Wolf Hall

Thomas Cromwell (Ben Miles) and Anne Boleyn (Lydia Leonard) in Wolf Hall. Photo: Photo: Johan Persson

“Divorced, beheaded, died. Divorced, beheaded, survived.” So goes the rhyme that lists the fate (in order) of the six wives of Henry VIII. Based on the number of books and films that have been made about them and the rest of the family, it appears that we (including myself) just can’t get enough of those crazy Tudors. And so this history nerd found herself last month at the opening night of a Broadway play that once again tells the story of King Henry and the tragic story of his first two wives.

Wolf Hall: Parts I and II (it’s so long the play is broken into two parts) is based on Hilary Mantel’s books Wolf Hall and Bring Up the Bodies (as is the recent PBS series). It differs from other accounts of this oft-told tale by making the focus of the play neither king nor queen but a bureaucrat—Thomas Cromwell, the King’s chief adviser. This commoner, a “butcher boy from Putney,” rose to power in Henry’s court by orchestrating two of the most important events in his King’s life—the divorce from his first wife and the beheading of his second.

The action takes place on a bare, darkened stage with a concrete back wall embedded with a large cross. Fire sometimes rises from the floor. Occasionally a piece of furniture will appear. Part I opens with the Royal Shakespeare Company cast on stage performing a dance. Among them are Henry VIII (Nathaniel Parker) and Thomas Cromwell (Ben Miles) along with their friends and enemies.

Henry VIII (Nathaniel Parker) with members of his court in Wolf Hall. Photo: Johan Persson

We soon meet Cromwell and Cardinal Woolsey (Paul Jesson), and learn of Cromwell’s high regard for the older man who is not only a mentor but also a father figure to him. We watch as Cromwell’s position and power at court rises until he’s the only man that the king can trust. Unhappy with Catherine of Aragon (Lucy Briers), a wife who cannot bear him a son, Henry wants to get rid of her so he can marry a younger woman, Anne Boleyn (Lydia Leonard). Can’t Cromwell help his King?

Cromwell sets out to accommodate his ruler’s wishes. Soon Henry is breaking from the church and getting a divorce. Catherine is banished to the countryside and replaced by the dark haired Anne. All too soon Anne, who has a sharp tongue and opinions about everything, turns out to be a disappointment when she gives birth to a girl (the future Elizabeth I). Part I ends with a young blonde woman (Leah Brotherhead) on stage stating, “Oh, I’m nobody. I’m only Jane Seymour.” A portent of things to come in Part II.

Death is all around Cromwell in Wolf Hall starting with the sudden loss of his wife and daughters from the sweating sickness and the death of Woolsey, hastened by his fall from grace with the King. And then there is the execution of Cromwell’s frenemy, Thomas More, the man who in real life achieved sainthood by refusing to denounce the church, is depicted here in a very unsaintlike manner and Cromwell, in a reversal of the normal, is the hero.

In Part II, the death toll increases and so do the ghosts who come and go throughout the play. Cromwell’s beloved wife drifts by a few times but Woolsey’s ghost sticks around and has conversations with Cromwell. Even the King gets a visit from the ghost of his dead brother. Death, it would seem, does not mean seeing the last of some people.

Thomas Cromwell (Ben Miles) in Wolf Hall. Photo: Johan Persson

If Part I is a bit crowded with information and setting the stage for what’s to come, Part II runs at a rapid pace, with Cromwell finally getting his revenge. The man who has mastered the art of fading into the shadows, who has stood quietly by, watching and listening, puts his plans into action when the King, grown weary of Anne, claims that she bewitched him and that she must go. Cromwell is only too happy to oblige. In the process of getting rid of Anne, Cromwell eliminates his enemies as well, setting up the men who lampooned Woolsey after his death with charges of treason. Cromwell, it seems, never forgets. Anne and the men are beheaded, leading the way for the King to wed the mousy Jane Seymour. Cromwell has succeeded but at what cost?

