Grand Hotel-The Musical (regional premiere) Book by Luther Adler (with Peter Stone)  Music by Robert Wright and George Forrest Additional Music & Songs by Maury Yeston Directed on Broadway by Tommy Tune Winner Big Easy Entertainment Award "Best Musical" Vatican awarded "Best Actor in a Musical", Storer Boone Theatre Awards "Best Supporting Actor in a Musical" Marquee Theatre Awards

Grand 'Hotel" open for business at Le Petit

When it premiered on Broadway in 1989, "Grand Hotel" was met with such mixed reviews that it's principal creator, Tommy Tune, wondered whether he was being penalized for ambition. "If you shoot for a 10 and make an 8, they put you down," he said, "but if you aim for a 5 and hit a 5, they love you."  Seeing the show again, in its current reincarnation as the season premiere at Le Petit Theatre du Vieux Carre, I wonder if even Tune's evaluation of the show is underestimated. In "Grand Hotel", Tune transcended the trademark glitzy showmanship that characterized his work in "The Will Rogers Follies", "My One And Only", and "Best Little Whorehouse", and raised the level of musical theatre art at least to the level of his earlier "Nine". And yes, it does seem proper to refer to "Grand Hotel" as Tommy Tune's creation, even if the program credits Luther Davis with the book (Peter Stone worked on it, too), Robert Wright and George Forrest with the songs, and Maury Yeston with "additional music and lyrics".  What the towering director/choreographer did here was to take a 30-year old property (Wright & Forrest's "At The Grand" had been staged earlier in Los Angeles, based on a 1930's film derived from a Vicki Baum novel) and fracture it--reassembling its multiple plotlines about people in a 1928 Berlin hotel into a cinematic montage of a musical. Interweaving stories of a debt-ridden baron-turned-thief, an aging ballerina with a devoted assistant, a dying Jewish accountant out for his last and first fling, a businessman discovering the advantage of corruption, and a star-struck typist, Tune created a kaleidoscopic metaphor for life; failure and ambition, los and love, death and birth are themes that swirl through the revolving door into a grand hotel where the music of life never stops.
The Le Petit production, directed by Derek Franklin and Sonny Borey, stunningly captures the dark yet compelling vision of Tune's concept, subtly balancing vibrancy and melancholoy, cynicism and hope.

This balance is achieved by the remarkable talents of an outstanding cast. The baron is a model of old world suavity at odds with new world morality in the hands of Vatican Lokey, who also sings passionately of a belatedly discovered love for an older woman. His beloved is Elizaveta Grushinskaya, played by Karen Hebert, who illuminates both the bravery and vunerability of the role Patrick Mendelson enacts Otto Kringelein, the terminally-ill Jewish accountant whose desperation for discovering life before death leads to heartwarming foster parenthood and an exuberant Charleston.  Bert Pigg portrays the businessman Preysing, whose descent into financial and moral corruption is revealed as a manifestation of innate evil.  The object of his lust, the typist Flaemmchen, is brought to exciting life by Sarah Jane McMahon, who sings, dances, and acts the role to perfection.
Other members of the cast creating indelible images include Walter Bost as the world-weary observer/narrator, Katherine Keberlein as the obsessively protective companion to the ballerina, Eric Haston as a harrassed desk clerk and expectant father, and Jermaine Keelen and James St. Juniors as a pair of tap-dancing and scat-singing waiters.

What's In A Name?

Name recognition is a weird quirk of electoral politics.  The idea, of course, is that merely being known provides an advantage with voters, even if what you are known for has nothing to do with government, or even leadership in the broadest sense.  So, a famous wrestler, to take the most celebrated recent example, can step directly into the governor's mansion. Something of the same sort must be at work in the current vogue for using movies as the basis of musicals.  Grand Hotel, the movie, won the Oscar for best picture in 1932.  Its star-studded cast--Greta Garbo ("I vant to be alone" comes from this film), not one but two Barrymores (John and Lionel), Joan Crawford, Wallace Beery and others--brought a touch of class to the intricately interwoven melodramas that play themselves out amidst the chic decadence of Weimar Berlin.  THe movie, in fact, was based on a best-selling novel (and there was a play as well), but it is Hollywood's glamorous incarnation of the tale that has lingered in the collective memory.
But if name recognition is a good way to attract audiences, it has a hazardous downside in that it invites comparison between the movie and stage versions. Theatre almost always comes off second best.

