For some reason my hyperfixations always seem to end on Broadway, despite all the cost and stress to haul myself across the Atlantic. The original idea for this trip had been to attend the final performance of Hadestown for full closure, but my beloved show proved the naysayers and doom mongers wrong by chugging on quite happily on Broadway. The next thought had been to be there either for some sort of cast change, but again they confounded expectations with the leads just staying on and on with no cast change in sight. But who needs an excuse for a trip? I was happy to just trudge off to New York and the Great White Way again, seizing the opportunity to drag the mother along and introduce her to my beloved show.
What I had NOT expected when hatching the Back-to-Broadway idea was that flight prices had gone through the roof (and then some) since I had bagged a cheap return with Air France last year. So ultimately I opted for a German package tour with flight and hotel, as operators had already fixed prices last year and they weren’t quite so eye-watering. It did mean having to fly Germany’s god-awful tourist airline Condor, but they recently started buying new planes and the Airbus 330neo actually turned out to be quite nice, as was the service. Even better was the fact that it was a mix of regular passengers, including many Americans, rather than the breed of German package tourist that made me despise Condor so much.
Another happy surprise – after someone had made me nervous about a waiting time of two hours in my personal circle of hell, immigration at JFK Airport, things were in my favour for once as they were hardly a queue when we arrived and we were through from plane to AirTrain within 35 minutes (and we were bloody lucky, a few minutes later, the queue from our flight had built up and ANOTHER planeload had arrived). Less fun was the fact that the Subway Line J, which was the direct way to our hotel, was not running, which meant a detour with a change of line and lots of ancient staircases to navigate with big suitcases. Since we had chosen the package, the hotel was not in Midtown but down in the Financial District, on Stone Street of all places, a beautiful alley with old-fashioned houses and lots of outdoor dining, which I had fond memories of from another trip (and sold me on that hotel).
By now there was only just time to dump luggage and freshen up some, before it was back on the subway and to Times Square. Some might question the wisdom of booking a show the first evening after a very long journey, but I’ve found that it is a great way of pushing through the American evening and go to bed late rather than crash out at 7-8pm and spend a whole week bogged with jetlag. So here we were – after the most American dinner of ‘em all, a hasty meal at McDonald’s, because there was no time for anything bigger and hey, why not.
My pick had been the stage adaptation of “Some Like It Hot” with music and lyrics by Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman, whose relentlessly upbeat and energetic cast recording had convinced me it would be the right pick to see us through the first evening. While ticket sales had been tepid from the start, it did get a boost from winning a few major Tonys, including the one for best actor for Jerry/Daphne J. Harrison Ghee. Who turned out to be absent. As were Christian Borle as Joe/Josephine and Adrianna Hicks as Sugar. It truly WAS understudy central at the Shubert Theatre that evening, which makes it harder to fairly judge the show.
Overall it was an enjoyable evening, but pretty much the theatrical equivalent of the quarter pounder I had at McDonalds before: A quick enjoyment, that won’t linger long in the memory. Having grown so tired of the small shoebox musicals I saw in London on my last trips (with nothing bigger to offer) I had looked forward to big dance numbers and those certainly didn’t disappoint. But there was little ELSE this had going for it. The thin plot of the movie had been thinned further to be replaced by songs that didn't really move the story forward much. And what plot there was has been updated with a good wallop of political correctness.
I could quickly get on board with Sugar Kane – one of Marilyn Monroe’s legendary roles – being cast with a black performer now (understudy Kayla Pecchioni, who had her great moment on stage with the wonderful ballad "Ride out the storm" in the second act) as it made sense for a sultry jazz singer in that period and this liberated whoever performs the role from Marilyn’s platinum-blonde shadow. I was less convinced by the new subplot that had Jerry realize he had always wanted to live as a woman and come out as transwoman Daphne in the end. It felt like a whole different musical with a much deeper subject than this flimsy comedy warranted, where a young man dons female dresses for the first time to escape the mob and immediately realizes out of the blue that life as a woman is what he always wanted. It also rubbed up weirdly against the left-over comedy from the movie with cross-dressing Joe/Josephine remaining the old trope of the funny bloke in the frock (with gorgeous understudy Casey Garvin easily making me forget Christian Borle).