Ben Miles does a fine job as Cromwell, winning the audience's sympathy and getting some laughs (there’s actually a surprising amount of humour in the play) before he turns menacing and starts settling scores. Nathaniel Parker, who I’ve always been fond of, is an excellent Henry, with the presence and stature of a king while also showing Henry at times to be nothing more than a spoiled child. Paul Jesson as Woolsey is a standout, often stealing scenes from his fellow actors. If there is a disappointment it's that I found Lydia Leonard as Anne to be a bit too shrill, often shrieking her lines although she redeems herself at the end.

Wolf Hall is long, almost six hours if you see both parts on the same day (as I did), but it’s well worth it. These are some familiar characters that you won't mind spending time with.

Wolf Hall is at the Winter Garden Theatre. For more information, visit here.

Here's to Elaine

"Let's hear it for the ladies who lunch—Everybody rise."—Stephen Sondheim

Today we lost a legend. An actress and singer who appeared on stage and in film and television for nearly 70 years, Elaine Stritch with her brassy voice and sharp observations was an original who epitomized what it meant to be a New Yorker even though she was born in Detroit, Michigan. Yes, she could be difficult and blunt, never mincing words when it came to her opinion, but she was also a professional who was always toughest on herself. 

Born on February 2, 1925, Stritch was a convent school girl who after graduation moved to New York to study acting at the New School. She ended up staying for 71 years until retiring to Birmingham, Michigan last year. After making her Broadway debut in Loco in 1946, she would go on to be a cast member in multiple Broadway productions throughout her career including Pal Joey, Bus Stop, Sail Away, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, A Little Night Music, and most famously Company. She had roles in a variety of television shows including her last as Alec Baldwin's mother in 30 Rock and starred in numerous films including A Farewell to Arms, September, and Small Time Crooks. 

She didn't have an easy life; she lost her beloved husband, John Bay, to cancer after ten years of marriage and battled alcoholism with varying degrees of success. In her later years, diabetes and memory loss made performing extra challenging yet she continued on, making public appearances almost until the end. 

Stritch spent her last decade in New York living in room 309 at the Carlyle Hotel where for eight of those years she performed a cabaret show downstairs at the Carlyle Café wearing her signature outfit of white shirt and black tights (no pants). The documentary Shoot Me, which was released in February, centers around her last show at the Carlyle (I highly recommend it).

I greatly regret that I never got to see her perform live. Her passing in many ways is like the end of an era; there will be other stars of the stage but there will never be anyone quite like Elaine Stritch.

A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder

Members of A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder. Photo: Joan Marcus.

During Broadway week, I managed to see the new musical comedy A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder. With book and lyrics by Robert L. Freedman and music and lyrics by Steven Lutvak, it's a delightful mix of English music hall and wicked humour set in Edwardian England.

For those of you familiar with the film Kind Hearts and Coronets (1949), the story will be familiar. Impoverished Monty Navarro (Bryce Pinkham) is mourning the death of his mother when one of her friends, Miss Shingle (Jane Carr), arrives and informs him that he is a member of the aristocratic D’Ysquith family and is eighth in line to inherit the dukedom.

Monty writes to the current Earl of Highhurst, Lord Adalbert D’Ysquith (Jefferson Mays), informing him of his newly discovered family connection and is rebuffed. Thinking a clergyman might be more sympathetic to his cause, he sets out to visit one of the heirs, the Reverend Lord Ezekial D’Ysquith (also Jefferson Mays). The Reverend, who refuses to help Monty, insists on showing him the view from the top of his church tower. When he loses his balance, Monty sees his chance to move up the line and lets him fall to his death. Soon the other D'Ysquith heirs begin to mysteriously drop like flies in a myriad of ways: falling through the ice while skating, being attacked by a swarm of bees, beheading by barbells. 

In between committing murder Monty juggles two women, the seductive social climber Sibella Hallward (Lisa O'Hare) and his sweet distant cousin Phoebe D’Ysquith (Lauren Worsham), all while managing to sing and dance.

From the opening scene where Monty is ensconced in a jail cell, penning his memoir, to the finale, the story gallops along with a bevy of rousing songs, dance numbers, and clever special effects (one of the deaths pays homage to Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo). Who knew the tale of a serial killer could be so entertaining?

