The Low Road

B

Five years after its premiere at the Royal Court Theatre in London, this picaresque epic by Bruce Norris (The Pain and the Itch, Clybourne Park) has arrived in New York at the Public Theater. Jim Trewitt (Norris has changed the last name of the lead character from Trumpett so audiences would not think he was writing with our president in mind), played by Chris Perfetti (Six Degrees of Separation, Everybody), could be a mashup of Tom Jones, Candide and Michael Milken. Left on the doorstep of a brothel as a baby, he has been raised by the brothel owner Mrs. Trewitt (Harriet Harris, ever a delight; The Roads to Home, It Shouda Been You) to believe that he is the illegitimate son of George Washington. At a tender age, he is exposed to the works of Adam Smith and decides to make the practice of free-market capitalism his life’s mission. Smith, by the way, drolly personified by Daniel Davis (Wrong Mountain, Noises Off), is our narrator. In his ruthless pursuit of wealth, Trewitt defrauds the prostitutes to build a stake for his future dealings. He purchases an educated slave, John Blanke (the charismatic Chukwudi Imuji; Hamlet and King Lear at the Public), who had been the ward and intended heir of a British nobleman. The two spend some time in a New England religious community where there is a spirited debate about the relative merits of altruism and selfishness. Trewitt is captured by Hessian mercenaries and threatened with execution. We are suddenly diverted to the very recent past where a blue-ribbon panel is bloviating at a Davos-like conference not long after the financial meltdown of 2007-8. After their session is rudely interrupted, we return to the story of Jim Trewitt who, of course, has not been executed and has survived to pursue his career under the patronage of Isaac Low (an amusing Kevin Chamberlain; Dirty Blonde, The Ritz), a wealthy New York businessman. His financial shenanigans closely resemble the maneuvers that brought about our recent collapse. Will he get his comeuppance? I’ll let you guess. While the play has lots of amusing moments, the targets of satire sometimes seem too easy to hit. The picaresque tale and the cautionary economics lesson do not cohere smoothly. Nevertheless, it is quite entertaining and I will never complain when a production offers the opportunity to see such stalwart actors as Harriet Harris, Kevin Chamberlain and Daniel Davis. While Chris Perfetti is fine as Trewitt, I would have loved the chance to see Johnny Flynn in the role he originated. Alas, Mr. Flynn is otherwise occupied in the cast of Hangmen at the Atlantic Theater and has not yet mastered the ability to be two places at once. The other members of the 17-person cast, most of whom play multiple roles, are fine. The set design by David Korins (War Paint, Hamilton) is elegantly flexible and the costumes by Emily Rebholz (Mary Jane, Indecent) add a lot to the production. Director Michael Greif (Dear Evan Hansen, A Parallelogram) directs with confident control of a complicated work. While it’s not up there with Norris’s finest work, it offers enough to enjoy to make the experience worthwhile. Running time: 2 hours 30 minutes including intermission.

The Roads to Home *** B+

To mark the 100th anniversary of Horton Foote’s birth, Primary Stages has mounted a meticulous production of this Texas triptych, unseen in New York since 1992. The first two plays are set in Houston in 1924. In “Nightingale,” Mabel Votaugh (Hallie Foote) and her next-door neighbor Vonnie Hayhurst (Harriet Harris) are interrupted by an unwanted visit from Annie Gayle Long (Rebecca Brookheiser), a young woman who is clearly unstable. Like Mabel, Annie grew up in Harrison, Texas and has begun to visit Mabel daily to relive memories of home. Annie’s husband (Dan Bittner) comes to claim her and urge her to come home to their two small children. In “Dearest of Friends,” the most satirical of the three acts, we meet Mabel and Vonnie’s husbands. Jack Votaugh (Devon Abner) is a couch potato who asks to be awakened from his nap when it is bedtime. Eddie Hayhurst (Matt Sullivan) has fallen in love with a younger woman and begs Vonnie for a divorce. The final and saddest piece is “Spring Dance,” which takes place in Austin four years later. The formal attire in which Annie and the three men are dressed suggests a country club dance. The high wall at the back of the stage suggests otherwise. Two other Harrison natives are at the dance — Dave Dushon (Bittner), a young man who never speaks, and Greene Hamilton (Sullivan), who is easily excitable. Cecil Henry (Abner) is a man who expects to be leaving soon. As the act proceeds, the characters and the audience experience increasing disorientation and confusion. Some people find Hoote’s work too homespun, provincial or even corny. I am not one of them. He is adept in finding the universal in the particular. The production is topnotch. Jeff Cowie’s set design and David C. Woolard’s costumes are excellent. Director Michael Wilson (The Orphans’ Home Cycle, The Trip to Bountiful) once again demonstrates his affinity for the playwright’s work. The actors are very good. Hallie Foote was literally born to play the heroine in her father’s plays. (In the original production, she played Annie.) Harriet Harris successfully dials down her big personality to fit the ensemble. I liked Rebecca Brookheiser better in the third act than in the first. The three men are fine in their dual roles. If you appreciate Foote, you will be more than satisfied with your time spent at the Cherry Lane Theatre. Running time: two hours, five minutes including intermission.

