Bright Lights in the Big City

Once in a life time chance to go see West Side Story on Broadway - now, I know the reviews were, to be kind, "mixed" but I had to witness my favorite production live; so there was no question when we were given a choice - it had to be W.S.S.

So we showered and dressed, and sent the children (all three) to Grandma's house (blessed, blessed Grandma) and drove into town. Found street parking on 48th - what luck, and walked to Times Square....

It has been a long while since I've even seen Times Square, and on Friday night it was like visiting another country. In fact it felt like Tokyo. People swarmed - like moths to a front porch light on a hot summer night - SWARMS of humans walking, wandering, standing, glaring. I couldn't help but feel sad for the old Times Square of five years ago. It was nutty then but it moved. This Times Square just halted - it was like swimming in a fish bowl. Lit up ads and signage everywhere; the night sky barely has a chance to suggest that it is no longer day. We moved through the human soup towards our theatre...will call...concession stand...$16 drink and chips, ha ha that's funny.

I sat in my comped orchestra seat staring at the heavy red curtain, my hands holding onto my playbill, my ears filled with the din of the Friday night house, the orchestra just beginning to warm up....delicious anticipation. Then, the cell phone announcement, the lights dimmed and...then came the sound, that whistle, and the chills went up my arms the first of many times that night, I didn't dare blink so as not to miss a second.

From pretty early on, like in the first three minutes, I realized what I was in for. The bad reviews were not wrong. But the dancing was undeniably the best I'd ever seen outside of Lincoln Center (save one Fosse review show I saw years ago with Joseph). The men leaped with such grace and suspencion and landed so softly they looked completely effortless. The voices were lovely, of course, but the acting was so bad they could barely tell the story outside of what Bernstein's music dictated them to do.

There were so many things wrong with the production, beginning with the casting, most of the issues I had were directorial, but there were a few lighting gaps, and no joke, the orchestra hit a couple of cracked notes. The cast was young and mostly new (many Broadway debutes) but I don't know what to use as an excuse for the men who played Krupke and Lt. Schrank. Oh well, they were all doing their very best...

As bad as it was (Director Arthur Laurents, my deepest respect, but this one really needs help) I refused to be disappointed because, well, it's Goddamned WEST SIDE STORY - a fucking Opus of a piece of art. However, I will admit, that for the first time, I didn't cry when Tony died.

After the show, we poured out into the city streets and tried to come up with a plan for dinner - when we didn't really have one. Joe Allen came through, it was close by (on 46th) and we were seated right away, which was a good thing because I hadn't eaten a thing all day except a carrot and a handful of dry Cheerios. I love Joe Allen restaurant. Not for the menu (Steak tartar, or meatloaf? - you choose) but because it is such a New York joint. It was filled with mostly theatre people (possibly musicians, possibly crew, and waitstaff of all talent) and some theatre goers like us - but above all it was filled with New Yorkers. I breathed a sigh of grateful relief after the fishbowl experience at the start of the evening. Here was old New York, unchanged, unfettered, un-influenced by media and commercialism. I ordered the pepper steak over fresh spinach, Joseph ordered the meatloaf and mashed potatoes...it was hot and yummy.
I love New York.