One of the musical's selling points is its strong cast including the charming Bryce Pinkham, the hilarious Jane Carr, and Lisa O'Hare and Lauren Worsham, who are both fine singers. But the star of the show is Jefferson Mays who plays not one but all eight of Monty's victims, male and female. Mays' energy is astounding and makes one wonder what happens after he takes his final bow (I imagine him collapsing the moment he steps off the stage). He dies eight times every night, a record for Broadway, while making each character uniquely different. 

Add a colourful set by Alexander Dodge and perfect period costumes by Linda Cho, and you have one of the most enjoyable Broadway arrivals this season. 

A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder plays at the Walter Kerr Theatre. For more information, visit here. 

The Heiress

Jessica Chastain is The Heiress. Photo: Joan Marcus.

Last month I saw the Broadway production of The Heiress, Ruth and Augustus Goetz’ adaptation of Henry James’ Washington Square. Set in 1850 New York, the play takes place in the front parlour of the fashionable home of Dr. Austin Sloper and his daughter Catherine. The well-respected Dr. Sloper is disappointed with his plain daughter who while shy and socially awkward, displays intelligence and a sense of humour when alone with her Aunt Lavinia who has come to stay with the Slopers since the passing of her husband. Into the house one evening comes Morris Townsend, a young man of looks and charm but no fortune. Dr. Sloper immediately suspects that his intentions toward Catherine are dubious but she believes Morris to be honourable and starts to think that perhaps, finally, she has found love. After an extended trip to Europe with her father in an attempt to get her to forget her suitor, Catherine returns only to discover the truth about Morris’ feelings for her.

The play was enjoyable to watch starting with Derek McLane’s set filled with loads of mahogany and dark reds and crystal and Albert Wolsky’s period-perfect outfits for the cast. Yet at times it felt like eating a sugary meringue—light and lovely but without a lot of weight to it.

Judith Ivey, Dan Stevens, David Strathairn, and Jessica Chastain. Photo: Joan Marcus.

Part of this had to do with the casting. David Strathairn’s Dr. Sloper came across as stern but not as tyrannical as he perhaps should be for the story. His treatment of his only child whom he has never forgiven for not growing up to be more like her mother who died shortly after childbirth was hard to watch but maybe not hard enough.

Dan Stevens did a serviceable job as the shallow Morris but seemed to lack the cunning that one would expect from a character of that ilk. He did look the part though and to his credit it only took a few minutes to forget that you weren’t watching Matthew Crawley from Downton Abbey.

Judith Ivey as Aunt Lavinia stole the show whenever she was on stage. At times bringing to mind Aunt Pittypat from Gone With the Wind, her over exuberant outbursts and general silliness served, for most of the play, to mask a sharp mind. Of all the people who crossed the threshold of the Sloper household, she was the one who seemed to be most aware of what was going on.

And then there was Jessica Chastain as Catherine. The young woman who is funny one moment and a stumbling mess the next, living in fear of her father yet constantly seeking his approval, is a complex woman who by the play’s end transforms into a hardened spinster. While Chastain looked the part, her portrayal felt disjointed. Part of this was due to her manner of speech; a drawn out “yes” in answer to a question for example was distracting and just odd. It’s unfortunate because I know Chastain is a fine actress, perhaps one of the best in Hollywood at the moment. Maybe her next time on Broadway, which I am sure there will be a next time, she will have a role that she can make more her own.

The Heiress has closed but you can see some short videos about the production here.

Harvey

Jim Parsons is Elwood P. Dowd in Harvey. Photo: Joan Marcus.

Once the famed haunt of disco divas, Studio 54 is currently home to a rabbit named Harvey.