I'm not sure why this is.  I don't believe films are an inherently superior art form.  Perhaps it's related to the reverse phenomenon, for movies made from popular Broadway plays often seem artificial and stagey.  Or perhaps there is something a bit dubious in the motives for the adaptation that undermines the effort from the outset. I find Grand Hotel the musical--despite its Tony Award--a prime example of this problem.  And the current production at Le Petit, while it offers much to enjoy--with its talented cast, classy set and costumes, and the obvious care that goes into the staging--sometimes accentuates, rather  than mitigates, the basic dilemma. For example, take the scene where the ne'er-do-well but innately noble Baron (Vatican Lokey) sneaks into the room of the aging ballerina (Karen Hebert) in order to steal her pearl necklace.  Fleeing the horrors of a half-empty theatre, the ballerina returns unexpectedly and surprises him. As an alibi, he claims to be a smitten fan who often sneaks into her room
"to breathe the air she breathes." This ploy takes an odd turn, however, when the Baron realizes he actually has fallen in love with his victim.  Now, a well-written scene chould possibly engage our belief in this unlikely coup-de-foudre.  However, all we get by way of transition is a rhapsodic burst of song. Hollywood seems positively gritty by comparison, especially when the backdrop suddenly lights up with a million stars.  And seeing the love-stricken ballerina go up on pointe in her own bedroom made me contemplate hitherto unsuspected erotic possibilities of plies and arabesques.

But, if there is a smattering of other unfortunate moments of this kind, there is also much to like and admire.  Sarah Jane McMahon, for instance, as the sexy stenographer-on-the-make, brings a full dollop of charm and charisma to a deceptively difficult role.  Her number with the Jimmies (James St. Juniors and Jermaine Keelen)--irresistable in their Trukish servant ragalia--is a total delight. As the Baron, Lokey creates an appropriately world-weary bon vivant. Hebert is plausible as the dancer on the last of her many farewell tours--though there might be a bit more "prima" in this fading ballerina.  And Patrick Mendelson brings humor and pathos to the doomed bookkeeper, although the character is so relentlessly gauche that one does harbor a secret craven wish that nemeses had succeeded in keeping him out of the hotel.  Some other noteworthy performances among the large cast are Walter Bost as the embittered Army doctor; Bert Pigg as the stolid, sleazy industrialist; Katherine Keberlein as the ballerina's devoted confidante; Greg Di Leo as a Cockney thug chauffeur; Ken Weatherup as the grand concierge; and Jim Word as an unscrupulous lawyer.

The stunning set of mahogany and glass was designed by Bill Walker, and the stylish costumes by Debby Simeon.  Sonn Borey and Derek Franklin.  Derek Franklin also did the musical direction, while Jay Haydel is credited with conducting--although I'm not quite sure how that is accomplished as there is no orchestra in the pit, and the music appears to be prerecorded.

Simply Grand

The fall theatre season opened with a bang--two bangs, actually, a double-barrel blowout.  On the same night, two of New Orleans leading theatres launched their millenium seasons with large-scale musical productions.  Both off a variety of delights.
Le Petit Theatre du Vieux Carre's vessel is "Grand Hotel", and Rivertown Repertory Theatre in Kenner offers "Me and My Girl."  Both plays are period pieces of sorts.  "Grand Hotel", although a contemporary work, is based on the classic film, and set in Berlin in 1928.  "Me and My Girl" is a 1930's musical.  Interestingly, although "Grand Hotel" is set in the glitzy 20s, it is not at all the cliched, lighthearted take on the decade; it is much more musical drama than musical comedy.  On the other hand, "Me and My Girl" is set in the depths of the Great Depression, but is about as light and frothy as cotton candy.  Both shows are handsomely mounted and are visually and musically successful.

