A Not-At-All-Tough Pill to Swallow

I had planned a different blog post for today. But then last night, I saw Jagged Little Pill.

This musical based on the songs of Alanis Morissette had a brief and ill-fated fun on Broadway, affected just months after opening by the COVID shutdowns of 2020, and then affected again shortly after re-opening by a wave of COVID infections among the cast that brought the show to an early end. Now it's back in a touring U.S. production.

I didn't exactly have high hopes going into the performance. There are way too many "jukebox musicals" coming out of Broadway these days, and the ones I've seen are all "meh" at best. They all have the same problem: they feature threadbare stories (usually based on the life of the featured artist) that bend over backwards to fit in the narrow catalog of songs they have to work with. One's enjoyment of such fare turns entirely on whether one likes the artist in question... and even then, the shows can't help but be a pale imitation of just listening to the original song recordings.

Jagged Little Pill surpasses all that to a stunning degree. And I personally attribute it all to the woman they turned to to write the script. Diablo Cody has a notable career in film and television of telling stories that blend acerbic wit and genuine heart. She was also apparently a big fan of Alanis Morrissette's music, and willing to work within the one creative restriction Morrissette reportedly gave this production: don't make this musical her life story.

The result is a jukebox musical done not just right, but superbly. There is an actual story here, with many well-realized and topical subplots and themes, including addiction, racial justice, sexual identity, and rape. It's so defiant and matter-of-fact that it could have come across false or reductive, were it not for Diablo Cody's earnest writing assuring you that this isn't performative, but deeply felt. It could have come across like "medicine" (the title of show becoming, well... if not "ironic," then on-the-nose), but Cody weaves in dozens of legitimately great jokes to lighten the mood.

And the real trick of the writing -- which deservedly won the Tony for Best Book of a Musical -- is that the songs all feel completely organic. Imagine that you'd never heard "Head Over Feet" or "Hand in My Pocket" or "You Learn" (hard as that might be). You would never know that these songs weren't written for this musical. (Side note: Morrissette actually did write two original songs for this show... but you'd never know those weren't deep album cuts that simply never got radio play.) It's all organic in a way that no other jukebox musical I've ever seen even comes close to.

Then there are the moments where writing and acting converge to create something truly magical. It happens at least once in each act of the show: first in the new song "Smiling" in Act One, which features a haunting melody staged with stunningly complex and well-executed choreography that feels like watching an excellent, special-effects laden music video play out in real time. (I'd love to tell you the specific gimmick of the staging, but I think it would spoil the fun if you ever get to see it.)

Then there's the staggering one-two punch in Act Two, back-to-back, of "You Oughta Know" and "Uninvited." Performers Jade McLeod and Heidi Blickenstaff give powerful, emotional performances that each brought the production to a halt for enthusiastic applause. The script has cleverly steered their characters to moments where each song is the perfect peak for their story arcs. It's another way in which Jagged Little Pill bucks a Broadway trend, of the second act almost never being as good. Even if nothing about the production was good, these two songs would be reason enough to see it.

But just about everything else about the production is good. Things maybe drag for just a bit in the middle of the first act -- but then, laying this much story track takes a bit of time, and this features more significant characters than the average Broadway musical. The interpretive dancing of a large chorus is perhaps occasionally distracting -- though moving any complicated dancing to them lets the main cast focus on the acting and singing.

In any case, I'd give Jagged Little Pill an A-. It's in Denver a short while longer, and then continuing to tour the U.S. If you have a chance to see it, I highly recommend it.

Go to Hades!

The last few Broadway productions to tour through the Buell Theater in Denver have all been adaptations: Tootsie, Moulin Rouge, and Pretty Woman -- all with songs (or more songs) added to scripts that basically track the film versions. The current show is also technically an adaptation, but its roots go considerably farther back.

Hadestown is the singular creation of Anaïs Mitchell, who wrote the book, music, and lyrics. She adapted the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice into a different kind of musical that weaves political commentary and romance into a backdrop of bluesy, emotionally driven music. Where most musicals strive to be fluffy and escapist, Hadestown embraces all the darkness inherent in its story. It's still very fun at times, but it aspires to more than sending you out of the theater with a song stuck in your head.

Not that it doesn't do that too. Mitchell worked on this musical for over a decade before it finally arrived in this form that won the Tony for Best Musical, and that long, hard work shows. From the tight three-part harmonies sung by the Fates, to the high falsetto of Orpheus, to the gravelly low bass of Hades, to a backing quintet that's deliberately supportive or abrasive at different times, there are a lot of styles at play here. But they all gel in a well-crafted whole.

In this touring production, the most thunderous applause went to the two lead performers, Morgan Siobhan Green as Eurydice and Chibueze Ihuoma as Orpheus. But I hope it takes nothing away from them to say that the real stand-outs in the cast were in the secondary roles. Kimberly Marable played a Persephone sometimes feisty and sometimes weary, but always relatable. Kevyn Morrow was a dangerous wicked Hades. And as Hermes, Levi Kreis infused his sort of "master of ceremonies" role with great sympathy and dignity.

Hadestown is in Denver for a few more days, so perhaps by posting this immediately -- the night after I saw it -- there's still a window for a couple of you reading this to score yourselves some tickets. I give it an A-.

Tragic Thoughts

I've seen a lot of movies by the Coen brothers over the years -- far more than you'd expect for a person who hasn't generally liked their movies all that much. (Though True Grit was a notable exception. And now, in the aftermath of Hawkeye, I wonder how much that had to do with how talented Hailee Steinfeld is.)

Now along has come a significant departure. Joel Coen's newest movie was written and directed completely without the involvement of his brother Ethan. And it was adapted from a play by William Shakespeare: The Tragedy of Macbeth.

All presentations of Shakespeare on stage or screen come with at least three distinct challenges. First, a notable portion of the audience will not be seeing the story for the first time, having seen some past version of it that lingers in their minds. Second, Shakespeare's plays are generally rather long and are rarely presented without cuts; where the cuts are made plays a huge role in the shape of your adaptation. Three, despite the length of the full text, Shakespeare's plays are hyper-compressed in time and action; they can strain belief in how suddenly the events unfold, and negotiating the big emotional swings are a minefield for actors and a director. Joel Coen has made bold choices in this adaptation that impact all of these things.