Oh well, I suppose as a message for tolerance and diversity in these godawfully intolerant times it still worked and I guess it would have helped to see the actual lead and Tony winner rather than the fairly bland and very young understudy DeMarius R. Copes, who certainly gave it all, but just didn’t engage me. So, on a personal level I’m glad I saw this and it was definitely a good choice for the first evening, but I can also understand why it’s not setting the box office on fire.
Needing a filling breakfast to last through the next day, I decided it was a good time to give Ellen’s Stardust Diner a go at last – opinions range from “total must-do” to “horrible tourist trap” but I’ve never been and I do think that it’s always best to check out things for yourself before slagging them off. So we took the subway to Midtown early for a breakfast there and we got ringside seats on the upper floor, from which we could nicely watch the singing waitstaff on both levels. The food was good too and while I wouldn’t need to go again, it was fun enough to do it once as part of the whole Broadway experience.
Afterwards I poked around some shops including Barnes & Noble, which seems to be the last place in Manhattan to sell CDs, then it was time for a coffee break and the reason for the whole trip (again): Back on the road to hell, to Hadestown, the best new show in years that has captured my heart so much. And while a London production is now a fact, London's casting choices have been so questionable so often in recent years, I knew I'd really rather wanted to say goodbye to my people on Broadway first.
Since no cast changes happened, there was just one fresh face among the leads for me: Tom Hewitt who replaced Patrick Page as Hades last December. It meant they lost Patrick's unique basso profundo, but to make up for that, Tom acted the shit out of the part and I think I may actually prefer him and his heavily sarcastic smirking and devilishly attractive Hades to Patrick who often seemed to rely on his voice only to vibe how dangerous he was (you're not supposed to want to run off into hell with Hades, are you?). It also helped that Tom was freakishly tall, towering over everyone else and even getting to tower over Orpheus, who’s usually the tallest in the cast, which was a nice shift of balance. Needless to say, I was glad to see my boy Reeve again, along with Eva, Lillias White as Missus Hermes and Jewelle Blackman as Persephone (whose final performance this should have been, but apparently she changed her mind and just went on holiday after this week).
There’s little I could say about the show and how much I love it that I haven’t said in last year’s report, so suffice is to say I was incredibly happy to be able to be there again that I almos welled up a little when I entered the Walter Kerr Theatre. The show itself also still brings tears to my eyes in so many moments, most notably the end of Epic III when Orpheus kills Hades with words and the fearsome God of the Underworld crumbles into the arms of Persephone. Everyone was in fine form, too, which is particularly stunning given how long most of them have been in the show by now.
Since it had been the matinee with no evening show planned (and the Fates were cruel and did not allow me to catch another Sunday evening concert), it was the perfect occasion to return to the hotel early and have dinner in one of the lovely open air restaurants on Stone Street. Which was just as well because it was also Pride Weekend in New York and while I had seen fabulousy dressed people everywhere all day, it was even more fun to watch peacefully from a nice table having dinner.
Scheduling problems had meant that for once I couldn’t do the normal stretch of shows from Wednesday to Sunday, but had to include a Monday when Broadway is mostly dark. Since the mother had never been in Washington, where I had once visited a friend and got a lovely tour around the sights, it seemed a good idea to do a day trip there – even despite America being a freakishly big place it’s doable, especially when taking the train. And how depressing when even the USA and Amtrak easily beat the chaos that’s Deutsche Bahn these days, because both trains were on time, very clean and with great comfortable seating and steady wifi throughout. We arrived at Union Station before noon and had the whole afternoon for a (long) walk up and down the Mall and a detour to the White House, so here are a few pix of the beautiful capital:
I suppose the first building above doesn't need an introduction. Up here we have Lincoln staring out over the Reflecting Pool towards the Washington Monument, the rather pompous World War II Memorial (which at least lets you dip your hot feet into cold water) and the far more moving Vietnam War Memorial that basically just consists of a seemingly endless succession of the names of all those who fell in that pointless war and calling to mind Stalin's cynic quote that "the death of one man is a tragedy, the death of a million is a statistic" - not so, when these names stare at you.