Among a uniformly excellent cast, Bert Pigg delivers a superblu nuanced performance; Sarah Jan McMahon intriguingly blends Marilyn Monroe vunerability with Joan Blondell grit; and Patrick Mendelson and Eric Haston are both heartbreakingly affecting.  Adding strongly are characterizations by Walter Bost, Katherine Keberlein, Greg Di Leo, and Ken Weatherup, and the exquisitely artistry of ballroom dance professionals L. Suzanne Burke and Ron Marchal.  In addition to choreographing, Karen Hebert essays the role of a faded ballerina.  It is a performance that takes your breath away.  She inhabits the role, revealing a woman who is exotically ethereal, but indelibly credible. Her love scene with the young baron (Vatican Lokey) is achingly passionate, achieveing a sensuality rarely achieved by performers in any medium.

Two Hit Shows Launch Y2K Season

A Tommy Tune creation from the 80's built on a version fashioned by Robert Wright and George Forrest (Kismet) that was a 50's flop which was based on the original play by Vicki Baum and the 30's MGM musical Grand Hotel, the musical, owes it success to the ministrations of song writer/composer Maury Yeston (Nine/Titanic), who wove his and Wright/Forrest's music throughout the two-hour, intermissionless show and rewrote their lyrics as well as adding his own to the mix.  The result is a dark, cynical story told in song, dance movement, and dialogue (credited to Luther Davis with the ghost writing assistance of Peter Stone) that tells the tale of a group of disaffected individuals staying at Berlin's Grand Hotel in 1928.  One imagines the Kit-Kat Club to be going strong maybe across the street.

A drug-addicted, aging doctor (Walter Bost) is the narrator who introduces us to these denizens of capitalism at its worst.  There is the Baron (Vatican Lokey) whose title belies his indebtedness to the mob and whose suave urbanity masks his dire straits.  He tries to steal a diamond necklace from an aging French ballerina with a Russian name (Karen Hebert) through oily seduction, all the while her butch-dressed traveling companion (Katherine Keberlein) lurks in the shadows bemoaning her unrequited love.  There is the multi-national corporate bigwig (Bert Pigg) being squeezed by his avaricious creditors represented by a conniving lawyer (Jim Word).  There there are those in a lower class: a lonely, dying Jew who wants to live like the hoi palloi once before he dies (Patrick Mendelson); the sexy secretary who wants to be a movie star but is not quite willing to prostitute herself (Sarah Jane McMahon); and lastly, those who serve the gentry: the hotel staff, the scullery maids, even the garbagemen.  The Baron gets his just deserts in the end.  The Jew takes the secretary with him to France to help her, and, as history has shown, Hitler rose to power and this dark, smokey, corrupt world slid into war.

Not your usual fare for light family entertainement.  This is definitely not dessert--it's more like sauer braten.  But as an artistic endeavor, it has been fully, and professionally, realized by its creative team.  Co-directors Sonny Borrey and Derek Franklin have cast the show to perfection.  This is a true enseble effort and narry a member of its large cast seems out of place.  Along with choreographer Karen Hebert, they have almost slavishly re-created Tommy Tune's original direction, right down to the myriad gold chairs that play such an integral role in the multi-scene staging that transpires in the lobby of the deco hotel that--as executed by technical director/designer Bill Walker, displays opulence and wealth.  Debbie Simeon's costume designs are equally lavish, detailed and correct.  Walker/Borey/Franklin, et al. also succeeded, with this production (which marks their second year at Le Petit), in solving their vexing sound amplification which was such a problem with their last endeavor City of Angels.  The orchestra has been placed in the library upstairs, and its music is piped through the speakers mixed, finally, at a comfortable decibel level with the performers' voices--which vary from regular stage projection to movie-level internalization.  Unfortunately, Jay Haydel, the show's conductor, and his orchestra, remain unseen.  Out of sight, out of mind.