Monday, May 08, 2006

Finally, more Drowsy Chaperone reviews!

Because I can tell from the comments that you guys just can't get enough!

...

Ahem.


Here's John Lahr in the New Yorker:
At the beginning of “The Drowsy Chaperone,” the narrator tells us that he always prays at the theatre. “Dear God, please let it be a good show,” he says. With its intelligence and its high style, “The Drowsy Chaperone” is a well-judged answer to those prayers.
So, yes: It's a rave. Can I take a moment to confess something, though? I find Lahr one of the more boring New Yorker regulars. I love the theeeatah, but I regularly skip his reviews and kind of skim his profiles.

I'm sorry. I'm feeling a little under the weather.

And here's Jeremy McCarter in New York:
Too often, comedy in the New York theater comes as a surprise. The really funny writers, it sometimes seems, have gone elsewhere. But maybe they’re not all working for Jon Stewart, judging by two hilarious nights I’ve had lately. ... You may have heard that [The Drowsy Chaperone] is a “love letter to musical theater,” which is true, or that it appeals only to musical buffs, which is not. The clich├ęs parodied here are hardly unique to theater. It helps, too, that the production marks another triumph for the limber, funny Sutton Foster and an exquisite Broadway-directing debut by choreographer Casey Nicholaw.

But mainly its appeal lies in Bob Martin, who plays Man in Chair with the easy offhandedness and perfect timing that seem to be dispensed with Canadian passports.
My passport came with that!?! Holee!

By the way, I should mention, the second hilarious night of McCarter's took place at The Lieutenant of Inishmore, Martin McDonagh's new play which I must say is brilliant, brilliant satire. I don't really want to tell you about it, because I feel like you should see it untampered for maximum effect. But if you have a weak stomach, do not go. I am not kidding.

How often do you get to say this about the theatre: "You may vomit in disgust if you see this play"? Theatre's not all Copenhagen, folks. It's not all:
Niels Bohr: My dear Heisenberg, look at that electron go. It must be moving at, oh, nh over 2 pi.

Heisenberg: But are you certain, Bohr, old chap? Are you certainly certain? What if the more accurately you measure the position of a subatomic particle, the less accurately you know its momentum? [Margrethe Bohr faints.]

Bohr: Margrethe! I'll ask you not to speak in that manner in front of my wife, sir!

Heisenberg: Oh, okay.

Bohr: Thank you. Lemonade?
I actually really love Copenhagen. Really. It's one of my favourite plays...

Anyway, Martin McDonagh: Irish. Me: Irish. It's true. I got my Irish passport in the mail recently. All I had to do was have a single grandparent born there. (Check!) Not sure what I'm going to do with it...

You know what my Irish passport came with? A gift for the gab, a drinking habit and an amazing ability to thrive in the new economy. Really. It's dispensed from a little patch you put on your arm.

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