To the first point, this version of Macbeth leans into classic film expectations of Shakespeare. It's made very much in homage to Laurence Olivier's Hamlet: filmed in stark and moody black-and-white, with an old school 4:3 aspect ratio. The sets are large and certainly aren't cheap... but they also never truly try to make you believe that they're not sets. The feeling of this movie is one of watching a stage production of the play -- one with some tricks that would be beyond the reach of live theater, but with artificiality on display nonetheless.

To the second point, this is an incredibly slimmed-down text. I've seen Macbeth on stage before -- and it ran two-and-a-half hours (not even counting an intermission). This film is a tight hour-forty-five, including the credits, suggesting that as much as a third of the original text has been excised in this adaptation. (But it's not like I was following along with a copy of the play to track.) If you have it in your head that Shakespeare is slow and plodding, know that this adaptation is brisk indeed.

To the third point, negotiating the rapidly growing ambition of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, you have Denzel Washington and Frances McDormand. Both give excellent performances. Their brilliance here is that they often feel like they're giving a fresh take on the words without feeling like they're struggling to find a new adaptation. As much as it's possible to feel natural when speaking such heightened poetry, they pull it off. Washington handles some great fight choreography with aplomb. McDormand negotiates her character's descent into insanity with great skill.

And at the same time... I daresay both of them are very miscast.

I mentioned that each Shakespearean play strains disbelief in its own way. With Macbeth, the issue is in how quickly and completely the two main characters give into their ambition and bloodlust. Lady Macbeth is cold and calculating from the start, while Macbeth is initially reluctant to start down his murderous path. But soon the bodies are piling up, and for a while both revel in psychopathic glee at their body count. The beast that's always been inside them has been unleashed to devastate all of Scotland.

Therein lies the problem in casting Denzel Washington and Frances McDormand: both feel too old for these roles. As good as they both are, they call into question how long the Macbeths could have possibly contained such murderous ambition. If the characters were both 30-somethings (as the text implies in talk of parenting children), you could imagine these psychopaths holding back their darker urges until now. In this version, with both in their 60s, it's impossible to conceive that they would not have given into their darker instincts long before this. It magnifies the "problem" at the core of this particular Shakespearean play.

Joel Coen's adaptation does try to shore up that issue by amplifying the supernatural elements of the play. The famous witches are made especially mysterious with a wild performance by Kathryn Hunter, and given a further tweak by an interesting and sinister treatment of the minor character of Ross, played by Alex Hassell. Then, creative takes on the "dagger of the mind" speech, the "ghost comes to dinner" scene, and both scenes of the witches' prophecies... all combine to make sure there's really not a dull moment in this movie version.

But overall, I think I'd give it a B. It's worthwhile, but not must-see. The cast is great, but it's not the best take on Macbeth that I personally have seen. And the arty use of black-and-white and artificial scenery feels to me like it will keep it from having much crossover potential with an audience who hasn't seen a Macbeth before. Perhaps this is for Coen brothers fans curious what the "single brother experience" might be like?

Speaking for Itself

Although the pandemic has me missing live theater, and grateful at some efforts to bring that experience into our homes, filmed productions are ultimately only a substitute for the real thing. And some live theater loses quite a bit in the translation. One example, in my view, is currently streaming on Hulu: Derek DelGaudio's In and of Itself.

This is one of those quasi-mysterious things where many people insist that the less you know about it before you watch it, the better. While I'm not sure I agree, it is true that it defies easy explanation; the whole here is undoubtedly greater than the sum of its parts. But since the alternative for me would be to creep along in a riddle-like review, here's my summary: In and Of Itself is part magic act, part one-man show (and moves throughout to different points on a continuum between those two things). Derek DelGaudio regales a captive audience with a series of stories, punctuated with clever illusions and sleight of hand, built around a central thesis of defining the self.

Some of the show works marvelously in the film format. Close-up magic is nearly always effective when a camera can get right in there and present things more clearly than you could see sitting in the back row of even a modest-sized off-Broadway theater. Elements of the show that differed from one night to the next in the live performance are sometimes shown in rapid-fire montage, underscoring how live theater isn't fixed in the way that movies and TV series are.

There's alchemy in what DelGaudio created with this show. He manages to be very serious without slipping into the off-putting pretentiousness that most self-serious magicians seem to have. He manages to tell deeply personal stories without the ridiculous navel-gazing commonly associated with "the one-man show."

But at the same time, it truly seems to me that "you had to be there." Throughout the film version (and particularly at the climax), we see audience members weeping openly at the experience they're having. The reaction seems utterly genuine and powerful... but also very personal. Perhaps I was in too hard-hearted a mood when I watched it, but for me it never really crossed the line from "well-crafted performance" into the sort of "life-changing revelation" that the live audience seemed to be having. I found it more thought-provoking than emotion-provoking.

Make no mistake: if you are a fan of magic, you will enjoy In and of Itself -- regardless of whether you would have liked it more in person. I'd grade it a solid B. But I may always wonder what it would have been like to see the show live, without knowing too much about it.

Now: Sea, Hear

Over a year ago, when Broadway theater was still a thing actually happening, there was a short run of a production called Sea Wall / A Life. It was a pair of long-form monologues by Simon Stephens and Nick Payne, performed by actors Tom Sturridge and Jake Gyllenhaal. Only so many people were able to see the show during its two-month engagement, but it now lives on in a new format: an Audible Original audiobook starring the same two performers.

I'd try to summarize the plots of the two stories, but they're collectively brief enough that I feel even a summary would give too much away. I'll simply say that the two stories aren't deeply connected to one another beyond theme and tone. Each is a tragic tale laced with humor (often of the gallows variety). Each is a bald and brutal meditation on death. They feel crafted to evoke melancholy at the least, to make you cry if they're working at their best.

I can't say how these pieces might have played in person, on a stage, but in this audiobook format, I'd say they're not really working at their best. There are sections that play well. Indeed, this feels like audition material, ripe to be mined by any actor needing a new piece in the repertoire. Collectively, though, this chain of audition pieces can almost lead you to think, "alright, you've got the part; now can we start the show?"

There are one or two odd mysteries in the first piece, Sea Wall, that led me at least to think that the two plays would be slyly connected, that some link between characters or narrative would be revealed in the second piece, A Life. No such luck. So being left with that sense of incompleteness had me feeling that the second half was the stronger piece.

That's probably also true of the performances. Neither Sturridge nor Gyllenhaal gives a bad one, but in Sturridge's reading of Sea Wall, the delivery felt overly calibrated to me. Pauses were placed unnaturally at times, for an effect more than to lend to any sense of authenticity. Then again, perhaps it's that the Sea Wall monologue is written in more naturalistic fashion, where A Life makes extensive use of a narrative gimmick, whiplashing between two time frames without clearly demarcated transitions.

