A little bit of Broadway about getting to Broadway

Took in a Broadway show Sunday night, and had a great time.

I know that’s what you are supposed to do at a Broadway show, but I usually just have an OK time. My fun center can be a little atrophied.

Part of it, I’m sure, is that I look for the wires and mirrors while the magician is performing. But part of it is that I like my theater a little less slick. If it flows too well, or, if you can tell the actors are doing a “job”, I’m unphased by the performance.

It’s like celebrating a great catch in a baseball game. Makes no sense to me. That’s the guy’s job. He gets compensated quite well for it. I may be pissed when he fails, but I’m not jumping around when he does his damn job. Just call me a member of management, I guess, but in my bitter little world, you get paid for doing your job. You don’t get points for it.

“(title of show)”, which is running at the Lyceum on 45th Street for awhile, is different. It has no right to be in the big leagues – small cast, no orchestra, no special effects -- but it is absolutely right for it to be there. I don’t laugh at comedies, but I did Sunday night. I don’t cry at drama, but I did … OK, I didn’t, but I could have, if it wasn’t a flaming comedy.

“(title of show)” is -- to flog the sports analogy a little harder -- as though a fan was called down to play the $1 million (insert brand of your choice here) homerun lottery and ended up with a contract to play out the rest of the season.

The actors – Jeff Bowen, Hunter Bell, Susan Blackwell, Heidi Blickenstaff and Larry Pressgrove (who didn’t get acting credits, but should have considering he had more stage time than anyone) -- managed to show wide-eyed “what the fuck? We’re on Broadway? Really?” fun, and the ability to knock the show out of the park.

Director Michael Berresse pulls a neat trick by rarely getting in the way. He deals with what appears to be a very light hand. The actors don’t trips over themselves, but no one looks directed either. He’s a respectable ballplayer (last baseball reference, I promise). He does his job without fanfare.

“(title of show)” is a Broadway musical about people creating a musical and getting it to Broadway. That’s stated, AND YET the book is accused of being too much Broadway geek and too little warm blood of American heartland. Idiots, of course it is heavy on theater-insider shtick. Screw it. The thing is fun.

Personally, I didn’t get a lot of the references. There was a lot of name dropping … I recognized Patti LuPone’s name (In most contests, one out of 10 sucks), but screw it. The thing is fun.

It is childlike and OH SO QUEER, but screw it. The thing is fun.

If “fuck fucking fuckidee fuck fuck” and “blow jobs” and drag-queen jokes and prancing and “didja get it, didja huh?” humor offend you, I’ve probably already offend you … sooooo … screw you. The thing is fun.

I promised to leave the baseball references alone, but I’m still free to make a medical reference. Here it is:

“(title of show)” could quite simply save your life. If you see it and can’t see the fun in it, you need some glee therapy stat. If you wait, you run the risk of getting all pruny inside.