theatre & the arts
By Brian Sands
NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA
Varla Jean Merman’s Under A Big Top at Le Chat Noir
After Varla Jean Merman’s disappointing Holiday Ham!, I approached her new show with fairly low expectations. Well, with expectations wondrously confounded, let me tell you, Under A Big Top is the new year’s first mega-hit. And tho the new year was only three days old when I saw it, VJM & Co. have already set the bar exceedingly high for 2004’s final 363 days.
Varla Jean Merman in Under A Big TopUnder A Big Top is Varla’s homage to the travelling show. Long overdue—who amongst us remembers 1952’s Academy Award winner The Greatest Show on Earth?—Varla’s opening number sets the tone with "I want to be under a big top/Taking it all in." And she does, whilst stretching this and many other puns to their limits.
In snazzy pink and black outfits created by Philip Heckman, Varla casts herself as ringmistress for a tour of classic showbizness warning, "This is not for the squeamish. Especially the first 17 rows." Leading her audience from the boardwalk on through riffs on mind readers (Madame Know-It-All), clowns ("They’re all alcoholics.") and magicians, no one escapes her barbed wit. And frankly, it’s about time those purveyors of prestidigitation got their comeuppance.
Big Top, however, offers more than just putdowns of obvious targets. I have to admit I’ve never been a huge Varla fan. I didn’t dislike her but just found her humor rather sophomoric. With her new show, however, she leaves behind her "hey-look-how-wacky-I-am" style for more knowing and often insightful material slathered with big gobs of hilarious satire.
With Big Top, she also reveals a greater emotional depth than ever before. From her admission to a childhood fear of clowns to videos that have a charming sweetness not seen in such previous efforts to a confrontation via funhouse mirrors with images of her once plump self (courtesy of videos up to 15 years old), Big Top provides a banana peel for laughs and cotton candy for the heart.
And that’s not all. (Hmm, I’m beginning to sound like a sideshow barker.) Varla uses her big top milieu to explore such grander themes as illusion vs. reality, inclusiveness and other weighty topics. Sure, we’ve chewed over these philosophical nuggets before, usually late at night in a college dorm room, but they do add a soupçon of gravitas to the evening.
While Varla seems to make up the gut-wrenchingly funny comedy as she goes along, Big Top was written by her alter ego Jeffery Roberson and Michael Schiralli with additional material by Matt Callaway and catchy music by David Brunetti. Roberson/Varla’s awesome multi-octave singing voice is shown off not only in two brilliantly conceived medleys, Bizet’s Carmen/Gypsies, Tramps & Thieves and Don’t Cry Out Loud/Be A Clown/I Am What I Am, but also in two songs with a hot dog leitmotif (one featuring a yodeling wiener puppet worthy of Avenue Q) which shamelessly employ every conceivable bit of wordplay for what can be done with that thing that goes between the buns.
In addition to the memory lane compilation video, Big Top features three new mini-movies by Roberson and Schiralli, (Varla in Bearland; an O. Henry-esque take on Christina Augiulera’s Beautiful; and the black & white Frankfurter Sandwiches that has the feel of a 1920s silent short) that are miles above any of VJM’s previous, more slapstick-y cinematic efforts.
The multi-talented Schiralli directed the evening with such smoothness that, despite all the illusions, costume changes and mixed media razzmatazz, there’s not a false note, a lagging moment or an unnecessary element in Big Top’s sixty-five minutes of delicious madness. And when Varla performs her disappearing cheez whiz act, it not only amazes like a stupendous sideshow of yesteryear, but certifies that the line between comedy and tragedy—or is that genius and madness?—is sooooo thin.
With a pie-in-the-face finale that few other female illusionists would dare to do, this brave, stunning performance vaults our own Varla Jean into the top ranks of cabaret entertainers. Though Miss Merman claims that "a big top may not stay up forever," Big Top is a show that should be filling Le Chat Noir, New York’s Symphony Space or anywhere else it plants its pole and unfurls its tent for many years to come.
The Beatles 4 Ever at True Brew Café
T
he Beatles 4 Ever is a sweet trip in a time machine to September 16, 1964. For those of you who were not in New Orleans then, that was the day the Fab Four did a concert in City Park in what is now Tad Gormley Stadium. For those poor souls who may not be familiar with them, the Beatles are the greatest musical act of the last 50 years. Maybe more. It was quite a day back then.Director mikko had the bright idea to go back and create a sense of that day. He culled newspapers, conducted interviews with folks who were there, gathered old letters and solicited recollections from any who participated in the hoopla. He then curated these reminiscences into a well-arranged narrative of that epochal day.
We’re treated to letters to Hale Boggs and Mayor Vic Schiro begging for tickets or memorabilia; curmudgeonly columnist Mel Leavitt panning the Liverpool lads as "monuments to mediocrity"...and then oafishly trying to retract his words; and tales of Ringo’s microphone cover and a Paul McCartney look-a-like — who was a girl!
Catholic school girls were warned not to wear their uniforms to the concert. Parents complained about the exorbitant cost of the $5 tickets. And apparently the audience screamed so loudly through most of the performance that it was almost impossible to hear the words. Which is a shame since the Beatles’ songbook is full of the most lustrous lyrics ever written.
Our guide for this journey is Greg DiLeo who, with his graying temples, is cute in a kinda Paul McCartney-ish way. This personal-injury-lawyer-by-day nicely differentiates the various characters’ voices who contribute to the story’s mosaic quality and he does an excellent job conveying the all-encompassing passion of the Beatles’ fans, nearly all of them adolescent girls.