I'd probably grade Sea Wall / A Life a B-. The right person might really enjoy it. However, these are not times where the typical person I know is looking for something else to feel depressed about. So I think I'll stop short of actively recommending it.

Yes, It Is That Good

After years of impossible hype, the musical Hamilton arrived this holiday weekend on Disney+ for all who couldn't secure the hottest-ticket-in-town to finally see. For some, absolutely impervious to the charms of any musical, it was never going to satisfy. (They will never be satisfied.) But my social media is now peppered with many forms of "I didn't think I was going to like it, but I totally did."

Because, yes, it's really that good.

I'm also seeing a lot of contrarian think pieces on various web sites, taking click-bait stands on various supposed shortcomings of the musical. "It strays quite far from the facts to craft a lionizing narrative." Of course! This is not a documentary, it's a "biopic." It wants you to think something of its protagonist (and the other characters; I'll get to them), and is definitely curating the experience to that end. But as with the best "based on a true story" stories, it's compelling enough to drive a desire to learn more once its over.

"It's racially diverse, but it's still lacking when it comes to women." I suppose you can squint hard and arrive at that conclusion, if you want to ignore that the musical is about an incredibly patriarchal point in history that has been preserved for centuries in a patriarchal frame. And moreover, if you want to ignore the fact that the scenes and songs featuring the female characters are the most impactful ones in the entire piece, preferring instead just to count minutes on stage. (Jonathan Groff's King George would like a word with you about making an impression in little stage time.) Perhaps a decade or two from now, when every high school everywhere is performing Hamilton, there will be some gender-blind casting along with the color-blind casting.

(Indeed, the only bit of contrarian criticism I've seen that landed with me is that the release of a filmed Broadway production like this shouldn't be a rarity. The New York Public Library has an archive, going back 50 years, of thousands of productions that can only be viewed for professional or academic reasons, a veritable dragon's hoard of treasure secreted away in a cave. But I digress...)

Sorry, nay-sayers, but Hamilton really is as good as the hype. Even on film, its highly theatrical presentation doesn't feel hokey or cheap. Even at a remove, it has songs that will move you. And it's endlessly clever; only the people who have been listening to the Hamilton soundtrack on a loop for the last four years have any sense of every funny or smart lyric in it, and the rest of us still have more to discover.

I'll just offer this particular observation (which surely isn't that original): I'm struck by how much Hamilton is not a show piece written by Lin-Manuel Miranda for himself. Yes, he plays the title character. But all the best material in the show, he crafted for the other characters. In writing, casting, and performance, this musical is an embarrassment of riches. Every time you're blown away by an actor and their show-stopping number, there's another one yet to come: Phillipa Soo as Eliza, Jonathan Groff as King George, Daveed Diggs as Lafayette and Jefferson, Christopher Jackson as Washington, Renée Elise Goldsberry as Angelica, and Leslie Odom Jr. as Aaron Burr... Each of them, impossibly, is the best thing about the show. (Or, if you prefer that in a less paradoxical form: you could easily make the case for any of them being the best thing about the show.)


Seeing this filmed production has in no way diminished my desire to see the real thing on stage someday. (Once the live theater industry -- and everyone else -- is back to work.) The only negative I could muster: I do think this presentation renders any prospective film adaptation utterly unnecessary. (Shrug?) It's an A, all the way.

Summer Lovin?

This season's touring Broadway theater package at the Denver Center for the Performing Arts has some interesting shows in it, but could have been ordered a little better. Two "jukebox musicals" were programmed back to back; even though Jimmy Buffett's Escape to Margaritaville was here just a few weeks ago, it's now time for Summer: The Donna Summer Musical. Fortunately, in musical style, narrative tone, and other ways, the two could hardly be more different.

Unlike most jukebox musicals -- shows built around one performer's pre-existing song catalog -- Summer doesn't construct a wholly fictional narrative to contain the songs of Donna Summer. Instead, it presents itself as a chronicle of her actual life, from childhood to her final years. It uses a particularly theatrical storytelling device to do this, giving us three different versions of Donna: the young "Duckling," the golden era "Disco," and the reflective "Diva." The three speak to each other across time, and hand off parts of the story in a non-chronological order.

What sounds potentially confusing or arty on paper is actually one of the most effective aspects of the product. This show isn't really interested in making substantial characters out of anyone but Donna Summer, so rather than make it essentially a one-woman show, this technique of splitting the character among three performers gives more texture and variety to the musical. It's also a good way to convey inner monologue to the audience without having a character address it directly (though that also happens at points in the show).

All three of the main performers in this touring show are exceptional. Any one of them could carry a musical alone, but in this format, the audience is essentially treated to three stars. Each is as good as the next, in my view -- though for what it's worth, Dan'yelle Williamson (as Diva Donna) actually brought the crowd to a full, minute-long standing ovation in the middle of the show with her emotional rendition of "Friends Unknown."

For certain, Summer wouldn't be as entertaining a night without these three performers. There are other fun elements to the show, like a cast of mostly women playing both male and female supporting parts, and bright white sets that reflect whatever light is cast upon them. But the story is a bit superficial, for the most part. Truly profound aspects of Donna Summer's life, from abuse as a child to a divorce to a cancer diagnosis, don't get a lot of explanation in the dialogue. It's left to the performers to "sing it out" and make us feel something despite the slim context -- and time and again, they manage to do just that. (Williamson even sells a scene that overtly whitewashes some homophobic comments made by the real Donna Summer. The script manufacturers an excuse/apology for it that Summer herself never gave, but it works well enough within the show.)

And needless to say, this show might be a "must see" if you're into disco, because aside from a few quiet interludes, the musical is one rockin' dance number after another. All told, I'd say it's a solid B, more fun than I expected. The show is here in Denver for the next couple of weeks, if you're interested in checking it out.

Island Escape?

This weekend, I went to see another touring Broadway production during its stop here in Denver: Escape to Margaritaville. It's a "jukebox musical" made up of Jimmy Buffett songs, lifting tunes from his catalog to flesh out a light, two-hour experience.

For the most part, the show is exactly what I expected -- and I'm pretty sure exactly what you'd expect too. This was no heavy, challenging experience at the theater. The story revolves around an uptight city woman who goes on an island getaway with her soon-to-be-married best friend. The two women meet "beach bums" and get tangled up in island romances that may be built more to last. (It's a fluffy Broadway musical, though, so... yeah, they are.)

