By Ciara LaVelle
By Jose D. Duran
By Kat Bein
By Juan Barquin
By Ciara LaVelle
By George Martinez
By Kat Bein
By Ciara LaVelle
The original is weird enough. Nicholas Ray's 1954 Western has been many things to many people, from a parable of the Red Scare's witch-hunt of the Fifties to a precursor to the feminist movement of the Seventies or the drag classics of the Eighties and Nineties. American critics at first mostly panned it, but the French New Wave later thought the picture was swell, rich in subtext, that sort of thing. True, much of what defines a cowboy picture is exposed in Johnny Guitar, including a bank robbery, a wild chase on horseback, lots of shooting, an outsider saloon-keeper with a past, and resentful locals who long to have one. But no matter how you deconstruct it, Johnny Guitar is not your usual B-Western. How could it be, when the big confrontation at the end is not the expected shootout between tough cowboys but instead a catfight between two really, really tough women? How tough, you ask? The casting explains everything: Crawford, just then entering her fourth decade as Hollywood leading lady, was almost outbutched onscreen by Mercedes McCambridge at her manliest. No wonder even the most faithful movie fans tend to forget that Sterling Hayden played the male lead: How could any man have a chance?
Johnny Guitar: The Musical evens out the playing field not so much by beefing up the male lead, mind you, but by softening the edges of the tale and allowing third-generation cult humor to take its merry course. If the movie was edgy, tough, and still a camp, the musical is sweet and good-natured. Nicholas van Hoogstraten's book hews pretty closely to the movie even while replacing much of the violence with song cues. A song in the prologue is the musical high point of the show: clever, satirical, and very funny. Elsewhere, Joel Higgins's lyrics are cute, and Martin Silvestri's music often sounds not so much like a country and western tribute as an homage to Tony Orlando and Dawn. At least two of the songs threaten to segue into "Knock Three Times (On the Ceiling if You Want Me)." Still, the music doesn't get in the way. And the leading roles are juicy.
How's this for an entrance? After a lot of talk among the cowboys about a beautiful woman called Vienna who owns a saloon in the Old West, the lady appears at the top of the stairs, ready to sing and shoot. It's a two-beat entrance, actually. As in the movie, Vienna enters, preceded by an industrial-strength, high-beam bra that points ahead with much more promise of danger than the gun at her side. Here and everywhere, the beautiful Rachel Jones makes the most of the role. If her knowingly nuanced Vienna is more Anne Baxter than Joan Crawford, that is probably a wise choice; aside from Faye Dunaway, only a man could play Joan Crawford, really. Jones has the figure for the role, and she boasts a healthy, gorgeous belt that makes as persuasive a case as possible for the music. In the pensive "We Had Our Moments" near the end, her singing even captures the elusive sweetness that makes the best country singers cross into sheer loveliness.
As her nemesis Emma, a repressed puritan who hates the lusty Vienna and probably also has the hots for her, Stacy Schwartz seems to have wandered in from The Wizard of Oz or maybe Wicked, evil-drag-queen smirk permanently in place. Her one-note wicked-witch act works, though. And her voice is terrific. Most surprising of all is David Kelley as Johnny, given that the title role is less than zero in the original. The lanky, hunky Kelley here channels Clint Eastwood in his best Man-with-No-Name mode, as straight and straight-faced as they come, very much the "just a tough man/tender enough man" of the title tune.
The rest of the cast is a mixed bag, with Ken Clement slightly irritating as he screams his way through the role of Sheriff McIvers, Shane R. Tanner succeeding against type as the Dancin' Kid, and John Bixler a dynamic young actor here playing several roles stealing scenes from everyone except Jones. David Arisco's stage direction and choreography have the right idea but perhaps could have used more rehearsal time. Musically, everyone down to the smallest role is terrific. Dramatically, everyone could be just a tad more over-the-top, much faster, and more precise. In other words, camp. But when the ghost of Crawford smiles on the show, whenever Jones is onstage, Johnny Guitar: The Musical works.
It’s a Fabulous Life: This thing just won’t go away — and that is good news for the holidays. David Sexton’s musical It’s a Fabulous Life first saw the light a few years back as an extended skit for the South Beach Gay Men’s Chorus. It has grown in ambition and hilarity over the past few seasons throughout South Florida, and it is now back at the Broward Center’s Amaturo Theater. What’s in store this time? Perhaps some tweaking, maybe a coat of polish — who knows? This much is true: The piece is not perfect, but it keeps getting better. The whole affair has been at once an adorable work in progress and a madcap, in-your-face-liberal, beefcake-filled, life-affirming, gay classic in the making. And by the time the all-singing, all-dancing finale rolls around — something called “God Bless the Road Less Traveled” — you might find yourself improbably moved to goose bumps. Whatever they’re up to this time around, Sexton’s band of merry men add up to one holiday treat very much worth checking out. An affectionate musical take on Frank Capra’s motion picture It’s a Wonderful Life, It’s a Fabulous Life moves the action from Middle America to the middle of South Beach, where a sweet young hero is now so stressed and depressed by the holidays that he wishes he had never been born ... gay! He gets his wish, with the help of a mysterious angel. What follows is rich, not only in music but also in hope, tolerance, and joy. That these all are things in woefully short supply in Dubya’s America makes this show necessary in any season. If it also happens to be fabulous, well, that’s a Christmas gift. — Octavio Roca Through December 11. Amaturo Theater at the Broward Center for the Performing Arts, 201 SW Fifth Ave., Fort Lauderdale; 954-462-0222, www.browardcenter.org.
Match: In Match, eccentric Juilliard dance instructor Tobi keeps his full jar of toenail clippings on a living room bookshelf in the cheap apartment he rents on Manhattan’s remote northern edge. This sixtyish former Balanchine dancer has definitely seen better days. Lonely Tobi doesn’t receive many visitors, which is why it’s suspicious that Lisa and her husband Mike have come to interview him for Lisa’s doctoral dissertation about classical dance. “No one ever wants to talk to the choreographer,” Tobi coyly tells them. As the interview quickly turns into interrogation during a riveting first act, it becomes more and more apparent that Mike, not Lisa, is the real interviewer here, and that, no, they don’t want to talk to Tobi about choreography. Match conveys playwright Stephen Belber’s true handle on natural dialogue, and even though the second act initially lags, you still gamble that this thriller will be fully realized. Director Richard Jay Simon and actors Gordon McConnell, Paul Tei, and Claire Tyler bring it off in the end for a twisted Hallmark Hall of Fame finale. — Dave Amber Through December 18. Mosaic Theatre, 12200 W. Broward Blvd., Plantation; 954-577-8243.
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