As everyone subconsciously knows, there are two New Yorks. First there's the actual city with its five boroughs, its mayor, tall buildings, many problems and many beauties.
And then there's the other, which I'll call Hyper-New York, as in hyper-reality. This one is a construct of all the representations of the city in movies and TV, in theater and the visual arts, in novels and even newspapers. Only some people are residents of the real New York, but a vastly greater number — television and movie watchers, theatergoers, New York Times readers — inhabit Hyper-New York, a place of bright lights and mean streets; of bald police detectives and singing Orphan Annies; of fabulous Park Avenue apartments, and Woody Allen parables. Millions of us are citizens of Hyper-New York (also of Hyper-Los Angeles, Hyper-Paris, Hyper-London), and though our bodies may be elsewhere, our minds can be found at Broadway's Biltmore Theatre, or at Elaine's, or on the Empire State Building with Meg Ryan or King Kong. And though we don't have to cross busy, noisy Seventh Avenue, or take taxis or ride the subway, we surely know our way around the City. This is our hyper-town, after all, and we've been visiting it since we were children.
Well, now Hyper-New York is paying a visit to Tampa — to the Tampa Bay Performing Arts Center, anyway — and I'm pleased to report that the Grand Illusion continues. More to the point, the Radio City Christmas Spectacular has hit the stage, and one of its very best moments includes a wide-screen cinematic look at the city below while Santa and his reindeer fly above. As usual, there's something breathtaking about the Manhattan skyline, and not the least of the reasons is our nostalgic feeling of being back in that city we've inhabited so long in our imaginations. When a set then appears representing Radio City Music Hall itself, the transformation is complete: New York knows we want to know her, and she's providing, providing liberally. For a full hour-and-a-half we're as close to the Apple as hyper-reality ever permits.
And what are the gifts that are showered upon us during these ninety minutes? Well, first there are the Rockettes, whom we meet in various guises as the show progresses. The first time we see them, they're dressed in antlers and brown reindeer-skin. At other times, they'll be more skimpily dressed, and they'll high-kick their famous can-can so many times, with such impressive leggery, that half the audience will fall in love while the other half mentally promises to start the Atkins diet.
Then there's Santa himself (looking not very paunchy: also to impress the Rockettes?), who turns out to be the evening's emcee, and who ingratiates himself immediately by lauding Ybor City and the Tampa Bay Bucs (getting a cheer). Other participants include a larger-than-life group of toy bears — some Russian, some Chinese, some so stagestruck they can hardly stop dancing — and we even get to see a little girl from the audience miraculously transformed into a talented ballerina.
Other toy creatures appear at other times: two very funny snowmen (as "Frosty the Snowman" is sung); three oversize flowers with purple headdresses and shiny green dresses (for stems); and even three dancing, singing Christmas trees. As if it weren't enough to be a performing human, we also see Wooden Soldiers moving in different geometric forms, Christmas Shoppers making choices among a colorful group of shops and a stageful of multiplying Santas who so confuse Mrs. Claus — as she tells us — that she can't tell which is her husband.
Gregg Barnes and Pete Menefee's costumes are always vivid, not least when the Rockettes come on as rag dolls with orange hair (and do that can-can again). And Patrick Fahey's set design keeps changing every few minutes, bringing us everything from that Radio City exterior mentioned earlier to a fun representation of Santa's workshop at the North Pole.
The songs vary from the most predictable — "Jingle Bells" and "White Christmas" — to the unfamiliar — "Santa's Gonna Rock and Roll" and "We Put The Holiday Spirit in Christmas." The dancing, choreographed by Linda Haberman (also the director) is nearly perfect — it's possible to enjoy the show just for the quality of the dancing — and, in fact, if one had to find one word for the whole experience, it would have to be "professional."
There's more: At evening's end, the light-heartedness vanishes, and a nativity scene is staged, including the visit of the Wise Men. Perhaps the most surprising part of this pageant is the inclusion of real camels and sheep on stage — further contributing to the feeling that this Spectacular won't stint in any direction. Then the evening ends, and we leave Hyper-Bethlehem and Hyper-New York for ever-so-real Tampa.
Of course, the next weekend, when we hit the streets in our knit shirts, short pants and loafers without socks, we remember why the New York we love is mostly imaginary.
But still our love is true.
Call it hyper-love. And note that it enjoys another rendezvous with its beloved at this impressive, exhilarating Christmas Spectacular.
A Sad Note. Area theatergoers were saddened to learn of the death a few days ago of Jobsite Theater actor Mark Trent, after an auto accident in St. Petersburg. Trent performed with Jobsite in The Nature of Fear and Its Effects, MAXWELL, The Tibetan Book of the Dead, subUrbia, The Acropolis Project, Titus Andronicus and Murder Ballads. Trent was a versatile, kinetic actor several times praised in these pages. Of his performance in subUrbia, the Planet noted that "Mark Trent is virtually perfect as hippie-sensualist Buff, who seems permanently stoned and literally bounces across the set and into the faces of the other characters." Trent was also a convincingly spiritual figure in The Tibetan Book of the Dead and showed real talent as a choreographer in Murder Ballads.
Says Jobsite artistic director David Jenkins: "Mark was an inimitable force onstage and off. He loved and lived like few others I know." There will be a memorial service for Trent some time in February.
Performance Critic Mark E. Leib can be reached at mark.leib@weeklyplanet.com or 813-248-8888 ext. 305.
This article appears in Dec 25-31, 2003.