Along the way, you hear every Jimmy Buffett song you know (well, unless you're a big "Parrothead"), a few songs you didn't realize were Jimmy Buffett songs (again, unless you're a big Parrothead"), and a few songs you've probably never heard of before (unless... well...). It's all done with a wink and a nod to the audience, encouraging them to participate at times, working lyrics into dialogue for a laugh, and more. It doesn't take itself at all seriously, and it's pretty easy to go with the flow.

If anything, it's perhaps assembled with more care than most jukebox musicals I've seen. In other shows I've seen assembled around other artists, there honestly isn't much craft put into how the songs fit with the created story. The general assumption seems to be that no one will care too much; just get to the songs. This show seems to have been built more like a puzzle. The writers, Greg Garcia and Mike O'Malley, have combed through all the songs and all the lyrics, and spent a lot of effort setting up what's going to happen. Characters are built specifically to justify songs they'll sing later, with the things they do cultivated to fit specific lines in the song. The seams show a bit at times, but the story feels more coherent and natural overall.

Honestly, this isn't a show I probably would have chosen to see if it weren't part of a season-long theater package we'd gone for. But we've certainly seen worse. I'd call Escape to Margaritaville a B-. If you're a fan of Jimmy Buffett, you should definitely check it out if it comes to your town. (If you live in Denver, you have the rest of this week.)

Shakespearing Things Up

This week, I went to see a theater performance no one will ever be able to see again... and I enthusiastically recommend you go see it.

From now until March, the Improvised Shakespeare Company is performing at the Garner Galleria Theater downtown. The troupe got its start in Chicago, but has spun off into performances around the world, now including this long, half-year run here in Denver.

The show is exactly what it sounds like: five performers take an audience suggestion of the title of a Shakespearean play that doesn't exist. From that, they proceed to improvise a 90-minute performance of that play. All the trappings of Shakespeare are there -- much of the improvisation is in poetic meter, and much of that in rhyming couplets. Heightened language, tricky wordplay, and clever metaphors are peppered throughout. As many Shakespearean tropes as possible are hauled in -- lovers forced apart, women disguising themselves as men, villains scheming for vengeance, lowborn characters speaking truth to power, and more.

And above all: it is funny! I can imagine the slyest references hit better the more actual Shakespeare you know, but I don't think you have to know Shakespeare to laugh a lot. The mask does slip plenty, usually to slip in a modern joke or indulge in one of improv's most reliable laughs: putting another performer on the spot to watch them wriggle out of it.

The degree of difficulty on this type of improv seems off the charts to me. You have to pay attention to the rhyme and meter at all times. The language is far enough from normal to be almost like performing in a second language. It seems to me that only a handful of people could do it well... and most of them are probably employed by the Improvised Shakespeare Company. That they're able to basically make you forget about how difficult it must be for most of the show is, if anything, yet another testament to the skill involved -- they make it look easy.

On the night we went, the "play" performed by audience suggestion was "The Benefits of Economic Collapse." The result was inspired most heavily from The Merchant of Venice, though the 100-minute improv wove in splashes of As You Like It and other comedies. It was, of course, one-of-a-kind; as the performers themselves declared, it was the first and last ever performance of "The Benefits of Economic Collapse." But I have no doubt that attending the Improvised Shakespeare Company at any other performance would be just as entertaining, just as funny, just as breathtaking a display of wit.

I enjoyed the performance tremendously, and would even see them again during their run in Denver. The production was top notch, grade A, and if you're at all a fan of Shakespeare, you should absolutely get out to see them.

Let Saigon Be Saigon

Earlier this week, I got to see the national touring production of Miss Saigon during its two week run here in Denver. Inspired by Madame Butterfly, it tells the story of a soldier who falls in love with a local during the Vietnam War, leaving behind a son he discovers years later and must return for. More centrally, it's the story of the mother who must survive a war zone and brutal regime while raising a child, holding out hope that the man she loved will one day return.

When it comes to big stage musicals (on Broadway and in London), The Phantom of the Opera kicked off a big, ostentatious era of elaborate spectacle. ("We're going to crash a chandelier on the stage right before your eyes!") That era peaked with Miss Saigon's "hold my beer" presentation of a freaking helicopter hovering above the stage in a pivotal scene. If you know one thing about Miss Saigon, it's that helicopter moment. Not any song from it, not any of the characters, probably not even that its an adaptation of Madame Butterfly -- but you've heard about the helicopter. It might be nice to be free of the burden of that knowledge, because the play is a bit of a slog to get that scene. Or at least, to get to the second act.

Unlike many musicals, which build an elaborate and entertaining situation in act one and then lose momentum in act two, Miss Saigon sort of meanders around for most of the first act before finally starting to get interesting. The first hour or so is a forgettable love story not made any more interesting by the setting, featuring a bunch of repetitive and interchangeable songs of the romantic leads singing their feelings emphatically into each other's faces. Only when time jumps ahead for the final stretch of act one, following main character Kim as she tries to protect her child Tam from the horrors of her life, does it start to engender interest.

Then after intermission is when things really get going. Side characters step more into the spotlight, delivering a moving act opener about who and what American soldiers left behind in the war, tracking a devious character known as the Engineer as he tries to scheme his way out of communist Vietnam, and exposing the complicated feelings of Ellen, the woman who married soldier Chris after the war (only to learn along with him of his secret love child).

And, of course, that helicopter scene. Dead center in Act Two is an extended flashback to the final evacuation of Americans from the embassy in Vietnam, an amazing and over-the-top scene that puts a dozen actors trying to scale a fence as a freaking helicopter (complete with whirring blades) hovers above the stage for people to jump into. It's awesome -- it literally inspires awe. (Though the emotional content of the scene really lands too.)

The touring production spared no expense in making that moment (and several other big set piece numbers) a feast for the eyes. Still, I had been ready to pan the entire show as of intermission. It was the second act that really saved it. Emotional, raw, and complex, it was everything that the shallow, cliche first act was not.

It's possible that the casting and not the show was at least partly to blame. Actor Anthony Festa, who played Chris, had a fine singing voice but zero charisma. With act one featuring him heavily and turning on his character falling in love, the show was a repetitive bore. Emily Bautista, as main character Kim, had more personality -- but still sort of just had a bag of two or three moves she repeated throughout the show. (Let's just say that the poor little kid who played her son Tam is likely to develop hearing loss from her constantly mashing his head against hers and belting her songs straight into his ear.)

