DRINK UP ME HEARTIES - 'Pirates of Penzance' at The Chopin Theatre

"The most wonderful time of the year" in Chicago is probably late June. Winter in this city sucks. And although a basic understanding of geography would imply that the Midwest should lie temperately between Maine and Los Angeles, it's a whole lot more of a bitch than that. Thanks to some particularly off-color polar jet streams, Chicago winters could warmly be described as frigid. And much to my dismay, the theatre willingly falls face-first into that pit of icy, grossly commercialized, Judeo-Christian, anti-artistic depravity. Come Black Friday, playgoers are accosted by a rigorous onslaught of nutcrackers, reformed Dickensian curmudgeons, and cotton balls lazily whoring themselves out as virgin snow. (Note: Christmas is the only time of year in Chicago when a "bear" in a tight red suit is truly appreciated outside of Andersonville.)

But beneath the salted streets, in a cozy basement theatre appropriately reminiscent of a Prohibition-era speakeasy, a treasonous troupe of actors is ushering in the holidays the right way – with mai tais! At the Chopin Theatre, The Hypocrites Pirates of Penzance is an eighty-minute non-stop beach party, raging with riotous laughter, catchy music, and cheap booze.

Last winter when I took in Pirates of Penzance the first time around, the ingenuity of the small company's counter-intuitive seasonal programming went right over my head. Rather than beating the proverbial dead reindeer, Pirates of Penzance is high-fiving its audience with tropical, umbrella drink-laden frivolity, the likes of which could only otherwise be found on some sort of awesome hipster lido deck.

Director Sean Graney has adapted the original, much longer operetta into a condensed, but considerably more satisfying, intermissionless eighty minutes. The fast-paced brevity of the performance makes for an experience of perfect length, and includes just enough dialogue to keep the plot clear and moving. Graney’s additional quips make the funny hysterical, with a dutiful literary motif somehow becoming one of the heartiest repeated laughs of the evening.

The operetta is staged in promenade style, meaning the action occurs unexpectedly all around you. While there is a runway stage that crosses the room diagonally, the entire space is utilized. At any moment, your safe haven of quiet introversion could become a dance floor. This theatrical immersion is nicely complimented by Tom Burch’s backyard set, which surrounds the participants with beach balls, swimming pools, tiki torches, and drink coolers – a summer playground for the actors and audience.

The cast is adorned with vibrantly colored swimtrunks, flippers, and other varieties of garish-but-sexy beachwear designed by Alison Siple. And Jared Moore’s lighting design imbues the play with unexpected moments of solemnity amidst all the fun.

Kevin O'Donnell has cleverly reduced the typically lush orchestrations of Gilbert and Sullivan to a hodgepodge cacophony of acoustic guitars, accordions, and found object percussion. The result is a plucky, quick moving soundscape whose irreverence sets the tone for the farcically frenzied production.

Jamming out to the music is a tight, wild cast of ten. They run around the room with jovial childishness, playing with just about everyone and everything they can. But don’t worry! The nature of the audience interaction is such that it never becomes intimidating or inadvertently victimizing, but more socially akin to a superbly witty kegger. Matt Kahler as the Major General has an ease with dry witticisms and one-liners and finds humor in the unlikeliest of places. Christine Stulik does double duty as the as both the aging matron, Ruth, and the puerile flower, Mabel. Stulik navigates through youthful promise and forlorn spinsterhood with skillful malleability and punch. While some voices lack the maturity to tackle opera seriously, this production is anything but serious and everything but mature. And its better for it! The majority of the cast has returned from last season’s production, and their newfound comfort and enhanced enthusiasm makes them absolutely thrilling to watch.

