Archive for the 'performance diary' Category

Performance Diary: “THE POWER OF THE HEART: a celebration of Lou Reed”

December 19, 2013

lou reed card 212.16.13 – The invitation-only tribute to Lou Reed at the Apollo Theater was a beautiful event – a classy, intimate, surprising blend of musical performances, spoken testimonials, film and audio clips, and multi-faith spiritual expression. Welcoming music came in the form of a guitar jam between Marc Ribot and Doug Wieselman. The program officially began with Rabbi Levi Weiman-Kelman performing the funeral prayer “El Maleh Rachamim.” Laurie Anderson opened and closed the three-hour ceremony with very personal recollections of her life with Lou. She talked movingly about his final days, his last words, his last breath, his last gesture. They had immersed themselves in Buddhist meditation, so she and her community  observed the 49-day period of practices after someone dies, according to the Tibetan Book of the Dead. The memorial at the Apollo took place on Day 50, which is dedicated to the liberation of the soul of the departed. And she said they’re very clear and strict about “no tears,” weeping seen to be confusing to the soul passing through the bardo.
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Accordingly, this was an evening of much celebration and laughter, emotion and sentiment but no tears. There were lively reminiscences by Lou’s sister Meryl (aka Bunny), producer Hal Wilner, Julian Schnabel, Ingrid Sischy, the Velvet Underground’s Maureen Tucker (reading a message from John Cale), and the surgeon who performed Lou’s liver transplant, Charlie Miller, who was hilarious and touching and apparently stitched up his famous patient to the beat of “Walk on the Wild Side.” Early on, Patti Smith sang “Perfect Day” accompanied on guitar by Lenny Kaye, and she took the lead for the all-hands-on-deck finale, “Sister Ray.” Emily Haines of the band Metric sang “All Tomorrow’s Parties,” Debbie Harry did “White Light White Heat,” Jenni Muldaur sang “Jesus,” and the Persuasions (who opened for Lou’s first European tour) came out to croon a gorgeous a cappella rendition of “Turning Time Around.” John Zorn’s sax solo represented Lou at his most abrasive and improvisational. Philip Glass sat down at the piano and played while the rabbi sang and Hal Wilner translated the Kaddish. For me, the musical high point was Antony performing “Candy Says” to Marc Ribot’s simple acoustic guitar accompaniment – fitting for Lou’s song about transgender Warhol diva Candy Darling to be sung by a gender-queer performer who clearly understands its existential self-disgust from the inside (“Candy says I’ve come to hate my body/And all that it requires in this world”). It seemed curious to me that only the Persuasions sang a song written after 1973 — Lou made a lot of albums and wrote some good songs after Berlin, but I suppose it’s a recognition of how solid those early Velvet Underground songs were and still are.

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I would guess Hal Wilner had a hand in amassing the various amazing film clips that conjured Lou’s presence, starting with an excerpt of “Waiting for the Man” (live in concert during his dyed-blond days) and including several chunks of a very funny interview in which he talked about why he lives in New York, what he hates about Long Island, what scares him about Sweden, designing his own eyeglasses, etc. I’d forgotten that Lou was in Paul Simon’s movie One Trick Pony, but we watched the whole clip, in which Lou plays a record producer imposing egregiously bad arrangements on Simon’s character’s album. Then Simon himself came out to sing “Pale Blue Eyes.” Two radically different audio clips were also highlights of the evening – Lou as a kid singing “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” and then the unedited original studio demo of Lou strumming guitar and singing “Heroin,” still an astonishing song. Laurie remarked that Lou wrote his lyrics very fast, sometimes in the middle of the night, and never changed them, believing in “First thought, best thought.” Which, she admitted, she found infuriating, as someone who labored and worried over every single line.

As if the images of Lou Reed — Mr. Rock and Roll Animal, Mr. Street Hassle, Mr. Metal Machine Music — wearing a kippah at the Wailing Wall and practicing Tibetan Buddhism weren’t spiritually eclectic enough, we witnessed testimonials and demonstrations of t’ai chi from his teacher Ren GuangYi, his student, and his community. (It was fascinating to see how easily the 21 form t’ai chi moves could be adapted to the tune of “Sister Ray.”)
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A rich full occasion. I was delighted to share it with my friend Judy Mam.

