A Real Sense Of Magic: Peter And The Starcatcher

This review originally appeared on the San Francisco Appeal.

Peter and the Starcatcher is an odd bit of theater. Not exactly a musical, although it has a few musical numbers. Not exactly a child's play, although it is a prequel to the classic tale of Peter Pan. It fits in an odd space between "serious" theater and light comedy.

Set on a minimal stage, with the large cast of twelve serving as characters, props, special effects, and narrators, the first act takes place on two ships. The exposition for this first act is a little murky, and it took me a good 15 minutes before I could get what was going on, but the gist is: on one ship there is the precocious young Molly, (Megan Stern), her nanny, (Benjamin Schrader--aside from Stern, the cast is all male), and three orphans who are being kept on board as slaves. On another ship is Molly's father, Lord Astor, (Nathan Hosner), and the soon-to-be-revealed villain. And both ships are filled with your requisite crew of salty seamen or nasty pirates.

I am not quite sure why Molly and her father are on two separate ships, but it has something to do with a precious cargo trunk the father is trying to keep out of evil hands. Molly is well aware that this trunk contains "starstuff," a magical MacGuffin that manages to do basically any kind of magic that is required by the play at any given moment, and vows to keep it safe.

One of the three orphaned boys is simply known as Boy (Joey deBettencourt), and Molly takes a fancy to him. Eventually he gets a name--guess what it is--and joins Molly on her quest to save the starstuff.

While Peter may be the hero of that later, better-known story, the stand-out characters here are Molly--a plucky, smart young heroine--and the villain, known, at least for the majority of the play, as Black Stache. He's the comedic center of the show, and as played by John Sanders, he's like a dandy Groucho Marx, often breaking the fourth wall, (and in one of the show's comedic highlights, freaking out behind it), spouting malapropisms, and tossing out anachronistic, pop culture-filled punch lines.

It's there that the comedy can often fall flat, delving very closely into Robin Williams in Aladdin territory. Some of these jokes are so stale--a Kelis "Milkshake" reference? Really?--I just hope that if the show continues to run for years to come, they refresh those references a bit.

One thing I hope they never change is the second act's opening number, featuring the cast as singing mermaids, dressed in ingenious costumes featuring fans-as-fins, and other kinds of junk one might find at home (or floating in the sea), including a crown of baby doll legs and bras made out of juicers and tea cups.

While I'll always be a bigger fan of movies than I am of live theater, I do appreciate when theater does things that just can't be done in a movie. Casting adults as kids, for example, is something that you can get away with in the distance of theater, but in a film would likely come across as creepy and off-putting, requiring the casting of real children who probably wouldn't have the chops to handle the comedy.

And having the cast create waves out of shaking ropes, a giant crocodile out of a string of white flags and red lanterns, and creaking doors with their bodies is something that could only be done in theater. It's things like this that give live theater a real sense of magic--a throwback to childhood play and storytelling that fits perfectly in Peter and the Starcatcher.

Beat It: Kill Your Darlings and Big Sur

This review originally appeared on the San Francisco Appeal.

Fascination with the Beat Generation seems to come in waves. I remember the first time I experienced a resurgence in interest and popularity: It was the early 90's and San Francisco was awash with slam poetry readings and jazz clubs. I wasn't immune, and Rhino Records' Beat Generation box set was on constant CD rotation.

William S. Burroughs appeared in the Beat-influenced Drugstore Cowboy in 1989, and David Cronenberg released his adaptation of Burroughs' novel Naked Lunch in 1991, to some acclaim, though it probably confused the hell of out more people than it entertained.

But interest seemed to fade, and Hollywood looked elsewhere for inspiration for a number of years. But now, the Beats are back. In the past two years we've had adaptations of On the Road and Howl, and this week finds two more Beat-inspired films opening in Bay Area theaters.

The first, and probably more accessible of the two, is Kill Your Darlings, starring Daniel Radcliffe as a young Allen Ginsberg, in a story about a shocking murder that clouded the birth of the Beat heroes.

The film follows Ginsberg as he escapes his rocky home life--his mother (Jennifer Jason Leigh), is schizophrenic and his father (David Cross--who, coincidentally also played Allen Ginsberg in the movie I'm Not There)--hasn't the will to do much more than commit her--for college.