This is the second year The Hypocrites have produced The Pirates of Penzance, and I would not be surprised if it became an annual holiday offering. It is a show that, like only the best of drugs, demands repeated indulgences in order to once again experience that amazing feeling you got the first time. Pirates also makes for a shockingly good family outing. On opening night, I noticed four kids in the audience. Having never seen any children at The Hypocrites before, I was super curious as to how they would react…

Near the end of the performance, one small girl, probably about five years old, walked bravely onto the narrow runway stage as Rob McLean, the Pirate King, sang a couple of feet away. She stared up at Rob in dough-eyed rapture as he, perhaps unknowingly, serenaded her. After a few seconds, she scampered back to her mother, realizing that she, not the actors, had become the audience’s focus. It was an adorable moment; a breathtakingly beautiful moment; and an uplifting reminder to us pessimistic Scrooges in the audience that great theatre has the intangible power to reach just about anyone, regardless of how many TVs they own.

Not all children will react the same way, of course. The other three youngsters, while visibly engaged, sat the whole time. But the important thing to remember is that this Pirates is not an adult show, nor is it a family show, nor is it a twentysomething show; it is an everyone show. And there is something in Pirates for everyone to enjoy and appreciate.

Gilbert and Sullivan were writing in the middle of the Victorian-era, a seventy-year stretch remembered primarily for imperialism and widespread urban industrialization. So, with their comic operettas, the duo allowed their audiences a brief escape from the day-to-day banalities of cultural enslavement and the inhalation of borderline toxic air. Yum.

With their Pirates of Penzance, The Hypocrites are offering essentially the same service to those of you wishing to temporarily forget the daily doldrums of mile-long Starbucks lines, Outlook Express, and that most grandiose of Chicago villains, Rain-Snow. So strap on your onesie, break out the Ray Bans, and drink up me hearties, yo ho.

The Hypocrites' Pirates of Penzance plays through January 22 at The Chopin Theatre

WHY DID IT GO WEST? -- 'Priscilla, Queen of The Desert' on Broadway

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That's just what this country needs: a cock in a frock on a rock.

Spoken by Bernadette, the knife-sharp, oldest member of the traveling trio, it is the most enduring quote from the cult classic film, The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of The Desert. The joke itself is in sarcastic response to Felicia, a younger and substantially more spastic drag queen. Felicia (also knows as Adam) expresses his desire to...

"Go where no drag queen has gone before. Climb to the top of Ayers Rock in full showgirl sequins and feathers, and sing a dazzling medley of Kylie (now Madonna) classics"

"That's great. That's just what this country needs: a cock in a frock on a rock."


Since 2006, Priscilla Queen of The Desert has been playing various stages in Sydney, London, and Toronto in the form of a big budget, glitzy musical spectacular. A funny choice for a low-budget, campy film. Priscilla, which opened Sunday March 20, has only now steered its " budget Barbie camper van" toward Broadway. While watching a recent performance of Priscilla, I was more than slightly disconcerted when the audience, performers, and even the creative team seemed to collectively agree with Bernadette's bitter sentiments.


I first saw Priscilla Queen of The Desert (directed by Simon Phillips) two years ago in London, where it has been playing to enthusiastic West End crowds since March 2009. To my surprise, I was blissfully swept away (Madonna pun) by the musical. Yes, it's big and campy and unoriginal, but I felt the stage version wholly captured the heart of the movie, while still finding its own unique identity apart from the beloved film. And unlike its other jukebox musical brethren, Mamma Mia, Jersey Boys, and Rock of Ages, Priscilla is surprisingly poignant. Sure it's surface poignancy, but poignancy none the less.


But that was London. This is Broadway. While the physical production is almost entirely identical, with only minor changes made to accommodate the Palace Theatre, the emotional punch that the production packed in London has been reduced to a Roman Forum-like fragmentation.


I know. Pretty harsh words for a seemingly simple crowd-pleaser. But in London, Priscilla transcended its textual simplicity and really allowed the audience to accept these characters into their lives. It created a shared experience of palpable love and vitality. On Broadway, audiences are merely laughing at silly drag queens, and the creative team (including the original screenwriter, Stephan Elliot) is cowardly giving in to their reaction.


