Grade: C
In many ways, the book by David Thompson and Sharon Washington, is trying to have its cake and eat it, too. Set up as a series of vignettes, the scenes follow several stories, only loosely related until they converge in a sloppy, albeit obvious way by the end. Packed with stereotypes - none of them flattering - Thompson and Washington ignore the interesting (I suppose) things they've added. Why is one character so queer coded? Does the beating of a parental bully make up for it? Why is the risk of inter-racial coupling dismissed time and time again with jokes and interruption? Does an obvious racist rant by a white guy in power make up for it? And let's not forget the post-WWII Jewish immigrant story line. Does a gold Star of David on a violin, shown and then forgotten, further the point they are trying to make? Not even a little bit. If anything, these tropes are as insulting as they are undeveloped.
As far as the score goes, there are three standouts: the title number (though more for its presentation than anything else), the John Kander and Fred Ebb classic, "But the World Goes 'Round," and Kander, Ebb and Lin-Manuel Miranda song, "Music, Money, Love." The rest is really B-side trunk music, all of it competent, none of it exciting. I take no pleasure in saying this, because these American masters are among my favorites, right up there with Sondheim and Herman. But, respectfully, maybe this wasn't the best idea.
While being able to rein all of this mess into an exciting musical is the responsibility of the director, which hasn't happened here, Susan Stroman's choreography almost makes up for it. Almost. I'm a big fan of clever scene transitions, and she never misses one. Some are truly fun to watch, but most are just reprises of the opening number. It got to the point where my eyes glazed over every time the orchestra started to vamp. There are moments of real fun, like the opening number I just mentioned, and the steel beams tap number. To be fair, the ensemble is made up of entirely talented folks, dancing their buns off. They are accomplished. One has to wonder then, where the usual "Stro Glow" was. Long gone, apparently, are the Crazy For You innovations. There is so much dancing that it seems to all blur together. Crazy For You is 30 years old, and I can still describe specific things about each number. New York, New York is less than a week old for me and I'm struggling to recall anything specific.
By now, you must be wondering why I still gave this a C. Maybe it's partly because the cast is working so hard, but mostly it's the two stars of the show and the technical elements. Yes, Anna Uzele is a hell of a singer, and she gives masterful performances of two of the three best songs in the show. But she also brings a smartly doled out performance that builds, and offers some of those rare instances of real emotions. Similarly, the debonair, stylized star turn by Colton Ryan, also stands out for having some gutsy heft. I applaud his tenacity of maintaining that affected Bing-Crosby-babba-boo accent so prevalent in films of the era. True, sometimes his vowels are as unintelligible as mid-80's Patti LuPone, but he makes it work. Both of their voices are terrific, very "Broadway," powerful belt, in character, and no trace of American Idol histrionics. They are both stars on the rise, and I hope they both get better material in their next shows.
Where New York, New York really soars is visually and sonically. The orchestrations by Sam Davis and Daryl Waters are gorgeous, and the balance between cast and band are perfection, though not surprising given that Kai Harada designed the sound. Lighting maestro Ken Billington has provided enough razzle dazzle for two shows, and there are moments where I wanted to simply bask in the light's glow. An amazing number of costumes - a huge cast, a full year of seasons, and a gazillion scenes - were designed by Donna Zakowska, who really created art with fabric. The very best thing about the whole show, though, are Beowulf Boritt's eye-popping scenery and projection design. It's been awhile since Broadway has seen something this big, this intricate, this exciting. You see every penny of your ticket dollar on the St, James stage. Okay, a similarly delightful visual feast can be seen across 44th Street. This is even better.
Would that this whole show had lived up to the potential of its leading man and lady, and its first-rate design team.
P.S.: Can someone explain why that creepy guy was skulking around each scene taking pictures? And why did nothing ever come of it?
📸: M. Klein, P. Kolnik
