The 2003-2004 Season, From "A" to "Z"

The long, hot season finally came to an end last night, so now we all know the winners and losers. That means it’s time for our annual overview from A to Z:

“A” is for Assassins. Most musicals get a stunning original production, and then endlessly receive revivals that can’t begin to compare to it. But in the case of this Sondheim-Weidman masterpiece, it was just the opposite, as Joe Mantello had the vision, and the space — and an Emma Goldman who looked like an Emma Goldman — to beat the 1991 production hands down.

“B” is for bridge & tunnel, which Sarah Jones wrote, starred, and triumphed in. Here in New York on WINS-1010 radio, there’s a traffic report that offers a “Bridge and Tunnel Guarantee” — which means they’ll always tell you how crowded those structures above and below rivers are. Well, this year, Jones offered a “Bridge and Tunnel Guarantee,” too — that she’d entertain you in hilarious, then warm, then ultimately moving fashion.

“C” is for Caroline, or Change. Think of how many action films hinge on the theft of millions of dollars. But here was a musical that could be moving, even though it took its plot from mere pennies in a pocket.

“D” is for Deaf West Theatre Company, which proved that some shows are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. Despite its Best Musical Tony of yore, Big River wasn’t born great, but thanks to many talented hearing and non-hearing actors and Jeff Calhoun’s sensitive direction — and the greatness he thrust upon it — this musical did finally achieve greatness.

“E” is for Ellen Burstyn, who would have never believed in 1975 — when she not only won a Tony for Same Time, Next Year but also an Oscar for Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore — that when she returned to Broadway three decades later, she’d only be able to sell 49 tickets for her opening (and closing) night performance of The Oldest Living Confederate Widow Tells All.

“F” is for Feldshuh, as in Tovah, who had to don a false nose, body suit, legs, not to mention a wig, and then had her teeth painted yellowish brown, and then came out and did 100 straight intermissionless minutes as Prime Minister Meir in Golda’s Balcony. No, she didn’t turn out looking like the lady, but she did have the fierce resolve that Meir had when facing the greatest crisis of her
administration. In 1976, Feldshuh gave one of the best performances I ever saw in Yentl, but she gave another one here. Nice to know she hasn’t lost a step in
more than a quarter-century of performing.

“G” is for Gypsy, which Bernadette Peters did literally all season long. Every first Sunday in November, I hear about some man and some woman who ran 26.2 miles in about two-and-a-half hours. That’s indeed impressive, for I don’t believe I could do it in that time by subway. But if we really want to talk about running a marathon, what about playing Rose for 14 straight months, and rarely missing a performance after opening? That takes a champion, and that’s what Peters once again proved herself to be.

“H” is for Hugh Jackman, who not only gave 100% on stage, but gave just as much off-stage when greeting his many fans. Plenty of homes and apartments in the tri-state area now have pictures and autographs of Jackman all over them. Plenty of theatergoers will remember his yeoman performance in The Boy from Oz for the rest of their lives.

“I” is for Idina Menzel, who got us to care about a character we’d all hated for all of our lives. True, playing Maureen in Rent was no small achievement, her but giving life and soul to Elphaba showed a whole new world of abilities. Is this lady a star, or what?

“J” is for Jan Maxwell, who gave the Most Persuasive Performance That Not Nearly Enough People Got to See. In A Bad Friend at the Newhouse, she was a 1950s Communist sympathizer who truly believed that Stalin was a great man. What fervor she displayed in her need to convince others. Then, when her husband learned the truth about the Russian dictator and related the information to her, what fervor she displayed in her need to convince herself. Hope the Lincoln Center Library got this performance on tape.

“K” is for the Keen Company, which is indeed keen. The troupe specializes in neglected works, and I had one of the best nights of the season at Good Morning, Bill, a comedy from way back that turned out to be utterly charming. Who finds things like this, dusts them off, and makes the penny-bright? Artistic director Carl Forsman, that’s who. Wish Keen would now do Kean — either the Dumas-Sartre original play or the Wright-and-Forrest musical.

“L” is for Little Shop of Horrors, which should have been retitled Big Shop of Horrors, what with its overly outsized production. Off-Broadway, even when Audrey II was at its worst, there was something oddly charming about the show. Now that I’ve seen that ugly plant super-sized, I hope I never have to see it again.

