When most people think of holiday time in New York City, they see images of warmth and nostalgia. The majestic balloons of the Macy’s parade, the glowing tree at Rockefeller Center, warm chestnuts from a street cart vendor. But the first thing I think of is the cold. Bitter, bone-breaking cold. Six years of living in Florida has thinned my blood to the point that a week-long visit with the family feels like six months in the arctic. The electronic time-and-temperature hovering over Times Square may read 40 degrees, but when the wind whips down the canyons of Broadway, it feels like less than half of that.
But as cold as this Thanksgiving might have been for me, it’s been even colder for producers of Broadway shows. This fall season has been the most brutal in recent memory for new productions. Ellen Burstyn’s “Oldest Living Confederate Widow Tells All” closed 24 hours after opening. “Six Dance Lessons in Six Weeks” and “Jackie Mason: Laughing Room Only” had similarly short runs, and “Bobbi Boland” didn’t even make it to opening night. The verdict is still out on the long-term prospects for “Wicked”, a revisionist prequel to the Wizard of Oz. The only genuine hit this year with both critics and audiences has been “Avenue Q”, the brilliant Sesame Street satire that transferred from Off-Broadway last spring. A visit to TKTS, the discount booth that sells unsold tickets at half price, tells the story: nearly every show, save a few long-running hits like “The Lion King” and “The Producers”, had tickets available during what is normally a busy holiday weekend.
In the middle of all this, two strikingly similar shows opened. The markedly different reactions to these two shows, both by the press and at the box office, illustrates how conventional wisdom, rather than talent or quality, is what ultimately makes or breaks a show in New York. Both are biographical musicals, told in flashback, about the life of a gay pop musician in the 1980’s. Both feature musical scores written by the subject, and feature name-brand stars in a leading role. Both have received less than glowing reviews from the New York critics. But one is regarded as a relative success in this dismal Broadway season, with decent word-of-mouth and healthy box office. The other is being openly derided in both the critical and popular press as a spectacular flop, and its name is quickly becoming synonymous with “epic disaster”. One is an amusing trifle that is pleasant enough, but quickly fades from the mind, while the other is ambitious, moving, and genuinely deserving of a life beyond its current incarnation. And you might be very surprised to learn which is which.
The first show is “The Boy from Oz”, the story of Peter Allen as portrayed by Hugh Jackman. At the risk of committing musical-theater heresy, I didn’t know Peter Allen from Peter Parker before seeing the show. It turns out Allen was a singer-performer from Australia (the “Oz” of the title) who played an opening act for Judy Garland, married her daughter Liza Minnelli, had a successful nightclub act, and wrote a number of award-winning songs. He was also gay (apparently a common theme among Liza’s husbands) and died of AIDS in 1992.
The story is narrated by Allen, looking back over his life. Amusing vignettes from his experiences in show biz alternate with his songs, which are shoehorned into the plot with limited success. I only recognized a handful of the numbers, namely “The Theme from Arthur” and “Don’t Cry Out Loud”, and found most of the songs inoffensive but unmemorable. Worse, they violate the cardinal rule of musical theater, in that they express things that have already been stated, and don’t advance the plot in any meaningful way. The supporting cast is fine, particularly Isabella Keating and Stephanie J. Block, who contribute eerie wax-museum impressions of Garland and Minnelli. Jarrod Emick is also memorable in his brief second-act roll as Allen’s boyfriend. The only true standout supporting player is the young Mitchel David Federan, who steals the show with an opening number song-and-dance routine as a pre-teen Allen. Even the sets, costumes, and choreography, while competent, are underwhelmingly minimal for such a larger-than-life story.
What saves this show from disaster is Hugh Jackman’s performance as Peter Allen. American fans who know him from his blockbuster movies might wonder if he can really sing and dance, much less play piano with those adamantium claws protruding from his knuckles. The answer, as anyone who saw his performance in London’s “Oklahoma!” (recently televised on PBS) can testify, is “yes, and how!” Jackman is charming and engaging from the opening moments, with a powerful singing voice and polished dance moves. Most importantly, he has the stage presence and charisma to sustain an audience’s attention through what is a fairly thin story. Unlike many movie stars who perform on Broadway, Jackman shows astounding endurance, staying on stage nearly every minute of the play. He also seems remarkably un-self-conscious about his macho screen image, capturing Allen’s flamboyant mannerisms with flair and flirting equally with male and female audience members.
Ultimately, while the show survives on Jackman’s charms, it lacks in depth or complexity. Aside from an 11th-hour revelation of childhood trauma, there is little shown of Allen’s psychological reality. It’s hard to tell if he kept his dark side remarkably well hidden, or if there simply wasn’t anything more to him than his stage persona. Jackman receives well-deserved standing ovations for the energy and likeability of his performance, but I walked out knowing nothing about the real Peter Allen that I couldn’t have learned from a 1-paragraph bio. The show is worth seeing (but not a full price) for Jackman alone, but I can’t see it having any staying power once he goes back to Hollywood.
“Taboo” is in many ways the mirror-universe dark twin of “The Boy from Oz”. Like “Oz”, it charts the life of a gay pop-music icon. In both, the first act chronicles his rise from obscurity to the first tastes of success, while in the second he succumbs to the excesses of fame. In both, there is an untimely death from AIDS, followed by an uplifting finale of hope and redemption through art.
