It was a month that saw August: Osage County decide not only to offer student rush, but also senior rush. Well, why not? What’s good for the gosling is good for the goose and gander.

Saw a wonderful production of How to Succeed in Business without Really Trying at the Cincinnati Conservatory of Music, where I’m critic-in-residence. Lord knows that Abe Burrows’ book is hilarious, and future stars-to-be Liberty Cogen (Smitty), Katilyn Davidson (Rosemary) Carl Draper (J.B. Biggley), Lauren Sprague (Hedy LaRue), and Cody Williams (Bud Frump) got every laugh. So did Justin Scott Brown as J. Pierrepont Finch – but he got an extra one that I’ve never heard before get a laugh. It happened after Finch decided on the prize that would be given in the World Wide Wickets Treasure Hunt Game Show. Said Finch, “We’ll give away stock. Nobody can resist that. These days, people like stock better than money.” Granted, the laughter was of a distinctly different type from the carefree sound that greeted the rest of the jokes, but it still qualified as laughter.

Certainly was impressed by If You See Something, Say Something, Mike Daisey’s riveting monologue about visiting Los Alamos, New Mexico, where the atomic bomb had its out-of-town tryout on July 16, 1945. Fascinating to hear that after the government dropped the first and second bombs respectively on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, it had no bombs left – but the Japanese didn’t know that, and had to surrender. However, once again, for my umpteenth visit to Joe’s Pub, I had a hard time seeing the stage. Who designed this place? Max Bialystock? I think so, for as I looked around, I noticed that this was indeed theater in the square, where almost nobody had a good seat. Add to that that waitpersons were always walking past, blocking my view, and the guy next to me shifting in his chair, hitting my foot with his, mumbling “Sorry” – at least for the first few times; after a while, he ceased to apologize, because he knew that I knew the set-up was impossible, and how many times can you say you’re sorry? Nevertheless, If You See Something, Say Something was so impressive that it was worth enduring the lack of theatrical amenities.

How odd to hear completely different lyrics for a song I’d known for some time as “Bounce.” But that’s the way Road Show begins, and I went along for the ride with Sondheim, Weidman, and Doyle. The story of Willy and Addison Mizner, two brothers who had a love-hate relationship, could have been sharper. The story threatens to go in an incestuous direction when Addison seems strangely eroticized during a night when he shares his bed with his brother, but this turns out to be the love that Weidman dare not even broach. Later, when Addison begins a romance with Hollis Bessemer – and Willy shows up to give advice on developing Boca Raton and Hollis sides with him – I expected something to be made of that triangle, with Addison’s feeling betrayed. That didn’t quite happen.

The score is pure Sondheim. Even the most casual theatergoer, if put in front of the show without virtue of advance word or program, would be able to identify its songwriter – except for “The Best Thing That Ever Happened,” an utterly beautiful song that has to be the most gorgeous exchange ever between two men on a New York stage. As for the lyrics, what a pleasure to hear intelligence and rhymes in the same score. Loved the lyric from one corrupt character: “Once I was a pro, but now I’m a con.”

Both Alexander Gemignani and Michael Cerveris had a wonderfully real, easy-going style, while the latter was unrecognizable from his 15-year career, and not just because he had a head of hair; he was so startlingly different that I still wouldn’t be surprised if I found that the ushers forgot to put in the understudy slips. Good for him for chameleoning himself into someone brand-new.

Lehman Engel always told his students to “Look for humor in dark places,” and he would have been pleased at the way Sondheim and Weidman treated the Mizners’ mother’s death. Road Show is another musical where applause is discouraged; often, a number ends and is immediately followed by a line of dialogue. Guess Sondheim feels he’s had enough applause in his life. He hasn’t received much for this project, but it’s an amiable enough show.

Speaking of Boca Raton, I went there to see the Caldwell Theatre Company’s brand-new playhouse and their inaugural attraction: Bock and Harnick’s She Loves Me. Amy Miller Brennan was charming and vulnerable as Amalia, while Laura Hoods was jaded but not too far gone as Ilona. And though David Kelley had to step in as Georg, his letter-perfect performance belied his understudy status. But what really impressed me was the statement on the playbill cover: 34th season. How does a local theater stay in business for that long? Okay, the new digs are called the Count de Hoernle Theatre, so some rich noble or his heirs picked up the tab – but what would prompt a royal to get financially involved? Quality. I’m guessing that a good deal of this has to do with Michael Hall, for his playbill bio says that he “co-founded Caldwell in 1975 and had remained its artistic director.” How many other artistic directors have had that long a reign? So one of the secrets of Caldwell’s success can be expressed in another Bock and Harnick song from another show: “Stability.”

What kid calls his mother “Mud”? What mother would allow it? How did it happen? Can it be short for “Muddah?” Jeff Hochhauser offers no explanation in My Vaudeville Man, his two-person musical at the York. Nevertheless, there’s Jack Donohue writing letters to “Mud” about his start and rise in vaudeville, while Mud constantly cautions him against drink and theater. (Constantly. Might make a good show for A.A. meetings.)

I complained that Billy Elliot was a too-familiar story about parents-vs.-kids in show biz, but at least that one has a miner’s strike that adds to the tension. “Don’t drink” and “Get a real job” are all we get here. Still, Traditional Show Music flows through composer Bob Johnston’s every vein, making for one of those scores that has you humming the number you just heard during the next scene where Mud and Jack argue about what they’ve been arguing about since the show began. Karen Murphy does what she can in playing this dishrag, but, oh, that Shonn Wiley as Jack. What a song ‘n’ dance man! Everyone connected with this show should bow down and kiss his feet – though I’m sure that each foot wouldn’t stop tapping long enough to give the grateful staff a chance.
Last week marked the 45th anniversary of my going to the Shubert in Boston to see the road company of Stop the World - I Want to Get Off. At that point, I didn’t know the show’s score - only the three songs that had become pop hits: “Gonna Build a Mountain,” “Once in a Lifetime,” and, of course, “What Kind of Fool Am I?” Loved the show, and told my parents that one of my Christmas presents could be the cast album. They obliged, and on Christmas morn, I listened – and immediately realized that I couldn’t have heard one song as originally written. For in, “All-American,” in which the bubble-headed Ginny Romaine tells about herself, she sang, “And I think that Mr. Eisenhower’s absolutely great” - at which point the orchestra conductor tapped his baton as a way of alerting her that she’d made a mistake. He then whispered some information to her, which prompted her to say, “Oh, really? When?” - before singing the same melody line with “And I think that Mr. Kennedy is absolutely great.” You see, five days before I’d seen the show, President Kennedy had been assassinated. Had I known the score in advance, I would have noticed what change was obviously made. Still wonder to this day what was substituted.

Finally, I spent one afternoon this past month attending a backers’ audition of Let My People Come, the erotic revue that, in the ‘70s, lasted quite some time at the Village Gate - and even braved Broadway. Producer Bob Blume is trying to mount a revival, which will be called Let My People Come ... Again. As in the original, there’s nudity - but what most fascinated me was a tattoo that one of the young women had to the left of her pubic hair: “No Day But Today.” Now this is what I’d call a Renthead – or a Rent-uhhhh, well, I’ll let you come up with the right term.

You may e-mail Peter at pfilichia@aol.com