Interspersed with the recollections are about twenty songs from the Beatles early repertoire. Now DiLeo is a fine guitar & harmonica player and amiable presence, but, and it’s a BIG but, DiLeo’s voice just ain’t up to the task. He tends to sing as flat as City Park’s terrain and exhibits little in the way of proper breath or diaphragm control.
Because we’re so used to the way they should be done, the more well-known songs (Nowhere Man, She Loves You) come up short whereas the more obscure numbers (Black and Blue, I’ll Follow the Sun, Falling, I’m a Loser) come off better. Still, his attempts at McCartneyesque whoops as in She Loves You, You Gotta Hide Your Love Away or I Wanna Hold Your Hand are positively cringe-inducing.
Let’s face it, if you’re gonna do a one man Beatles entertainment, you really ought to have the chops to pull off the songs flawlessly. After the show, I was going to ask if DiLeo was suffering from a cold that evening but in case the answer was "No" I didn’t want to have to wipe the egg off my face.
Perhaps, unless Hugh Jackman becomes available, the answer might be to make this a two-person show; DiLeo could still do the words but the songs could be handled by someone more musically inclined and who could convey the youth, charisma and openness of the early Beatles. The two would have to work as one finely oiled machine but it may be worth a shot.
Despite this, The Beatles 4 Ever is a fun evening that especially resonates with locals of a certain age who remember the Piccolino Club and who can sing word-for-word along with these older Beatles songs. Hearing these songs again, or for the first time, with their intricate harmonies, melodies, rhymes and images, it’s unavoidably apparent that no other group will ever come close to what John, Paul, George and Ringo created.
Sadly, these shimmering songs seem to be completely lost on the members of a younger generation who were recently in the audience at True Brew. Only when DiLeo went into Yesterday did a voice in the kiddie section pipe up "Finally, one I know." Be that as it may, I doubt that 30+ years from now anyone will be doing a show featuring the songs of ‘NSync or the Backstreet Boys.
Grease at Le Petit Theatre
I’m not going to tell you not to see Grease at Le Petit. Hey—who would listen? After all, it’s one of the longest running Broadway shows of all time. It’s one of Hollywood’s highest grossing movies. And it’s constantly being revived. I just can’t figure out why.
Grease at Le Petit / Photo: John B. BarroisFor those of you who have been in a cave the last 30 years, Grease tells the tale of class of ‘59 hotshot Danny Zuko and the gals in his life—uptight cheerleader Patty Simcox, tough babe Betty Rizzo and prim-&-proper-or-is-she Sandy Dumbrowski.
Le Petit has seemingly lavished oodles of $$$ on this production with an impressive set by Bill Walker that comes out over the audience and fun’n’flashy lighting effects by Jonathan Foucheaux. Director Brandt Blocker keeps the proceedings moving along and though there are more pelvic thrusts at Rydell High than in the Rocky Horror Show, Jauné Buisson generally choreographs with panache.
But that’s not enough. Despite valiant efforts by the cast, this warhorse never really takes off. Though Jessie Terrebone and Brian Peterson bring their usual charm and pizzaz to the foodies of the bunch, and Casey Leigh Thompson has some pert moments as a beauty school dropout, this episodic story makes the gang about as interesting as the Eisenhower-era dorks they are rebelling against.
As Sandy, the talented Amanda Zirkenbach can’t overcome the fact that she’s basically stuck with the Jeanette MacDonald role until she metamorphoses into a tough girl at the end. Emily Antrainer fares better as Rizzo who at least gets to exhibit some depth when given the opportunity in There are Worse Things I Could Do.
At least Matthew Ragas, seen last summer as the Good Angel in Bluebeard, brings a certain lyrical quality to Zuko. While his string bean figure isn’t exactly "leader of the pack" issue, his presence convinces that he can keep his minions in line while his eyes betray an actual conflict as he tries to figure out which of his women is the real deal. And he’s a cutie to boot in a young Sal Mineo kind of way.
Amanda Zirkenbach and Matthew Ragas in Grease at Le Petit
Photo: John B. BarroisIronically, though, at Le Petit it’s the smaller characters who make the biggest impact. How often do you get to see Roy Haylock bumping and grinding...with a gal?! As DJ Vince Fontaine, Haylock shows off a basso voice and proves he can swagger in pants. A little bit of Bianca creeps in as he hosts the intermission dance contest but at a recent matinee those ladies of a certain age demonstrated that they could dish it out as well as take it.
Though drag is becoming so overdone that no one even blinks an eye at it any more, turning the teacher Miss Lynch into a drag role isn’t a bad idea since she was pretty much of a parody to begin with. Without camping it up, Vee Plauché, who looks a bit like my friend Ken Weatherup’s aunt, finds the comic details in this character to make her much more memorable than she usually is. Hmm...maybe the entire show should’ve been gender-switched.
Then there’s the Teen Angel of rock icon and New Orleans native Frankie Ford. As he comes down the stairs Hello Dolly-like in his pink shirt and white fur coat for the Beauty School Dropout number, this Grease achieves the over-the-top quality that it could’ve used more of throughout. And, at the end, as the 64-year-old renders with a still firm voice his signature song Sea Cruise while dispensing jokes that are mustier than he is ("These leather pants are like a cheap motel—neither has any ballroom."), Le Petit’s Grease vaults from the earthbound into the unforgettable land of the surreal.
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