Performance

Happy Together: Songs You Know By Heart – Michael and Angela Ingersoll – North Shore Center for the Performing Arts – February 15, 2020

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The New York Times obituary of Mary Martin mentioned how it was her suggestion that her character Nellie Forbush in the Broadway production of South Pacific should literally wash that man right out of her hair (okay, the man wasn’t literally in her hair), as a result of which Martin shampooed her hair on stage for 1000 performances.

I never got to see that, except on a very grainy video of a West End production, but I did get to see Angela Ingersoll do it on stage, without the aid of a shower like Martin had, instead dunking her head into a bucket of water after donning a robe to protect her dress from any splatter. Nothing says show business like good, clean(ing) fun.

Angela’s husband Michael has some substantial credentials (including over 1300 performances in the Broadway touring company of Jersey Boys) and talent of his own, but Angela was the draw for me, having been captivated by her at a couple Porchlight Music Theater productions, including her Jeff Award-winning tour-de-force as Judy Garland in End of the Rainbow.

Among the other women in Angela’s repertoire is Cher, which reminded me of Stephanie J. Block’s story about finding Cher’s speaking voice for her Tony award-winning performance in The Cher Show. “I happened to be reading lines . . . while I was wearing Crest Whitestrips, and all of a sudden, I was beginning to sound more and more like Cher . . . . So I had to figure out how my mouth was projecting the sound and all the energy once I took the product off. Really, that was the key into how I found her exact sound. Thank you, Oral B!”

The singing aside, one highlight for me was the Ingersolls bringing their Greyhound, Dolly, on stage for a number (the dog didn’t sing) and then announcing that it was time for intermission because it was time for the dog, and perhaps some of the audience members, to pee.

But the most memorable moment of the evening may have been the recreation of the Jennifer Grey leap into Patrick Swayze’s arms while the Ingersolls sang I Had the Time of My Life as their closer. I was ready to be extremely impressed, and was, when the couple wound up doing a jumping chest bump that sent Angela flying backwards onto her butt. Cabaret meets The Three Stooges.

Indulgence with Lucy Darling – Chicago Magic Lounge – December 4, 2019

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Arthur C, Clarke’s Third Law states that “any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” Carisa Hendrix, aka Lucy Darling, proves that the technology doesn’t have to be that advanced to seem like magic, which is defined as “the power of apparently influencing the course of events by using mysterious or supernatural forces.”

But, more importantly, she proves that what often separates the headliners from the run-of-the mill magicians is their patter and persona, especially when they purport to do comedy magic, as she does. Lucy’s talented, smart and funny. How often do you go to a magic show that includes a Chekov allusion about an illusion?

This was my second trip to the Chicago Magic Lounge, but first time at the main stage. It’s a beautiful room, and, if I may divert (and isn’t magic all about diverting your attention), the sliced potato pancakes were pretty darn good.

On the other hand, though Lucy is a cut above, her tricks are pretty standard fair. She does multiplying bottles, the linking finger ring, the any drink called for trick and one where she makes a book chosen by an audience member appear in a shopping bag. That last one didn’t fool Penn and Teller on their tv show, where, interestingly, the audience member chose the same book that was chosen at the Magic Lounge show. What would Arthur C. Clarke say about that?

I don’t know what P&T know, but it seems to me that Lucy could just hide a portable 3-D printer in the shopping bag, allowing her to produce an exact replica of the book in a matter of seconds during her stage patter. Or maybe she has an easier way.

Before she developed her current character, Carisa became a Guinness World Record Holder after holding a flaming torch in her mouth for just over two minutes. No torch this time, but the act is still hot.

Audra McDonald (with Seth Rudetsky) – Steppenwolf Theater – September 15, 2019

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I got to experience the best part of a Seth Rudetsky Broadway Cruise without having to get on a boat, although even I have to admit that his June, 2020 Venice to Venice excursion sounds interesting. I know there are a lot of cruise bloggers, but I don’t know if any of them get free passage for their efforts. I need an agent. What’s 10 per cent of nothing?