Once at Columbia, Ginsberg meets and develops an infatuation with fellow student Lucien Carr (Dane DeHaan). Carr is no stranger to infatuations, and is dealing with someone he basically sees as a stalker: David Kammerer, a former teacher-turned janitor (Michael C. Hall) who has followed Carr across the country. It's clear Kammerer is in love with Carr, but Carr maintains he is straight...

Carr introduces Ginsberg to his friends, William Burroughs (Ben Foster) and Jack Kerouac (Jack Huston), and they get into a variety of escapades disguised as art, in an attempt to challenge the collegiate status quo. But things between Carr and Kammerer get dark and eventually, Kammerer ends up dead.

It's a pretty shocking story, and a surprisingly under-known one. Bring up the Beats and murder, and you'll probably hear about Burroughs and his wife before you'd hear about this one.

Director John Krokidas has a neat way of presenting the amphetamine fueled antics of the crew, although his use of modern alt-rock on the soundtrack is annoying. And while Daniel Radcliffe isn't the first actor I'd think to cast as Ginsberg, he does a commendable job in a role that might shock some of his younger Harry Potter followers.

Jump ahead about 20 years in the Beat timeline, and we arrive at Big Sur, featuring a fictionalized version of Jack Kerouac, who is now an alcoholic writer trying to stay sober by camping out at friend Lawrence Ferlinghetti's cabin in Big Sur, California.

The problem with adapting some of the books by the Beats is the same problem you might run into trying to turn a painting into a movie: the art is in the medium. Beat books are about manipulating language, and about the craft of writing itself. So what directors often resort to is adding lots of voice over, with words taken directly from the work. And director Michael Polish is no exception.

There are some beautiful visuals accompanying the monologues--Big Sur could use parts of the movie as tourism promotion. And much of the movie includes scenes shot in San Francisco, (although annoying anachronisms in architecture and locations abound). But attempts to include plot, featuring Kerouac's longtime friend Neal Cassady (Josh Lucas) and a new girlfriend (played by the director's wife, Kate Bosworth) who was also Cassady's girlfriend, get muddled.

But there is one moment where the voice over and visuals come together and almost reach the poetic heights achieved by the Beats--and that's at the very end, with Kerouac's words rushing non-stop, like a wave onto the beaches at Big Sur, and shots of his surroundings perfectly synched to the rhythm of star Jean-Marc Barr's delivery. That moment left me a little breathless, which is how I imagine many fans of the Beats have felt over the years when confronted with their work.

For The Fans: The Wizard of Oz

This review originally appeared on the San Francisco Appeal.

In the past three weeks, I've gone to see three live musicals, which, for someone who isn't exactly musical theater's biggest fan, is a lot. One of these reminded me why I don't tend to like musicals, (see: Carrie); another surprised me by how enjoyable it was, (see: Beautiful); and the latest made me ponder whether it's something only true musical fanatics can love.

That musical is The Wizard of Oz, a revamped version adapted by Andrew Lloyd Weber. Unlike the recent movie Oz the Great and Powerful, which was essentially a prequel, but couldn't use anything featured in the 1939 movie that wasn't also in the book, this musical is basically the 1939 movie put to stage. Most of the original songs are retained, with the addition of a few new compositions.

One of those additional songs starts off the show, with Dorothy lamenting that "Nobody Understands Me." As a song, it's not too memorable, and made me wonder why the team of Weber and Tim Rice--together for the first time since 1986's Evita--were so heralded in the first place. But it does give lead Danielle Wade something to sing before launching into "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." (Because really, you kind of have to prove yourself a bit before tackling such an iconic song.)

The first act isn't very subtle when it comes to all the things and people that will soon be transformed into the land and characters of Oz, but I guess you don't really look to musicals for subtlety. Dorothy runs away from the farm, meets the Wizard Professor Marvel (Cedric Smith), and returns home just in time to be swept up into that twister and carried into the Technicolor land of Oz.

I was looking forward to seeing how they'd handle that tornado, and was a bit disappointed to see the whole effect projected onto a screen that lowers in front of the stage. In fact, most of the trickier effects scenes are handled this way, which is a bit of a letdown.

Once Dorothy gets to Oz, the set turns colorful, almost garishly so. Glinda's entrance is probably one of the show's best moments, and man alive but I wish I could get a copy of her dress. Aside from Dorothy's blue gingham dress, most of the costumes and character designs differ vastly from the film. The aforementioned Glinda (Robin Evan Willis) is decked in shades of blue and grey, not pink, and the Wicked Witch of the West (Jacquelyn Piro Donovan) is far vampier (and leggier) than her Margaret Hamilton counterpart. And the Munchkins? Well, they're far less...munchkiny.

