Powerful performances and an eclectic pop score are the high points of this enjoyable, if flawed, new musical version of Jack Heifner's play.
After a brief prologue, Vanities transports audiences to November 22, 1963 and the gymnasium of a small town high school near Dallas, one of the many settings marvelously created by Anna Louizos' elegant scenic design. It's where we first meet our three heroines. Cheerleader Kathy (Anneliese van der Pol, who gracefully tracks the character's arc from self-assurance to hopelessness) struggles to get her best friends Joanne (whom Sarah Stiles plays with surface cuteness, but a steely determination), and Mary (imbued with cleverness and later a devil-may-care demeanor by Lauren Kennedy) to concentrate on an upcoming pep rally, but boys and other social issues keep getting in the way. Here, Kirshenbaum's music shrewdly reflects how tight this group is; rarely during the first scene do any of the women sing solos, instead, they perform a variety of girl group-like songs.
In the show's second scene, the young women -- who have gone to the same local college -- have become heads of their sorority, but they're less in sync than before. Joanne's upcoming wedding to her high school sweetheart contrasts pungently with Mary's planned summertime jaunt to Europe, and the once-confident Kathy is still reeling from the fact that her high school beau has married another young woman who's carrying his child and unsure about her career path. After Kathy's haunting confessional ballad about her bitter disappointment with men (the ironically titled "Cute Boys with Short Haircuts"), Mary attempts to convince her pal to be a little less structured in her life with a soaring Burt Bacharach-like pop tune. The difference in both the song styles and their messages beautifully demonstrates the ever-widening gap between the women.
When Vanities moves forward to New York City in 1974, the group -- who have not been in the same room for four years -- proves to be almost completely fractured. Mary, a promiscuous "free spirit" who runs an erotic art gallery, condescends almost to the point of cruelty about Joanne's life as a Connecticut housewife and mother. The suburban existence troubles Joanne herself, and she reveals it drunkenly in a twangy country-western number. Unsurprising confessions and confrontations -- perhaps the only false moments in director Judith Ivey's otherwise well-observed staging -- prove to be the group's undoing and both Mary and Joanne storm out of Kathy's posh penthouse.