. But not before a celebratory Thai feast (we de-virginized Chris Grimm, yeah!) and making a drunk supply run to Home Depot. So armed with paint brushes and Egg McMuffins, we found ourselves right back at the theatre at 9am on a very hot Sunday morning trying to build a Victorian Mansion and full-sized working trolley car on the miniscule CDC stage.

Luckily, we had forced our brown and white sons - Greg and Chris respectively - into slave labor and hired our trusty paintress, Christy, to add her artistic flair to St. Louis. After ten hours of continuous labor we had painted most of the side stages, constructed half a trolley car and built various random pieces of Victorian furniture. Thanks to some creative dumpster diving, Greg was also able to find us some nifty trellis pieces. I love that the Westfield trash is better quality than what I have in my own apartment.

TDF weekend

Since Wedding Singer held my evenings hostage for the last several months, I’ve not been able to get my regular theatre fix. So how do I spend my first mullet-free weekend of 2010? In Broadway immersion mode, of course. Thanks to TDF I saw three shows in two days - Sondheim on Sondheim, Next Fall and Everyday Rapture. Oddly, all three have religion as a central theme (if you count Sondheim as a religion, which I do) and are super gay. How’s that for irony?

Though word of mouth has been decidedly mixed, I enjoyed the uneven quirkiness of Sondheim on Sondheim (May 28, 8pm). I’m a confessed Sondheimite (not to be confused with a Sodomite, though the two groups naturally share an overlapping membership), so I guess it’s no surprise. Don’t get me wrong, it’s far from perfect. The staging is often bland and pointless. One of the director’s favorite “staging” devices is having the cast aimlessly wander the stage in random formations, regardless of context or lyric. And its ballad heavy format nearly kills the second act. What saves the show from crossing into college lecture territory is the music, the performances (why is Norm Lewis not a star?) and the video clips of Sondheim describing his writing process. Why see it? Steve divulges some great dirt about his private life (damn, his mom was a c*nt!), Vanessa “Dorian Gray” Williams shows off her voluptuous rack and Barbara Cook demonstrates how old school charisma trumps our current cookie-cutter Broadway star blandness.

To be honest, I decided to see Next Fall (May 29, 3pm) because it contains two of my favorite things - cute boys and a tragic death scene. Sadly, the boys weren’t all that cute and the death wasn’t all that tragic. I was so looking forward to a good “Love Actually” cry (dreamy Colin Firth proposing in broken Portuguese gets me every time). But was left disappointingly unmoved. I guess the play had some controversial subject matter (gay Christians, partner rights, etc.), but came off like a very good Lifetime movie only without the awesome cheese factor of a Valerie Bertinelli or Meredith Baxter Birney. I was never bored, but I didn’t really care all that much for the characters. They were all pretty much assholes or losers.

Sherie Rene Scott’s semi-autobiographical Everyday Rapture (May 29, 8pm) is like a really great cabaret act on steroids AND crack. Granted, the unintelligible first number (I did not understand a single lyric in the opening) could easily be tossed or replaced. But what follows is a subversive, funny and personal account of how religion, morality and fame effect people in different ways. If you do not appreciate sarcasm or parody, stay away. Scott’s dry wit and delivery is nothing new to a jaded New Yorker, but will leave more naïve audience members confused and probably offended. Is it a Broadway show? Not really. And I think some of the show’s inherent intimacy is lost on that big, empty stage and ugly set. Extra props to Scott for the funky song choices and for featuring some curvy gals as her Mennonettes.