The most substantial change in content made to the Broadway production is the exclusion of all Kylie Minogue songs in favor of the Madonna catalogue. As I mentioned above, in the West End version of Priscilla, the character Felicia has an extreme, uncontrollable obsession with Kylie Minogue - not too far removed from the brand of fandom that Lady Gaga inspires today. Felicia's endearing little quirk gave the show a uniquely Australian flair, keeping with the spirit of the movie, while also underlining his youthfulness. Replacing Kylie with Madonna has not only stripped away one of the more off-beat elements of the show, dehumanizing the characters in the process, but is also quite condescending to its audience. And c'mon! Kylie Minogue songs are great!


Tony Sheldon has played Bernadette in Sydney, London, and Toronto before coming to Broadway, and his performance, while still relatively fresh, could make proficient use of a supermarket produce mister. He has the all the right vulnerability, character, and movement qualities - but his Achille's heel comes in the form of jokes. The timing of that humor is embedded in his DNA at this point, and he left us with the more-than-occasional awkward pause. But regardless, his is the strongest of the three leading performances.


I have yet to mention Tony nominee Will Swenson, who in his role of Tick/Mitsy, seems a tick bit confused. The story revolves around Tick's journey to see his son from a previous marriage. When the boy finally starts asking questions about his Dad, a drag queen by profession, his mother (and Tick's secret ex-wife) decides that the two should meet. She suggests that Tick should resurrect his old drag show for a two-month run in her casino. He gathers up his pals Bernadette and Felicia, they hop in Priscilla, a worn out old camper, and journey across Australia. That's a pretty risky and potentially emotional situation, if you ask me. Not so much for Swenson. His Tick wades through shallow waters with no discernible personality or feeling. I certainly he hope he gains some necessary empathy during the show's run.

And then there was Nick. Nick Adams has been playing mid-sized roles on Broadway for several years in shows like A Chorus Line, The Pirate Queen, and most recently as a cagelle in La Cage Aux Folles. His casting is nothing short of perfect, but his delivery sure is. Like Swenson, he whitewashes his character to such an extent that he becomes quite boring. His signature sparring with Bernadette comes off as tame, and his implied romantic chemistry with Tick is removed altogether. I was very disappointed as Adams was without a doubt the standout ensemble member of La Cage.


Speaking of which, the ensemble (thankfully) is crammed full of energy, fun, and enthusiasm. A variety of body types and sizes also makes them particularly interesting to watch and tremendously likeable. Apart from a purposeless, audience-involving Act Two opening song, they are always warmly welcomed.


Bryan Thompson's set is just about pixel for pixel the same as it was in the West End, although in the Palace Theatre, it feels slightly crowded. The completely realized, rotating camper, is astoundingly well crafted, and Nick Schlieper's ability to light it is nothing short of awesome. Jonathan Deans' sound design intelligently knows when we are experiencing a concert and when we are watching a play. But with all this technical wizardry at work, no one even approaches the brilliance of Tim Chappel and Lizzy Gardiner's costumes. The duo won an Academy Award for designing the film's costumes in the early 90's and they are sure to bring home a Tony for the stage adaptation. Just imagine a stage full of life-sized, rotating, decorative green cupcakes spinning during a rousing 'MacArthur Park'. Yeah, I know.


If what you are looking for is no-strings-attached fun, then you should have vacationed in Times Square twenty years ago. But prostitution jokes aside, Priscilla offers plenty of fun, but it could offer so much more - a true affecting experience that stays with you beyond the doors of the theatre. All theatre should strive to do that, but Priscilla falls way short in this effort.


Who is the blame? The creative team or the audience? To borrow a phrase, it takes two to tango. The producers surely thought mainstream American audiences would not welcome three drag queens into their hearts, so they imposed changes that make it impossible for us to try. But even in the few moments of honesty that this production has to offer, those sitting around me just laughed in discomfort. Sadly, the whole situation speaks volumes about where American culture currently stands, and where together we must go.


Which is why I ask...
Priscilla Queen of The Desert, why did you 'Go West'?
You were safer back east.