But with act two featuring Red Concepcion as the conniving Engineer, J. Daughtry as Chris' guilt-driven friend John, and Stacie Bono as Chris' wife Ellen, the show really took off. Those three actors all took their secondary characters and made moments more compelling than anything featuring the leads.

With a more tightly edited first half, I think I'd have found Miss Saigon one of the more moving stories I've seen on stage in a while. As it was, I'd say it works out to about a B. If you're a fan of big, spectacular musicals, you may want to catch it before it leaves town (or if it comes to yours).

Russian to the Theater

Although it's now more than 20 years old, I've never seen the animated movie Anastasia. But I have now seen the touring production of the Broadway musical it inspired, as it has stopped here in Denver to run for a few weeks. It's the story of a woman who may or may not be a lost member of a Russian royal family, coached by a pair of con men to take part in a scheme that will take them all the way to Paris.

My husband and I have seen a lot of shows at the Buell Theater over the last year, but Anastasia is far and away the most show we've seen. It's an over-the-top spectacle that's using the latest technology to come as close to presenting a live movie on a stage as they can manage. A huge projection backdrop combines with a few strategic set pieces and plenty of lighting effects to completely transform the stage in scene after scene. The musical moves from castle interiors (in their prime and years later in decay), city streets, a moving train, a green forest, the inside of a raucous dance hall, and more. The action moves from Leningrad to Paris. And at every step, the set is completely transformed.

Frankly, it's more interesting to watch the scenery than what's happening in front of it. Anastasia isn't a bad story -- but it's the most rote, dutiful musical I've seen in a long while. Each beat of the story rigidly follows the framework for the Platonic ideal of a Broadway musical: here's the moment where the protagonist sings a song about this, and it sounds kind of like this. Here's a song where the lovers come together; it happens right when it's supposed to, and it sounds like this. On and on.

There are only a few departures from this slavish formula -- and not surprisingly, they're the moments that drew the most enthusiastic response from the audience: a brazen, comedic number early in Act Two (performed by two heretofore minor characters), and an elaborate ballet number in the second act (presented as the main characters stand near the wings, singing a song you won't remember).

The music manages the neat trick of being utterly forgettable while burrowing deep into your brain. That's because a lot of it sounds quite a lot like other music. One of the show's most prominent recurring melodies is a waltz that sounds an awful lot like John William's main theme for the Harry Potter movies. So yes, you'll walk out of Anastasia absent-mindedly humming a tune -- Hedwig's Theme. Other music so dutifully fills the role of "the song in the musical that does this" that the next morning, I can only think of "The Song That Goes Like This" from Monty Python's Spamalot.

Anastasia is certainly a feast for the eyes. Even though you know that 90% of what you're seeing is projected, you constantly forget that. The visuals are crafted with enough care, and supported with enough other (and more conventional) theatrical lighting that you're instantly swept up in each new setting. But it's a run-of-the-mill tale of "journeying for one thing only to find the thing you're really looking for," ordered into expected scenes that are built to hold forgettable songs.

All told, I'd give Anastasia a B-. Don't see it for the story; see it only if you're interested in the spectacle a big Broadway production can deliver.

It's Candy, Man!

This past weekend, my husband and I went to see the touring production of the musical Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Each of us came with a different perspective: I'd never watched the beloved Gene Wilder film (Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory) all the way through as a kid (and coming to it late made me like it far less), where he had. But both of us quite enjoyed this adaptation.

The musical -- from David Grieg, Marc Shaiman, and Scott Wittman -- has a delicate line to walk. It's trying to please the people who loved the movie, and does so primarily by including all its famous songs ("Candy Man," "I've Got a Golden Ticket," "Pure Imagination," "The Oompa Loompa Song"). But it also wants to do its own thing, and does so not only with many new songs, but by telling a more dark and sinister version of the story (which I understand is more in keeping with Roald Dahl's original writing).

The structure of the story fits pretty naturally into that of a Broadway musical. Act One covers Charlie's home life and culminates in him finding the ticket to tour the Wonka factory. Act Two covers everything that happens inside. Not only is it a clean split, it has the effect of producing the rare Broadway musical with a second act that's better than the first.

Act One does have its moments. It's where the vast majority of Charlie's material is presented. He's played at various performances by four different child actors, and the one we got at our performance was great. Upbeat and energetic, he's exactly what was needed to play to a huge theater like the Buell. There was also fun comedy from Charlie's family; Grandpa Joe's really the only one to get a personality in the movie, but on stage, the other three each got their particular slice of humor. (Fatalist Grandpa George was a highlight for me.)

The introductions of the other four contest winners are the big moments of the first act, though. These "kids" are all played by adult actors, and each is giving their own quintessential "show-stopping number" in their own distinct musical style. There's an elaborate oom-pah number with a full chorus line of dancers for Augustus Gloop. Veruca Salt is a Russian ballerina who dances on point with her father as he sings. Bubble-gum-loving Violet Beauregarde declares in a brash R&B anthem that she's the "Queen of Pop." And hyperactive Mike Teavee bounces around with gymnastic flips that barely fit on the stage.

But it's Act Two everyone's really here to see. Getting out from under the specter of Gene Wilder is a tall order (and on the night we saw, the show's understudy was taking the stage as Willy Wonka), but the musical helps by adding lots of other spectacle. A puppet-esque approach to the Oompa Loompas works wonderfully, a ballet number with dancers costumed as squirrels is delightfully weird, elaborate set pieces built on principles of stage magic are used in the Mike Teavee sequence, and more. They know you're coming to this musical wondering "how are they going to do this?", and then make a meal out of doing that.

There are a few shortcomings. While the staging is great, none of the new numbers really take up residence inside your brain like the toe-tapping originals from the movie. I still hate Grandpa Joe (though less than in the movie; the scene where he nearly gets them kicked out of the factory is cut from the play). But overall, it makes for a fun and enjoyable night at the theater.

Whether you're a fan of the classic movie or not, I think you'll find something to like in this stage version. I give it a B+. It's playing in Denver for the rest of this week before moving along to its next city. Check it out if you have the chance!

Creepy Old Dolly

Remakes can have a certain reputation in film and television, but it's an entirely different matter in the theater. It's not like you can go out and see a classic play or musical any time you want. And the countless stagings and re-stagings around the world all have a different character anyway, given all the different people involved in making them. You can even stage an older piece in a new way deliberately meant to make a new point.