The walk up and down the Mall and the detour around the White House took a good four hours, so there was no chance of visiting one of the many excellent free Smithsonian Museums as we had to catch our train back "home" to New York. While it was all fairly exhausting (especially with Washington's infamous humid climate), it's definitely worth it for a day out.
To make up for the busy day, Tuesday had been planned as a relaxing beach day as it's so easy to catch a ferry to Rockaway Beach, a gorgeous expanse of endless beach by the Atlantic that very much reminded me of the North Sea coast back home. But alas the fickle Fates were against me that day as it was grey and overcast with more of a threat of rain rather than clearing up. So instead of sunbathing and swimming, we could just go for a long walk up and down the beach, though the vast empty space and quiet was also wonderful after the permanent sensory overload of Manhattan, where we returned in the early afternoon.
Sardi's is the showbizziest restaurant in the Theater District, which has played host to opening night parties for decades and is most famous for the caricatures of Broadway stars lining the walls. I had been there on my very first New York trip in 1993, when the city had completely overwhelmed me and hadn't enjoyed it at all, then avoided it ever since. So now it seemed a good idea to finally return to introduce my mother to it and generally check my own prejudices. And while it's rather overpriced, it IS a great place to dine at at least once for every musical theatre nerd.
And then it was finally showtime again – pick for the day being “New York New York”, very losely based on the movie of the same name and also a sort of jukebox musical cribbed together from Kander/Ebb’s back catalogue of lesser known works. It seems to be very much a Marmite show that has divided opinions strongly, but I was still yearning for spectacle and dancing and it feels like the self-congratulatory hymn to New York that really just works on Broadway. And good thing I went, because I really enjoyed myself.
It feels like one of these episodic movies (think Love Actually) where several characters are losely woven together, united by their love for music and ambition to “make it here” in post-war 1946. The main thread follows local Irish-American Jimmy and African-American Francine just arrived from Philadelphia, who fall in love, argue, marry, argue some more and finally get together again for the obvious rousing finale of the title song – which the incredible Anna Uzele knocked duly out of the park, after charming me throughout for the entire show with her massive charisma and big voice. Truly a “star is born” performance, in my book, and matched by Colton Ryan, who seems to be able to do anything from acting and singing to tap dancing to playing both the piano and the saxophone. The various subplots concerned a Polish-Jewish violinist who escaped the holocaust (Oliver Prose) and gets taken in by a kindly landlady and violin teacher who just lost her son in the war (Emily Skinner, getting to sing two of the most beautiful songs), a Cuban immigrant (Angel Sigala) who wants to bring Latin rhythms to New York and make his subdued mother Sofia (Janet Dacal) dance again, and an African-American trumpet player (Jesse Webb) who’d much rather make music than wait tables.
It did all feel a bit overstuffed at times, but it was wildly entertaining nonetheless and personally I noticed once more how much of a difference it makes to me when shows are actually played “colour conscious” rather than “colour blind” or try to ram contrived woke messages down your throat such as “Some Like It Hot” did. Here, it is all the more touching, when Jimmy and Francine are warned off their mixed marriage and he later warns her to not go on tour with a white band, as “you could only use the servant entrances and don’t dare to dip a toe in their pool” – an intense reminder how much black people were discriminated against not so long ago. I wasn’t surprised to realize that the gorgeous 40s and 50s costumes were designed by Donna Zakowski, who created the best-dressed characters in recent TV history in “The Marvelous Mrs Maisel” while Beowulf Borrit created sets straight out of a NY tourist guide – Brooklyn Bridge, Central Park and the “Manhattanhenge” sunset are all there - and Broadway veteran Susan Stroman could be relied on to provide great choreography including the already iconic tap dance on metal girders on top of a skyscraper. The show may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but personally I absolutely loved it with stunning performances throughout and even though the finale might be cheesy as all hell, it was absolutely delightful cheese.
Last year I missed the opening of the new (and long overdue) Museum of Broadway by a few weeks, so I was glad I could remedy that now. While the price tag of $39 for entry is fairly hefty, it’s extremely well done and I actually appreciated the restricted "timed window" entrance, as it meant, no room or area was crowded.
