From: PUPPETHEAD-AT-aol.com
Date: Fri, 1 Aug 2003 08:35:55 EDT
Subject: PUPT: NY Times' Brantley on Avenue Q 


A Feeling You're Not on Sesame Street

August 1, 2003
By BEN BRANTLEY, The New York TImes

In the savvy, sassy and eminently likable "Avenue Q," which
opened last night at the Golden Theater, an idealistic
young man stares into the audience and sings, in a voice
shiny with hope, "Something's coming, something good." 

Feeling some nagging tug of déjà vu? It's entirely
possible. Some 40 years ago, another idealistic young man
on another Broadway stage sang exactly the same lyrics, and
has continued to do so in innumerable revivals ever since. 

But that was Tony, the starry-eyed hero of the
breakthrough musical <object.title class="Movie"
idsrc="nyt_ttl" value="53850">"West Side
Story."</object.title> And Tony is not to be confused with
Princeton, the starry-eyed hero of "Avenue Q," which is a
breakthrough musical of a very different stripe. After
fervently anticipating the good things of the future, Tony
went on to fall deeply and unconditionally in love, kill
his girlfriend's brother and die violently, leaving an
exceedingly pretty corpse, all within a matter of days. 

Princeton, too, has stars in his eyes. But after he sings
about "something coming," he falls kind of, sort of in love
(or maybe not); gets lost looking for his purpose in life;
lies around moping in his apartment while takeout food
cartons pile up; and when last heard from, is still very
much alive, though in a continuing state of what looks like
terminal uncertainty. And, oh, did I mention? He has two
heads. That's literally. Figuratively, he has a lot more. 

Ah, what a difference half a century makes when it comes to
leading men in American musicals. Tony, originally played
by Larry Kert, belonged to an era in theater when sung
emotions were big, clean and uncompromising. If you felt
pretty, then Miss America could just resign; if you loved
somebody, then the whole planet earth turned into a star. 

In "Avenue Q," first staged last spring Off Broadway at the
Vineyard Theater, Princeton is embodied by both an oversize
hand puppet and John Tartaglia, the always visible actor
who manipulates Princeton and provides his voice. And he is
very clearly part of a generation whose members find
question marks creeping into every sentence they utter. 

Unlike the self-destructive, street-smart adolescents in
"West Side Story," who always seemed about to explode
whenever they sang or danced, the overschooled college
graduates (some furry, some fleshy) of "Avenue Q" look as
if they might deflate as they work their way through bouncy
ditties about failure, sex and the general pettiness of
life. 

The role models for Princeton and his sometime girlfriend,
Kate Monster (Stephanie D'Abruzzo), and their underemployed
chums are not the misunderstood rebels portrayed by James
Dean and Marlon Brando, but the gentle, instructive and
fallible cloth creatures of "Sesame Street." 

This does not mean that the denizens of Avenue Q, an
imaginary outpost of disenfranchised young New Yorkers,
don't have the verve to rule a Broadway stage. Their
creators, the songwriting team of Robert Lopez and Jeff
Marx, demonstrate that ambivalence, indecision and low
expectations can be the basis for a thoroughly infectious
musical. 

If the plot line sometimes seems to sag and wander in the
manner of its aimless characters (and its lopsided first
act does go on too long), the individual performances and
songs are never less than sharply focused and completely
committed to the moment. 

Even more than "Rent," the only other show on Broadway
pitched directly to theatergoers over 12 and under 40,
"Avenue Q" shimmeringly reflects the sensibility of that
demographic segment so coveted by television advertisers.
For Broadway producers, who count every head in their
audiences that isn't gray as a bonus, "Avenue Q" qualifies
as a serious blessing. 

Like the more abrasive and ambitious "Jerry Springer: The
Opera," currently onstage in London, "Avenue Q" dares to
co-opt television, the theater's longtime adversary. This
show, which has a book by Jeff Whitty and is directed by
Jason Moore, addresses Americans who were weaned on the
small screen, and specifically on the educational antics of
friendly anthropomorphic teachers like Big Bird and Cookie
Monster. 

Mr. Lopez and Mr. Marx know that the songs you hear as a
child are unlikely to leave your head entirely, and that
whether you like it or not, such tunes and rhymes are
likely to keep popping up as frames of reference for
situations that on the surface could hardly seem less
appropriate. 

That's the delicious central conceit that infuses every
element of "Avenue Q," from its bright but gritty "Sesame"
streetscape of a set (designed by Anna Louizos, and deftly
scaled up for Broadway) to its archly educational animated
segments, which parse words and phrases like "commitment"
and "one-night stand" on video screens on either side of
the stage. 