Yet I'm befuddled as to how a national tour of the 1960s Broadway hit Hello, Dolly became a thing.

I mean, I know the time line. The original production made Carol Channing a star and broke the record for longest-running Broadway show. Revivals over the years saw her return to the role, and gave other famous Hollywood women a reason to head to New York. This particular production is touring because in 2017, a Broadway revival was staged with Bette Midler, winning several Tonys and starting the cycle all over again.

What I mean is, I don't understand what about this musical is worth reviving. Hello, Dolly feels like an archaic curiosity, 50 years out of date at least. It has the absolute minimum amount of plot to serve as a framework: a busybody matchmaker has decided to make a match for herself; mixups and minor obstacles befall a series of couples on their way to the expected happily (?) ever after. It's terribly sexist, and while moments in this revival production try to wink and convince the audience it's knowably, lovably this way, the persuasion is rarely effective.

There are a couple of catchy songs in the show, admittedly, though they are all crafted in a very old-timey way. Giant chorus groups. Rigid verse-chorus-verse-chorus structure to be sure the audience picks up the melody. Hold for applause, then exit the stage singing a quick reprise of the number you just finished. It's a formula that was old when this play was new, and it's strictly observed.

There are, admittedly, some pretty crazy sets in this show. With almost each scene change, you're presented a fully realized environment. The cumulative total of it is an engineering and technical feat that leaves you wondering how it was all stored backstage. It and the costumes collaborate in a pastel dreamscape (or nightmare, depending on your tastes) that's constantly showing you where your ticket money was spent. It's loud, brazen... and yes, maybe (occasionally) fun.

But you can get big song-and-dance numbers in just about every touring Broadway musical. Why this one? The jokes land with a thud, the story lacks any kind of resonance with the modern world, most people today haven't seen it (so it's not like they're revisiting it fondly), and at least some of the songs seem oddly interchangeable with Christmas music standards. (At least two different songs both sound strangely like "We Need a Little Christmas" -- which a little Googling tells me comes from a different musical from the same composer.)

The performance I attended drew thunderous applause, so clearly mine is an outlier opinion here. Sure, the elaborate second act restaurant sequence had impressive choreography. Sure, the star performer Jessica Sheridan (filling in for headliner Betty Buckley) did a great job channeling Bette Midler, Ethel Merman, and others in various moments. But overall, it felt like this production gave me little that any other production couldn't give better. I give Hello, Dolly a D+. If it swings into your town, I'd choose something else for a night out at the theater.

Don't Mind if I Xanadu

This past weekend, I headed down to the Denver Center to see Xanadu, the stage musical adaptation of the cult 1980 film starring Olivia Newton-John. It's nearing the end of an extended run in the Garner Galleria Theater, a smaller, cabaret-style theater that's well-suited to this oddball production.

Like the movie that inspired it (so I gather; I've never had the "pleasure"), the musical is a disco-drenched, campy, over-the-top romp. With roller skates. Unlike the movie (so I've heard), the play is self-aware about its campiness, planting its tongue firmly in cheek to deliver comedy that makes you laugh (and occasionally groan).

The play is, quite honestly, fairly stupid. But it's also disarming and, when you give in to its charms, rather fun. There's a lot of interplay with the audience, which works especially well in the smaller space. There's a lot of very familiar music, including many hits from Olivia Newton-John and ELO (some of which came from the original film). I've had "Magic" and "Evil Woman" stuck in my head on and off for a week.

In this particular production, there's some clever scene design, some fun costumes, and great prop work. A visit to Mount Olympus brings us a hilarious vision of Zeus (paying off a gag that runs all through the show). And the "pegasus" ridden by the main character Clio is one of the best sight gags I've seen in a theater.

The performers were a bit hit and miss, though. Anchoring the show, Lauren Shealy makes a great Clio, alternately singing quite like Olivia Newton-John and deliberately butchering an Australian accent for comedic effect. Unfortunately, she's much stronger than the rest of the cast, particularly the romantic lead she plays opposite. Marco Robinson was not only stiff in the role of Sonny and outmatched as a singer, he couldn't be heard after his microphone went out late in the performance we attended. (He awkwardly used a handheld mic for the final minutes, apparently unable to project even in the not so large theater.)

Xanadu runs for about another month here in Denver if you're in town and interested in checking it out. Go ready for silliness, and you'll probably find fun. I give the show a B.

So Wrong, So Right

This past weekend, I went to see the touring production of last season's hit Broadway comedy The Play That Goes Wrong. It was, as the saying goes, side-splittingly funny.

In the proud British farce tradition, The Play That Goes Wrong is a fast-paced comedy loosely parodying a murder mystery like Agatha Christie's Mousetrap. But the conceit here is that you're watching a production put on by a very unskilled college theater. Actors don't make their entrances and exits on time, don't know their lines (one literally doesn't know how to pronounce some of them), don't stay in character, and stumble around the stage (sometimes literally). Props aren't where they're supposed to be. Lighting and sound cues are mistimed. And the set is falling apart.

This is very similar in tone to a wonderful play by Michael Frayn called Noises Off. (It was made into a movie that's admittedly less wonderful, but has just about the most amazing cast of comedy actors you could assemble in the early 1990s.) Because of the similarities, it took me a little while to warm to The Play That Goes Wrong. But there's really no reason there can't be two (or more) funny plays built upon the fun premise of disastrously bad theater.

It's an extremely clever script. Written by a team (Henry Lewis, Jonathan Sayer, and Henry Shields), The Play That Goes Wrong is especially clever for how precisely the play within the play is crafted. Unlike Noises Off (where you see the action repeated multiple times), this show follows a single performance of "The Murder at Haversham Manor" straight through. The dialogue of the fake play is hilariously indicative of what's supposed to be happening on stage, so that whenever someone speaks, you immediately know exactly what's "going wrong" with the titular play.

The physical comedy is excellent throughout. It ranges from broad to minute, and the latter was especially impressive to me. The Buell Theater in Denver (and really, any venue that would host a touring Broadway show) isn't exactly an intimate space. Humor depending on small moves or subtle facial expressions aren't necessarily going to work. But everything was very carefully thought through in the staging to make sure that each and every joke could play from the front row to the back.

The set itself nearly steals the show. It's a booby-trapped nightmare, with elements all over carefully constructed (in reality) to malfunction at just the wrong time (fictitiously). One can step through it all and imagine how all the tricks were done, but it's quite easy (and more fun) to just get swept up in the moments as they come and watch decorations break, pieces fall off, and so forth. Again... it's all extremely clever comedy.