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Performance diary: THE (CURIOUS CASE OF THE) WATSON INTELLIGENCE, Taymor’s DREAM, and THE HABIT OF ART

December 8, 2013

12.5.13The (Curious Case of the) Watson Intelligence by Madeleine George at Playwrights Horizons is one of those plays with an interesting theme – the search for mechanized perfection – and a clever conceit through which to pursue it. A super-smart computer programmer named Eliza is creating a robot-helper (picture a life-sized full-bodied Siri) whom she has named Watson, and her quest is bounced off historical scenes featuring other Watsons: Sherlock Holmes’s sidekick and Alexander Graham Bell’s right-hand man, with glancing reference to the IBM computer of the same name who famously beat human contestants on Jeopardy. Ultimately, though, the play devolves into a kind of heterosexual soap opera about Eliza, her ex-husband Merrick, and the computer repair guy – also named Watson – he hires to spy on her. The clever contrivances don’t actually deliver believable human truth, though. The actors have fun playing several roles in several periods.

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I found Amanda Quaid (above) appealing and persuasive, and John Ellison Conlee (above) inhabits all the Watsons beautifully, but David Costabile might have been miscast as Merrick – he’s so high-strung that there’s no way to take him as anything other than The Bad Guy, which quickly gets tedious.

12.7.13 — Julie Taymor’s Midsummer Night’s Dream, at Theater for a New Audience’s splendid new theater down the street from the BAM Opera House, is fantastic – spectacular design, hugely inventive staging, stuffed with terrific performances. I’ve seen any number of productions over the years, and by halftime I was already convinced this is the best ever. Each scene came with some original, funny, sexy, visually stunning, or otherwise delightful element. Some that stayed with me: at the very top of the show, out comes Puck – a very small androgynous creature (renowned British performer Kathryn Hunter) in clown makeup, bowler hat, and a suit that might fit an organ-grinder’s monkey made of soft rumpled gray fabric (the first of what seems like hundreds of amazing costumes designed by Constance Hoffman). The only thing onstage is a bed, Puck lies down to sleep, and the bed rises up with tree branches underneath. The guys who will later turn out to be the “rude mechanicals” come onstage, saw the tree branches loose from the bed, which flies to the ceiling and disappears behind a white sheet, on which the title of the play appears. I’ve never seen a production frame the entire play as Puck’s dream and was curious if we would come back to that at the end. Not exactly. Taymor comes up with another beautiful, quiet, unexpected image involving a sleepy girl and a dog mask, coming back to the sleepy/dreamy image but transformed. And so it is throughout the production, one transformation after another.

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The fairies are played by a rambunctious batch of 20 children (Taymor originally wanted 100), who sing, dance, do acrobatics, manipulate scenery and props, wear masks, scream like banshees, and sometimes get hauled around like real-life bunraku puppets by black-clad manipulators. David Harewood and Tina Benko, both great actors, make the most striking Oberon and Titania I’ve ever seen – he’s black black black, with spiky gold armor and gold tattoos across his chest and down his back; she’s white white white with boob-lights on antennas and transparent clamshell wings. Taymor dresses the rude mechanicals like working men and cast them with some great veteran actors who can play broad comedy without making it stoopid, most notably Max Casella (unforgettable as Timon in the original cast of Taymor’s The Lion King) as Bottom.

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The whole sequence at the end of the first half is thrilling: Bottom is transformed with a donkey’s head with creepily human nose and lips which Casella manipulates with hand-held remotes; smitten Titania invites him into her hammock bed, which drapes across the entire stage; and their union is consummated with an explosion of color and light that is funny, sexy, ecstatic, and mythological all at once. The young lovers give the weakest performances in the large cast, but once they’re all in the forest in the middle of the night they wind up stripping down to their underwear and having a pillow fight, which is not a chore to watch at all (especially hunky hunky Zach Appelman as Demetrius). The puppets, masks, and constantly morphing sets are clearly a collaboration between Taymor and her designers (scenic designer Es Devlin is clearly some kind of theatrical genius himself), and Eliot Goldenthal’s music contributes numerous perfect multiflavored touches. For all of its fun, sexiness, and visual splendor, this is no dumbed-down Shakespeare for the masses but a smart and deep interaction into the dangerous fields of love, where casual cruelty often masquerades as play. I’d like to see this production two or three more times. It only runs til January 12 and I suspect there are very few tickets left. What are you waiting for?

By the way, Theater for a New Audience has made available online a free PDF of an extensive study guide to A Midsummer Night’s Dream that includes some terrific essays an an in-depth interview of Taymor by Alisa Solomon.