The subject of “Taboo” is George O’Dowd, better known as Boy George, lead singer of the 80’s pop group Culture Club. His story is narrated in flashback by Philip Salon, a nightclub impresario who claims to have discovered Boy George. Salon’s account is constantly challenged by a second narrator, Big Sue, making for a hilarious exploration of the flexible nature of memory. We see George’s rise from coat checker to pop star, and his subsequent public descent into heroin addiction. Running parallel to George’s story is that of Leigh Bowery, an outrageous performance artist and designer played by the real George O’Dowd. This bit of casting, coupled with lead actor Euan Morton’s striking resemblance to the young Boy George, leads to such surreal delights as O’Dowd telling his younger self that “Karma Chameleon” is a terrible song that will never go anywhere.
The cast of “Taboo” is nearly uniformly excellent. Euan Morton not only looks like the 80’s-era Boy George, but sings like him too. He gives the performance an unexpected depth and vulnerability under the makeup. Even better is Raul Esparza as Salon. Raul’s theatricality and vocal contortions make him a love-it-or-hate-it performer, and I fall squarely in the love-it camp. He brings the same blend of sinister mystery and raw power that made him the best Riff Raff since Richard O’Brien created the role in “The Rocky Horror Show”. Here, he nearly steals every scene he’s in, only to be undercut by the earthy and profane Big Sue. As portrayed at the performance I saw by understudy Brooke Elliott, Sue is the most human character, a cynical romantic, with a stunning solo number in the second act. Surprisingly, the weakest link performance-wise is O’Dowd himself. He is heavy, stiff, and his voice is a croaking shadow of its former self, particularly in the first act. He seems mainly to exist in the show to display one astounding costume design after another.
But if George O’Dowd the actor is a disappointment, George O’Dowd the composer is a revelation. Though I grew up in the 80’s, I largely ignored the pop music of the time. While my peers were obsessing over Michael Jackson and Madonna, my Walkman was playing the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. I could probably hum a few bars of “Karma Chameleon” and “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me”, but I was never a fan of Culture Club. While both those songs are briefly heard in “Taboo”, along with an excerpt from “Church of the Poison Mind”, they are the exception. The rest of the score consists of hauntingly beautiful ballads and rocking techno-flavored dance numbers. The scores for “Urinetown” and “Avenue Q” are wittier, but “Taboo” has the most moving and memorable new melodies of any recent Broadway show. The nearest shows one can compare it to in style are “Aida” and “Rent”, and this blows both of those over-rated scores out of the water. If “Taboo” fails before a cast album is recorded, it would be a great tragedy, because these performances and this music need to be preserved.
“Taboo” is not without its flaws. While the music is consistently wonderful, the book is less so. Charles Busch, author of “Vampire Lesbians of Sodom”, has written some beautifully bitchy dialogue, but the structure is uneven, and the tone becomes abruptly dark in the second act. The show’s biggest flaw, as pointed out by all the critics, is that Boy George’s story never intersects with Leigh Bowery’s. As a result, you have two separate plots that alternate, with only a few characters that cross over between them. This wouldn’t be a problem if the stories commented on each other in a thematically meaningful way, but the connection never really becomes clear. In truth, this isn’t a fatal flaw, though the way critics have harped on it would make you think it ruins the show. Other elements that have been derided critically, such as the choreography, the over-the-top costume designs, and a video tribute to the real-life Bowery, I found to be assets to the show.
So why has the lesser of these two shows received a free pass from the press, and is in the top-5 for ticket sales, while the other is openly mocked and struggling financially? I must admit that the reviews led me to “Taboo” with a gleeful sense of schadenfreude. I never had the chance to see “Carrie” or “Legs Diamond”, so I figured this was my chance to be able to tell my children I saw one of the biggest train wrecks in Broadway history. Imagine my surprise when I turned to my seat-mate at intermission and said, “You know, this is pretty damn good”. If you had told me when I walked in that I’d be giving a standing ovation at the curtain, I’d never have believed you, but there I was.
What could make a show that is clearly so much better than many of the successes on Broadway such a pariah among the press?
Much of the blame can probably be laid at the feet of its producer, Rosie O’Donnell. This is a woman badly in need of new publicist. Ever since the cancellation of her TV show, and especially with her highly-publicized lawsuit against her former magazine partner, she’s been on a path of self-destruction. Giving the middle finger to critics in the audience at a recent performance didn’t help her any either. But Rosie is far from the first prickly producer, though being a household name and a woman makes her a more inviting target than most.
Also damaging was the widely-discussed revisions to the show during rehearsals and previews, and a near-mutiny by some cast members. But the truth is that many shows go through growing pains like these, and come out stronger for it. A responsible reviewer should evaluate the final product, and not simply regurgitate tabloid gossip.
Perhaps there is a darker and more disturbing reason for the abuse this show has suffered. American culture as a whole has become much more accepting of gay people and gay culture, and no city is more gay-friendly than New York. You can’t turn on the TV without seeing “Will & Grace” or “*** Eye for the Straight Guy”, and the trend has been discussed endlessly in the press. But the gays that the mainstream accepts are largely safe and neutered. The fashion and attitude associated with homosexuality might be embraced by the larger culture, but the sexuality and politics are not.
This might be the essential difference between the superficially similar “Boy from Oz” and “Taboo”. While the former is informed by the safe camp that appealed to Peter Allen’s straight female audience, the latter embraces the anarchic punk culture that thrived in the underground club scene of Boy George’s London. Or, to use the semiotics of modern activism, Peter Allen was “gay”, but Boy George was “***”.
This essential difference, both in the subjects and their shows, may help explain why the lesser show will probably outlast the better one. After all, New York is the capital of capitalism, and you can’t stay open on Broadway unless you can sell tickets to the blue-hair tourists. It’s just as shame that the press can’t stop bashing “Taboo”, and instead help those tourists look past the unconventional exterior to see the beauty at its heart.