The cast is great, each embodying an archetype you'd expect to see whether you've actually participated in bad theater or are just imagining it. It was hard to pick a favorite; they were all funny, and everyone had their own particularly showy moment to go for a huge laugh from the audience.

After a couple of shows in this year's touring season that I thought were lackluster, The Play That Goes Wrong is a wonderful change. I give it an A-. It's here in Denver until Sunday, before moving on to other cities. If you have the chance to see it, I'd highly recommend it.

A Bronx Cheer

Last weekend, I went to see the national touring production of A Bronx Tale, shortly before it packed up and headed on from Denver. Based on an earlier one-man-show of the same name by actor Chazz Palminteri, this was a musical that debuted on Broadway in 2016. It's a coming-of-age, semi-autobiographical tale about growing up in an Italian community in the 1950s and 60s, falling in with the gangster element, and being torn between two father figures.

The poster for the show quotes a critic as saying it's like "Jersey Boys meets West Side Story." One assumes this was meant as a compliment in its original context. It is certainly accurate. But I think it sums up quite neatly what's wrong with the show. There isn't much here that feels compelling or original.

Act One of A Bronx Tale is the cliche presented in every movie that features a character trying to jump-start an acting career with a self-written one-man-show. ("You see, back in my neighborhood...") It's melodramatic, it's familiar, and it's... well... bad. The narration is hokey, the plot is predictable, the characterizations thin. There's a little bit of life injected in seeing the main character at age 9, the only child in a cast of adults. Even then, the child's performance is broad even by theatrical standards, and he's whisked away after 20 minutes when the story jumps "eight years later."

Act Two of A Bronx Tale is just microwaved West Side Story. A "lovers from opposite sides" subplot that dropped in late in the first act suddenly takes over the entire show, but once again offers nothing new and little that's interesting. The best part about it is the influx of new characters from the nearby "black neighborhood" -- the love interest Jane is more intriguing than the main character himself. She and her chorus (at least, in the production we saw) were more powerful and skillful singers than the leads in the cast. If the story was going to shift abruptly in Act Two, I'd rather it have done so to focus on the far more interesting musical that was apparently next door to this one.

What saved it from being a complete bummer of an evening at the theater was some decent music throughout. It comes from lyricist Glenn Slater and composer Alan Menken (both of whom have histories with Disney that everyone will know -- including The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, and Tangled). Nothing here is career-best work, but that speaks more to the long careers they've had than true shortcomings in what they've created here. There's everything from anthemic defiance ("I Like It") to clever wordplay ("Nicky Machiavelli"). Melodies are introduced in good songs, and often recontextualized in reprise later in the show. Plus there was that great burst of energy at the top of Act Two ("Webster Avenue") that made me wish we were watching that "other musical" inside this one.

Still, some decent tunes alone really weren't enough to save the show for me. I'd grade it a C. If the tour of A Bronx Tale works its way to your city, I'd skip it.

Away Off

I'm pausing in the Seattle trip stories for a day to write about something we did after we'd returned. The touring production of the Broadway musical Come From Away was in Denver, and we headed down to the Buell Theater on the day after Thanksgiving to catch it.

While Dear Evan Hansen got all the love from the Tonys last year (and deservedly so), it was Come From Away that won the Drama Desk Award for Outstanding Musical (along with prizes from many other critics groups). It's the story of Gander, Newfoundland and Labrador, a small town whose location near the easternmost edge of Canada made it an epicenter of activity in the aftermath of the September 11th terrorist attacks. Flights inbound from Europe were diverted to Gander, almost doubling its effective population in a day and testing the locals in endless ways as they bent over backwards to roll out the welcome mat to a bunch of "come from aways" suddenly stranded with little or nothing.

It's great material for drama. The musical employs a cast of 12 to portray many dozens of characters, locals and travelers, depicting the days before air travel in the U.S. was restored. It's a heartwarming story of unsung heroes and humanity. (The ironies of calling them "unsung" when their story has become a hit musical are not lost on me.) You might expect a heavy, depressing night at the theater, but there's actually a lot of humor in Come From Away (perhaps even too much?), and though the show plays without intermission, it moves along at a brisk pace.

But there's a lot about the musical that left me uncertain at best, if not disappointed. Foremost, the story isn't actually "dramatized" particularly well. The script was purportedly written after its creators, Irene Sankoff and David Hein, heard of the story and traveled to Gander themselves for the 10th anniversary of September 11th, 2001. They interviewed many locals, and many travelers who returned for a reunion, piecing their stories together.

If this sounds like the way you'd make a documentary, then you won't be surprised at the results. I would estimate that more of the lines in Come From Away are delivered in asides ("interviews") directly to the audience than in dialogue with other characters. Characters frequently just come out and tell us how they're feeling instead of showing it through actions. The patter is rapid fire, with narrating characters weaving in and out of one another, exactly the way an editor would mix interview footage in a documentary film. On a screen, this method works -- partly for lack of alternatives when you have no footage of actual events, partly because you can get right up close and personal with the people telling their stories. On stage, the artifice of all this looms large.

The music of Come From Away was another sticking point for me. It's a cliche to walk out of a musical humming one of its songs, but it's true that when you can't do that, the musical is dangerously forgettable. That's the case here. Also, it's old-fashioned music in a few ways. The five-piece band is a traditional Irish folk ensemble, so all the music feels old-timey and strangely out-of-place. (Is Newfoundland populated mostly with Irish immigrants? Not that I knew, and not that I easily found online.) There are also very few solos in the show. Nearly all the numbers are elaborate chorus productions with loads of characters, somewhat impersonal and very much of the style I associate with Broadway shows from decades past.

There are a few moments of drama and emotion that do land well, and they're the moments where the show truly does get personal with just one or two characters. A subplot tracking the relationship between a gay couple has a meaningful resolution. The closest thing to a "show-stopping number" is the one true uninterrupted solo that comes near the end, when an airline pilot character sings her personal journey: what flying means to her, and how this experience has changed her. It's a truly powerful moment in the show, packing quite an emotional punch.

I gather all this works better for some than others. There are plenty of positive reviews of the show. While I myself wasn't really loving it, the performance we attended received a rapturous standing ovation at the end. (Though that happens all the time at Buell, so maybe isn't very telling.)

The show has moved on now from Denver, but might be coming to your city in the months ahead. I'd advise caution, though. I'm not sure how you'd tell whether you're in the group this works for or the group it doesn't, but I'd call it a B- overall.