McDonald also has a cruise next year. Perhaps that’s the one for me. After seeing the six-time Tony award winner in person for the first time, I just know we could be friends. The woman loves to laugh so much that she gets stomach cramps, and is down-to-earth enough to share that information as it happens.

McDonald also admitted to being a little loopy after driving to Chicago from Cedar Rapids, Iowa, following a concert the night before, because her flight had been cancelled due to storms. I wonder if she sings along with the radio in the car. Seth should have asked her that.

People came to hear McDonald sing, and she didn’t disappoint, hitting a note so high at the end of her audience sing-a-long of I Could Have Danced All Night that it caused the insides of a cat in the alley behind the theater to explode. However, her inner diva appeared briefly as she admitted her competitiveness over the fact that an audience member had matched the note.

McDonald’s personality glowed in stories about a beeper in her coffin in Ragtime, her improvisation in Shuffle Along, and her daughter texting immediately after McDonald’s Climb Every Mountain solo in The Sound of Music live television production to ask her about laundry.

But I’m not kidding when I say that the hit of the evening may have been her rendition of The Facebook Song, which, be warned, or perhaps encouraged, contains language that may be considered offensive.

Teatro ZinZanni: Love, Chaos, and Dinner – Cambria Hotel – July 28, 2019

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Described as The Kit Kat Club on acid or The Moulin Rouge meets Cirque de Soleil, Teatro ZinZanni is too long, but what a hoot. Even the lobby is fun.

If you see it, be aware that it makes a difference where you sit. You don’t need to worry about blue paint or flying watermelon parts, but some of the action in the middle of the spiegeltent flows over onto a table or two, and if you’re centrally located you’re more likely to become part of the show, interacting with The Caesar or Lady Rizo, who is part Janis Joplin, part Bette Midler.

If you’re follicly challenged, you may get your scalp rubbed by various cast members, and if you’re a woman of a certain age, you might find yourself being theatrically-wooed by The Caesar, whose wild patter is reminiscent of Robin Williams. If you’re a healthy-looking young male, The Caesar may pick you out to participate in a faux competition to be his successor.

Sitting in a back booth provides relief for the stage shy. And you might, as I did, wind up in a conversation with a sixth-generation circus-family contortionist watching her ninth-generation circus-family, body-juggling, crowd-wowing boyfriend from an area behind your table in preparation for joining the show herself in a couple months when the acts change, as they regularly do to encourage return customers.

Between aerial artists, rhythmic gymnasts, and dancing waitstaff, Joe De Paul sang a little like Frank Sinatra (backed by a band that never took a break), portrayed King Kong, and partnered with the multi-talented Mr. P.P. (if you consider juggling with your mouth a talent) to leave the audience in tears of laughter from their hijinks.

My only regret was that singer Kelly Britt, hitting a ridiculously high note, failed to break the wine glass in her hand. Had she succeeded, she might have brought me over to the dark side, or as it is more commonly known, opera.

Sunday Near Millennium Park Without Anyone Named George – July 21, 2019

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Interestingly, both Doctors Without Borders and Borders book stores, which no one was able to save (thereby making the doctors’ organizational name prescient), were founded in 1971. On the other hand, Crossing Borders Music, which put on the concert by my piano teacher, Marianne Parker, that I attended at the Chicago Cultural Center, across Michigan Avenue from Millennium Park, originated in 2011.

The wonderful solo concert featured music from Marianne’s new album of Haitian music, entitled Pages intimes. As I told her afterward, she obviously has been holding out on me, not teaching me everything she knows, because, shockingly, I can’t play like she can. What other reason could there be?

I then rushed over to the Art Institute, across Monroe Street from Millennium Park, to attend its annual Block Party. On my way to the Impressionism room containing Van Gogh’s The Drinkers, for a program put on by the Brewseum, I passed by Seurat’s A Sunday on La Grande Jatte, thereby completing my park-adjacent trilogy.