Harvey is the story of one Elwood P. Dowd, an affable bachelor who lives with his widowed sister, Veta, and her daughter, Myrtle Mae, in the Dowd family’s Denver mansion in 1944. Elwood likes to pass out his card to people he meets and spend his afternoons drinking at Charlie’s Bar with his friend Harvey. Not so unusual until you learn that Harvey is an invisible six foot three and a half inch white rabbit whom Elwood insists on introducing to everyone he meets. Harvey you see is a pooka, a creature from Irish mythology that usually takes the shape of an oversized animal, and apparently only Elwood can see him (well, most of the time). Intent on introducing her daughter into high society, Veta sees Elwood as an embarrassment and tries to have her brother committed to the local sanatorium, Chumley’s Rest. But Veta’s plans go astray when her frantic tale gets her admitted instead while Elwood and Harvey go on their way. After Veta’s release, everyone searches frantically for Elwood who shows up at Chumley’s Rest looking for a missing Harvey. He proceeds to charm the staff, making a profound impact on them while Veta decides that regardless of Harvey, she likes Elwood just the way he is.

Made into a much beloved film in 1950 with James Stewart in the Elwood role, the Pulitzer Prize winning play by Mary Chase may at first seem too old-fashioned for a revival but this Harvey is utterly delightful due largely to the casting of Jim Parsons as Elwood. Parsons is a perfect Elwood. With his childlike interest in the most common of things, gentlemanly manners, and unwavering belief in Harvey, the role could have been all wrong in the hands of another actor. But Parsons makes Elwood utterly believable. He is able to convey all the wonderment of Elwood’s view of the world without coming off as corny or clichéd. He also does a fine job maneuvering around the stage with an invisible rabbit next to his side.

In one monologue Elwood explains how he came to meet Harvey. “I started to walk down the street when I heard a voice saying: ‘Good evening, Mr. Dowd.’ I turned, and there was this great white rabbit leaning against a lamppost.” You never learn exactly why Harvey appears to Elwood when he does. Could it be a result of Elwood’s alcoholism?  Maybe. But when he says, “Doctor, I wrestled with reality for forty years, and I am happy to state that I finally won out over it” you get the feeling there’s some other tragedy from his past that Harvey helps Elwood to forget.

Jessica Hecht and Jim Parsons in a scene from Harvey. Photo: Joan Marcus.

Jessica Hecht turns in an outstanding performance as sister Veta. Speaking in a perfect 1940s voice (she could have stepped right out of a black and white movie), Hecht makes Veta very likable even when she is at her shrillest. And the moment when she lets slip that she too has seen Harvey is one of the great moments in the play.

The rest of the cast is top notch including Charles Kimbrough as the befuddled Dr William R. Chumley, Mad Men’s Rich Sommer doing his best Jack Carson as the orderly Wilson, and a brilliant cameo by Carol Kane as Chumley’s wife Betty.

The set is wonderful, rotating between the Dowd household, all wood and Victorian furniture, and the sanatorium’s waiting room, minimal and bright white. And the special effects (“Harvey” flips through a book and opens and closes doors) were just right.

The night I went, the theatre was packed and the audience lively (the fans of Jim Parsons, best known for his role as Dr. Sheldon Cooper on The Big Bang Theory, were particularly vocal). Walking out of the theatre afterwards, I couldn’t help but glance at each lamppost I passed to see if there were any white rabbits. 

Harvey plays at Studio 54 through August 5. For more information, visit here.

Peter and the Starcatcher

The Lost Boys are surrounded in Peter and the Starcatcher. Photo: O&M Co.

The other night I was transported to Neverland for a few hours when I saw a performance of Peter and the Starcatcher. Adapted by Rick Elice from the book by Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson, Peter and the Starcatcher is a prequel of sorts to Peter and Wendy, deviating from the original Peter Pan back-story in many wonderful ways.

The play opens with the entire cast on stage and one of the actors proclaiming, “When I was a boy, I wished I could fly.” From there the story takes off at breakneck speed with the sailing of two ships—the Wasp with Starcatcher Lord Leonard Aster on board and the Never Land, which carries Aster's daughter Molly and her governess Mrs. Bumbrake along with a mysterious trunk that is said to contain “the greatest treasure on earth”—star stuff. Once at sea, the Wasp is overtaken by pirates while on the Never Land Molly befriends a group of kidnapped orphaned boys who are to be sold into slavery. One of them is nameless, known only as Boy. But by the end of the play he has a name—Peter Pan. Together Molly and Peter endure a shipwreck and run-ins on Mollusk Island with a giant crocodile, the island’s ruler who peppers his speech with names of Italian dishes, and the infamous pirate known as the Black Stache. Add a mermaid song and dance at the top of Act II, an inedible pineapple, and a tiny fairy, and the result is a story filled with humour, adventure, and magic.

