Review: Titaníque, Broadway’s Fabulous Musical Shipwreck, Now with More Céline

Revisit America’s favorite ’90s movie through the marvelously quirky perspective of Céline Dion. That is the basic pitch of Titaníque, the Céline jukebox musical disguised as a send-up of James Cameron’s cinematic blockbuster about the wreck of the Titanic, which has improbably berthed on Broadway. Its presence at the St. James Theatre was made possible by another famous shipwreck, but as Titaníque joyously shows, mirth and song can grow out of even the worst disasters.

The musical begins when Céline Dion (co-creator Marla Mindelle) hijacks a tour of the Titanic museum. She insists that she was there onboard and can offer the real story of how young socialite Rose (Melissa Barrera) met and fell in love with penniless artist Jack (co-creator Constantine Rousouli), despite her engagement to metrosexual millionaire Cal (John Riddle) and the harsh disapproval of her money-hungry mother, Ruth (Jim Parsons). The stakes become life-or-death when Victor Garber (Frankie Grande) drives the ship straight into an iceberg (Layton Williams), imperiling everyone aboard. Céline promises to tell all in under 100 minutes (unlike Cameron) and with more songs than just “My Heart Will Go On.”

As the happy passengers board the ship of dreams at Southhampton, they sing “I’m Alive,” Dion’s peppy anthem from Stuart Little 2. Fueled by MDMA, Victor Garber recklessly steers the ship to the pulsating beat of “I Drove All Night.” Was it Titanic or Beauty and the Beast where the leading man met the ingenue at the bottom of the stairs and they danced before the assembled cutlery? Half-remembered and partially invented, this irreverent retelling of Titanic delivers a laugh every few seconds and enough vocal horsepower to propel an ocean liner across the Atlantic.

That was true the last time I saw Titaníque, when it was playing in the basement of a Gristedes supermarket. Mindelle, Rousouli, and co-conspirator Tye Blue (who directs) have since taken the show to an extended off-Broadway run and now Broadway. It still feels like a kiki-turned-karaoke night among hilarious and exceptionally talented friends, with sight gags and meme references producing a laugh every few seconds.

A bit in which Céline makes up what transpired between first-class dinner and Irish dance party—she explains, “I got so shitfaced with Peabo Bryson, that I kind of forget what happens from here”—turns into a bravura improv session. The night I attended, Rousouli mimed as Matthew Morrison in Just in Time (Mindelle comes up with the words, he lip-syncs), spilling tea about the time Lea Michele tried to assassinate him on the set of Glee (this bit changes regularly, so you can always go back and hear something new). I haven’t encountered a Broadway book this fresh since I saw John Cameron Mitchell in Hedwig.

The downtown energy remains, but the production values have vastly improved. Featuring light-up stairs, an onstage band, and three massive steel chevrons on which hang Paige Seber’s spectacular moving lights, the set (by Gabriel Hainer Evansohn and Grace Laubacher for Iron Bloom Creative Production) is more suggestive of a concert tour than a ship. But that’s just as well since it’s Céline’s world; we just inhabit it.

Nicholas James Connell’s clever orchestrations bridge the gap between pop concert and Wagnerian opera on ’90s themes: The “My Heart Will Go On” motif returns with frequency, and I’m certain I heard faint strains of “Oops!…I Did It Again.” Lawrence Schober’s body-shaking sound design makes us feel like we’re at a concert, although like so many new musicals, the balance favors the band and occasionally drowns the lyrics like so many steerage passengers.

Alejo Vietti’s costumes consistently strike the correct balance between fabulous and hilarious, with a dazzling gown for Céline (one feathered sleeve … why not?) and character outfits that walk right up to the border of offensive (Grande plays Jack’s best friend Luigi, a Nintendo refugee). Charles G. LaPointe’s wigs complete the illusion. These are costumes that not only enhance a performance but help shape them.

We can see that in Parsons’s Ruth: hungry birds nesting in her hair, she is a shrieking harpy who must be restrained from assaulting the band. Clad in a form-fitting nautical jacket, Grande prances down the stairs, pink steering wheel spinning on his finger. Sparkling waistcoat under his tux, Riddle slathers a sinister vocal coating on the reprise of “Seduces Me”—exactly what you want before the climax.

Musically, that comes from Deborah Cox as the unsinkable Molly Brown, who belts a recording-ready rendition of “All by Myself” that will give you goosebumps. But physically, it comes from Layton Williams as the “iceberg bitch,” a Tina Turner drag impersonator who ends a raucous performance of “River Deep Mountain High” by leaping into the splits. The crowd roars.

Rousouli’s portrayal of Jack sets the tone for the entire show, pairing WB heartthrob looks with a performance that is conspicuously homosexual for a leading man—so we can all revel in gleeful nostalgia for a time when Ricky Martin posters adorned the walls of every teenage girl in America. Barrera’s Rose certainly would have been one of them: Big-voiced and a little dim, she’s just happy to be on this voyage, even as she becomes a supporting character in her own love story.

And how could it be any different? This is Céline’s show, and she never lets us forget it, moving her face between Jack and Rose as they lean in to kiss, like a needy golden retriever. Mindelle pulls focus with her terrific riffs and outsize facial expressions, her breezy banter instantly endearing her to the audience (Sara Gallo, Kristina Leopold, and Polanco Jones, Jr. are her stalwart backup singers). It’s a star-making performance that could only come from someone with a deep affection for both Céline and Broadway—and an instinctive understanding of the ridiculous alchemy of combining the two.

In a world chugging toward dark waters, Titaníque is a guaranteed good night out—one that ends with the whole audience singing.