Pub historian, and Brewseum founder and executive director, Liz Garibay presented a delightful lecture to the crowd on both the Van Gogh painting and the history and culture of drinking and drinking establishments in Chicago, including the 1855 Lager Beer Riot. After this educational tasting, I now thirst for more information, which I attend to drink in at the Brewseum’s exhibition currently on tap at the Field Museum.

I ended my near-the-park Sunday by watching Mucca Pazza (which translates as mad cow) end the party with one of their unique musical performances. P.T. Barnum would have been proud of the way they closed by marching through the Monroe Street exit, helping to clear the building by leading out hundreds of visitors, who then realized that the show was over.  This way to the egress.

The Big Red Show – Venus Cabaret – June 17, 2019

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Watching Meghan Murphy, a.k.a. Big Red, wipe off the sweat, excuse me, glisten, between numbers made me wonder how many signature, low-cut, red dresses she must own in order to put on her show three nights in a row.

At least this night she had the foresight to bring a small towel on stage with her. Both she, and the bartender before the show, told us that he had to give her napkins the night before to stem the tide.

Seeing Murphy on a Monday added an extra level of entertainment, as the audience was filled with her show business friends who had the night off from their own gigs, and who were not shy about emitting a plethora of joyous sounds of appreciation throughout the evening to the amusement of all, including Murphy.

And Big Red is not shy about enjoying herself on stage, as when she calls extra attention to the length of a note she’s holding by turning around slowly, then looking at her watch, except she isn’t wearing a watch, and mugging her reaction to that faux realization.

Murphy plays the part, not only of actress and chanteuse, but also of storyteller and philosopher. When she told the crowd she doesn’t like people to try to fit her talents into a neat box, I half expected her to transform into a mime trying to get out of a box, though it’s hard to imagine her remaining silent, or keeping a straight face, long enough to do that.

She also played the part of music critic, taking the time to pause and humorously parse Heart’s All I Wanna Do Is Make Love to You in the middle of singing it. She didn’t invent this. I found a 2013 article online that forges the same ground. Still, when Big Red does it, it’s more fun, because, as embodied in her final song as Mama Rose, some people ain’t her.

Chicago Philharmonic & Cirque de la Symphonie – Harris Theater for Music and Dance – May 26, 2019

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If you suffer from coulrophobia, this performance was not for you. But Vladimir Tsarkov Jr. is more than a clown. He’s also a juggler, able to keep numerous balls moving in numerous directions, which led me to discover that there is a system of notation for juggling called siteswap. I always thought it was called accounting.

Tsarkov also aided Alina Sergeeva perform her quick-change costume routine, which is a mildly entertaining trick, but a potentially very useful skill if you’re running late, or if you’re trying to avoid airline baggage fees by wearing all your clothes.

On the other hand, the strap aerialist and the members of the strength and balancing act wore very little clothing in order to show off their ridiculous abs, which were more like cases than six packs.

Watching the Cirque de la Symphonie perform, after having also seen the Cirque du Soleil recently, made me wonder whether Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey could have survived if it had renamed itself to sound more French. After all, the Cirque de la Symphonie is based in Georgia, the one in the United States, not the one that used to be part of the Russian empire, even though three of the six performers I saw are Russian.

All the routines are performed in front of the Philharmonic and synchronized to its music. If any of the acts aren’t your thing, you can always just close your eyes and listen to the music, which, if you are at all squeamish, you might want to do anyway during the aerial stunts, especially when Christine Van Loo is letting herself drop from near the ceiling, protected from hitting the floor only by the suspended silk she is clutching and her incredibly strong, sinewy (49 year-old!) muscles, unaided by ever having been bitten by a radioactive spider (as far as I know).

Real People – March, 2019

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I’ve been paid to “act” twice in my life – once playing a member of a bank’s board of directors in an industrial film (no lines) and once as King Arthur for a weekend at a renaissance fair. My total take for those two gigs was $40, not including the value of the giant turkey leg I walked around eating at the fair.

So I was excited by the prospect of a new experience and a decent payday to be a real person in a television commercial if I could make it through the audition process. Once again there would be no lines to learn, and thus no lines to forget.  And, I had experience as a real person.