Peter and the the Black Stache. Photo: O&M Co.

The design of the show is inventive to say the least. On a nearly bare stage, a dozen actors play 50 roles and rely on the simplest of props. A rope for example becomes the hold of a ship, ocean waves, the jaws of a crocodile, among other things. The execution is so smart, so funny that it makes any wish for an elaborate set obsolete. It also asks the audience to use their imagination, something unique in this day and age. And then there is the music, reminiscent of English dancehall songs and sea shanties. The show's composer, Wayne Barker, is a friend of mine so you may think I'm biased when I tell you that the music is delightful but it really is.

Peter’s name may be in the title but the show belongs to the Black Stache. Christian Borle was outstanding as the notorious pirate. Flitting across the stage with his oversized mustache, he tossed around malapropisms and threats effortlessly while being assisted by the ever-faithful Smee. The scene in which the future Captain Hook loses his hand (not by a croc) is one of the funniest in the play, and Borle played it with comic perfection. Celia Keenan-Bolger as Molly was also a standout, the only woman in a cast of men, while Arnie Burton did a nice turn as Mrs. Bumbrake. Adam Chanler-Berat as Peter was fine but his performance left me a little underwhelmed.

Even though the audience was not asked to clap if they believed in fairies, by the end of the play they were on their feet cheering.

Peter and the Starcatcher plays at the Brooks Atkinson Theatre. For more information, visit their website here.

On Broadway

A scene from Nice Work If You Can Get It. Photo: Joan Marcus.

I recently took in a couple of Broadway shows set during the glory days of the 1920s and 30s that feature classics from the Great American Songbook.

First up was Nice Work If You Can Get It by Joe DiPietro with music and lyrics by George and Ira Gershwin. Nice Work takes place in Prohibition New York where Jimmy Winter, a carefree playboy preparing to marry for the third or fourth time (he isn't sure which), meets a pretty bootlegger named Billie Bendix who's avoiding the law. Billie decides that Jimmy's empty Long Island mansion is the perfect place to stash her latest supply of gin but her plans are foiled when she and her two cohorts, Cookie McGee and Duke Mahoney, are interrupted by the arrival of Jimmy with his fiancée (the “finest interpreter of modern dance in the world”) and her senator father and teetotaler aunt, the Duchess Estonia Duckworth. Throw in some party revelers, a suspicious cop, and Jimmy’s mother and chaos ensues while Jimmy and Billie fall in love.

The plot has all the elements of a screwball comedy, which is not surprising as the book’s based loosely on Oh, Kay! by P.G. Wodehouse and Guy Bolton. Yet the book is the main problem with the show. You get the feeling that DiPietro decided to throw in every plot twist he could think of along with corny jokes that are just that, corny.

And yet it’s really hard to be displeased when you're listening to Gershwin tunes and Nice Work is filled with some of their best songs, including the title song, “Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off,” and “Fascinating Rhythm.” The music makes up for a lot of the show's shortcomings and reminds us just how brilliant the Gershwins were.

Kelli O'Hara and Matthew Broderick. Photo: Joan Marcus.

Jimmy is played by Matthew Broderick who injects a dry sense of humour into the role. Broderick is not a song and dance man by trade. His singing is fine (think Fred Astaire), especially in the quieter scenes like when he sings “Do, Do, Do” while strumming a ukulele. The dancing though is another matter. When Broderick is in a number with the other dancers, his lack of dance skills are noticeable but his charm makes up for it.

Kelli O’Hara on the other hand has no such problems. Her dancing is effortless and her soprano voice quite beautiful and a nice contrast to her tomboy outfits. She also gets one of the best scenes of the play when she sings the heartbreaking “Someone To Watch Over Me” while lovingly cradling a gun.