12.8.13 – The live broadcast of The Habit of Art, Alan Bennett’s play about actors rehearsing a play about W. H. Auden and Benjamin Britten at Oxford, showed up for one screening in New York as part of the National Theater’s 50th anniversary celebration. It’s one more brilliant play from the author of The History Boys, The Madness of King George, Bed Among the Lentils, and so many others. And another extraordinary production directed by Nicholas Hytner with a superb cast headed by the late great Richard Griffiths (below) as a fat, shambling, supernaturally eloquent Auden, Alex Jennings as Britten, and the amazing Frances de la Tour as the stage manager who keeps the rehearsal going. On the National Theater Live’s website, you can also download a free PDF of a lavish 33-page programme with essays about Auden and Britten as well as an introduction by Bennett.

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Performance diary: TWELFTH NIGHT on Broadway

December 1, 2013

twelfth-night-poster-3092311.29.13 –  The production of Twelfth Night – or Twelfe Night, or What You Will, as the playbill officially calls it – at the Belasco Theater on Broadway in rep with The Tragedie of King Richard the Third is a fascinating and fun exercise in historical recreation. The production originated in London at Shakespeare’s Globe and is performed by an all-male cast led by Mark Rylance (who has blown Broadwaygoers’ minds in recent productions of Boeing Boeing, La Bête, and Jerusalem) in a bravura performance as the Countess Olivia. The audience is invited to arrive early to watch the actors onstage getting made up, dressed, and sewn into their costumes. The stage is lit with beeswax candles (and also modern lighting equipment). Meanwhile, a band of musicians entertains on instruments played in Shakespeare’s time but not so much nowadays: shawms, curtal, rauschpfeife, theorbo, cittern, sackbut, and hurdy gurdy. Yes, you get to watch a guy playing hurdy gurdy, an instrument I associate with the circus and Donovan’s hit song “Hurdy Gurdy Man” but had never laid eyes on. Sackbut, too – it’s a kind of Elizabethan trombone. The show is performed with some audience members in boxes onstage and the musicians perched in a gallery over the stage. The three actors who play the female roles pull them off handsomely – besides Rylance (below right), whose outrageous royal costumes and clown makeup suggest The White Queen out of Alice in Wonderland, that would be Samuel Barnett as Viola (below left, he was also wonderful a few seasons ago in The History Boys on Broadway) and Paul Chahidi as Maria. Liam Brennan makes for a sexy and amusing Orsino, and even with his curious Irish (?) accent he nicely pulls off the scene where the Duke finds himself strangely attracted to Cesario, the boy that Viola is pretending to be.

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Much as I enjoyed these things, ultimately it’s not the best production of Twelfth Night I’ve ever seen. The director, Tim Carroll, worked hard to ground these characters in believable reality but several of the performances feel like missed opportunities. I’m so not a fan of broad comedy, but certain roles demand it or they either don’t make sense or just wind up boring the audience, both of which are true of Peter Hamilton Dyer’s Feste. I’ve seen productions where Sir Andrew Aguecheek stole every scene he was in. I’m thinking of a production I saw in 1978 at Brandeis University in which Robert Moberly’s Sir Andrew surpassed Jean Marsh’s Olivia and Ellis Rabb’s Malvolio. That doesn’t come close to happening with Angus Wright’s anemic performance. It’s great to see Stephen Fry, a masterful performer and witty writer, undertake Malvolio, but the scene where he confronts the trio who humiliated him has zero emotional weight, strange after the effort put into making him a flesh-and-blood character. Always one of the trickiest scenes to pull off is the recognition scene where Viola in boy-drag comes face-to-face with her twin brother Sebastian, whom she thought died in the shipwreck that washed her ashore. Here, it does not succeed.

In many productions the music comes close to stealing the show. I still remember some songs from my college theater department’s production, and Jeanine Tesori’s score for Nicholas Hytner’s 1998 staging at Lincoln Center (prime candidate for Best Twelfth Night I’ve Ever Seen) stands up to this day. The music for this production, chosen and arranged by Claire van Kampen (Mark Rylance’s wife and longtime Shakespearean collaborator), is scrupulously faithful to the historical record – and dull. Oops.

I know, picky-picky. Most people are loving the production and you’ll walk away mostly with images of Rylance’s performance in your head, his gliding walk and the way he moves that dress around the stage.