Of Dorothy's three traveling companions--the Scarecrow (Jamie McKnight), the Tin Man (Mike Jackson), and the Cowardly Lion (Lee MacDougall)--the Scarecrow probably gets the most laughs, playing up the fact that he doesn't have a brain with line deliveries like "I HAVE AN IDEA NOPE GONE!" Falling close behind is the Lion, although the number of gay jokes tossed in is either total pandering or just plain overkill.

Getting back to Danielle Wade's Dorothy, she's very good, and I can see why she won the role on that Canadian reality show. She gives her performance enough call-back to Judy Garland without coming across as nothing but imitation; she's got some of the Garland mannerisms and tics down, and knows when to use them for comedic effect. And she's really, really good with Toto.

Did I mention there's an actual dog that plays Toto? And he's a cairn terrier, just like the original Toto? And he's amazing? And that I couldn't take my eyes off of him whenever he was on stage?

Although when you're watching a stage show that features melting witches, flying monkeys, and a few of the most memorable songs ever written, I'm not sure being enraptured by a dog who's sitting still--LIKEAGOODBOY!--is such a good thing.

Some Kind of Wonderful: Beautiful: The Carole King Musical

This review originally appeared on the San Francisco Appeal.

Beautiful: The Carole King Musical is, as the title would suggest, about Carole King, the singer and songwriter whose career began as a teenage songwriter, and pinnacled with the release of her 1971 solo album that ended up staying on the charts longer than any other female artist in history, (a record she held until 1993, when it was broken by Whitney Houston and the soundtrack to The Bodyguard).

Carole King's story works so well as a jukebox musical, it's a surprise it's taken this long to happen. (Although fictionalized versions of her story have appeared in two movies I know and love: 1978's American Hot Wax--in which the teenage songwriter is played by Laraine Newman--and the excellent 1996 release Grace of My Heart, starring Illeanna Douglas.) Of course, Carole King had a lot to do with the hold-up, as it's really her story to tell. But perhaps her releasing an autobiography earlier this year had something to do with her decision to give the musical her blessing.

Luckily, it's a great piece of entertainment, and definitely a must-see for Carole King fans, as well as fans of 1960's rock and pop. Because even though the title suggests it's all about her, she's actually just the lead in an entertaining ensemble.

Framed by King's 1971 Carnegie Hall appearance, the musical opens with a long-haired King, (played eerily well by Tony-nominated Jessie Mueller), performing "Home Again" at a grand piano, and then jumps back in time to 1959, when she was a pony-tailed sixteen-year-old Brooklyn college student (she skipped some grades) and aspiring songwriter. She ventures to the Brill Building in New York, and convinces producer Don Kirshner (an amusing Jeb Brown) to buy a song ("It Might as Well Rain Until September") and release it as a single. But what he really wants is for her to write songs for other artists...

At school she meets cute with fellow student and aspiring playwright Gerry Goffin (Jake Epstein), and they decide to collaborate on some songs, starting with "Some Kind of Wonderful" for the Drifters, and eventually scoring a huge hit for the Shirelles with "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?"

This particular collaboration is one of the highlights of the show, with King and Goffin composing and singing on a piano, then trying to convince the Shirelles to perform it. Which they eventually do, in a moment I still can't quite believe: as the singers walk across the stage in normal everyday wear, they pass behind a lit-up backdrop, and reemerge, seconds later, in a complete costume change of glittery pink cocktail dresses with chiffon shoulder sashes. I wanted to give the costume designer a standing ovation for that one.

Several numbers are set up this way, seeing the composers writing the songs, and the finished products performed by musical acts representing the Drifters, the Chiffons, and the Righteous Brothers. All these performances are well choreographed and excellently mimicked, although the beautiful simplicity of the original arrangements is set aside several times for grander theatricality.

But King and Goffin aren't the only songwriters in the story. Before long, they are joined by Cynthia Weill and Barry Mann, (Anika Larsen and Jarod Spector, both excellent), another songwriting pair, and their friendship and friendly rivalry results in the two teams writing some of the best pop songs of the decade. (Seriously. Check out the show's song list.)