Priscilla Queen of The Desert plays at The Palace Theatre on Broadway

'THE BOOK OF MORMON' - OUT OF YOUR HOTEL DESK DRAWER AND ONTO THE GREAT WHITE WAY

"F*CK YOU, GOD IN THE A$$, MOUTH, AND C@NT!"

sings a chorus of Ugandan villagers in rapturous jubilation. This uproariously vulgar exclamation is the English translation of a village saying, 'Hasa Diga Ebowhy' which they say anytime something unfortunate befalls them.

The Hukuna Matata-esque phrase makes their day-to-day lives seem better; it gives them a coping mechanism for the constant hurdles they have to jump. Hurdles unimaginable to us. That is the genius of Matt Stone and Trey Parker, creators of South Park and Team America: World Police. Throughout their comic careers, Stone and Parker have unapologetically tackled real-world issues with vulgarity, sophomoric humor, and brutal honesty. Although sometimes offensive, their work is always truthful and insightful.

In The Book of Mormon, currently in previews at Broadway's Eugene O'Neill Theatre, many many moments are crammed full of that signature style of humor that millions have come to cherish. However, amidst that cutting-edge satire lies a palpable layer of unfortunate, typical musical theatre sappiness. I imagine the goal behind this choice, as evidenced by the parody nature of the score, is to poke fun at the traditional American musical. But in accomplishing this effort, an uncomfortable amount of forced sentimentality seeps into the production.

This show is rather reminiscent of Monty Python's Spamalot, however The Book of Mormon is a much stronger piece. Not only is The Book of Mormon completely original, but its humor comes almost entirely from character and situation rather than drippy nostalgia. Co-creator of The Book of Mormon, Robert Lopez, once used the power of nostalgia to great effect in Avenue Q by taking audience expectation and forcefully chucking it out the window. On originality, Stone and Parker should be commended for creating such a successful first stage attempt. However, musicals are nothing new to the South Park duo. Every one of their cinematic endeavors has been a musical thus far. South Park, Bigger, Longer and Uncut, Team America: World Police, and (obviously) Cannibal The Musical all used character-based songs to drive the plot - to hilarious effect.

After the show, a friend of mine asked me, "Why isn't The Book of Mormon a movie?"

I honestly thought the same thing for a while, but the answer actually came to me while watching 'F*ck You, God!', the song I mentioned above. Theatre is very much about community. Each audience member, for a few hours, becomes one with their neighbors and one with every actor onstage. One of the most satisfying communal theatrical sensations is guilty laughter. In 1979, audiences got a taste of the guilt giggles from Sondheim's Sweeney Todd, specifically the Act I finale, 'A Little Priest'. An audience that had been used to the warmth of Rodgers and Hammerstein, Cole Porter, and George Gershwin were now listening intently to a light waltz about cannibalism - and actually found themselves laughing at it.

Dirty, right?

Forty years later, audiences are having the same experience. Only now, the stakes have been raised. We're laughing guiltily at upbeat musical numbers about blasphemy, AIDS, and female circumcision. And boy does it feel amazing to let your hair down for a few hours. I can confidently assert that film cannot properly recreate that wonderful experience. Watching real-life people say/sing these heinous things right in front of you brings the guilt guffaws to a whole new level.

So, what's the story?

Since the moment this production was announced, there has been widespread speculation as to what The Book of Mormon is actually about. A few years ago, South Park aired an episode ridiculing the history of Mormonism. That happens here too, but only lightly, and it is in no way integral to the central plot. Without giving much away, I can tell you that the story revolves around two buddy cop missionaries, the upright Elder Price and the eager, but incompetent Elder Cunningham, and their mission assignment to Uganda. There they find that Africa is actually nothing like the Lion King. Hilarity ensues.