But it is in its songs and performances that "Avenue Q"
plays most piquantly on the contrasts between the world
according to children's television and the reality of adult
life. The nature of the twinkly songs, unfailingly tuneful
and disgustingly irresistible, can be deduced from their
titles: "Everyone's a Little Bit Racist," "Schadenfreude,"
"The Internet Is for Porn" and "You Can Be as Loud as the
Hell You Want (When You're Makin' Love)." 

To deliver such numbers with any distancing sarcasm would
be fatal. And even when their heads are flipping back and
forth rhythmically like windshield wipers, the cast members
(many of whom have worked in children's television) do not
patronize their own perkiness. Irony is a conditioned
reflex for these characters, and it doesn't get in the way
of their basic sincerity. 

Some of the performers have puppets, worn on their arms,
for alter egos. (Designed by Rick Lyon, who is also an
ensemble member, these sophisticated variations on the sock
puppet look much as they did in their downtown
incarnations, though I'm told some of their colors have
been heightened for the big time.) 

Mr. Tartaglia speaks not only for the callow Princeton but
also for the buttoned-down broker (and repressed
homosexual) Rod, whose more easygoing puppet roommate,
Nicky, is portrayed by Mr. Lyon, also the voice for the
pornography-loving recluse named Trekkie Monster. Ms.
D'Abruzzo's puppetry embraces both the wistful kindergarten
teacher Kate and her rival, a bosomy singer named Lucy T.
Slut. 

Mr. Lyon and Jennifer Barnhart help, er, flesh out the
other puppet characters, who include Kate's crotchety
employer, who has an unprintable name, and two blissfully
obnoxious figures called the Bad Idea Bears, who resemble
those hideous Care Bears and are given to tempting the
other characters to do things like drink to excess, go home
with strangers and consider suicide. 

There are also three puppet-free performers who admirably
hold their own. Natalie Venetia Belcon plays the jocular
superintendent of Princeton's building, who happens to be
Gary Coleman, the former child television star, and the
perfect emblem for a world in which everyone is, to some
degree, a Peter Pan with a five o'clock shadow. 

The hearty Jordan Gelber is Brian, the would-be stand-up
comedian whose idea of a routine is to sing "I'm not
wearing any underwear today" over and over. And Ann Harada
is his fiancée, Christmas Eve, a Japanese therapist who has
not quite mastered English. 

Like Princeton, Christmas Eve emerges as a vivid reminder
of the difference between musicals past and present.
Counseling the romantically troubled Kate, she temporarily
drops her habitually pinched voice to deliver, in the
show's wittiest coup de théâtre, a full-throated ballad in
the manner of a 1950's musical diva. 

You may find this song brings to mind another piece of
purely American Orientalia, "Something Wonderful" from "The
King and I." Of course Marx and Lopez see the world in
terms slightly different from Rodgers and Hammerstein. "The
more you love someone/The more you want to kill him,"
Christmas sings in a shivery, rafters-shaking alto. And
though you can construe the song as a satire if you choose,
there is no doubt that Christmas means every word she
sings. 


AVENUE Q 

Music and lyrics by Robert Lopez and Jeff Marx; book by
Jeff Whitty; based on an original concept by Mr. Lopez and
Mr. Marx; directed by Jason Moore; choreography by Ken
Roberson; music supervision, arrangement and orchestrations
by Stephen Oremus. Puppets conceived and designed by Rick
Lyon; sets by Anna Louizos; costumes by Mirena Rada;
lighting by Frances Aronson; sound by Acme Sound Partners;
animation design by Mr. Lopez; music direction and
incidental music, Gary Adler; music coordinator, Michael
Keller; technical supervisor, Brian Lynch; general manager,
John Corker; production stage manager, Evan Ensign;
associate producers, Sonny Everett and Walter Grossman.
Presented by Kevin McCollum, Robyn Goodman, Jeffrey Seller,
the Vineyard Theater and the New Group. At the John Golden
Theater, 252 West 45th Street, Manhattan. 

WITH: John Tartaglia (Princeton, Rod), Jordan Gelber
(Brian), Stephanie D'Abruzzo (Kate Monster, Lucy and
others), Rick Lyon (Nicky, Trekkie Monster, Bear and
others), Ann Harada (Christmas Eve), Natalie Venetia Belcon
(Gary Coleman) and Jennifer Barnhart (Mrs. T., Bear and
others). 

http://www.nytimes.com/2003/08/01/arts/theater/01AVEN.html?ex=1060722723&ei=1&
en=39be80a49c6ad1bc


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