Yet the musical is owned by some of its other players. Michael McGrath, who plays Cookie, gives a convincing impression of a 1930s sidekick and got some of the biggest laughs of the evening, and Judy Kaye as the Duchess whose discovery of alcohol leads her to literally swing from the chandelier was a standout. Not surprising, both took home Tonys. There’s also the end of show entrance by the venerable Estelle Parsons as Jimmy’s mother.

Despite its weaknesses I enjoyed the show because let’s face it, spending a few hours listening to Gershwin tunes in a theatre ‘s wonderful.

Reno Sweeney and the sailors in Anything Goes. Photo: Joan Marcus.

A much better musical was Anything Goes, which I saw a few weeks later. Based on an update by John Weidman and Timothy Crouse of the original book by P.G. Wodehouse and Guy Bolton with music and lyrics by Cole Porter, it’s another screwball musical but this time set on the high seas in the 1930s. Reno Sweeney is a nightclub performer who is headed to England for a job. The man she’s in love with, Billy Crocker, stows away to be near the girl he loves, Hope Harcourt, who’s headed to England with her mother and fiancée, Lord Evelyn Oakleigh. Along for the ride is Billy’s drunken boss, a couple of Chinese men recently converted to Christianity, a gangster’s moll, and Public Enemy #13, Moonface Martin. Like in any good screwball, all misunderstandings are ironed out in the end and everyone ends up with the right person.

As with Nice Work, Anything Goes’ songs are hard to beat. The best of Cole Porter is here, starting off with “I Get a Kick Out of You” and including “Easy to Love,” “It’s De-lovely,” and “You’re the Top.” Act I ends with a huge production of the title song with the entire cast singing and tap-dancing. That one scene alone was worth the cost of the ticket. Act II keeps the action moving with a red-hot production of “Blow, Gabriel, Blow,” which had me practically bouncing in my seat.

Jessica Stone performs "Buddie, Beware." Photo: Joan Marcus.

The night I went Stephanie J. Block, who normally plays Reno, was out sick so her understudy, Kiira Schmidt, went on. She made a valiant effort and despite stumbling over a few lines was still enjoyable. Yet I couldn’t help wondering what Block’s performance would have been like. The impish Joel Grey as Moonface Martin, who’s disguised as a priest while on board, was a favourite of the crowd. A natural ham, Grey played his scenes for every last laugh and was very sweet as the man who’s upset he’s so far down on the FBI’s most wanted list. 

The rest of the cast were great but one of my favourite performances was by Jessica Stone who was spot on as Moonface’s wisecracking partner-in-crime Erma. Her performance of “Buddie, Beware” with the ship’s sailors was hilarious.

And let’s not forget the set and costumes. The ship, which dominated the stage, was a great Art Deco backdrop for the antics of the characters whose costumes were elegant and perfect. Besides, how can you not love a bunch of singing and dancing sailors? The whole show was just delovely.

Nice Work If You Can Get It plays at the Imperial Theatre. For more information, visit their website here.

Anything Goes plays at the Stephen Sondheim Theatre through September 9, 2012. For more information, visit their website here.

Two Broadway Legends

Seeing a Broadway show is something I don’t get to do often enough so when I get the chance I cross my fingers that it’s going to be great. Recently I caught An Evening with Patti LuPone and Mandy Patinkin and if it wasn’t the greatest show the two performers certainly were.

On a stage decorated with a series of ghost lights, the two Broadway legends run through an eclectic series of songs from the musical canon including selections from South Pacific, Merrily We Roll Along, and Carousel. Some of the choices are perfect—LuPone’s spot on rendition of “Getting Married Today” from Company and Patinkin’s hilarious delivery of “In Buddy’s Eyes” from Follies while some others, like the multiple songs from Carousel performed at the end of the show, seem like an odd choice. But I’m not complaining. I’d probably sit and listen to these two sing from the phone book.

There is little talking in the show; the audience is left to figure out for themselves whatever tenuous connections exist between the songs. Yet there is one story that Patinkin does stop to share with the audience—how he and LuPone first came to work together in that show. With the audience collectively leaning forward in anticipation, each star takes turns singing a song from Evita. Patinkin shows he can still channel Che's r

age in "Oh What a Circus" and hearing LuPone sing “Don’t Cry For Me Argentina” acts as a reminder that there is only one Evita.