“M” is for Margo Martindale, who was Big Mama to Ned Beatty’s Big Daddy in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. During rehearsals and previews, all we heard about was how magnificent Beatty was — but when we all caught up to the show, it was Martindale who made the impression and got the new Richard Seff Award — and more.

“N” is for Neil Simon, who had a tough time of it in the theater (with Rose’s Dilemma) and on the operating table. (God bless Bill Evans for his astonishing gift.) Now — wouldn’t it be wonderful if Simon could come back with one more fabulous smash like in the ol’ days?

“O” is for O’Byrne, as in Brían F., who, in Frozen, played the most insidious villain of the season. Wish he didn’t play a villain off-stage, too, when he accepted his OBIE Award. There he complained that audiences who go to the theater are “old.” Hey, I say they pay for their seats, and they genuinely want to be there. They shouldn’t be criticized for either, but applauded and cherished.

“P” is for Prymate. Every season’s got to have one like this. ‘Nuff said.

“Q” is for that Avenue musical that turned out to be much better than a musical called Avenue X, and just as good as that nifty song called “Avenue A” in Mrs. Santa Claus. It was a total triumph for a new generation of musical theater writers, for all of its authors and its director didn’t even have enough years on them combined to equal the time that musical theater has been around. Let’s have more, guys!

“R” is for The Retreat from Moscow, a terrific play that I was glad to see wasn’t forgotten when nominations time rolled around. Plenty of shows get good reviews, but fade away, and aren’t remembered after a while. This one was. This one should have been. William Nicholson got into the heads of a couple divorcing better than any writer I’ve ever seen.

“S” is for Shakespeare, whose plays, as the Lincoln Center Theater press materials happily reminded us, never garnered as many Tony nominations in the 58 years of the award as they did this season (via King Lear and Henry
IV). Good for you, Will!

“T” is for Thrill Me, the musical with book, music, and lyrics by Stephen Dolginoff that was the best of the fringe shows I saw this summer. Granted, a musical about Leopold and Loeb doesn’t sound like a barrel of fun, but Dolginoff’s haunting melodies set a mood that made one listen intently and care. That Christopher Totten and Matthew S. Morris were so wonderful (under Martin Charnin’s taut direction) helped the cause. If you missed it, do get ahold of the new cast album on the OC label.

“U” is for Urinetown, which finished its run after two-plus years — and perhaps could have played two-plus more had real estate people not evicted the production from its home. I’m sorry that all of us didn’t get together and carry what little set there was of the show to a new theater so it could still be running.

“V” is for von Mahlsdorf, as in Charlotte, who was superbly played by Jefferson Mays in I Am My Own Wife. He told me that among his 40 voices in this one-man show, he’s most proud of the way he could mimic Doug Wright, the show’s playwright. Mays was so intent on nailing the man’s voice — “which someone aptly described as an overripe avocado,” he notes — that he called up Wright’s boyfriend and pretended to be he — and got away with it. For those of us who saw the consummate performance’s that is Mays, we’re not surprised.

“W” is for Winnie Holzman and Wicked. She took on a most dense novel, trimmed it down remarkably well, added some genuinely funny jokes and some wonderful sentiment, and a nifty ending, too, in one of the more deft adaptations of recent years.

“X” is for the crossed-out mark that I happened to see Craig (the super maitre d’ at Barrymore’s Restaurant on West 45th Street) make one day on the ABC ad he keeps by the door to keep him apprised of what shows are playing on what nights,
and what their running times are. When I caught him putting an “X” through a show in the first column, even though I was a few feet away, I still knew right then and there that the rumor I’d heard about Bobbi Boland’s closing in previews was indeed true.

“Y” is for Yogi Berra of the Yankees, whom we never expected to saunter onto a stage. And while it wasn’t quite the Hall of Fame catcher who took to the Lamb’s Theatre, Ben Gazzara did a decent and dignified imitation in Nobody Don’t Like Yogi. By the way, you may not believe this, but Yogi is a bit of a theatergoer. I saw him a couple of times this season at Luna Stage Company (in Montclair, New Jersey, where he resides). I keep watching him and waiting for him to fall asleep, so his wife can elbow him and say, “It ain’t over ’til it’s over.” But Yogi always stays awake and pays attention.

“Z” is for Ziemba, as in Karen, who proved that even when you’re in a not-so-hot show, such as Never Gonna Dance, you can still shine. Congrats to her for a well-deserved Tony nomination.

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[To contact Peter Filichia directly, e-mail him at pfilichia@aol.com]