Bearing only the slightest resemblance to Kaye -- and lacking his goofy, loose-limbed grace -- Brian Childers tries hard to recreate the legendary star, but ultimately his exertions are exhausting just to watch. Kimberly Faye Greenberg as composer Sylvia Fine -- Kaye's early accompanist, collaborator, booster, and eventual spouse -- has easier and lesser-known shoes to fill, and she does a delightful job.
Initially resisting her attraction to the brash young performer, Sylvia eventually not only gives in to Kaye's hammy charms but ends up masterminding his gradual rise to fame from Poconos tummler to Hollywood star. There's just one little problem: Danny comes to resent Sylvia's role as both wife and manager. The conflict ought to provide sufficient friction to fuel a fairly interesting piece, but Robert McElwaine's book -- he was Kaye's publicist for two decades during the glory days -- is sadly flat-footed.
Moreover, the 21 song fragments he has scripted (and set to unmemorable, derivative music by Bob Bain) start to feel like intrusive interruptions. Worse still, they can't hold a candle to Kaye's greatest hits, especially a tour de force like the Kurt Weill-Ira Gershwin tongue-twister "Tchaikovsky."
In the end, Danny Kaye's memory -- and Sylvia's as well -- would be better served by a private Netflix film fest than by this misguided show.
Don't show this again.