Of course, it's not all hit pop songs and Pleasant Valley Sundays. Carole and Gerry, facing a pregnancy, decide to get married, which, for a while, works out for them, even scoring them another hit when they get their babysitter Little Eva to perform their song "Locomotion." But bourgeois married life is not to Gerry's liking, and soon he begins to stray. Eventually he has an all-out emotional breakdown, forcing Carole to face life on her own.

The show is broken up into two acts, roughly based around Carole's life with Gerry, and without him. The show's biggest fault is that the second act, which actually follows King's biggest success, is given short shrift, and seems a bit rushed through. This might be because presenting her solo songs doesn't have quite the entertainment factor of her previous hit-making career since they are, well, solo songs. But keep in mind the show is getting its preview run here in San Francisco, before making its Broadway debut, and I imagine some of these pacing kinks may be worked out in the future.

Despite its faults, it's an entertaining, surprisingly funny musical that will likely have you humming the music for days, all while marveling, "I can't believe she wrote all of those amazing songs!"

There Won't Be Blood: Carrie: The Musical

This review originally appeared on the San Francisco Appeal.

I've been obsessed with the Carrie musical since its brief and disastrous Broadway run way back in 1988. There was no Internet then, so I'm not sure just how I heard about it, but I knew it closed after a few performances, was supposed to be completely laughable and met with boos--and that I wished more than anything that I could have seen it.

For years it lived in the land of legends, at least until the creation of YouTube, when, at last, we could all be witness to some of its ridiculousness. (The Awl has an amazing rundown of the musical complete with clips here.) Turns out, it really was as bad as everyone said it was, with costumes that included shiny unitards, an opening number featuring aerobics, and a climax filled with lasers instead of fire.

After it closed, the musical's original creators (Lawrence D. Cohen, Dean Pitchford, and Michael Gore) didn't allow licensing, so no one was able to stage a legitimate version of it.

But years passed, and in 2012, those original creators decided to take another look at Carrie. They cut some songs, added some new ones, changed the staging, and gave the musical another shot, off Broadway.

While this one wasn't the disaster the original was, it didn't exactly take the theater world by storm. It closed after 80 performances, never making it to Broadway. But it was successful enough that the writers decided to open up licensing, and it's this version of Carrie that Ray of Light Theater is currently running at the Victoria Theater.

This isn't a campy retelling of the Stephen King classic. Instead, it's played straight, with all the earnestness you might expect from musical theater. Set in a modern day high school (the set consists of a minimal wood frame that looks like the inside of a barn, with location changes done via projections, turning the set into classrooms, the gym, and Carrie's gothic home), the basic plot remains the same as the book and film: Carrie is the class outcast and is bullied by mean girls, which we see as the show opens and she gets her period in gym class, but has no idea what it is.

But this opening bit sets up what becomes the musical's central problem: dramatic moments are rushed through --Carrie is pelted by maybe four Tampax tampons before the scene moves on -- to make way for way too many songs sung by her classmates.

The highlight of the musical is the duet "Eve Was Weak," sung by Carrie and her ultra-religious mother, Margaret White. Heather Orth plays Margaret, and she has a larger than life presence, and a powerful voice. Cristina Ann Oeschger plays Carrie, and for someone who is herself still a junior in high school, she has a great voice. She is a convincingly mousy Carrie since she's tiny, and the rest of the cast seems to tower over her.

The scenes between them are the musical's strongest, but they are woefully limited. Additionally, the character of Margaret is made to be a little more sympathetic than she should be, since she's the person truly responsible for making Carrie's life a living hell.

There's a large ensemble cast, and they do several numbers, most of them pretty forgettable, because really, they're nothing but set-up for the main event: the worst prom night ever.

Unfortunately, the ending lacks any real suspense, and everything happens way too fast. Sure, the 1976 movie is a tough act to follow. The moments leading up to that fateful blood dumping are probably the most insanely prolonged moments of suspense ever seen in a horror movie. And while you can't do slow-motion in a staged musical, you can at least not rush through the climax, and make it clear that the people responsible for the mayhem are actually in the same room.

And if the climax involves blood, and the posters for the show feature Carrie covered in blood, you would probably expect...blood! Alas, while something is dumped on Carrie's head, there's no way to tell what it is, because it certainly isn't red.

The original musical became a legend, and were that version to be performed today, I believe it would be a campy hit. I understand the desire to treat the story of Carrie with respect, but it's still a story that ends in fire and blood. At least give us that.