By Christian Viveros-Fauné
By Miriam Felton-Dansky
By Tom Sellar
By Tom Sellar
By Jessica Dawson
By Tom Sellar
By R. C. Baker
By Tom Sellar
As the titles indicate, the evening's song list is mainly made up of oldies-but-goodies, or at worst fair-to-goodies, for the sake of which its few lapses into weaker stuff can be easily forgiven. The musical credits indicate the tremendous amount of backup Tune gets for a show the title of which is the star's name: Wally Harper is credited with "Arrangements," and five other people, headed by the late Peter Matz, with "Orchestrations." Most of the stage space that you would expect a dancer to leave free in this new Off-Broadway house, the Shubert Organization's first venture into small-is-profitable, is taken up by a 16-piece orchestra, conducted by Michael Biagi, who makes a great show of his arm-waving for the folks out front. I couldn't find a clear downbeat in it, but my pit band days ended with college, and I'm well on my way to Tune's alleged age.
In addition to the band, he has the Manhattan Rhythm Kings, a trio that sings, dances, and plays instruments. He declares that they are dear friends whom he's been working with since he discovered them busking outside the Winter Garden decades ago, which is conceptually rather than literally true, since the youngest of them just joined the act two years ago. Be that as it may, the Rhythm Kings are a jovial crew, with good voices, who can nearly keep up with Tommy on the tapping. They engage with Tune in several of the show's high points, including one really tricky piece of choreographya sort of flexed-foot conga line that I suspect of being much harder to do than it looksand a medley of crossovers and cornball shtick that comes much closer to the authentic spirit of vaudeville than most of the Downtown geek-stunt business passing under that name.
Music and lyrics by Cole Porter
York Theatre at St. Peter's
619 Lexington Avenue, at 54th Street
I have little else to say about Tommy Tune: White Tie and Tails except that I feel guilty for not liking it more. I feel guilty because I really like Tommy Tune. I've been watching him with pleasure since he stalked Fritz Weaver through the dry-ice fog in Baker Street, and his work, as performer and director, has blown me away more than once. I wish I had a video clip of him performing "It's Not Where You Start, It's Where You Finish" in Seesaw. I wish he would revive The Club, possibly with alternating-gender casts this time around. But then, watching those events, I felt that I was in the company of a specific artist named Tommy Tune, who was fully aware of who he was and what he wanted the work to be. As a result of which, liking or disliking the work (I've done both at different times) became purely academic. My problem with Tommy Tune, as opposed to all previous versions of Tommy Tune, is that I don't sense the artist's presence in it. There's an occasional glimpse of it in the care taken with the way things look, but the overall feeling is synthetic, as if the organically grown Tommy Tune had been replaced by manmade fibers, more durable and easier to clean, perhaps, but lacking the real quality.
Something of the same is true of the Little Shubert itself, the glum aura of which may be partially responsible for dimming Tune's organic luster. The seats are comfortable and the sight lines are good, though I suspect the back rows feel awfully distant from the stage. The show is electronified to a degree that makes an educated guess about the acoustics impossible. But the atmosphere is the main problem, so stark and businesslike that the optimal tenant would be a lecture on mathematics. Wouldn't it have been more in line with postmodern sensibilities to do the interior as a splintered replica of the actual Shubert, or at least a reduced cousin of the Royale? But perhaps the Shuberts think the International Style still prevails in interior design, or were just interested in saving money. They are, you know, a very money-conscious Organization, even though their sole owner is a tax-exempt charitable Foundation. The Foundation is famously generous with its money (it is the largest single donor in the American theater), but when it gives the city a new theater, one might hope for a little largesse in the spiritual department as well. Or perhaps, as with Tune, I am just being too greedy. West 42nd Street has a new theater, which has opened with a show built around a favorite not-new performer, and everything else about the event follows with, you might say, an almost mechanical logic.