While The Book of Mormon's score is not the catchiest of the creators' musical endeavors (it is catchy...just not the catchiest), it is most definitely the funniest. The clever lyrics are nothing short of perfect. I was particularly tickled by any lyric referencing the great city or Orlando, Florida. The magnificent songs are the great strength of this show. But the book...The book is only just all right. The dialogue effectively strings together the songs, but in the process, brings down the energy of the show. And for such a seemingly simple plot, there is many a tire-bursting plot hole. Most of the big laughs come from the musical numbers (which I found terribly surprising, given Stone and Parker's gift for silly dialogue), masterfully choreographed by Casey Nicholaw, who also directed the show alongside Trey Parker.

The design is crowded. The Eugene O'Neill Theatre was not built to house large musicals. Recent offerings like John Doyle's actor-musician staging of Sweeney Todd and Spring Awakening were sparsely decorated, well lit, and very powerful. With the majority of the action taking place in a Ugandan village, the stage is covered in muddy platforms, huts, and general disarray. Perhaps scenic designer, Scott Pask was going for jungle chaos. A valiant effort, indeed, but to quote Robert Lopez's Tony Award-winning Avenue Q, "There's a fine, fine line..." between staged chaos and a bona fide hot mess. The lighting design by Brian MacDevitt was actually quite lovely - deftly discovering the shimmer through the grime.

Among the principal performers, only one actor emerges as superb. As Elder Price, Andrew Rannells brings youthful earnestness and a certain 'wink, wink, nudge, nudge' attitude that I found immensely appealing. As the quintessential Mormon stereotype, Rannells's central performance is an exemplary model of how being fundamentally offensive can be extremely likable. Josh Gad as Elder Cunningham, however, puts of a facade of weirdness, and watching him was somewhat uncomfortable. The vibe I think he was trying to create is that of a theatrical Jud Apatow character, but that is neither the humor of the stage nor of South Park. It just doesn't work. Nikki M. James as Nabalungi, a young forward-thinking village girl, sings beautifully, but is a little too nice. In the actress's defense, it must be said that her story line is somewhat weak, and offers her only the occasional opportunity to have edge.

The binding that holds The Book of Mormon together, however, is the stellar ensemble. The Mormon missionaries and Ugandan villagers all bring such unique personalities to the table, while still remaining unified within their groups. Their work is skinny-jeans-tight, and always hysterical.

The Book of Mormon burst onto Broadway with the disadvantage of enormously high expectation. Audiences are expecting the same unapologetic, flesh-gnawing humor they get weekly from South Park. But does The Book of Mormon deliver it? Not quite. If South Park was Dr. Pepper, The Book of Mormon would be its Mr. Pibb - with a little more water and a lot more sugar. But like even the worst Shakespeare or Sondheim, The Book of Mormon still manages to triumph over most of its contemporary musical comedy competitors - Many of whom are still contritely taking a page from The Book of Neil Simon.

And later this year when the cast recording is released, and young children start jubilantly exclaiming

"F*CK YOU, GOD IN THE A$$, MOUTH, AND C@NT!"

up to the sky, I know who I'll be blaming.

Canada.

The Book of Mormon plays Broadway's Eugene O'Neill Theatre

'THE PIRATES OF PENZANCE' - SEX, DRUGS, AND THE HIGH SEAS!

Sex

...is certainly not the first word that usually comes to mind when pondering Gilbert and Sullivan. I always visualize two white-haired, elderly Englishmen with stereotypically profound mustaches plastered to weathered faces, repeatedly congratulating each other on their combined cleverness.

And don't forget the monocles!

But at the Chopin Theatre, The Hypocrites' new production of the duo's

The Pirates of Penzance oozes seduction, charm, and danger.

Weird, huh? The concept of an edgy, boundary pushing Pirates of Penzance probably sounds odd to you if you are at all familiar with the show, but this immensely creative treatment stands extremely well on its own - apart from its notable old-style predecessors. The only item one is left wanting, and very rarely, is clarity. However, that is the challenge of facing twenty-first century ears with nineteenth century lyrics. At many points in this fine production, however, Gilbert's words are heard for the first time.