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Performance Diary: Neil Gaiman and Amanda Palmer at Town Hall and GRASSES OF A THOUSAND COLOURS

November 27, 2013

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11.23.13 –
Andy is a huge fan of writer Neil Gaiman and singer-songwriter Amanda Palmer, so he bought tickets for their double-bill at Town Hall as soon as they went on sale. The two met when Palmer, formerly half of the Dresden Dolls, asked him to write material for her solo album Who Killed Amanda Palmer? Before long, they were a pair and are now married. In this charming, chatty, intimate concert, we heard a little about their courtship. Early on, in a conversation about the dearth of contemporary torch songs, Gaiman announced that he’d written one called “I Google You.” He sang it for her, twice, and a few days later she sent him a link to a YouTube video of her singing it in concert in San Francisco. For the Town Hall gig, they opened the evening singing a duet on “Making Whoopee,” paving the way for considerably more singing from Gaiman than I expected (and less reading of his work than I would have liked). He’s a Brit and characteristically modest; she’s an American, more brash and with, let’s say, a bigger personality. Weirdly, she often reminds me of my friend, the San Francisco-based performance artist Keith Hennessy (weirder still, I think it’s the powerful legs). Saturday night also happened to coincide with the premiere of the 50th anniversary broadcast of Doctor Who, the long-running British TV show for which Gaiman has contributed a few episodes, so there was a fair amount of fanboy-geekery running between the stage and the audience. The inevitable special guests included Aussie burlesque chanteuse Meow Meow backed by Lance Horne (on loan from La Soiree downtown) and Arthur Darvill, who plays a minor character on Doctor Who and ran over after finishing his show as the lead in Once.

11.25.13 – I can’t pretend I understand what Wally Shawn’s play Grasses of a Thousand Colours is about. When I flew to London to see the world premiere at the Royal Court, I managed a pretty succinct summary of the play in my Performance Diary:

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It’s a big, long, crazy, intense three-act fantasia about a famous scientist overwhelmingly fixated on his penis and his relationships with three different women (his wife, his mistress, and his girlfriend, named for three shades of red: Cerise, Robin, and Rose) and a mysterious shape-shifting cat named Blanche who may be the shamanic double of Cerise and/or possibly God. It’s set in some apocalyptic near-future when some initially successful experiments with increasing the world’s food supply have gone dreadfully wrong. And the stories that Ben and his playmates tell – addressing the audience directly, as is usually the case in Shawn’s plays – teem with images of animals. Eating and fucking. Dick and Pussy. Humans and animals. Andre Gregory’s staging unfolds on a simple stationary set – a long white sofa and two standing lamps – and it interpolates strange little bursts of film that surrealistically mangle the sense of time and place. Wally himself plays the main character, known as Ben or the memoirist, who says things like, “When I was a boy, parents never masturbated in front of their children. In fact, children never masturbated in front of their parents! And God knows children would never make out with their parents or fuck them, ever, because that would have been seen as utterly shocking…So, you see,  for me, the way things are now still seems astonishing – I mean, the fact that people talk about their penises and vaginas in public, at dinner parties, in magazines, and newspapers. I can’t get over it. Ha ha ha!”…

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In an endnote to the published text, Shawn mentions that certain elements from the play derive from a 17th century story by Madame D’Aulnoy called “The White Cat.” I don’t know that story, but I will look it up as I continue thinking about this strange strange play, which is a bizarre combination of fairy tale, fever dream, and The Story of O. It’s quite unlike any other play I’ve seen before, except that it bears a distinct family resemblance to other wild, linguistically pungent, sexually transgressive, disturbing and disorienting Wally Shawn plays (Our Late Night, Marie and Bruce, The Music Teacher, The Designated Mourner).

Besides Wally in the central role, the London cast included Miranda Richardson as Cerise, Jennifer Tilly as Robin, and Emily Cass McDonnell as Rose. Seeing it again at the Public Theater, with Julie Hagerty in the Miranda Richardson role, I found that I had no particular advantage the second time around, nor did I find it especially enjoyable to sit through again. (I was somewhat affected by sitting next to Andy, who is a game theatergoer in general but found the play an ordeal.) I admired Andre Gregory’s production less than I did the first time around – for one thing, Jennifer Tilly’s performance has coarsened over time to a one-note bray.  I had mixed feelings about Julie Hagerty, who was definitely wispier than Miranda Richardson. I enjoyed most the freaky dream-like film sequences in which she appeared as “Blanche,” although my strongest takeaway is her deliver of the line, “Last night, as I was urinating on him…”

