NYMF Errant

I’m having a problem filling my weekends, aren’t you? Oh, for those days and nights in September when we had the New York Musical Theatre Festival. But now, in October, what’s left? Perhaps some of the shows that we saw emerge will reappear in the next few months. Granted, I didn’t see all the musicals; indeed, I wasn’t able to even see very many. Like most of you, I have a full-time job, so dropping by in the afternoons wasn’t something I could do very often. As Eric Svejcar wrote in Caligula, “If you only have one face, that’s one face too few.” Yes — and oh, for a couple of more faces so I could have peeked in on [title of show], Meet John Doe, and The Eyes Are the First to Go — all about which I heard great things.

But I did see a bunch of musicals, and was much impressed by the quality. All festival long, I kept saying to myself, “Look at these shows that no one knew about until now! See? All that some musicals need is a chance! Give it one, and it will find an enthusiastic packed house!” And while I’ll admit that a “packed house” only meant 99 seats — thanks to a showcase code that would tolerate no more at any performance — I was still impressed to find so many fans who would come out and “Whoo!”

“Whoo!” of course, is the ultimate compliment from younger theatergoers, whom we’ve heard for years don’t exist. But at virtually every performance I attended, I was the oldest one in the crowd. Each time I sat in the 45th Street Theatre, I noticed that the three people sitting next to me in my row were younger than I — when you combined ALL their ages together. There’s definitely a taste in younger minds for new musical theater, and the New York Musical Theatre Festival served it well.

Maybe these young people aren’t as musical-theater challenged as we’ve been led to believe, too. During The Taxi Cabaret, songwriter Peter Mills made a musical-and-lyrical reference to “Being Alive” — and the young audience laughed with “I-got-it!” glee. So these kids DO know Company. Or wait: Maybe they know “Being Alive” because it’s cited in Avenue Q. But wait again — when someone sang “Make Someone Happy” as “Make Someone Coffee,” the kids laughed, too. No, they’re playing attention to the musical past, present, and future.

While we’re on Peter Mills, how about the originality in his brain? I daresay that no one else has ever written a sketch that personifies the Seven Continents and made them speak. That’s right — after a narrator pointed out that “South America was once connected to Africa,” the actor portraying North America said in a most hurt voice, “You never told me!” — to which the performer playing South America pooh-poohed with the line that many of us have used when talking of old loves: “It was a million years ago.” (Except this time, it literally was.) As my girlfriend Linda said, “I felt like I was watching Frankly Frank” — citing the revue cited that Frank and Charley wrote in Merrily We Roll Along. She certainly meant it as a compliment.

Was every show perfect? Of course not. But did I see a single atrocity? Most certainly not. I DID hear a few bad things about a show here and there, but that wasn’t ever the case of the ones I saw. And virtually every theatergoer to whom I spoke said that there was plenty of stuff over which to get excited, and very few about which anyone would pinch his nose in comment.

Was everything about the festival perfect? Once again, of course not. But I’m still stunned with what Kris Stewart and Elizabeth Lucas achieved. Sure, there’s been plenty of grousing about “The Golden NYMFette,” the prize awarded to the musical that garnered the votes as the Best Musical of the Festival. It went to Caligula, and there was plenty of controversy because the show played more performances, and therefore could be seen by more potential voters, while other shows didn’t get as much of a chance. Got news for you, folks: That happens with the Tonys, too. Didn’t last season’s voters get more chances to see Avenue Q and Wicked than Never Gonna Dance? So maybe that’s one reason why those two shows got more Tonys than the also-ran that didn’t run.

Svejcar is a bit embarrassed by both the prize and the controversy. “When you come down to it, this was just a popularity contest,” he says. “Frankly, the show that blew me away more than any other at the festival was The Blue Flower.” (Alas, I didn’t see it.) But Svejcar, too, believes that next year, the festival should have a panel of judges and not ballots from fans to decide what gets the Golden NYMFette.” Interesting, isn’t it, how quickly the acronym “NYMF” became said as a word? It’s pronounced “nymph,” a la the first word of that 1933 musical Cole Porter wrote for London audience. Becoming an acronym-pronounced word that usually takes a year or so to happen, but Stewart and Lucas accomplished it almost overnight.

Speaking of “overnight,” for a while there, I thought I’d be spending it at The Woman Upstairs. The show was scheduled to start at 11 p.m. on a Friday, and while I’d endured a murderously long hard week, I just had to see something by Brian Lowdermilk, whose music I’d admired in the recent past, and starring Alison Fraser, whom I’ve admired in the distant and recent past. Of course, the show didn’t start until nearly 11:30 p.m., and I was already weary near to dyin’ — but then it started with Fraser lending her musky-husky voice to a bag lady who sang Lowdermilk’s music (and his and Kait Kerrigan’s excellent lyrics). I was wide awake through the 1:35 a.m. final curtain.

Much of the music turned out to be pop-rock: Svejcar’s Caligula, Stephen Karam’s fetching Emma (an update of Jane Austen) and Daniel S. Acquisto and Sammy Buck’s delicious Like You Like It. But it wasn’t mindless rock (like we’ve all-too-often had on Broadway), but rock with a definite theatrical underbelly, with the toe-tapping strengths of musical theater’s ancestors.

There was room, though, for a more traditional score, and that was beautifully provided by composer Jeffrey Lodin and lyricist William Squier in A Hundred Years into the Heart. And let’s give a hand to Richard Vetere’s book, too. Take if from someone who grew up as an Italian-American: This one had its characters and language down pat. From “Not for nothing” to the inevitable and “Ba-da-bing,” it all rang true to me. I’ll also applaud Mark Lotito for never making his avuncular character into a cliché. Lotito definitely has the old-world soul, and created an older man’s body in the way he loped across the stage.

And how about some bouquets for the directors, too? Michael Unger astonished me when he told me that he staged the intricate Caligula in just two weeks. Add to that he had to worry that Euan Morton might not be on board in the title role. Oh, Morton wanted to do it very much, but Actors’ Equity wasn’t too thrilled about an Englishman’s taking a job that could have gone to an American. But Morton was perfect for the role, and certainly threw himself into it. He was even willing to appear buck naked in one scene — except, of course, for the belt that held up his battery pack.

Thus far, the show with the most specific post-festival plans is Altar Boyz, which is, in a way, the great-grandson of Forever Plaid. Just as that foursome had a gesture for every word, so did these kids playing Matthew, Mark, Luke, and Juan — and Abraham. If most of those names sound Biblical, that’s the point — though I do believe those in the Bible Belt would want to belt bookwriter Kevin Del Aguila and songwriters Gary Adler and Michael Patrick Walker. These guys created a Christian band full of boys as brainwashed as Raymond Shaw was in both Manchurian Candidate movies combined. Now they want to convert the audience to their four-square beliefs. I especially adored Tyler Maynard, who has the face of Bambi, playing Mark, the closeted kid who has no idea he’s gay. Or does he? There were some luscious surprises in store here. I’ll admit that my eyes glazed over when the Altar Boyz showed us their “Soul Sensor,” a machine that could determine how many in the audience needed to be converted — for as the device flashed “100.” I figured it out: The number would continually go down-down-down until it reached zero. But no — Del Aguila is much smarter than I, and came up with a nifty way of using that machine that would have never occurred to me.

After the show, Del Aguila introduced himself. “Kevin,” I said with rapid-fire excitement, “Stop talking to me right now! Go out and spend money foolishly, because you’re going to have so much of it thanks to this show! Right now! Go out and max out your credit cards!” Kevin smiled and said, “But they’re already maxed out.”

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