As I impatiently endured the juvenile shenanigans that are so much a part of Act One of The Fabulous '50s, I found myself imagining a different musical revue, a revue that assumed an intelligent audience. For example, I thought, what if writer/director Claude McNeal had decided to place 1950s music in context, with slides of and dialogue about the civil rights movement, the nuclear fear, the Korean War, the cult of Eisenhower, the Suez crisis, the invasion of Hungary, McCarthyism, and Ozzie and Harriet? Or what if he'd done something even more daring: What if he'd treated the top songs of the decade not as meaningless decoration but as important cultural artifacts to be deconstructed, unpacked, exposed as expressing not just teenagers' wistfulness but recording industry greed, male images of women, white manipulation of black talent, establishment delineation of permissible discourse? Not that these were the only ways to make the revue significant. But anything (I thought) would be better than this cavalcade of idiotic sight gags involving open flies, electric fans, stuffed birds and a pitchfork. The actor/singers in Act One were working exhaustingly to make me laugh, and they weren't close to being funny. Certainly they could sing. But why was it necessary to surround their talented crooning with third-rate slapstick?
Well, it so happened that McNeal took a different route in Act Two – giving us the songs pretty straightforwardly, without inessential hijinks – but in retrospect, I'm still disappointed by my experience of The Fabulous '50s. I see no reason what-so-ever why a musical revue shouldn't be as illuminating as a straight drama, or why even a tribute to a past decade's pop music can't be conducted with an up-to-the-minute critical spirit. Not irrelevantly, the most exciting moments in the play come at the start of Act Two, when high school yearbook portraits of cultural icons – Jack Nicholson, Johnny Mathis, Natalie Wood and Sam Donaldson, among others – are projected on a small screen. This sort of thing always comes across as a revelation: How little they must have known then, how unpromising life must have seemed! But then the revue proper restarts, and that look-behind-the-scenes feeling evaporates. Here come the songs; don't expect more. The '50s were fabulous so don't ask questions.
But the singing is special. Pamela Cohen, Calvin Jones, Mark Raumaker, Rico, Shelly Trocolli and Yolonda Williams all have fine voices, and occasionally offer us harmonies as good as anything on record. Each of the acts has a different premise. In Act One we're in a television studio where Your Hit Parade is being broadcast. Two men run the show: Raumaker as emcee, and Jerry Panatieri as general factotum responsible for solving problems and reducing chaos. Of course, everything that can go wrong does go wrong (predictably, stupefyingly), from the man with his fly down to the woman whose wig blows off, and Panatieri has to redeem the situation again and again. The few surprises come in the form of Rick Criswell's costuming: a belly-dancer's outfit for "Istanbul," farmer's overalls for "Tammy's in Love," French berets for "Lavender Blue," a Mexican sombrero for "Vaya Con Dios." But fundamentally this act is defined by its low humor, and by the too-oft-repeated spectacle of Panatieri saving the day.
Then comes Act Two, and it's an improvement. Now we're in the gym at John Foster Dulles High School (finally, some politics!), where Panatieri as deejay Teddy T. is broadcasting a radio show on WOWW, 102.5 FM. The understanding here is that we're actually seeing the best pop artists of the day, all of whom have come to this Garden City, New York venue for a very special radio program. The celebs include the Everly Brothers, Little Richard, the Kingston Trio, Patsy Cline, Buddy Holly, Richie Valens, Marilyn Monroe and even Elvis (played tolerably well by Raumaker). With no comic shtick getting in the way, these impersonations are easy to enjoy, and there's even a nod to a familiar American paranoia when Criswell, in drag, castigates the show's participants for their "lascivious" music. But for the most part there's nothing like commentary in this section either; it's just a group of skillful singers reminding us of the pleasure of "Peggy Sue" or "La Bamba" or "Fever" or "Heartbreak Hotel." After the inanity of Act One, this approach comes as a relief. But you still can't help thinking that there's a story here, and someone's missing it.
Oh well – the program notes tell us that The Fabulous '50s is one of McNeal's earliest cabarets (first mounted in the mid '70s), and that may explain why it seems so distant from such splendid later work by McNeal as Swing! Swing! Swing! And even if '50s gives us lots to regret, it also offers us some terrific songs rendered creditably by top singers. All the silliness in the world can't undermine a song as beautiful as "Mona Lisa," as cheering as "Mr. Sandman" or as seminal as "Rock Around the Clock." And few ballads have set as many hearts fluttering over the years as has "Love Me Tender."
Feel like meeting these songs again? Then you may enjoy The Fabulous '50s.
As for me – I'm still cringing at the jokes of Act One. And I'm trying to imagine a cabaret experience – on the cutting edge.
Cautionary Tale If you're looking for an honest account of a Broadway performer's life – or if you're just trying to scare someone out of choosing the acting profession – you've got to get hold of Making It On Broadway: Actors' Tales of Climbing to the Top, by David Wienir and Jodie Langel (Allworth Press, $19.95). This eye-opening book is based on interviews conducted with 154 working actors on every subject from childhood acting experiences to winning the Tony and everything in between – and there's a lot in between. There's the move to New York, the day jobs that pay the bills, the ordeal of auditioning, the joy of getting work, the repeated experience of rejection, the bizarre state of Broadway theaters, the Disneyfication of Broadway, and the fact that even when you've been in a long-running hit, you will probably go months without work once that hit closes. Sound a little negative? You don't know negative till you've read some of these tales, a few of them by people whose names you've seen in lights. And still, like most true artists, few of these witnesses would resign: an actor's got to act, regardless of the realities.Still, it helps to name those realities. This book tells all. It's fascinating and frightening. And it may forever affect your understanding of this unique profession.
This article appears in Mar 23-29, 2005.