The museum is surprisingly large and separated into three main sections. You start off with a walk along the timeline of Broadway from its first beginnings in 19th century to today, then visit several thematic sections and beautifully done rooms with bits of original stage sets and an endless treasure trove of costumes, props, handwritten notes and more. Finally you get to go "backstage" to see all the incredible work that goes into each performance from costume design and wig-making, to the sound desk and the stage manager calling the show daily.
And while I normally hate selfies and posing for photos, I did enjoy being able to slip into a few shows this way, channelling my inner Sally Bowles complete with chair and hat, standing in Roger's and Mark's apartment or behind the counter of Doc's Drugstore. And here's me letting my inner hippie out for a moment, plus some more photos:
Above left, two costumes dear to my heart - Alex Brightman's as Beetlejuice and Andre DeShield's as Hermes, along with one of Glenn Close's frocks for Sunset Boulevard and Carol Channing's iconic dress from Hello Dolly.
After a morning truly well-spent, it was time for the final double bill of shows and the main reasons for crossing the pond. I became a fan of Josh Groban many years ago, when he was still the golden-voiced beautiful kid and was fortunate enough to see him live in concert back then. I still regret not catching his Broadway debut in “Great Comet”, that completely bonkers adaptation of War and Peace, so I was glad that another opportunity presented itself now, even if it meant sitting through Sondheim, as Josh tackled Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street. The story first emerged as a 'Penny Dreadful' horror shlock tale in 19th century, the gory revenge of Benjamin Barker, who was exiled to the then penal colony of Australia because an evil judge coveted his beautiful young wife Lucy.
I was lucky enough to bag a front stalls seat at a “mere” $250 (when most of the orchestra retails at a quaint $400...) and while it was a bit neck-crick inducing, at least it meant I got to see Josh and everyone else close-up. The writers’ strike in Hollywood had one good result for me as it means Stranger Things can’t start filming its final season, which also means Gaten Matarazzo (cuddly Dustin) stayed longer in the show and I actually got to see him as Tobias, which pleased me much.
Unfortunately I had recently made the mistake to watch the movie version again to refresh myself on what’s going on and while that one zipped along with plenty wise cuts and edits, I found the stage version dragging with too many typically self-indulgent “look how smart and clever I am” bits by Saint Stephen. Luckily the material was presented by a top notch cast that also comprised the delightful Annaleigh Ashford as Mrs Lovett, wonderfully evil Jamie Jackson as Judge Turpin, golden-voiced Maria Bilbao as Johanna and last not least, Ruthie Ann Miles as the Beggar Woman. I was just happy to see her back in full health, having last seen her in The King and I in London still supporting herself on a stick after her terrible accident. And of course there was Josh, now looking more cave troll than golden boy with his shaggy beard (has no one noticed the irony of the supposedly finest barber in London sporting an ugly beard?) but still in wonderful voice. All in all it was decent enough and to be fair I had never bothered with the show, if it hadn't been for Josh Groban and seeing him live on a Broadway stage and in such a meaty part (no pun intended) was definitely worth it. But unlike Into the Woods last year, which I thoroughly enjoyed, I once more just couldn't get aboard with Sondheim's style.
From one fan girl session it wasn’t far to the next, because of course I would end my trip with a final visit to Hadestown to say goodbye to the New York production and its cast. I knew I’d be seeing a new Persephone (Brit West), but there was an unannounced last minute change with Malcolm Armwood taking the stage as a very lanky tall Hermes – and while I loved Lillias White’s Missus Hermes, it was actually quite nice to see a guy again, who brought his very own bouncy interpretation to the fleet-footed messenger of the Gods. Can’t say I warmed as much to Brit West, who came across as very aggro with a sneerily curled lip and lacked the vulnerability underneath the tough shell that both Amber and Jewelle brought to this wonderful role. Otherwise it was the usual suspects with Tom and Reeve being their usual adorable selves, but if I see another less whiny Eurydice than Eva in London it won’t be a minute too soon.
Ah well, it was still a wonderful evening and it’s still mad to me that one year ago I didn’t even think I’d see this show and the American cast again, and now I’ve been to New York twice and saw it four times, so I’ll count my blessings and treasure the memories, whatever happens and any way the wind blows...