I was told that I should react to a voiceover with subtle facial expressions. Practicing in front of the mirror, I had a hard time differentiating between subtle and nonexistent, but, as they say, everything looks bigger on camera.

Apparently I do subtle better than I thought, or my left ear was just what the director was looking for, as I managed to get a callback, which I almost missed out on when I didn’t answer my cell phone as it vibrated in my pocket in the middle of a concert I was attending. But that left ear must have been so alluring that they called again and we connected.

At the callback I was told to do just what I had done at the first audition, to which I responded that I had no idea what that was, but, nevertheless, afterward, someone in authority at the casting agency told me I had done a great job for the half-dozen twenty-somethings representing the client, a senior living community.

Alas, I didn’t get the part, perhaps because of my inability to tell them my hat size on the form I had to fill out. Or maybe my left ear just wasn’t that great.

Tap Dogs – Nederlander Theater – April 21, 2019

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What better thing to do on Easter than see Tap Dogs, as Easter reminds me of the movie Easter Parade, which reminds me of Fred Astaire tap dancing to Stepping Out With My Baby. But more on him later.

My love of tap dancing has been well-documented in my blogs about Aladdin, Something in the Game, 42nd Street, The Book of Mormon, Anything Goes, and Holiday Inn, and by the numerous times (like this one) I have gratuitously mentioned Sutton Foster.

But Tap Dogs takes the obsession to a whole new level. No, there aren’t actually dogs tap dancing (darn), though that was about the only thing missing. Think Stomp meets The Nicholas Brothers, except the Tap Dogs were in t-shirts, not tuxedos, and didn’t do painful-to-look-at splits down a staircase.

Backed by a couple of ferocious women drummers, the six male dancers did everything from splash dancing on a construction site set (think Singing in the Rain meets the Village People) to tap dancing upside down while hoisted up wearing a harness and dangling just below a fake ceiling, which reminded me of Fred Astaire dancing on the ceiling in Royal Wedding, except here there were no special effects.

And the action was nonstop (these guys are in shape!) – 90 minutes with no intermission. My legs are sore just from watching, but my heart rate should be back to normal in no more than a day or two.

There was some comic relief scattered throughout, and one of the dancers incorporated several famous nontap dance steps. And, while I admit that I prefer that my tap dancing include mixed chorus lines in more traditional dance costumes, and a little lower decibel level, my hearing appears to be unharmed and my feet are still keeping the beat hours later. Dance on!

Blood, Sweat & Tears -The Villages – March 1, 2019

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The lead singer did a decent David Clayton-Thomas impression and the musicians were excellent, especially the drummer, whose featured solo was a showpiece for his lightening-fast hands. But I wondered how the front man for the band calling itself Blood, Sweat & Tears (pursuant, I assume, to an array of legal agreements) could keep a straight face talking about “we” when referring to the band’s hits and accomplishments, including winning the 1970 Grammys Album of the Year over Abbey Road.

What made this braggadocio cringe-worthy for me is that only one of the current members of the band joined it before 2010, and even he joined 10 years after the last of the original members left. Did they really think the elderly audience was so senile that they would believe that these clones were the real thing?

Or perhaps the band was counting on an audience that had indulged in one too many of the omnipresent happy hours in The Villages. The local paper is filled with notices about them, right before the pages filled with notices about AA and Al-Anon meetings.

In The Villages’ three town squares, happy hours are accompanied by local bands playing golden oldies for free for the resident golden oldies, which begs the question as to why the residents pay to see a faux Blood, Sweat & Tears. Maybe it’s for the uncomfortable folding chairs in the Savannah Center.

Or maybe it’s for the chance to see surprise guest performers, like sports commentator and interviewer Roy Firestone, who was there plugging his book and forthcoming show, telling anecdotes, and doing speaking and singing impressions. I have to admit he wasn’t bad, but his act seemed so out of place that a lot of people sat and squirmed until the band appeared to do its impressions.  At least that was my impression.