Clearly there are layers and layers of mischief going on throughout the production, signaled by tiny gestures of sound and movement – every time Ben (the main character) takes a sip of the green potion on his lecturer’s podium, his energy immediately shifts, never predictably. As I explained to Andy and my friends Melissa and Maribel, as we walked to dinner at Noho Star afterwards, my best guess about  the play is that it represents a particular literary phenomenon – Shawn, an excellent brainy and theatrically savvy playwright, has given himself the challenge to follow his imagination, his psyche, his dreams in creating a work that relentlessly and categorically defies the viewer’s attempt to interpret it as any kind of coherent narrative reducible to meaning. Like the craziest, scariest fables and fairy tales ever written, it is a story that exists in relation only to itself.

Oh, one major difference in the production at the Public Theater was that instead of a second intermission, after two and a half hours, we got a five-minute pause, during which an insane array of snacks was handed out in the foyer adjacent to the Shiva Theater – a paper cup containing 5 almonds, a hard-boiled egg, a Lindt chocolate ball, and a silver cup containing a swallow of cranberry juice – served by a chubby whiskered lad wearing a cat mask.

Performance Diary: TWO BOYS, GENTLEMAN’S GUIDE, FUN HOME, 40-PART MOTET, and LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE

November 19, 2013

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November 2 –
I went with Stephen and Alvaro (above) to see Two Boys at the Metropolitan Opera. For me, the artistic merit in the production had less to do with Nico Muhly’s passable, unmemorable score than with Craig Lucas’s libretto. Based on a true story, the opera depicts the tragic consequences of an online friendship between a 13-year old, Jake, and a 16-year-old, Brian. Much of their interaction takes place in a chat room (the year is 2001 – nowadays chat rooms are passé but it’s interesting to have this technology captured in art). Lucas is a prolific playwright, I’m a big fan of his work, and I could immediately see that Lucas was returning to territory he’s mined before in his play (and film) The Dying Gaul, in which cyberspace becomes an eerie version of Orpheus’s underworld – a man finds his dead lover cruising him online. The chatroom dialogue between Jake and Brian (and other characters who get pulled into the action), misspellings and shorthand intact, shows up in the sung text but also on video screens in Bartlett Sher’s production and, at the Met, in titles on the back of the chair in front of you.

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I loved how Lucas made theatrical poetry out of this language. It made me think of Gertrude Stein’s operas. I wish Nico Muhly’s score was as tuneful as Virgil Thomson’s. His vocal writing is lyrical, and his choral passages have a pleasant wash, but there’s nothing especially distinctive about his compositional voice. He’s getting a lot of attention and opportunity because of his youth (he’s 32) but he’s yet to create music that grabs me. Still, at the curtain call, I found myself unexpectedly moved to see a young living composer taking bows at the end of a piece that the Metropolitan Opera commissioned – must be quite a thrill for him.

11.16.13 – A weekend full of musicals, beginning with A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder, a lavish and stylish exercise in pure fun. The Broadway debut of the journeyman team Robert L. Freeman (book and lyrics) and Steven Lutvak (music and lyrics), the show adapts to the stage the novel that inspired the 1949 film Kind Hearts and Coronets. Handsome but penniless striver Monty Navarro (Bryce Pinkham) discovers belatedly that he is descended from the rich and famous D’Ysquith clan. Determined to ascend to the family’s aristocratic title (Earl of Highhurst), he sets out to dispatch the eight individuals who stand in his way. All eight victims are played by the excellent Jefferson Mays (Tony Award winner for I Am My Own Wife), in the show-off role(s) legendarily played in the movie by Alec Guinness.

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From the acclaim it received when it previously played in Hartford, I’d gotten the impression that the show revolved around Mays’ tour de force performance, but I was wrong. The show has a large cast full of excellent performers, and while Mays (above far right) gets to do all sorts of dazzling and daffy quick-changes, he is equally matched as leading man by Pinkham (above center, a crucial member of Alex Timbers’ teams for Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson and the musical of Love’s Labour’s Lost last summer in Central Park). Lisa O’Hare (above in pink) and Lauren Worsham (above in white) are terrific as the women Monty courts; Joanne Glushak (above far left) is a riot as the current earl’s squabbling spouse. Beautifully designed from top to bottom, cleverly staged by Darko Tresnjak, superbly orchestrated by the great Jonathan Tunick, and entertaining as hell. Still, I left the theater with my heart untouched and my intellect unfed.