Dearly Beloved

Today's post is on the short side. That's because I'm talking again about Dear Evan Hansen, about which I've already said a fair amount. I can now add to that, though, that if you live in the Denver area, you now have a chance to see it without traveling all the way to New York. The touring version of the production began its run right here, and closes out this coming weekend. You have a few nights left to make it. And you totally should.

Dear Evan Hansen remains a great show, worthy of the accolades it received in its original run. Unlike Matilda, which was so diminished in the incarnation of its U.S. Tour that I apparently never even blogged about seeing it the second time, this cast follows well in the original's footsteps. Ben Platt won a Tony originating the title role, and while it's true and expected that no one following could match his intensity, the star of this production, Ben Levi Ross, definitely works. His vocal strength is obvious, and his more gangly and awkward appearance actually feels more authentic to the role of an outcast and weird teenager.

I love this show. I loved it the first time, transfixed by a pair of rare and amazing performances. I loved it the second, more able to recognize and appreciate the arcs of other characters in the story. It's great. See it. That's about all I can say.

Wait For It...

2016 on Broadway was the year of Hamilton. Any theater production great enough to win Tony Awards any other year was ground up under the treads of Lin-Manuel Miranda's juggernaut. One show nominated for Best Musical that year (without a prayer of winning) was Waitress, an adaptation of the small independent film about a diner waitress with a talent for making pie and a heap of personal problems: an unwanted pregnancy, an abusive husband, and steamy affair on the side. The touring production of the show just stopped in Denver to close out 2017, and I had the chance to check it out.

Waitress is in some ways to the Broadway stage what Wonder Woman was to the movie screen -- a chance for women to be in charge of all key aspects of a production. In the entire history of Broadway, Waitress is the first show with a female director, writer, composer, and choreographer. Where the touring version needed new people, those too were female. Then add to that: the female characters are undeniably the stars of the show. It affects every aspect of the show in a positive way, suffusing everything with a subtle but present current of... empathy.

I was a bit lukewarm on the original movie, most enjoying the star power involved in such a small film. You don't get much star power in a Broadway production (and certainly not in a touring one). But it turns out the translation to stage was a great one for this story, in particular the addition of the songs by Sara Bareilles. It's not that the story cried out for musical interludes, but rather that the music Bareilles added perfectly supports the story.

From the opening earworm (an odd drone-like chant that will stick the three basic ingredients of pie crust in your head for the rest of your natural life) to the big finale, every song really digs beneath the surface to get at the filling beneath. (Pie metaphor, get it?) Not every one has an instantly memorable melody, but the lyrics are deep and revealing of the characters. Especially remarkable about this is that there's really only one number that I'd characterize as a big dramatic show stopper where a character deliberately "bares it all." (Act Two's "She Used to Be Mine.") Otherwise, the tenderness is suffused with humor ("The Negative"), love is approached with sweetness ("It Only Takes a Taste," "Bad Idea"), and characters bond with one another ("A Soft Place to Land," "Take It From an Old Man"). Then there are moments of outright comedy that brought the audience to rapturous applause, courtesy of the comic relief character of Ogie and his two big numbers ("Never Ever Getting Rid of Me" and "I Love You Like a Table.")

It took a while for the show to work its spell on me. I found the first act cute enough, though not exceptional; the second act, however, felt pretty special. In all, I'd have to say I appreciated the musical more than the movie. I'd give Waitress a B+. That may not have been enough to win a Tony, Hamilton or no, but it was worthy enough to have been in the conversation, I think. I'm glad I got the chance to see it.

Freeze Your Mind

Denver has gotten to be a big enough theater town that most touring Broadway productions make a lengthy stop here, and a few even begin here -- the national tour for The Book of Mormon originated here, as will Dear Evan Hansen next year. But right now, Denver's actually the try-out city for a show before it heads to New York -- the brand new production of Disney's Frozen.

Continuing the tradition of adapting its biggest animated hits into stage musicals, Frozen is the now omnipresent story of magical sister Elsa and adventurous sister Anna. (Any guesses how long we have before the live-action movie version?) It's a solid choice for adaptation among Disney's many solid films this decade, already featuring a number of great songs (including, of course, the ubiquitous "Let It Go"). Less work is needed to flesh Frozen out to a two-act show than, say, if they'd attempted a Big Hero 6 musical.


I noted of the original movie (which I loved) that it was a bit front-loaded with music. The song team from the film, Kristen Anderson-Lopez and Robert Lopez, are back to address that, creating a number of new numbers for the stage production -- most of them for Act Two. There might still be a little bit of work to do here. The Act Two opener, the slapstick "Hygge," was a huge crowd-pleaser, and a late new solo for Anna, "True Love," was a moving scene. But in between, the pace of Act Two did feel a bit slow -- even though its running time was less than an hour. That said, part of the challenge here is reaching the high bar set by existing songs (all of which return here).

One element that's definitely firing on all cylinders is the stagecraft. The production values of this show are sky high, pulling out all the stops to realize Elsa's icy magic. There's video projection, extensive use of trap doors and turntables, and even some wire work. All that's on top of a barrage of elaborate sets; even the ones used only for a single scene would be the envy of any regional theater (and would blow their budget for a whole season of productions, too). There's an elaborate costume for the reindeer Sven that makes the human inside all but vanish, a surprisingly expressive rod puppet for the snowman Olaf, and a procession of luxurious costumes. I can say unequivocally that I've never seen a theater production as visually compelling as this.

The show is also well cast. Elsa and Anna are played by Caissie Levy and Patti Murin, two veterans of different productions of Wicked. Frozen took rather clear inspiration from that musical (to the point of even casting its original star Idina Menzel), and as the snake eats its tail and the story heads to the stage, these two talented performers understand perfectly how to make it more theatrical. Perhaps even more compelling were the two children cast to play Young Elsa and Young Anna in the opening 10 minutes of the show -- these players rotate every night as children in Broadway musicals always do, but the girls at our performance (particularly the unstoppable Young Anna) really made an impact.

They're still said to be tweaking the show; the song list wasn't even printed in the program, but rather on an insert tucked between its pages. But even if the production just went to Broadway exactly as is, it would no doubt enjoy a long and successful run. Of course, when making a "copy," you do lose a little bit of the vividness of the original, and that does feel the case to me here. Still, the musical version of Frozen is a great experience I'm glad I had. I give it a B+.