The show is at the Ethel Barrymore Theatre through January 13. To find out more, visit the show’s site here.

Photo by Brigitte Lacombe.

The Importance of Being Earnest

Attending a Broadway production is always fun, even if the show turns out to be mediocre. But when the show is outstanding and you spend a good part of two hours laughing as I did the other night at a revival of Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest, it's a complete treat.

The Importance of Being Earnest is a satirical comedy that takes aim at marriage and the social tenants of Victorian England. The story involves characters who maintain fictitious relatives and friends (Bunbury) in order to escape social duties, women who love only men named Ernest, and a mystery about a baby left in a handbag at a train station. In short, it's a deliciously enjoyable play, and this latest revival does not disappoint.

Jessie Austrian, David Furr, and Brian Bedford.

The sets are beautiful and the performances, along with the accents, strong (I particularly liked David Furr as Jack Worthing). Yet the show belongs to Brian Bedford who, in addition to directing the production, portrays the indomitable Lady Bracknell, one of the great comedic characters in theatre. Bedford dominates the stage from the moment he first appears in the doorway of Algernon's drawing room. With a voice that could command an army, Lady Bracknell lectures and bullies those around her in the guise of upholding society's mores while refusing to acknowledge her own hypocrisy. When she learns of Jack's origin during a grilling on his potential as a son-in-law (one of the best scenes in the play) her utterance of the single word "handbag" speaks volumes about her and society.

Bedford's movements, from wrinkling his nose as if there's a bad smell to smiling coyly at Cecily, along with his delivery are spot on. Lady Bracknell has some of the best lines in the play, and Bedford recites them with gusto. In response to Algernon's news of his friend Bunbury's latest illness, "Well, I must say, Algernon, that I think it is high time that Mr. Bunbury made up his mind whether he was going to live or die." And the classic "To lose one parent, Mr. Worthing, may be regarded as a misfortune. To lose both looks like carelessness." Indeed. 

The Importance of Being Earnest plays at the American Airlines Theatre through July 3. If you get the chance to attend a Broadway show, make this the one. Lady Bracknell would approve.

Photos by Joan Marcus.

La Bête

I spent an enjoyable evening the other night at a performance of David Hirson’s La Bête. Set in a 17th-century French court and written in iambic pentameter, La Bête is the tale of two playwrights—the dignified and priggish Elomire and the bombastic and buffoonish Valere—whose futures are controlled by the Princess whose patronize they both seek. Elomire, who is ensconced comfortably at court, is horrified when the Princess insists that the street performer Valere, whom she finds entertaining, join Elomire and his troupe. The ensuing arguments lead to victory for one and banishment for the other.

The three leads are marvelous in their roles. As the Princess, the striking Joanna Lumley mixes a regal composure with childish stubbornness. And her entrance, heralded by a cloud of gold glitter, is absolutely fabulous. David Hyde Pierce, so perfect at projecting silent burning rage, delivers Elomire’s words eloquently but is at his funniest when expressing a wealth of emotions without uttering a word. Yet as good as these two are, it is Mark Rylance as Valere who steals the show. He enters at the beginning of the play, a wreck with foppish hat and oversized teeth, spitting out words and food (in Elomire’s face) and doesn’t stop talking for a good half hour. During his monologue he prances, belches, shouts, confesses childhood secrets, mispronounces Latin, and even defecates while never seeming to stop for a breath. It’s a standout performance and one that can’t help but overshadow the other characters. It’s also one of the funniest performances I’ve seen on stage in a long time.

Unfortunately, the rest of the play never seems to live up to that opening monologue. The age-old argument about high versus low art seems one-sided and the dramatic exit into the mist by one of the leads at the end seems overly dramatic. Nonetheless, the excellence of the performances, especially Rylance’s antics, are worth seeing.

Like most plays that opened this fall on Broadway, La Bête is closing soon (January 9). Until then you can catch it at the Music Box Theatre.