The same evening, I went back to the Public Theater to see Fun Home for the second time and liked it even better than I did the first time. In the interim I’d sat down and re-read Alison Bechdel’s original graphic memoir, which both deepened my understanding of the characters (especially the author and her father) and increased my appreciation for how creatively and ruthlessly the creators of the musical worked to turn it into a musical. I was much more aware this time of the understated importance to the story of the father’s mental illness. And where it bothered me the first time that the adult cartoonist Alison (Beth Malone) spends a lot of stage time standing around watching the younger versions of herself, it didn’t bother me at all this time. Every single performance has gotten sharper and stronger.

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Each of the three Alisons gets a major aria. “Ring of Keys,” a song about a nine-year-old nascent lesbian (sung by Small Alison, the adorable Sydney Lucas, above left) spotting her first bull-dyke, is one for the ages, a moment that instantly enters gay-theater history.

             With your swagger and your bearing

            And the just-right clothes you’re wearing

            Your short hair and your dungarees

            And your lace-up boots and your keys

            Your ring of keys…

Of all the people in this luncheonette

            Why am I the only one who sees you’re beautiful…

            I mean, handsome?

Medium Alison’s big number, sung with brave awkwardness by Alexandra Socha, is “Changing My Major” (from English to Joan — sex with Joan, minor in kissing Joan). And once again, I wept helplessly during “Telephone Wire,” the climactic song in which adult Alison pours out her desperate and unsuccessful clamoring for her father (a seriously impressive performance by Michael Cerveris, above right) to see her as a complete person, including her sexuality. I loved tracking the T-shirts that designer David Zinn gives to the three ages of Alison, and I appreciated how director Sam Gold let many awkward dramatic moments stay awkward. Kudos once more to Lisa Kron (book and intensely smart, characterful lyrics) and Jeanine Tesori (composer extraordinaire) – also choreographer Danny Mefford and lighting designer Ben Stanton.

11.17.13 – I tagged along as a posse of Andy’s choir-geek friends made an expedition to The Cloisters to experience Janet Cardiff’s sound installation “The Forty Part Motet” – an eleven-minute composition by 16th century composer Thomas Tallis recorded in 2000 by the Salisbury Cathedral Choir.

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One voice comes out of each of 40 standing speakers arranged in an oval around the beautiful Fuentidueña Chapel – I thought of it as an invisible flash mob. The room was pretty crowded on a rainy Sunday afternoon, but it was one of those great New York interactive museum experiences, like lying on the floor of the Guggenheim’s rotunda looking up at the James Turrell light show.

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The late twelfth-century apse of the chapel has been transported intact from the church of San Martín at Fuentidueña, near Segovia, Spain, on permanent loan from the Spanish Government. The art includes a striking Christ-on-the-cross and what looks for all the world like Tweedledee and Tweedledum proffering freshly baked pies (above).

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While we were at the Cloisters, we had a look at the famous room of Unicorn Tapesties and some of the other curiosities on display. I’d never seen a tableau like this one described as “Christ in Limbo.”

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And it’s always fascinating to encounter these images of LBJ (the little baby Jesus) with strangely adult facial expressions. This one seems to be saying, “Bitch, get these animals out of my face.”
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In the evening, my friend Misha Berson took me along to James Lapine and William Finn’s musical adaptation of Little Miss Sunshine, the feel-good dysfunctional family hit indie film. You can totally see why everyone would think that the guys who wrote March of the Falsettos and what everyone calls The Spelling Bee Musical would be perfect to make a musical out of this story. Yes, there are precocious children and furniture on wheels and quippy gay guys and a long-suffering wife (that would be Stephanie J. Block, very good). I wasn’t a fan of the movie – I thought all the characters were implausible cutesy stick figures. Lapine and Finn gave it their all, but they’re still stuck with mediocre source material.

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The musical is superbly, unpredictably cast – in the Steve Carell role, Rory O’Malley is an appealingly pudgy Jesse Tyler Ferguson type; I find Will Swenson charmless, which isn’t bad for the self-absorbed dad; I’ve always been a big fan of David Rasche, who couldn’t be more unlike the movie’s Alan Arkin; and all the nasty little girls are great, including Hannah Nordberg’s Olive. The wittiest thing about the show is Beowulf Boritt’s set, which snakes up from the floor onto the ceiling.