It Shoulda Been You ***

This farcical musical with book and some lyrics by Brian Hargrove and music and concept by Barbara Anselmi has reached Broadway after a successful 2011 run at George St. Playhouse in New Jersey. It raises the question of whether loads of talent and style can overcome a lack of substance and answers it with a definite “maybe.” If for no other reason, we should be grateful that it provides employment for such troupers as Tyne Daly, Harriet Harris, Edward Hibbert and Chip Zien as well as talented younger performers including Lisa Howard, Sierra Boggess and Josh Grisetti. The hoary plot involves the wedding of a Jewish woman and a Catholic man. Both sets of parents are unhappy about the impending marriage and a former boyfriend is determined to stop it. Yes, this field has been plowed many times before, but this time there’s a mildly surprising twist that I won’t reveal here. No cliche escapes. The luxurious hotel set by Anita Louizos is very attractive, as are William Ivey Long’s costumes. David Hyde Pierce shows a real talent for directing. The music, in a variety of styles, is pleasant. The lyrics are wildly uneven. Some are fine, but others are clunkily unmusical. Five people get credits for additional lyrics. In case you are wondering how anything this slight could have reached Broadway, the fact that Hargrove is Pierce's husband certainly didn't hurt. The show could serve as the textbook definition of a guilty pleasure. You might hate yourself for laughing at some of the one-liners, but laugh you will. With its shameless pandering to two pillars of the Broadway audience, Jews and gays, it should have a long run. Running time: one hour 40 minutes, no intermission.

Cinderella ***

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Rodgers and Hammerstein's  TV musical written for Julie Andrews in 1957 has been subjected to much  tinkering over the years. None of its many versions made it to Broadway until now. Douglas Carter Beane has substantially rewritten the book, with uneven results. The king and queen are gone and there are several new characters including a wicked prime minister and a revolutionary. In this version, Cinderella has a social conscience. Another twist is that it is not at the ball that she loses her glass slipper. One of the stepsisters is not mean and gets a love interest. The best argument for this production is that it provides employment for such stalwarts as Harriet Harris, Victoria Clark and Peter Bartlett. Laura Osnes has the loveliness and vocal talent for the title role. Santino Fontana is dark and handsome, although not tall. His abundant charm makes up for his unremarkable voice. The score is not  one of their best, but does include enjoyable numbers like "Ten Minutes Ago," "Stepsisters' Lament." "A Lovely Night" and "Do I Love You Because You're Beautiful." Anna Louizos's scenic design is lavish. William Ivey Long's costumes are often garish. His unflattering high-necked jackets with tails for Fontana make him look short and squat. The fairy godmother has an unfortunate headpiece that looks like the antennae of an insect. Mark Brokaw's direction is assured. It adds up to a mildly pleasant evening, especially if you have a young daughter, niece or granddaughter in tow. Running time: two hours, 30 minutes including intermission.

Standing on Ceremony: The Gay Marriage Plays **

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Over 90 minutes, nine playlets by eight playwrights examine various aspects of marriage equality. The actors read from scripts on music stands. As in any venture of this type, the results are uneven. Most successful are two hilarious works by Paul Rudnick featuring the irrepressible Harriet Harris: in one, she is a member of a dozen anti-same-sex marriage groups who is tormented by gay voices everywhere; in the other, she is a trendy liberal New York mother who is ashamed that her gay son isn't married yet. Richard Thomas is moving in Moises Kaufman's eulogy for a partner of 46 years. Neil LaBute's overlapping monologues for two men, played by Craig Bierko and Mark Sullivan (Mark Consuelos's understudy), is called "Strange Fruit." With that title, you know things won't end happily. The remaining works, by Jordan Harrison, Wendy MacLeod, Doug Wright, Mo Gaffney and Jose Rivera don't fare as well. It's a thankless task for any actress to share a stage with the likes of Ms. Harris, but Polly Draper and Beth Leavel do their best. Behind the actors, Sarah Zeitler fills the Minetta Lane stage with transparent chairs, flower arrangements and an enormous white swag passing through two interlocked rings, dramaticallly lit by Josh Starr. Stuart Ross directed. As I looked around at the audience, it was a clear case of preaching to the choir.